Uncategorized
What a forgotten synagogue dedication in 1825 Philadelphia can teach us today
On a winter morning in 1825, Congregation Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia opened its doors for a consecration few in the city would forget.
The sanctuary filled not only with Jews but with the city’s civic and religious leaders. Bishop William White, the Episcopal bishop of Pennsylvania, was there. So too were the chief justice and associate judges of the state Supreme Court, along with ministers from other Christian churches and “many other distinguished citizens.”
The newspaper that covered the event could hardly contain its admiration. It called the ceremony “one of the most gratifying spectacles we have ever witnessed,” praising it as evidence of “the happy equality of our religious rights, and the prevailing harmony among our religious sects.”
For Europeans in attendance, the sight was almost inconceivable. They remarked that such a scene could not be witnessed “in any other part of the world” — Jews worshiping openly, honored by civic leaders, regarded as full equals. They urged that the moment be noticed abroad “for the instruction and edification of Europe.”
This long-forgotten consecration reveals something about Jewish life in America that is too often overlooked. Alongside well-known stories of antisemitism and exclusion, there have long been moments when Jewish life was welcomed as part of the civic square — when synagogue dedications became community milestones, not private affairs.
Just three years earlier, when Mikveh Israel laid the cornerstone for its building, its members placed into the foundation a copy of the U.S. Constitution, the constitutions of several states, and American coinage. Embedding the nation’s founding charter into the walls of a synagogue was both symbolic and aspirational.
In Europe, the picture was far more precarious. In Wiesbaden in 1826, Jews converted a garden hall into a synagogue. The community’s rabbi, Salomon Herxheimer, preached a sermon heard by neighbors “without distinction of worship.” Yet this was a fragile moment of recognition. For centuries, Wiesbaden’s Jews had lived as Schutzjuden — “protected Jews” — dependent on the goodwill of local nobles, barred from land ownership, and restricted in their trades. Only in 1819 were they granted theoretical freedom of commerce, and even then, their rights remained uncertain.
Similar stories unfolded later in Munich in 1869, where the King of Bavaria donated land for a synagogue, or in Berlin in 1866, where thousands, including Otto von Bismarck, gathered in a new sanctuary that newspapers as far away as Australia described with awe. These were real milestones, but they were fragile. Within living memory, those very synagogues would be destroyed on Kristallnacht in 1938.
The contrast is telling. In Philadelphia, non-Jews filled a synagogue in 1825 to celebrate Jews as civic equals. In Central Europe, recognition also came, but less often — and it was never secure.
Jewish history is often told as a story of persecution — expulsions, pogroms, restrictions. That history is real, but it is not the whole story. There have also been times, often little remembered, when Jews were embraced as neighbors and citizens. Ancient Judaism was visible far beyond the Land of Israel — in places like Adiabene (in northern Iraq) and Himyar (in Yemen) — and its theology helped shape the rise of both Christianity and Islam. In medieval Spain, convivencia — imperfect but real — allowed Jewish culture to flourish alongside Muslim and Christian communities. For generations in small towns across America, non-Jews sometimes contributed money, labor, or land to help build synagogues.
These histories matter because they remind us that belonging is never preordained. It is chosen in every generation — and it is possible.
Today, that lesson feels urgent. Antisemitism is again on the rise, from violent attacks like the one on Yom Kippur in Manchester to the spread of conspiracy theories online. Debates over Zionism and the future of Diaspora life have also become more polarized, often framed in absolutes: either Jews can only be safe in a sovereign state, or Diaspora life is doomed to fade away.
The 1825 consecration in Philadelphia tells another story. It shows that Jewish life in the Diaspora has not only survived but, especially in places like the United States, thrived in public — long embraced as part of the civic fabric. It also shows how precious those moments can be: roots of belonging that must be tended, not assumed.
As Europeans present that day observed, America’s pluralism was something worth sharing with the world. Nearly two centuries later, the challenge remains the same. Do we remember these paths of belonging, or do we forget them and leave only the stories of hatred to define our past?
