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February 26, 2014

L.A. music fest aims to prove Sephardic culture rocks

For years, people have asked Erez Safar what it would take to bring his popular New York-based Sephardic Music Festival to Los Angeles. Turns out, all it took was for its creator to move west. A newly minted Angeleno, Safar will debut the Sephardic Music Festival’s Los Angeles edition March 2-11, and he hopes to share the same hip, progressive acts that have made the New York festival such a success.

“Initially, I came out [to L.A. to work] more on the music side, and then I started to just expand,” Safar said.  His company, Bancs Media, does production, branding and PR, and while film licensing opportunities initially lured him to the West Coast, he soon saw an opportunity to work on his passion project as well.

Sephardic music traces its roots to the Jews of medieval Spain and is often composed in Hebrew as well as in Ladino, the Judeo-Spanish language that was to Sephardic Jews what Yiddish was to Ashkenazim. Safar’s festival has featured many artists who fit squarely into the Sephardic tradition, like Sarah Aroeste, Gerard Edery and the band DeLeon, but it has also headlined artists with more suspect Sephardic credentials, like Matisyahu, Soulfarm and Diwon, which is explained by Safar’s wider definition of Sephardic music — he includes Yemenite, Mizrahi and Persian music, as well. Basically “anything but Ashkenazi” music.

This year’s lineup features Yemen Blues, Asaf Avidan and Aroeste. The variety is all part of Safar’s quest to reach out to audiences who often get less attention. “We’re doing this thing called Shahs of Sinai, which is geared more toward the Persian community,” Safar said, noting that with L.A.’s large Iranian expat community, it was obviously important to reach out to them.

Yemen Blues opens the festival on March 2 at the Luckman Fine Arts Center, at California State University, Los Angeles. Safar first met the group in Las Vegas, where he played with them at a show. “Watching them play, it’s almost like watching James Brown do Moroccan-Jewish music,” Safar said.  He decided that their infectious style and groove would be perfect to kick off the festival.

The final musical act of the festival will be Avidan, on March 8, also at the Luckman. An Israeli superstar with a huge following in Europe, he was a slightly more difficult choice. “He’s the least connected musically to everything,” Safar said, adding that “his specific roots fit the festival.” Although his style is more reminiscent of Janis Joplin than anything that came out of Barcelona or Toledo, and whether Avidan can be counted truly as a Sephardic artist or not, L.A. audiences would be remiss not to see him when he’s in town, considering the fact that he’s opened for the likes of Lou Reed, Bob Dylan and Robert Plant over the years.

In between, festival goers can catch Aroeste on March 5 at the Fowler Museum at UCLA.  Aroeste has been a part of the festival since its inception and had nothing but kind words to say about Safar. “He’s helped so many Sephardic artists to get exposure and allow larger audiences to experience what we already know is the wonderful, exciting, sexy, beautiful fabulousness that is Sephardic culture.”

Aroeste’s own interest in Sephardic culture began at an early age. Her grandparents came from the Balkans, from the area known as Salonika, but, like many immigrants, they wanted to assimilate and didn’t pass down many of their traditions to the younger generation. “I felt this frustration, because on the one hand, I was really proud of this seemingly exotic side of my family, and at the same time, I wanted — I craved — to know more, and I couldn’t find the answers I was looking for,” Aroeste said.

While in Israel studying music, she fell in love with Ladino music and has been sharing that love with audiences for nearly 15 years. “I decided to dedicate my life to learning more about it and making sure this music and this whole culture gets exposed more.”  

Aroeste finds the lack of general Jewish knowledge about Sephardim distressing.  “Sephardic Jews come from Spain … and Sephardic Jews eat rice on Passover,” she said.  “Those are the two things people seem to know about us.

“My mantra is ‘Ladino rocks,’ and I’d expand that to say Sephardic culture rocks,” Aroeste said. “To preserve a culture, we must also be looking forward, and we need to be creating new material and new culture to make sure that it lives on.”

In addition to the three concerts, there will also be the Shahs of Sinai event celebrating Persian culture at Cafe Dahab, a Sephardic Story Slam at the Bancs Loft, a ucLadino symposium at UCLA and a Sephardic World Arts day at the Luckman.

Although the festival already seems quite packed, Safar noted that “in the first year, it’s hard to do everything,” and he envisions future partnerships with L.A.’s Hispanic community, as well as even more venues and new artists.

The Sephardic Music Festival takes place March 2-11. For dates and times of events, go to sephardicmusicfestival.com.

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Silicon valley girl

Sibling relationships have been fraught and competitive since the dawn of time. 

Cain and Abel, the Bible’s very first siblings, set the gold standard for rivalry when Cain slew Abel in a field. Things barely improved from there: Jacob stole his brother Esau’s birthright; Joseph’s brothers left him for dead in a pit; Leah wedded and bedded her sister’s beloved — hardly the portrait of Hebraic family harmony.

