Uncategorized
Ukrainian Jewish life has always taken place in Russian. Now a race to translate is underway.
LVIV, Ukraine (JTA) – The rabbis sat around a breakfast table, discussing Russia’s war on the country where they work in a mixture of Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian. They named their hometowns as Lugansk, Lvov and Dnepr, the Russian names for Ukrainian cities that have vaulted into international headlines since Russia invaded Ukraine in February.
Although they were focused on Ukraine’s progress in the fighting, the rabbis uttered not a single word in Ukrainian. How could they? Like the vast majority of Jews in Ukraine, none of them speaks the country’s official language.
Russian has long been the first language for a wide swath of Ukrainians, including the majority of the country’s Jews. But after the Russian invasion, many Ukrainians decided they wanted to speak less Russian and more Ukrainian. Many Jews, similarly horrified by the sight of thousands of Russian soldiers pouring over Ukraine’s borders and wishing to demonstrate their Ukrainian bonafides, have made the same choice — even as it means disrupting a long linguistic tradition.
So when the rabbis’ successors meet for pancakes and sour cream, they will be far more likely to introduce themselves as the rabbis of Luhansk, Lviv and Dnipro, the Ukrainian names for their hometowns that have become the standard in English. They will also likely be able to hand their students and congregants Ukrainian-language versions of central Jewish texts that simply do not exist now.
“Many of my friends say that they are embarrassed to use Russian as a language. They say that we are Ukrainian Jews, and that Russia is a terrorist country fighting us and that we shouldn’t use their language,” said Rabbi Meir Stambler, from Dnipro. “Others say that [Russian president Vladimir] Putin doesn’t own the Russian language. It is an issue.”
He added, “This is something that people are discussing all the time.”
A decade ago, half of Ukrainians said they spoke Russian as their native language. That number has declined to 20%, fueled in part by resentment over Russia’s aggressions in Crimea, a contested region that it annexed by force in 2014. But Jews have remained predominantly Russian-speaking, even in parts of western Ukraine where Ukrainian has long been the dominant language. (Russian and Ukrainian are related linguistically, but their speakers cannot understand each other.)
Russia’s war on Ukraine has Ukrainian Jews playing catchup. Stambler, who heads the Federation of Jewish Communities, a body affiliated with the Hasidic Chabad-Lubavitch movement that operates a network of 36 synagogues around Ukraine, offers a stark prediction: “Within 10 years, every Jew in Ukraine will speak Ukrainian.”
The dominance of Russian among Ukraine’s Jews, who numbered in the tens of thousands before the war, has deep roots.
“The historical trajectory of Jews in what is now Ukraine led them in the 19th century to adopt Russian rather than Ukrainian,” says historian Natan Meir, a professor of Judaic studies at Portland State University. “That was because Ukrainian was perceived as a peasant language that did not have any high culture associated with it, and because there were no economic advantages to adopting Ukrainian at the time.”
Now, the upside of switching to Ukrainian — demonstrating a national allegiance during a time of war — couldn’t be clearer.
“Jews feel quite integrated into Ukrainian society, but a shift, even if it is a gradual shift, to Ukrainian is going to make that more tangible than ever,” Meir said, calling the Russian invasion “absolutely game-changing” for Ukrainian Jews. “They will be perceived even more strongly than they have been as being wholly Ukrainian and part of the fabric of Ukrainian society.”
Most Ukrainian Jews, especially those educated since the collapse of the Soviet Union, can now speak some Ukrainian. But their ability often depends on where they grew up: Many Jews in traditionally Russophone cities such as Odesa, Dnipro or Kharkiv can struggle with the language, while their grandparents often cannot speak it at all.
Books in both Hebrew and Russian sit on a bookshelf at Medzhybizh. (Jacob Judah)
“Not more than 20% were Ukrainian-speaking at home,” says Stambler. “Take President [Volodymyr] Zelensky. He knew Ukrainian, but he didn’t speak it at home, and he had to polish it up when he became president.”
It will not be simple for the Jewish community to suddenly switch to Ukrainian, the most widely spoken European language without a standardized translation of the Torah.
Two years ago, a team of translators working in Israel, Austria and Hungary began working to produce Ukrainian-language Jewish texts. But before the Russian invasion, the effort had so far produced only a Ukrainian book of psalms, or tehillim.
In May, two months into the war, a decision was made to accelerate work on a daily prayer book. A Torah could follow.
“The chumash is difficult,” said Stambler, who oversees the half-dozen-strong team of translators from his base in Dnipro, using the Hebrew word for the printed form of the Torah. “We are working on it.”