I first began asking these questions while researching small-town Jewish communities in Ohio and New York. In many of those places, the synagogues are gone and the Jewish population has dwindled, yet I found records of interfaith choirs singing, neighbors contributing to building funds, and civic leaders marching alongside rabbis.
Those memories could easily vanish. In Lancaster, Ohio, my hometown, the synagogue closed in 1993, its building later sold. Yet the remaining members created a Jewish book fund that allowed me, years later, to discover a volume of Jewish learning in the local library — a spark that shaped my own path into Judaism.
Who tells these stories when the buildings are gone and the communities have disappeared? Who remembers the moments of belonging as well as the moments of exclusion?
The consecration of Mikveh Israel in 1825 was, for its witnesses, proof that something remarkable was possible: Jews and non-Jews together, celebrating equality, showing Europe another way. We should remember that moment not as a quaint curiosity but as a challenge. Belonging is not guaranteed. It must be chosen in each generation, in every place.
The people who filled that sanctuary in 1825 knew this. They saw in Philadelphia something they believed could not be found elsewhere — a vision of belonging worth teaching the world.
—
The post What a forgotten synagogue dedication in 1825 Philadelphia can teach us today appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
How I found freedom in a Passover Seder, an amp and a red Fender Duo-Sonic guitar
Passover at my cousin Doug’s house was always a strange blend of ritual, impatience and barely contained chaos. None of us was particularly religious, but we knew the drill: Read the Haggadah, dip the bitter herbs, eat a boatload of matzo, and laugh along as Uncle Sonny delivered his annual denunciation of religion. We rushed through the Seder with the urgency of people trying to outrun a bullet train. Everyone wanted to get to the oleshkas, the tzimmis, and my Grandma Min’s gefilte fish.
At some point during the adult drone that followed — politics, real estate, digestive-related medical complaints — I slipped away from the table in search of Doug’s electric guitar: a red Fender Duo-Sonic. Sleek, curved, impossibly alluring. The first time I saw it, Doug, then 17 or 18, played a halting version of “Hey Joe” for my sister and me. But it wasn’t only the sound that hooked me; it was the shape of the thing. I was 13, only a few months after my Bar Mitzvah, and the guitar felt like contraband, akin to the pot I would soon be smoking. I stared at it with the same stunned focus I reserved for an occasional glimpse of the bare backside of a Playboy centerfold.
The Haggadah asks: Why is this night different from all other nights?
For me, the answer was simple: It was the night I transformed from a pimply suburban teen into something mythic. If daily life — compulsive worry about my untamable Jewy hair, god-awful grades, and a steady stream of unrequited urges — felt like Egypt, then that red Duo-Sonic was my personal Moses.
A few weeks after Passover, my father — a serial entrepreneur who once marketed his own brand of car battery, opened the first Suzuki motorcycle shop in Minneapolis, and launched an eight-track cassette store he called Tape-O-Rama — bought Doug’s Duo-Sonic guitar and his Princeton Reverb amplifier for $150. He was as thrilled about it as I was. I remember him standing in my room, sleeves rolled up, trying to look like he knew what he was talking about. It was endearing and a little sad when he pointed at the amp’s knobs — treble, bass, tremolo, and reverb — and suggested I set them all to five.
“Let’s make ’em all the same, Pete.” He said. “Even Steven.”
My dad knew less than zero about rock, but as always, he wanted to help with something that mattered to me.
The guitar changed my life. Not instantly, but decisively. The first time I played with another kid my own age, my drummer friend Andy Kamman, an impressive musician even as a fifth-grader, I felt something shift. It wasn’t like school band, where I played the alto sax while the band director hovered over us, selecting songs notable only for their excruciating lameness. This was fully ours. No supervision. No rules. No permission required. I pulled my Duo-Sonic and the Princeton amp down the street in my Radio Flyer and set it up in Andy’s basement.