Randi Zuckerberg has had the opposite experience. After graduating from Harvard in 2003, to a $32,000-a-year job as a Fox News show production assistant, her brother Mark, founder of Facebook, later offered her a plum job as the company’s head of marketing, practically anointing her a Silicon Valley star.

Talk about a lucky break: Today, she is an Internet entrepreneur, the founder of Zuckerberg Media, the author of the book “Dot Complicated” and a related lifestyle Web site, as well as a wife, mother and multimillionaire.

She never saw it coming. Back in 2005, according to Zuckerberg family myth, younger brother Mark was concerned his sister was heading toward a “dead end” and decided to fly her from New York to Silicon Valley to visit Facebook’s offices. By the end of the trip, he made her an offer: Sloppily scrawled on a single sheet of paper, he wrote two numbers, a salary and a number of stock options. With stunning bravado, his sister — the eldest of four — crossed out the stock options and doubled her salary. Mark kindly insisted on his original offer.

The rest is family, Facebook and, arguably, national history.

“I really did experience the American Dream — in the cheesiest, cheesiest way,” Zuckerberg told me last week when I met her at the Beverly Hills Hotel. The outspoken and animated 32-year-old was visiting Los Angeles to speak to a Jewish Federation women’s luncheon for big donors — which was appropriate, since she recently became one.

A decade ago, she was just “a poor, entry-level” working girl barely in touch with her roots who jumped at the chance to go on a Birthright trip with her then-boyfriend (now, husband) because it was free. “We didn’t have that much money, so we thought, ‘Let’s go to Israel! For free! How awesome.’ ” She was equally loosey-goosey about her brother’s life-changing job offer. “I couldn’t envision that life existed outside of Manhattan,” she told the crowd of 500 women. “I was not about to move to a suburb of California to work on my brother’s stupid little project.” 

Confident in the spotlight and a natural on stage, Zuckerberg worked wonders on this crowd, most of whom were agape over her sprightly sense of humor (“I would like to point out that I actually graduated from Harvard, unlike another member of my immediate family,” she quipped), even if it makes her sound a little jejune. And she won over even more fans with her singing voice, concluding her appearance with a rendition of Debbie Friedman’s “L’Chi Lach.”

Zuckerberg’s entertaining exuberance has sometimes done her a disservice. Early on at Facebook, she ran into trouble when a few videos showcasing her inner actress (in one, she wore a pink feather boa over a bathing suit and lip-synched “Chapel of Love”) went viral on the Internet and embarrassed the company. The press piled on, encouraging an image of Zuckerberg as a brassy, out-of-touch sorority girl. 

Since then, she has become much more conscientious about her public image — and her politics.

Several years ago, when she attended the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, as a correspondent for Facebook, Israeli President Shimon Peres invited her to sing at Israel’s official Shabbat dinner. After performing “Yerushalayim Shel Zahav” before a room full of international dignitaries — “everyone from your dreams,” she recalled giddily, including Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Nobel Prize winner Elie Wiesel — Zuckerberg realized that “I had just taken a very public stand for Israel and for the Jewish community.” 

A backlash ensued. Some critiques were so withering, Zuckerberg decided to “decline the honor” when Peres invited her to repeat her performance the following year. In a world where you are what you post, and Google can aggregate your hits and misses on a single page, Zuckerberg concluded, “You only get one identity.”  

Yet, just within the last several years, Zuckerberg has undergone two transformations that have altered her public persona: She quit her job at Facebook and gave birth to a son. 

“Having a son changed my relationship to Judaism and Israel,” the Reform-raised Zuckerberg said. When she married her husband, who grew up Conservadox in South Africa, they tacitly agreed to practice “his and hers Judaism,” which translated to: “I’ll sneak some shrimp when we go out, and we won’t talk about it.”

“But that doesn’t work with a son,” she admitted. “We needed a shared value system” — and, as they had both happily shared Birthright, Israel seemed like a good place to start.

Last year, Zuckerberg invited 16 Silicon Valley CEOs to accompany her on a high-tech tour of their counterparts in Tel Aviv.

“After that, I became a Super Jew,” she said. She earned vociferous applause when she told the Federation crowd that she had returned to Davos last January and performed again at Israel’s Shabbat dinner. She also let slip she had applied for the Wexner Heritage Program. “I think I find out tomorrow,” she said entirely un-self-consciously. “If anyone wants to put in a call …”

Zuckerberg is also beginning to think strategically about her giving. Until recently, she admits, she was thoughtlessly plunking down money for tables at charity dinners without any sense of purpose. “I realized, ‘Wow! I’m being very charitable across a lot of things, but I have no mission.’ ” She started a donor-advised fund with The Jewish Community Federation of San Francisco and explained that, for now, all her giving is focused on the Jewish community and Israel. 

She’s serious about making her own mark — away from Mark.