While translating sacred texts can take years, other changes have come faster. The leaflets, brochures and calendars that are a fixture at any Jewish center in Ukraine were quickly swapped out Russian for Ukrainian, at least at the federation’s headquarters. Before February, these had often been produced and printed by Russian Jewish communities and shared with those in Ukraine, for simplicity’s sake.
“This differentiation from Russian Jewry is going to be huge,” said Meir, the historian. “Up until this point they have essentially formed one linguistic and cultural space that all Jews, whether they were in Ukraine, Russia or Belarus could move freely between.”
Now, the ties between those communities are both logistically complicated to maintain — trade routes have been ruptured — and also potentially a liability at a time when anyone in either Russia or Ukraine showing an affinity for the other country can face suspicion or penalties.
“This shift, if it actually happens, is going to be marking out a totally new cultural space for Ukrainian Jews and almost a declaration of independence,” Meir said “Or at least that is the aspiration, because there is so much of their heritage which is still based in the Russian language that it is going to be a long time before they can fully separate.”
That separation process, which began to take shape most clearly after 2014, has quickened. “We started doing things ourselves,” said Stambler. “We used to do about 20% in Ukrainian for the Jews in western towns like Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk and Uzhhorod, but we are making a much stronger push now.”
He estimates that some 75% of material being distributed to Ukrainian Jewish communities by the Federation of Jewish Communities was in Ukrainian by September, up from 20% to 35% in January.
Young rabbis who come from the United States or Israel to serve small Jewish communities across Ukraine now say that they have had to add Ukrainian alongside their Russian classes.
“I began with Russian,” said one of those rabbis who works in Vinnitsya, until he decided over the summer that he had to learn Ukrainian. “I realized that I had to learn Ukrainian because I needed it on the street. I needed it to speak with the government and with the media.”
Signs in a synagogue in Ukraine are written in both Ukrainian and Russian. (Jacob Judah)
Some Ukrainian Jews are voting with their voices.
“My whole life, I spoke only Russian,” said Olha Peresunko, who before the war lived in Mikolaiv in southern Ukraine. “But after the 24th of February I am speaking only Ukrainian.”
Peresunko was speaking outside a Lviv synagogue this fall, where she and other refugees were waiting for food parcels. She had fled Mikolaiv, which has sustained repeated assault by Russian troops, for Lviv with her mother and two children while her husband is on the frontlines.
Her children are finding it hard to adjust to the exclusive Ukrainian environment in Lviv, but she is confident that they will make the shift. “They will speak Ukrainian as their first language,” Peresunko said.
Exactly how much the shift to Ukrainian will change local Jewish communities is a matter of debate. Rabbi Shalom Gopin, who fled to Kyiv in 2014 from his home community in Luhansk, an overwhelmingly Russophone city seized by Russia-backed separatists at that time, said he, too, believes that Ukrainian will displace Russian as the lingua franca of Ukrainian Jewry.
A Ukrainian woman displays her Ukrainian-language Jewish calendar as a source of pride, September 2022. (Jacob Judah)
“They are starting to slowly speak Ukrainian,” he said. “It is no problem. There are lots of Jews in America who speak English. We live here, and we speak the languages of the places that we live. It is normal.”
But Gopin said the linguistic shift “means nothing” amid other issues facing Jews in Ukraine, where Russia’s war is threatening to undo 30 years of Jewish community building, largely though not exclusively led by Chabad, Gopin’s Orthodox movement.
“The problem for the Jews of Ukraine is not language,” he said. “It is about how much they are going to synagogue, or how many children are going to Jewish schools, not about what they are speaking.”
Natalia Kozachuk, 45, a Jewish businesswoman in Lviv, sees only upside to shedding Russian, her native language. She has started to speak to her children only in Ukrainian.
“It will be hugely positive if Jews speak more Ukrainian,” Kozachuk said. This is the only way that Jews can truly “learn more about the Ukrainian people,” she said, “about their history and the positive qualities and strengths of Ukraine.”
“Only good can come of it,” she added. “We will understand each other better.”
—
The post Ukrainian Jewish life has always taken place in Russian. Now a race to translate is underway. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
Tensions in Israel loom large in these Oscar-nominated shorts
Despite a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas, two Oscar-nominated short films show that the deep division that the war sowed in Israeli society will take a long time to mend.
Butcher’s Stain, a nominee for Best Live Action Short Film, is the debut of Israeli director Meyer Levinson-Blount, who based it on an experience he had working at a supermarket. Samir, a Palestinian employee at an Israeli grocery store, is accused of tearing down hostage flyers in the breakroom. A single dad who can’t afford to lose his job, he sets out to find the real culprit, only to find himself betrayed by his Israeli friends.