When he and I started playing, it felt shockingly intimate — frightening at first. Not that I knew what a sexual encounter was, but that’s what it felt like: two separate things — guitar and drums; two separate people — me and Andy — merging into a kind of oneness. I had no idea that this sudden unanimity would become an aspiration, not only in music but in all things. Music was simply the clearest expression of that spiritualized coming-together.
I’d play a riff; he’d shift the rhythm; I’d shift again. Words I hadn’t planned poured out. It was as close to conception as I’d get for a while. That transcendent aspect of music — its weird mixture of beauty, ego, and power — was already becoming clear.
By sixth grade we had a band: me on lead guitar and vocals, Andy on drums, Steve Grossman on bass, and Aron Goldfarb on rhythm guitar. We were rehearsing for the Peter Hobart Elementary Spring Concert in Andy’s basement and the whole neighborhood seemed to show up. We had a makeshift PA — one microphone duct-taped to his brother’s stereo — and we played our three originals on repeat. Most of them barely counted as songs. “Sorrowland” was two lines of lyrics and a four-chord progression. “Down by the River” had two chords and one line clearly stolen from Creedence Clearwater.
Our masterpiece was “Exit,” which I wrote during Drug Prevention Week. Every kid had to make a filmstrip warning against marijuana. Mine consisted entirely of dinosaurs I’d rubbed from National Geographic onto overhead projector sheets. I told the class that pot would make you hallucinate brontosauruses, which — completely contrary to the purpose of the curriculum — made drugs sound irresistible.
“Exit” was about a boy who tried to touch his girlfriend’s breast before she was ready and, to soothe his rejection, turned to pot. Its last verse closed with these lyrics:
Your hopes are down and you pick up a J,
it ain’t gonna help you anyway.
But you strike a match and you let it burn
now your mind is ready to turn…
I hit the tremolo pedal on the line “strike a match,” making my voice wobble in druggy vibrato. Everyone went nuts.
With all the attention, the band drama kicked in. Aron, our rhythm guitarist, kept insisting he sing lead — even though we had only one microphone and it was plugged directly into the stereo’s single input. “Hey, Goldfarb, stop being such a dickfarb,” I said into the mic. It got a big laugh. I repeated it until the phrase turned into a song. I strummed some chords and chanted “Goldfarb’s a dickfarb,” over a riff stolen from “Exit.” The room roared. Aron turned red, threw down his gorgeous sunburst Vox Teardrop — an absurdly expensive guitar his parents bought him before he could even play — and stormed upstairs.
Things began to snowball. Kids at the school drinking fountain hummed my guitar riffs. Laura Bloomenthal finally noticed me. And then: incredible news. Mrs. Perhofsky called my house to ask if our band would perform for residents of the Saint Paul Cerebral Palsy Center. $25 plus unlimited orange pop and Fritos. I was ecstatic — and terrified. I had a problem with inappropriate laughter. Not cruelty — just a tendency to laugh when I wasn’t supposed to. A waitress once spilled pancakes at Uncle John’s Pancake House, and I burst out laughing for no good reason. I worried this gig might trigger the same response.
We practiced nonstop: our originals, Creedence’s “Who’ll Stop The Rain,” a few Beatles songs. My nerves tightened with every rehearsal.
The center’s cafeteria was huge. We set up our amps and waited. Then the audience poured in — dozens of people reaching toward us, smiling, stomping, yelling with unbounded eagerness. One guy’s head was long and cylindrical, strapped to the back of a metal wheelchair. A pretty teenage girl with no hands drew a beautiful picture with a crayon held between her toes. An older woman with skin so thin I could see every vein greeted us warmly and made us feel at ease. When we started to play, the place exploded. People pounded on tables, shouted, danced and laughed. Andy played better than I’d ever heard him. We all did.