“I had an incredible time working at Facebook,” she said. “But I definitely felt like I was living inside a really big shadow. And the only way I was going to stand a fighting chance of making my own name in the world was to tear the Band-Aid off.”

She admitted, however, that she misses it. “I think I’m still on a bit of a journey discovering who I am — and that’s the fun of life.” 

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On a bike, on a jet ski, climbing Masada — the sporty Bibi gets his TV special

“Can you get me a sandwich?” Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said aloud to no one in particular in the film crew as he emerged from the back of an SUV, stepping into a bright, egg-yolk-hued sunset over Jaffa, Israel. A swarm of security dudes in sunglasses and secret-service earphones immediately closed in behind him. “Lo humus” (“no hummus”), the prime minister added over his shoulder.

Netanyahu had come to shoot a scene with CBS travel editor Peter Greenberg — one of the last in a grueling week of shoots for “Israel: The Royal Tour,” the long-anticipated special set to air on U.S. public television beginning March 6. This will be the latest in the “Royal Tour” series, in which Greenberg tours various countries — including Jordan, Mexico, Peru, Jamaica and New Zealand — with each country’s head of state as his guide.

For the Jaffa scene, Greenberg walked along a beach promenade with Netanyahu and his wife, Sara, as the trio admired the Tel Aviv skyline rising to the north and the Mediterranean shimmering to the west.

“When I first came here, there were no high-rises in Tel Aviv,” Greenberg tells the Netanyahus in the final cut.

The prime minister responds, coolly: “Well, that’s actually what my son told me. He was 5 years old, and he said, ‘Daddy, we don’t have a skyline!’ And I said, ‘Relax, kid. I’ll get you a skyline.’ ”

The Jaffa set had been pretty chaotic for the half-hour before Netanyahu’s arrival. Public-relations people from the Tel Aviv municipality, a bunch of extras on Segways who thought they were about to shoot a commercial for the Ministry of Tourism, and a couple of Israeli news crews darted about aimlessly, waiting for the prime minister’s motorcade to crawl through rush-hour traffic. Armed men, dressed in black, started to appear on hilltops overlooking the promenade. Greenberg himself paced nervously in a nearby parking lot, dealing with a helicopter problem for the scene at Masada the next day. “Let’s get this thing solved, man, right now!” he said into his cell phone.

When the SUV carrying the prime minister finally pulled up, chaos exploded into pure star-struck energy. Much to the crowd’s delight, after walking the promenade, Netanyahu and Greenberg hopped on two green bicycles, part of Tel Aviv’s prized bike-share program, and began to race.

“Hey guys, I hope you’re getting him on the bicycle, because that was totally unexpected — we won’t get that again,” John Feist, the show’s director, shouted at his cameramen.

The normally stony-faced prime minister, a gargoyle of strength for Israel and a divisive figure in the ongoing conflict with the Palestinians, seemed to embrace this breezy, candid persona he was shaping for American TV. After the bike race, he said to Greenberg: “You have to come here once a year and we do this program, so I get out — ride a bike, run a jet ski, have some fun!” (A few days before, they’d gone jet skiing on the Sea of Galilee.)

Sara Netanyahu agreed — as long as no soccer was involved.

She was referring to the ankle pop heard round the nation in June 2012, when the “Royal Tour” first began filming: On an outing to a soccer match between Arab and Jewish youth, Netanyahu sprained his ankle while taking a penalty shot.

“When he came to the United Nations and he had this special speech where he showed the [illustration of the Iranian] bomb, he was actually limping, but nobody saw it,” Greenberg said in an interview with the Journal while driving on the freeway from Jerusalem to Jaffa.

Netanyahu and Greenberg on Masada at sunrise. Photo by Tina Hager, courtesy of WNET New York Public Media

With its star in a leg cast, the “Royal Tour” was forced to pack up and fly home. However, Netanyahu and Greenberg picked up where they left off the following summer — rafting, jet skiing, boating, hiking, driving and bicycling across Israel.

“His own security guard looked at me and said, ‘We have never, ever seen him like this,’ ” Greenberg said. “He and I went on dune buggies together, and he was driving like a madman. It’s great television.”

Although the Ministry of Tourism has taken credit for luring Greenberg to Israel, he said the segment was entirely his idea and was initiated through a friend of a friend who knew the prime minister.

No doubt, Israel stands to benefit from the show in a big way: According to Greenberg, tourism went up almost 20 percent in Jordan after his “Royal Tour” with King Abdullah II in 2002 and rose almost 10 percent in Mexico, Peru and Jamaica after his tours in those countries. The Israeli Ministry of Tourism has predicted a boost of about 200,000 tourists thanks to Greenberg’s show, infusing an extra $285 million into the Israeli economy.

“Everyone who sees a program by Peter Greenberg, who is well known in the travel community — it’s going to be a major revelation, and hopefully it will lead to the creation of Israel as a desirable destination,” said Scott Feinerman, director of clergy and travel industry relations at the Ministry of Tourism’s office in Los Angeles.

