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When you invite your ancestors into your sukkah, consider bringing their Jewish languages in, too
On Sukkot, we strengthen our local communities, hosting elaborate meals with relatives and friends and leaving one wall of the sukkah open, symbolizing hospitality. Sukkot also invokes the Jewish community in time. We build temporary structures to commemorate our biblical ancestors wandering through the desert, and we invite ushpizin – symbolic guests.
Traditionally, ushpizin have been biblical characters, kabbalistically associated with particular divine attributes. In my community in Los Angeles, I have noticed and participated in a new approach: summoning the presence of more recent ancestors. This Sukkot, I am promoting this tradition with a focus on our ancestors’ words.
I first experienced a more personalized ushpizin at a friend’s sukkah about a decade ago. Before dessert, the hosts asked each guest to share one person – historical or contemporary – that they would like to symbolically invite to the meal. The guests offered diverse responses, which led to additional conversations and strengthened ties among guests. My family and others we know have adopted this practice at our own sukkah gatherings, interspersed with kiddush, lulav shaking, singing, schmoozing and, of course, copious food.
In our ushpizin conversations, some guests have “invited” celebrities like Taylor Swift and Post Malone or Jewish heroes like Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Rachel Goldberg-Polin. Some have used the opportunity to introduce lesser known historical figures, like scientist Rosalind Franklin and entertainer Gertrude Berg. But the most common type of ushpizin I’ve noticed over the years has been relatives – an adult child living in another state, an elderly parent who was too frail to travel, a deceased grandparent they sorely missed, or even a great-great grandparent who had been part of their family lore.
When sukkah guests speak of their deceased ancestors, especially parents and grandparents, they often get emotional. Several have told me afterwards that sharing a bit about their relative made their holiday more special and personal. And I have observed guests speaking to each other to learn more about their ancestors and share similar stories of love and loss.
This year, I’m planning to introduce a linguistic angle to our round of ushpizin. I will ask each guest to share one “heritage word” — a word they inherited from their ancestors even though they don’t speak that language. This idea flows from the podcast I host, Heritage Words, a production of the HUC Jewish Language Project and HUC Connect. In each episode, I interview guests about the languages their ancestors spoke and the meaning those languages bring to their lives today.
From the 16 episodes to date, I have learned about the heritage words Jews continue to use generations after their families stopped speaking their immigrant languages. Several are terms of endearment — expressions of love, usually said to children by parents and grandparents. Rozeeta Mavashev reports that her mother uses the Bukharian word “jonam” (darling), similar to the Persian word “joon,” as in “How are you doing, jonam?” Sam Miller has fond memories of his Jewish Neo-Aramaic-speaking grandmother expressing love with “qorbanokh” (dear one, lit. “your sacrifice”), similar to the Judeo-Arabic and Modern Hebrew word “kapara.”
Other heritage words involve euphemism, avoiding a word seen as crass by substituting a different word, often from a foreign language. Anthropologist Evelyn Dean-Olmsted, who coined the term “heritage words,” says the word “pishar” (to urinate) is common in the Spanish of Mexican Jews, likely an influence from Ladino or Yiddish but also claimed by Syrian Jews as Judeo-Arabic. Mayim Bialik uses diminutive forms of Yiddish words for body parts when speaking to her children, like “hentlekh” (hands) and “eygies” (eyes).
Another common domain of heritage words is cuisine. Sarah Aroeste speaks — and sings — about “masadiku,” an empanada-like savory pastry filled with potato and cheese, a recipe passed down by her Ladino-speaking ancestors from Monastir. Telahun Liad Samuel shares his experiences doing the Hamotzi blessing with “dabo,” traditional Ethiopian Shabbat bread.
Often with strong emotion, the people I interviewed associate these words with particular ancestors: parents, grandparents, even great-grandparents. Those ancestors – or their parents or grandparents – moved to a new country, and they or their children learned a new language. At some point, the immigrant language was mostly lost, and heritage words (and maybe some songs, recipe cards, or family letters) are all that remain. Similar to our treasured family possessions — jewelry, candlesticks, and kiddush cups — heritage words are heirlooms, but more portable and less at risk of being stolen, damaged, or destroyed in a fire. Like photos on a Mexican ofrenda, Heritage words connect us to our ancestors and keep their memory alive for generations after they have passed away.