I felt something then I couldn’t name, a sense of having stepped into the world, of finally being part of something important. I was so overwhelmed I almost cried then and there. I probably would have, if I hadn’t been afraid the guys would laugh at me. After our originals and the Creedence numbers, they demanded more. So we played everything again. We cracked open my Beatles songbook and sight-read our way through half its pages.
I didn’t laugh. I didn’t feel the need. Not even close.
Without question, it was the best day of my life so far.
Freedom is like that.
The post How I found freedom in a Passover Seder, an amp and a red Fender Duo-Sonic guitar appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
In a first, President Donald Trump to receive Israel Prize, the country’s top civilian honor
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu announced on Monday that President Donald Trump will receive the Israel Prize in 2026, marking the first time the award will be bestowed to a foreign leader.
Trump was informed he had won the prize during a meeting with Netanyahu at his Mar-a–Lago estate as the pair discussed plans to push the ceasefire in Gaza into its second phase, a process that has stalled in recent months.
“For the first time in the history of the State of Israel: The Israel Prize will be awarded to President Trump!,” wrote Israeli Education Minister Yoav Kisch in a post on X. “This is a historic decision that expresses recognition of President Trump’s extraordinary contribution and lasting impact on the Jewish people in Israel and around the world.”
On a call with Kisch during the meeting, Trump said the award was a “great honor,” adding that to be the “first one outside of Israel is really something.”
While the prize has infrequently been awarded to non-Israeli citizens in its history, including to Indian conductor Zubin Mehta in 1991, Monday’s announcement marked the first time that a foreign leader has received the accolade.
According to the Jerusalem Post, the guidelines for the prize mandate that candidates must be Israeli citizens, with the exception of “candidates for the Israel Prize for Diaspora Jewry and/or for a special contribution to the Jewish people.” Mehta, for example, was music director of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra.
Speaking beside Trump on Monday at a press conference in Florida amid negotiations for the second phase of the Gaza ceasefire deal, Netanyahu said that Trump would receive the award for his “tremendous contributions to Israel and the Jewish people.”
“President Trump has broken so many conventions to the surprise of people, and then they figure out, oh, well, maybe you know, he was right after all,” said Netanyahu. “So we decided to break a convention to or create a new one, and that is to award the Israel Prize, which, in almost our 80 years, we’ve never awarded it to a non-Israeli, and we’re going to award it this year to President Trump.”
Netanyahu added that the award “reflects the overwhelming sentiment of Israelis across the spectrum.”
“They appreciate what you’ve done to help Israel and to help our common battle against the terrorists and those who would destroy our civilization,” continued Netanyahu.
Trump has made no secret of coveting and appreciating prizes, having frequently said that he deserves the Nobel Peace Prize. Netanyahu was among the world leaders, including officials from Pakistan and Cambodia, who nominated Trump for the Nobel. Earlier this month, the international soccer federation FIFA awarded Trump its inaugural “FIFA Peace Prize.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post In a first, President Donald Trump to receive Israel Prize, the country’s top civilian honor appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Iran Faces Nationwide Protests Amid Economic Collapse as Israel Voices Support for Demonstrators
Protesters demonstrate against poor economic conditions in Tehran, Iran, with some shopkeepers closing their stores on Dec. 29, 2025, in response to ongoing hardships and fluctuations in the national currency. Photo: ZUMA Press Wire via Reuters Connect
Iran on Monday experienced a second straight day of expanding nationwide anti-government protests, with violent clashes between demonstrators and security forces escalating as the country grapples with unprecedented domestic crises amid Israel’s open support for the protesters.
On Sunday, thousands of people joined protests across Tehran as shopkeepers closed their stores and went on strike over the country’s deepening economic crisis and the rial — the nation’s currency — plummeting to record lows, Iranian media reported.
Demonstrators are now calling to extend strikes into a third day on Tuesday, with closures reported across key markets and protests spreading nationwide amid mounting economic pressure and growing calls for regime change.