Greenberg sees “Israel: The Royal Tour” as a chance for the world to get to know the nation through the eyes of its leader. However, he draws a firm line between travel reporting and PR: He said there has been “truly a separation of church and state” between him and the Israeli Prime Minister’s Office, which was not allowed to review the final cut.

“It’s not my job to promote Israel — that’s the job of advertisers,” Greenberg said. “If I’m doing my job right, it’s to present it in a way that’s credible and that’s real. You have two guys, like two guys on a road trip, and one of them just happens to be the prime minister. And he and I are talking to each other, like you and I are talking to each other. It humanizes the country.”

Although Greenberg succeeded in helping the prime minister let loose a little, chronic Israel critics are sure to attack the show for avoiding more contested parts of the country. Unlike food critic Anthony Bourdain, another half-Jewish TV journalist who toured Israel last year and covered all his bases — Gaza, the West Bank, the settlements — the closest Greenberg comes to controversy is when he enjoys a cheese pastry called kanafeh in the Muslim quarter of Jerusalem’s Old City, sans prime minister.

“Look, there will be people out there who say I was too hard, and there will be a lot of people saying I was too soft. But that’s not what the show’s about,” Greenberg said.

At the beginning of the episode, Greenberg does sit down with Netanyahu for an eight-minute interview that addresses the elephant in the room: the Israel-Palestine conflict. “Every time I’ve come to this region, and I bring up the notion of peace, someone always says, ‘It’s not the right time in the Middle East’…,” Greenberg says. “So I have to ask you: When is it ever going to be the right time?”

Netanyahu’s response, in part: “I think when I bring a peace agreement to the people of Israel, they’ll believe me. Because they trust me to take care of that foundation of peace, which is: You can’t have peace without security in the Middle East. It won’t hold for a day. I’m a great champion of peace through strength. I insist on the strength; therefore, I can get the peace.”

The Israeli prime minister’s son, 23-year-old Yair Netanyahu (right), explained the Tel Aviv party circuit to visiting journalist Peter Greenberg. “We start the night around 1 or 2 [a.m.],” he said. “This is really early, so you call this the pre-game.” Photo by Simone Wilson

From there, the show takes a turn toward feel-good and never slows down. Netanyahu leads Greenberg to check out emerging technologies at Technion (“Israel’s MIT”), swim with wild dolphins in the Red Sea, raft the Jordan River, touch the little-known underground section of the Western Wall, climb the Masada fortress in the middle of the Negev desert and float in the Dead Sea.

“It’s best between the scenes,” said Mark Feist, the show’s lead sound guy, who was hooked up to Netanyahu’s feed. “When the mics are running off-camera, he gets really pushy.”

The shoot also coincided with a tense period of peace negotiations between Israel and Palestine, so Greenberg got to witness some residual state matters. “When I’m with Netanyahu, he’s on the phone taking a call from [U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry] at least once a day,” Greenberg said. “He and I have had a number of back-channel conversations about the issue.”

In front of the camera, though, Netanyahu never seems to fully let down his guard; ultimately, he remains the hard-to-pin-down politician the world knows him as. In a definitive Vanity Fair piece called “The Netanyahu Paradox” from 2012, reporter David Margolick called the prime minister of Israel “compulsively cautious” and “both its strongest and its weakest leader in memory.” Aside from revealing his more goofy, sporty side, the “Royal Tour” episode doesn’t do much to clear up the Netanyahu enigma. His one-liners often come off as slightly canned — perhaps because some were shot multiple times to avoid any stumbles in conversation.

On July 7, after filming a couple of scenes in Jaffa, the group headed to Vicky Cristina, a high-end, Barcelona-inspired bar on the edge of Tel Aviv.

“It’s become just a hub — it’s a high-tech city, fashion city, culture city,” Netanyahu says of Tel Aviv at the bar.

Upon arrival, the prime minister and his wife did a slow lap around Vicky Cristina to the tune of a lively Spanish guitar, posing for cell-phone pictures and shaking hands. And when they finally settled down at the bar, Yair Netanyahu, the prime minister’s 23-year-old son, showed up to order a round of elaborate pink cocktails and talk about his area of expertise: Tel Aviv nightlife.

Yair, not as practiced a politician as his father, spoke freely, giving some context to Tel Aviv by critiquing its neighbors (“We’re surrounded by countries that stone people and execute women”) and lending some insight into Birthright (“All the Americans come here because you can drink when you’re 18”). 

But any indiscrete comments were cut from the episode — as was a midnight visit to a club next door. After Netanyahu and his wife headed home, Yair and a group of good-looking girls led Greenberg to a V.I.P. table for a few rounds of shots. 