Sukkot is a perfect holiday to honor our immigrant ancestors. The exodus commemorated by our temporary structures involved our biblical ancestors migrating to the Promised Land. Similarly, the traditional biblical ushpizin migrated: Abraham, Joseph, Moses, etc. Most Jews today have ancestors who migrated — from Fes to Paris, Sanaa to Tel Aviv, Baghdad to London, Damascus to Brooklyn, Rhodes to Seattle, Tehran to Los Angeles, or Warsaw to Chicago, to give just a few examples.
When I hear the term of endearment “bunchky,” it brings up fond memories of my grandfather, and it reminds me that my great-grandparents immigrated from Lithuania to the United States speaking Yiddish. By using this word and sharing it in my sukkah, I am helping to preserve my ancestral language and my ancestors’ memories. I look forward to enriching my Sukkot holiday with my guests’ heritage words — linguistic souvenirs of their ancestors’ sojourns to a new land.
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The post When you invite your ancestors into your sukkah, consider bringing their Jewish languages in, too appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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The call of this Hanukkah moment remains simple and urgent: Light candles everywhere. Even when we’re under attack.
The massacre in Sydney has left Jews around the world shaken and grieving. This act is far more than a heinous crime: It is a regression to darker times, when Jewish visibility itself carried mortal risk.
The commandment of Hanukkah is not simply to light candles, but to light them publicly – pirsumei nisa, the publicizing of the miracle. The point is not private consolation, but shared visibility. Jewish survival, the tradition teaches, is not meant to occur behind closed doors, but in full view.
Historically, however, it rarely did. In exile, Jews learned caution. The Talmud records how, in times of danger, the candles are to be moved indoors – lit discreetly, shielded from hostile eyes. This was not a theological revision but a concession to reality: When the public sphere is unsafe, Jewish life retreats into the private domain. For most of our history, this was our reality.
Modern democracies promised something different. Jews would no longer have to choose between safety and visibility. We could light openly again – on windowsills, in public squares, in front of city halls – because the surrounding society would protect us not merely by law, but by norm. Antisemitism would not just be illegal, it would be unthinkable.
The Sydney massacre, alongside countless incidents in societies Jews have long trusted, forces us to ask whether that promise is still being kept.
Jewish safety in the diaspora does not rest primarily on police presence or intelligence services – necessary though they are. It rests on something more fragile and more fundamental: a public culture in which Jews are not merely tolerated but embraced; in which antisemitism is not merely condemned after the fact but rejected instinctively and unequivocally as a violation of the moral order.
When Jews are attacked for being Jews, and the response is muted, conditional, or delayed, the message is unmistakable. Jews may still live here, but only quietly.
That is why the response to Sydney must not be withdrawal, but the exact opposite. We cannot and will not retreat into hiding our light. The call of this moment is simple and urgent: Light candles everywhere.
Jewish communities and organizations must orchestrate public Hanukkah candle lightings in the central squares of democratic cities across Europe, across the English-speaking world, wherever Jews live under the protection of free societies. Not hidden ceremonies. Not fenced-off gatherings on the margins. But civic events, hosted openly and proudly, with the participation of local and national leaders – and of fellow non-Jewish citizens.
This is not unprecedented. Every year, a Hanukkah menorah is lit at the White House. The symbolism is powerful precisely because it is mundane: Jewish light belongs at the heart of the civic space, not as an exception, not as an act of charity, but as a matter of course. That model should now be replicated widely.
Israeli diplomatic missions, together with local Jewish organizations, should work actively with municipalities and governments to make these public lightings happen – not merely as acts of Jewish resilience, but as declarations of democratic commitment. Because this is not only a Jewish question.