With public unrest sweeping the nation and disrupting commercial districts, security forces have escalated their crackdown, clashing violently with protesters while firing tear gas at shopkeepers.
In widely circulated social media videos, protesters can be heard chanting slogans such as “Death to the dictator” and “[Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei] will be toppled this year,” while also calling for Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian to step down.
Videos sent to Iran International show security forces confronting protesting shopkeepers in central Tehran on Monday, with riot police deployed around the Grand Bazaar and tear gas used on Jomhouri Street near the Hafez underpass. pic.twitter.com/OyhQlyUJaN
— Iran International English (@IranIntl_En) December 29, 2025
On Monday, Pezeshkian made his first official response to the protests, announcing that government officials had been instructed to engage in talks with community leaders.
“I have instructed the interior minister to hear the legitimate demands of the protesters by engaging in dialogue with their representatives, so the government can fully address the issues and respond responsibly,” the Iranian leader said in a televised speech.
According to Iranian media, Pezeshkian also appointed former economy minister Abdolnaser Hemmati as the new head of the central bank, announcing a leadership change amid growing criticism over the rial’s historic decline and accelerating inflation.
Meanwhile, Israel has openly expressed support for the protests, denouncing the Islamist regime’s ongoing oppression and pointing to the country’s dire economic and social conditions.
“People in Iran are exhausted with the regime and the collapsed economy,” Israel’s Foreign Ministry wrote in a post on its Persian-language X account.
چون اسرائیل همیشه در کنار مردم ایران ایستاده است. https://t.co/KTC6j44Cpr
— اسرائیل به فارسی (@IsraelPersian) December 29, 2025
Former Israeli Prime Minister Naftali Bennett also voiced his support for the protesters, saying they deserve a better future and affirming that the international community stands with them.
”The Iranian people have a glorious past, and they can have an even more glorious future. That future depends on every one of you,” Bennett said in a video posted on X.
“So, to all the brave men and women now rising up across your country, all the nations of the free world stand with you in your just struggle. Change is possible, there will be a better Middle East,” he continued.
Meanwhile, the Mossad — Israel’s national intelligence agency — used its X account in Farsi to urge the Iranian people to stand up to the regime, indicating agents would join them in support.
“Let’s come out to the streets together,” the Mossad wrote. “The time has come. We are with you. Not just from afar and verbally. We are with you in the field as well.”
با هم به خیابان ها بیایید. وقتش رسیده.
ما همراه شما هستیم. نه تنها از راه دور و شفاهی. در میدان نیز همراهتان هستیم.— Mossad Farsi (@MossadSpokesman) December 29, 2025
Iranian authorities warned that anyone accused of disrupting the country’s economic system would face punishment, calling such acts part of a “foreign-backed effort to destabilize the country.”
The Iranian Interior Ministry blamed the growing unrest on “hostile psychological operations,” claiming that foreign exchange fluctuations were driven by “enemy inducements” rather than economic factors, while urging the public to resist outside propaganda.
Iran has been facing a brutal economic and ecological crisis, with crippling pressure on its water and energy resources, forcing the government to take steps to relocate its capital amid mounting economic and foreign sanctions.
#BREAKING A video obtained by Iran International shows security forces shooting directly at protesters in Hamadan on Monday. pic.twitter.com/MiSXcdyrnp
— Iran International English (@IranIntl_En) December 29, 2025
As the country’s domestic crises deepen, the government has also intensified its internal crackdown.
According to Iran Human Rights Monitor (IHR), a Norway-based NGO that tracks the death penalty in the country, at least 1,791 people have been executed this year, marking a staggering rise from the 993 executions recorded in 2024.
Most of those executed were accused of collaborating with Mossad and aiding covert operations in Iran, such as assassinations and sabotage targeting the country’s nuclear program.
With at least 61 women among those executed, Iran remains the world’s leading executioner on a per capita basis, using capital punishment as a tool of repression, fear, and ideological control.