It was an Israeli tabloid’s dream — not in small part because the group of clubgoers included Sandra Leikanger, a Norwegian college mate of Yair, who would later see her face plastered across the Hebrew media when she was outed as his non-Jewish girlfriend. (“She’s great,” Greenberg said of meeting Leikanger. “I think anybody should be able to date anybody they want.”) Hanging back in the crowd, Yair’s bodyguard, who did not give his name, said his job often consisted of staying out until dawn at nightclubs to keep an eye on his young boss.

But Greenberg and the crew soon left the youngsters to their own devices, as they were on a tight schedule: They had to be at Masada in a few hours for a sunrise shoot. “Nobody slept at all. It was pure adrenaline,” Greenberg later said.

The next morning, at the historical site of the Jews’ last stand against the Romans, the crew would film their opening shot for “Israel: The Royal Tour” — a swirling aerial view of Netanyahu standing atop the fortress, looking out across the Negev. Goldberg narrates: “He’s a man who lives and breathes the past and future of his people. And now, he leads his nation as it faces one of the most critical crossroads in its history.”

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu will attend the Los Angeles premiere of “Israel: The Royal Tour” on March 4, after meeting with U.S. President Barack Obama in Washington, D.C. The show will begin airing on public television throughout the United States on March 6. 

On a bike, on a jet ski, climbing Masada — the sporty Bibi gets his TV special Read More »

Getting to know Germany…up close

So this is where they did it,” I think to myself. I’m in Berlin, headed to a hotel, and all I can think about is the Holocaust. A truck pulls in front of me. On the back is written “Schnell!” The exclamation point cues me in. It’s an ad. It wants me to hurry up and buy something. It is not ordering me to march or to dig. 

I pass a river murmuring in the early dawn. “Welcome to the land of the Enlightenment,” it whispers. “Welcome to the birthplace of Kant and Beethoven.” This, for me, is the experience of arriving in Germany for the first time, this dichotomy. You love it and hate it all at once, like a romance gone to hell. 

I’m here on Germany Close Up (GCU), a fellowship that brings young American Jews to Berlin for one to two weeks of touring, lecturing and discussion. GCU is administered by Berlin’s Neue Synagogue and subsidized by the German Federal Government’s Trans-Atlantic Program. Dagmar Pruin, a Protestant theologian and Hebrew Bible scholar, founded the program in 2007, and has since hosted more than 1,400 young people — from Yeshiva University students to LGBTQ professionals.

I have come with the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, a Jerusalem-based, non-denominational yeshiva. Pruin tries to clear the air about GCU at our first meeting. The German government does not run the program, it is not a Holocaust trip, and it is not a PR gambit. It is, first and foremost, a way for Jewish people to learn about Germany’s past and present, intensively and on site. Ultimately, participants are encouraged to form their own impressions.

The Neue Synagogue’s Web site is a little clearer with respect to GCU’s goals and, perhaps, a little franker. “The purpose of the program is to strengthen understanding and transparency between German and Jewish American circles and to encourage North Americans to view Germany in a positive … light.”

For me, there were two different aspects to getting to know Germany. The first involved grappling with Germany’s past, specifically what went on in the country from 1933 to 1945. The second involved falling in love with the Germany that existed before the Nazis, as well as the Germany that still exists today.

Germany wears its darkest history on its sleeve. It is impossible to go more than a few miles without stumbling upon an allusion to the Holocaust. Stolpersteine — stumbling stones — lie everywhere and were designed by artist Gunter Demnig with this end in mind. Each of these brass cobblestones bears the name of a single Holocaust victim and, often, the words “Hier wohnte” — “Here lived.” Stolpersteine are like burrs, those prickly plant parts that stick to you as you brush by. Here lived a Jew, and he was murdered; here a Jew, and she was murdered; here a Jew, and here, and here.

Then there is the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, a five-acre field of concrete located in the heart of Berlin. The 2005 monument, designed by architect Peter Eisenman, is made up of 2,711 stelae of varying heights, laid out in a grid over sloping ground. The enormity of the installation is telling. It’s prime real estate, paid for by the perpetrators, and ostensibly converted for their rehabilitation. The site’s information center has recorded more than 400,000 visitors every year for the last eight years.

Of course, there was more in the way of mementos, a lot more: buildings riddled with bullet holes from the second world war; a sign outside a Berlin train station listing the names of every Nazi camp; the Wannsee Villa, now a museum; the Jewish Museum Berlin; Sachsenhausen concentration camp, now a memorial; Track 17, defunct, also a memorial. This national, coordinated excavation of a country’s past, of the most ignominious chapter in a country’s past, was unlike anything I’d seen before. It was obsessive to the point of being inescapable. It was brutally honest. And, by all appearances, it was genuine. 

But it wasn’t just the monuments or the museums — it was the people, the GCU people, in particular, none of whom are Jewish, and almost all of whom are German, like Pruin, who was deeply knowledgeable about Judaism, but also deeply sensitive to the delicacy and strangeness of any encounter between a German and a Jew. When touring the camps, Pruin didn’t feel comfortable, for instance, doing to Jewish groups what a Nazi guard might have done in other circumstances, assigning each person a number, even if only to take attendance.