The 36-minute documentary Children No More: “Were and Are Gone,” directed by Israeli filmmaker Hilla Medalia, follows a group of Israeli activists who silently protest the war by going to public spaces and holding photos of Palestinian children killed by the Israel Defense Forces. At the beach and on the street, they are yelled at and physically threatened by passersby who call their acknowledgement of Palestinian death an endorsement of Hamas.
Neither movie particularly stands out in its style or structure as something revolutionary. However they both capture how difficult — and sometimes impossible — it has been to have civil discourse since Oct. 7. People are quick to make assumptions about others’ motivations for sympathizing with either or both sides. Friendships fall apart. Blanket statements alienate people from one another.
The shorts also demonstrate how emotionally charged images have been during the conflict. Both the Israeli hostage posters and the Palestinian flyers showcase the victims’ humanity, hoping viewers will empathize with the subjects regardless of their politics.
But protesters across the world have called the hostage posters Zionist propaganda and tearing them down has been likened by some to a form of anti-colonial resistance. In Children No More, some Israelis respond to the faces of dead Palestinians with the middle finger. In Butcher’s Stain, Samir is accused of supporting terrorism because he posted about children dying in Gaza on social media. To recognize the humanity of someone you may not agree with has become a politically incorrect act.
Reactions to the shorts have further demonstrated the polarizing climate they capture. Israeli culture minister Miki Zohar lambasted both films as being “against Israel,” saying they “amplify our enemies’ narratives.” When I watched Butcher’s Stain at the IFC Theater in New York, the woman two seats down from me became visibly agitated, her knee bouncing up and down as she scoffed disapprovingly before loudly whispering to her partner that the “fucking film” was “antisemitic” for portraying the Israeli employees as bigoted.
There were similar reactions when the Israeli-Palestinian documentary No Other Land won best documentary last year. The film about Israeli forces destroying the Palestinian village of Masafer Yatta was accused of being anti-Israel propaganda. Conservative commentator John Podheretz congratulated “Hamas for its Oscar win” on social media.
Clearly, the Academy was not swayed by last year’s critics to back away from films about Palestinian suffering. In fact, Butcher’s Stain’s selection feels pointed, as it’s the only political drama among the five live action short competitors this year (compared to last year’s lineup that included films about poaching, immigration, child labor, and the Bosnian War). Another Oscar nominee is The Voice of Hind Rajab, a dramatization of Palestinian emergency workers efforts to save the titular five-year old, up for best international feature.
Regardless of whether or not the shorts take home trophies on March 15, they leave audiences with pressing questions about the future now that there is a ceasefire: Can people with different views — in Israel and elsewhere — learn to talk to each other again? Will images of human suffering always be seen as political propaganda? And will Israeli society ever be able to move on?
The post Tensions in Israel loom large in these Oscar-nominated shorts appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Toronto synagogue hit by gunfire hours after Purim event
(JTA) — A Toronto synagogue was hit by gunfire late on Monday night, just hours after a Purim celebration was held there.
No injuries were reported in the shooting, according to police, which targeted Reform synagogue Temple Emanu-El at around 10:49 p.m. The event, which was billed as a “sing-along shpiel” and costume contest, had run until 9 p.m.
But Rabbi Debra Landsberg told reporters that she couldn’t sleep much Monday night: She was still inside the building when the shooting occurred, and could hear the gunshots.
“I’m a bit shaken up,” she said. “It is devastating that there are those in this society that want to shatter what we have here.”
Police did not confirm how many shell casings were found outside the building, but the synagogue wrote on Instagram that “20 shots were fired at our synagogue.”
“We are working closely with law enforcement and security partners,” the post read. “We remain united and resilient. Our building is damaged; our congregation is not. Chag sameach, everyone.”
The incident is being investigated by Toronto police’s hate crime unit, as well as the gun and gang task force; the suspect is currently unknown.
Police have upped their presence in Toronto’s Jewish neighborhoods since the war in Iran broke out on Saturday, as well as around houses of worship and other Jewish institutions, deputy chief Robert Johnson said in a press conference on Tuesday. Iranian agents have a record of targeting Jewish sites with gunshots and other disturbances, and Jewish security officials have urged vigilance since the war began.
When asked if there was any connection between the Temple Emanu-El attack and the war in Iran, Johnson said making that connection “would be speculation at this point.”
The shooting is the latest in a string of crimes targeting Jewish institutions and residents in Toronto. A Jewish girls’ elementary school was hit by gunfire three times in 2024 alone. This past December, mezuzahs were ripped from residents’ doorposts in multiple buildings, including a seniors’ residence. A month prior, police said a suspect had “damaged the outer glass windows” of Kehilath Shaarei Torah, a synagogue near Temple Emanu-El. (Police visited that synagogue while investigating the Temple Emanu-El shooting, which prompted false reports that both synagogues were attacked on Monday night.)