A society in which Jews feel compelled to hide their symbols is a society already retreating from its own values. Antisemitism is never a stand-alone phenomenon; it is the canary in the democratic coal mine. Where Jews are unsafe, pluralism is already fraying.
Lighting candles in public squares will not undo the horror of Sydney. But it will answer it – not with fear, and not with silence, but with a refusal to normalize xenophobia, antisemitism, and Jewish invisibility.
The ancient question of Hanukkah – where we light – has returned as a modern moral test of democratic societies and leaders worldwide. Where Jewish light is extinguished, democracy itself is cast into shadow. If it can still be lit openly, with the full backing of the societies Jews call home, then the promise of democratic life remains alive.
Our light must not hide. Not now. Never again.
The post The call of this Hanukkah moment remains simple and urgent: Light candles everywhere. Even when we’re under attack. appeared first on The Forward.
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Australia shooting terrifies Jews worldwide — and strengthens the case for Israel
If the shooters who targeted Jews on a beach in Australia while they were celebrating Hanukkah thought their cowardly act would turn the world against Israel, they were exactly wrong: Randomly killing people at a holiday festival in Sydney makes the case for Israel.
The world wants Jews to disown Israel over Gaza, but bad actors keep proving why Jews worldwide feel such an intense need to have a Jewish state.
Think about it. The vast majority of Jews who settled in Israel went there because they felt they had nowhere else to go. To call the modern state “the ingathering of exiles” softpedals reality and tells only half the story. The ingathering was a result of an outpouring of hate and violence.
Attacking Jews is the best way to rationalize Zionism.
Judaism’s holidays are often (humorously) summarized as, “They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s eat.” Zionism is simply, “They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s move.”
Theodor Herzl, the founder of modern Zionism, didn’t have a religious or even a tribal bone in his body. He would have been happy to stay in Vienna writing light plays and eating sacher torte. But bearing witness to the rise of antisemitism, he saw the Land of Israel as the European Jew’s best option.
The Eastern European pogroms, the Holocaust, the massacre of Jews in Iraq in 1941 — seven years before the State of Israel was founded — the attacks on Jews throughout the Middle East after Israel’s founding, the oppression of Jews in the former Soviet Union — these were what sent Jews to Israel.
How many Australians are thinking the same way this dark morning?
There’s a lot to worry about in Israel. It is, statistically, more dangerous to be Jewish there than anywhere else in the world. But most Jews would rather take their chances on a state created to protect them, instead of one that just keeps promising it will – especially when the government turns a blind eye to antisemitic incitement and refuses to crack down on violent protests, as Australia has.
“For over a year we have seen racist mobs impeding on the rights and freedoms of ordinary Australians. We have been locked out of parts of our cities because the police could not ensure our safety. Students have been told to stay away from campuses. We have been locked down in synagogues,” Alex Ryvchin, the co-CEO of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, wrote a year ago, after the firebombing attack on a Melbourne synagogue.
Since then a childcare centre in Sydney’s east was set alight by vandals, cars were firebombed, two Australian nurses threatened to kill Jewish patients, to name a few antisemitic incidents. There were 1,654 antisemitic incidents logged in Australia from October 2024 to September 2025 — in a country with about 117,000 Jews.
“The most dangerous thing about terrorism is the over-reaction to it,” the philosopher Yuval Noah Harari said. He was talking about the invasion of Iraq after 9/11, the crackdown on civil liberties and legitimate protest. But surely it’s equally dangerous to underreact to terrorism and terrorist rhetoric.
Israel’s destruction of Gaza following the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023 led to worldwide protests, which is understandable, if not central to why tensions have escalated.
But condemning civilian casualties and calling for Palestinian self-determination — something many Jews support — too often crosses into calls for destroying Israel, demonizing Israelis and their Jews. That’s how Jews heard the phrase “globalize the intifada” — as a justification for the indiscriminate violence against civilians.
When they took issue with protesters cosplaying as Hamas and justifying the Oct. 7 massacre, that’s what they meant. And look at what happened in Bondi Beach, they weren’t wrong. Violence leads to violence, and so does support for violence.