But there was something else about her as well. I saw it first in her eyes, and then, eerily enough, in the eyes of nearly all our guides — a deep sadness, a gentleness. And whether that sadness, that gentleness, was pity, grief or guilt, it was, in any case, an articulation of something. And I took that something to be great pain or, perhaps, a silent apology.

There are caveats, of course. We met those Germans who were deeply moved by the crimes of their country’s past, who had devoted their lives to Jewish studies and Holocaust education. Meanwhile, we were told, Jewish cemeteries are vandalized; neo-Nazis set fire to Sachsenhausen; Eisenman’s memorial was resisted before it was accepted. I, too, saw some things: houses on the outskirts of Sachsenhausen, built by Sachsenhausen inmates, still lived in; other houses mere feet away from Track 17, where Germans must have watched from their porches as their neighbors were carted off to “the east.”

I remember roaming the Jewish Museum, after a day full of museums, picking my way past German tour groups. I wanted someone to beg forgiveness, none of this stolid institutional junk. I wanted someone to apologize. Apologize for destroying my grandfather’s childhood, for murdering my family, for slaughtering my people. I wanted someone to apologize, and I wanted them to weep while they did it. No, of course it’s not enough. It can never be enough. But I wish more countries would do what Germany has done to atone for its crimes.

Then, at some point during the trip, things began to shift. I began to see past the Third Reich to the fourth. For starters, there’s the beer. You know the way an apple tastes when you eat it right off the tree? Warm and sweet and spicy in a way the ones at the store never are? That’s what German beer tastes like. Like getting a glass fresh from the barrel.

And then there are the bakeries. Like coffee bars in America, bakeries are everywhere in Germany, and particularly in Berlin. They’re warm, they’re welcoming, and they do meat as well as they do bread. I remember standing saucer-eyed in front of a display case one morning, vacillating. A woman grabbing coffee before her train asked if she could cut in line, so I traded my place for her recommendation. She pointed out a few dishes, all meat wrapped in meat, asked me how long I was in town and wished me a pleasant stay.  She, like so many of the Germans I met, was full of warm smiles and sweet solicitude, not unlike the food she recommended — all of which I ended up ordering. There was a warmth and pleasantness to it that I wasn’t accustomed to. It reminded me of those moments in “1984” when Winston snags some scraps of Inner Party food and realizes how rich and vibrant real coffee is, or real chocolate — dark, shiny, delightful.

I headed out for a stroll afterward, moving along the cobbled, European streets. There was more food steaming in an open-air market down the block. It was quiet and clean in a way that cities such as Los Angeles and New York are not. A woman in a yellow jumpsuit got off her yellow bike and sorted through envelopes. It was the mailman. I ducked into the courtyards of stony-faced apartment buildings and traced the ivy along the walls as it tangled its way toward the roof. Graffiti is common in Berlin and, like the ivy, it crawled along at intervals — strange, vibrant and beautiful.

There was something called Café Cinema on one corner, and on another, a gallery. And then, all at once, I was in love with the city. I turned to my friend and said, “We should move here.” And she said, “Yeah, I know.”

Berlin is what I imagine New York was like when it was still cool, when it was a little grungier and a lot more cultured. Berlin doesn’t have that sickeningly sallow glaze of corporate homogeneity. There’s still air to breathe, and it’s alive with possibility.

Going on Germany Close Up reminded me of an interview I once heard with the San Francisco activist Harvey Milk. He was addressing people who were gun-shy about gays. His advice? Get to know some. Eat with them, talk with them, welcome them into your homes. This is probably what Germany Close Up has in mind. And I think it may be working.

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Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks spends a weekend in L.A. envisioning the Jewish future

Swiping his finger to the left, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, Britain’s now-former chief rabbi, and arguably the world’s most prominent religious Jewish leader, was looking for a text he felt might show how Orthodox Jews can spread a Jewish message to the Western world.

He wasn’t leafing through the Talmud, and he didn’t have in mind a specific passage from the Torah. He wasn’t even looking for a Jewish text. 

He was browsing his iPad, and after a few seconds lost in his app collection, he finally found what he was looking for.

“The Waste Land” — a poem by T.S. Eliot, an American-born Englishman widely regarded as among the 20th century’s most influential literary figures.

“Hang on,” Sacks said, as he prepared me for the pinnacle of the app, a specially filmed performance by actress Fiona Shaw. “This is magic. This is the masterpiece.” 

Shaw’s voice — that of the Petunia Dursley character from the “Harry Potter” series — emerged majestically from the speaker: “The Waste Land. The burial of the dead.” 

This is how Orthodox Jews might learn from and teach religious texts? 

Sacks put his beloved iPad down and looked at me, ready to clarify.

“Can you imagine having a siddur [prayer book] where you’ve got the text,” he said, “You’ve got the translation, you press one button [and] you get the commentaries?” Then added, “You press another button, and you get half a dozen shiurim [lessons] on that paragraph.”