“This is the fourth time a Jewish institution has been targeted for gunfire in Toronto over the past two years, in addition to countless threats and acts of vandalism,” said Adam Minsky, president of UJA Federation of Greater Toronto, in a statement. “Every day, families across our community carry deep concerns for the safety of their children. But we are resilient and refuse to be intimidated. We will continue to proudly celebrate Jewish life.”
Noah Shack, CEO of the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, said in a statement that incidents like this will “inevitably lead to much worse.”
“As we witnessed in Australia, when incitement goes unchecked and synagogues are threatened, we can expect to see mass violence and tragedies that could have been prevented,” Shack wrote.
So far this year, anti-Jewish hate crimes have made up 63% of all reported hate crimes in Toronto, according to Johnson, continuing a trend of increased antisemitic crimes since Oct. 7, 2023.
“These numbers are not abstract. They represent real people and real harm,” Johnson said. “Our commitment is clear: We are doing everything within our authority to protect Toronto’s Jewish community.”
Toronto Mayor Olivia Chow called the shooting “an unacceptable act of antisemitism and intimidation.”
She also alluded to the timing of the shooting, which came days after war broke out between Israel and the United States and Iran.
“As we have seen repeatedly, incidents increase across our city as international events unfold. I want to be clear: it is never acceptable to target faith communities or cultural groups,” Chow wrote.
Shack said the shooting took place “at a time when Iran’s Islamic regime poses a heightened threat to Jewish and Persian communities worldwide,” and urged authorities to “redouble measures to safeguard our country and all Canadians.”
Just one night before the Temple Emanu-El shooting, another shooting occurred at around 2:30 a.m. in Toronto. Nobody was injured, but police said there was “damage” to businesses in the area, including Old Avenue Restaurant, a restaurant owned by pro-Israel activist Esther Bakinka. The hate crime unit “is aware” of the investigation, according to police, but not leading it. Bakinka wrote on Facebook that the restaurant’s upcoming Purim celebration would be canceled due to “extenuating circumstances.”
Deputy mayor Mike Colle called Bakinka “a courageous fighter for protection of our Jewish Community,” and called for the creation of a joint task force to combat antisemitic violence, “especially now with the Middle East on fire.”
The post Toronto synagogue hit by gunfire hours after Purim event appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Trump rejects idea that Israel drew US into war with Iran: ‘If anything, I might have forced Israel’s hand’
(JTA) — President Donald Trump rejected claims that Israel had pulled the United States into the war with Iran on Tuesday, instead suggesting that he had “forced their hands.”
Trump’s comments came after Secretary of State Marco Rubio told reporters on Monday that the United States entered the conflict because officials “knew that there was going to be an Israeli action” and expected to become embroiled as a result. Rubio’s comments ignited questions about whether Trump was taking his cues from the Israelis.
“Based on the way the negotiation was going, I think they were going to attack first and I didn’t want that to happen,” Trump told reporters at the White House on Tuesday during a press conference with German Chancellor Friedrich Merz. “So, if anything, I might have forced Israel’s hand, but Israel was ready and we were ready.”
The president’s claims appeared to contradict reports from the Pentagon to Congress on Sunday that there was no intelligence suggesting Iran planned to attack U.S. forces first.
“If we didn’t do what we’re doing right now, you would have had a nuclear war and they would have taken out many countries because you know what? They’re sick people,” Trump told reporters on Tuesday. “They’re mentally ill sick people. They’re angry, they’re crazy, they’re sick.”
While Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu have denied suggestions that Israel steered the U.S. into the conflict, which has rapidly escalated tensions across the region, critics across the political spectrum have continued to question the extent to which the United States’ actions were influenced by Israel.
During the president’s meeting with Merz, the German leader told reporters that the two countries had a shared desire to get rid of the “terrible regime in Iran,” with Trump adding that Germany had allowed U.S. forces land in “certain areas,” though the U.S. was not asking Germany to provide troops.
The meeting followed a joint statement on Sunday by France, Germany and the United Kingdom in which the three countries vowed to “take steps to defend our interests and those of our allies in the region.”
While Republican lawmakers largely backed the joint U.S.-Israeli strikes on Iran Saturday morning, rising American casualties and suggestions by Trump that he had not ruled out sending troops into Iran have spurred concern from some about the potential for a drawn-out conflict.
The post Trump rejects idea that Israel drew US into war with Iran: ‘If anything, I might have forced Israel’s hand’ appeared first on The Forward.