Chabad, which hosted the Hanukkah celebration in Sydney, has always leaned toward a more open door policy with less apparent security than other Jewish institutions. But one of the reasons it has been so effective at outreach has also made it an easy target.
As a result of the Bondi shooting, Chabad will likely increase security, as will synagogues around the world. Jewish institutions will think hard about publicly advertising their events. Law enforcement and public officials will, thankfully, step up protection, at least for a while. These are all the predictable result of an attack that, given the unchecked antisemitic rhetoric and weak responses to previous antisemitic incidents, was all but inevitable.
It’s not inevitable that Australian Jews would now move to Israel, no more than it would have been for Pittsburgh’s Jewish community to uproot itself and move to Tel Aviv after the 2018 Tree of Life massacre. That didn’t happen, because ultimately the risk still doesn’t justify it.
But these shootings, and the constant drip of violent rhetoric, vandalism and confrontation raise a question: If you want to kill Jews in Israel, and you kill them outside Israel, where, exactly, are we supposed to go?
The post Australia shooting terrifies Jews worldwide — and strengthens the case for Israel appeared first on The Forward.
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These are the victims of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration shooting in Sydney
(JTA) — A local rabbi, a Holocaust survivor and a 12-year-old girl are among those killed during the shooting attack Sunday on a Hanukkah celebration in Sydney, Australia.
Here’s what we know about the 11 people murdered in the attack, which took place at a popular beachside playground where more than 1,000 people had congregated to celebrate the first night of the holiday, as well as about those injured.
This story will be updated.
Eli Schlanger, rabbi and father of five
Schlanger was the Chabad emissary in charge of Chabad of Bondi, which had organized the event. He had grown up in England but moved to Sydney 18 years ago, where he was raising his five children with his wife Chaya. Their youngest was born just two months ago.
In addition to leading community events through Chabad of Bondi, Schlanger worked with Jewish prisoners in Australian prisons. “He flew all around the state, to go visit different people in jail, literally at his own expense,” Mendy Litzman, a Sydney Jew who responded as a medic to the attack, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Last year, amid a surge in antisemitic incidents in Australia, Schlanger posted a video of himself dancing and celebrating Hanukkah, promoting lighting menorahs as “the best response to antisemitism.”
The best response to antisemitism. Happy Chanukah! pic.twitter.com/33RSGYzhUY
— Rabbi Eli Schlanger (@SchlangerEli) December 17, 2024
Two months before his murder, he published an open letter to Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese urging him to rescind his “act of betrayal” of the Jewish people. The letter was published on Facebook the same day, Sept. 21, that Albanese announced he would unilaterally recognize an independent Palestinian state.
Alex Kleytman, Holocaust survivor originally from Ukraine
Kleytman had come to the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration annually for years, his wife Larisa told The Australian. She said he was protecting her when he was shot. The couple, married for six decades, has two children and 11 grandchildren.
The Australia reported that Kleytman was a Holocaust survivor who had passed World War II living with his family in Siberia.
12-year-old girl
Alex Ryvchin, co-CEO of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, told CNN that a friend “lost his 12-year-old daughter, who succumbed to her wounds in hospital.” The girl’s name was not immediately released.
Dozens of people were injured
- Yossi Lazaroff, the Chabad rabbi at Texas A&M University, said his son had been shot while running the event for Chabad of Bondi. “Please say Psalms 20 & 21 for my son, Rabbi Leibel Lazaroff, יהודה לייב בן מאניא who was shot in a terrorist attack at a Chanukah event he was running for Chabad of Bondi in Sydney, Australia,” he tweeted.
- Yaakov “Yanky” Super, 24, was on duty for Hatzalah at the event when he was shot in the back, Litzman said. “He started screaming on his radio that he needs back up, he was shot. I heard it and I responded to the scene. I was the closest backup. I was one of the first medical people on the scene,” Litzman said. He added, “We just went into action and saved a lot of lives, including one of our own.”
The post These are the victims of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration shooting in Sydney appeared first on The Forward.