It was Sacks at his most dynamic, blending Western poetry with ancient tradition, rabbinic commentaries with one of Silicon Valley’s proudest inventions. 

I was sitting with the former chief rabbi, his wife, Elaine, and his assistant at a table in the lobby of the Luxe Rodeo Drive Hotel in Beverly Hills. It was the morning of Feb. 23, and I was still absorbing the past four days, during which I had followed Sacks, the unofficial spokesman for Modern Orthodox Jewry, around Los Angeles. 

From Feb. 20 to Feb. 23, he gave 11 lectures to Los Angeles’ Orthodox community, all but one in the Orthodox Pico-Robertson neighborhood, as part of a weekend sponsored by Harkham Hillel Hebrew Academy, a local Modern Orthodox school.

[Related: Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, left, met with students at Harkham Hillel Hebrew Academy, including Eli Isaacs and Sarina Finn, both eighth-graders and student council presidents at the school. Photo by David Miller

Speaking everyone’s language

Sacks knows how to keep the tone light. 

His first public appearance in Los Angeles was on Feb. 20 at Young Israel of North Beverly Hills, joining talk-show host Michael Medved and the head of the Orthodox Union, Rabbi Steven Weil, for a panel discussion in front of 300 people. 

As at every event he spoke at during the weekend, he did not shy away from people who sought his attention. Dozens from the audience introduced themselves and wanted to speak with him. 

Like any good rabbi, he started with a joke. He recounted how, upon his appointment as Britain’s chief rabbi at just 43, someone asked him, “Aren’t you a little young for the job?”

His response: “Don’t worry, in this job I’ll age rapidly.” 

His audience that evening was predominantly parents and grandparents, so his leadership message to them was about communal religious leadership. “Make friends with Jews who are less religious than you are — and by lifting them, you yourself will be lifted.”

His speech followed a performance by the Shabbaton Choir, a British choral group that has traveled around the world with the rabbi. As he took the microphone, he expressed his gratitude to the choir and then asked the crowd to give them another round of applause. In fact, during a musical event on Feb. 22 at Congregation Mogen David, he joined the choir in song.

On Feb. 21, Sacks was at the Harkham Hillel Hebrew Academy for three consecutive addresses. He spoke first to grade-school students, then to local political, educational and religious leaders, and, finally, to teens from local Orthodox high schools.

With the children, most of whom may not appreciate for years to come who they were meeting, the rabbi did not change his message; he simply tweaked his delivery and tone. 

“Your young [class] presidents are going to be presidents of the United States one day,” Sacks said as he walked through the aisle that separated the boys from the girls, making eye contact with the young children. “Get to know them now, because one day they are going to be very big stars — and so are all of you.”

A few minutes later, upstairs, Sacks led a roundtable discussion with a diverse group of Los Angeles’ political, educational and religious leaders, that notably included a woman rabbi — Rabbi Deborah Silver of Adat Ari El Synagogue — as well as a Christian clergymember — Monsignor John Moretta of Resurrection Catholic Church, illustrating that although Sacks predominantly speaks to Orthodox groups when speaking to Jewish audiences, he does not wish to restrict himself to that relatively small enclave. 

It was, for him, an opportunity to impart a few ideas to the people — Jewish, Christian, secular — who will help shape the next generation of leaders. 

More than 20 people were in the room, and when each said his or her name and position, he looked at them warmly and acknowledged their presence.

“Each one of you is engaged in God’s work,” he said. “The purpose of education is to allow people to achieve their full dignity in the image and likeness of God.” 

Sacks stressed teaching kids how to teach, relating a conversation that he’d had with his late father when he was only 5 years old. 

Walking home from Shabbat services with his father one day, the young boy asked his father to explain certain prayers and Jewish practices. Sacks’ father, who’d dropped out of school at 14 to help support his family, answered:

“Jonathan, I didn’t have an education, so I can’t answer your question. But one day you will have the education I didn’t have. And when that happens, you will teach me the answers to those questions.”

By the time he took the podium Saturday morning for his Shabbat address at Beth Jacob Congregation, the largest Orthodox synagogue in the Western United States, nearly 800 people filled the main sanctuary. It was so packed that, so as to not violate fire code, the synagogue had to turn away throngs of people who had hoped to hear the former chief rabbi.  

As he prepared to speak, the anticipation inside was palpable. 

Standing sideways, with his right arm propped on the podium, Sacks glanced toward Beth Jacob’s Senior Rabbi Kalman Topp, then toward the congregation, and said with a smile, “I am going to try very hard to deliver a good speech. Do you know why? Your rabbi promised me that if I do, he will give me a lollipop.” 

The room immediately relaxed as Sacks began to explore his main passion, and something he hadn’t yet spoken of at much length during this visit — the deeper messages hidden in the stories of the Torah.

The week’s portion was Vayakhel. On the surface, the text speaks in detail about the Israelites’ construction of the mishkan, the Tabernacle, a portable holy place the Jews built as they wandered in the desert where they could properly worship God. 

It’s a very technical, detailed Torah portion, and Sacks related that in one of his learning sessions with former British Prime Minister Tony Blair, he had pointed out that while God needed only a few verses in Genesis to create the entire universe, the Torah dedicated five entire portions to the construction of the Tabernacle. Why?

Because, he said, until the Jewish people were given a task to build, a project that called for unity and purpose, they could not possibly lead.

Now 65, Sacks is a London native, but has known America well since the summer of 1968, when, while studying philosophy as an undergraduate at the University of Cambridge, he came to the United States to meet as many prominent rabbis as he could. With a $100 unlimited Greyhound pass, he traveled from New York to Los Angeles to stay with his now-late aunt in Beverly Hills.  

Based on the recommendations of many rabbis he met, the young Sacks was most eager to meet Rabbi Menachem Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe and the now-late leader of the Chasidic Chabad-Lubavitch movement — who was viewed as religious Judaism’s ambassador until his death in 1994.

That encounter, he’s often said, set him on the path to becoming the leader of two synagogues, the director of the rabbinic faculty at Jews’ College (now the London School of Jewish Studies) and, perhaps just as formative, a philosophy scholar and a lecturer at several secular British universities, including Manchester and Essex. 

Beyond the texts, Sacks demonstrated during his speeches here and in our interview his deep knowledge of non-Jewish philosophy and history — Plato, Aristotle, Darwin, Tocqueville, Locke, Churchill — as well as popular culture. 

Aaron Sorkin’s screenwriting in “The West Wing” was “genius,” he told me, and “Gravity” is an “extraordinary film” that demonstrates the existential need for faith.

Bridging Judaism with society

In his 22-year term as chief rabbi, Sacks was far more than a leader for British Orthodox Jewry and the 62-member synagogues, all Orthodox, of the United Hebrew Congregations. He became the bridge between Orthodoxy and British society, publishing 25 books in 24 years, several of which could just as well have been written for non-Jews.

Like many leaders, though, Sacks could never please everyone, on either side of him. Agudath Israel of America, a leadership organization of ultra-Orthodox Jews, criticized Sacks following his July 2013 retirement dinner, in which he critiqued what he sees as a trend toward increased insularity within the Orthodox world.

It was a message he repeated in Los Angeles. “There are Jews moving very far away from social engagement, turning inwards,” Sacks told me, choosing his words very carefully. The implication, though, was clear — much of the ultra-Orthodox world is not spreading the Jewish message to the outside world, and that has led to the growth of what he called “aggressively secularized tendencies.”

For the British Jews more liberal than he, Sacks was perceived as beholden to his country’s Charedi community during his tenure. He did not, for example, attend the funeral of prominent British Reform Rabbi Hugo Gryn, and he never attended Limmud, the largest annual interdenominational Jewish education event, now held worldwide and which got its start in London.

In 2012, Sacks signed his name to a joint response from Britain’s rabbinical court to the government, opposing same-sex marriage. In response, 26 prominent British Jews wrote an open letter criticizing Sacks for trying to “influence how the generality of the population leads its life”— somewhat ironic because influencing society, and not just the Jewish community, is one of his main goals.

And yet, even as he openly admires some of Nietzsche’s work, he also has written groundbreaking commentaries on four Orthodox prayer books, for Shabbat, Passover, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. According to his office, he’s currently working on ones for Sukkot and Shavuot.

And although as chief rabbi, Sacks did not speak on behalf of Britain’s Reform, Conservative or Charedi movements, from a marketing perspective he might as well have been, for British society viewed him as the Jewish spokesman.

As he became Great Britain’s de facto Jewish ambassador, a Sacks brand developed — a polished look for television appearances, a royal-sounding voice for radio broadcasts, a scholarly tone for books and op-eds, and an ability to condense his message into sound bites while rarely making news for saying the wrong thing.

Although he shies away from attracting controversy, Sacks will be outspoken when he feels he must. At a BBC-sponsored debate, Sacks told Dawkins that the beginning of Chapter 2 in the atheist’s book, “The God Delusion,” is a “profoundly anti-Semitic passage.”

In Britain, Sacks was viewed as the face of British Jewry by two groups of people — his natural followers, the Modern Orthodox, and also the politicians and media. His acceptance into the House of Lords as Baron Sacks of Aldgate, and his regular broadcasts and documentaries on BBC, helped inject Torah ideas into the British conversation.

In America, CNN’s Christiane Amanpour recently interviewed Sacks about Jewish assimilation, the Israeli-Arab conflict, anti-Semitism, the Vatican, Iran and Ariel Sharon — topics with which every Jewish community in the United States has grappled in recent months.

He is quickly climbing to the top of the American media’s speed dial list for interviews on all things Jewish — if he isn’t already there.

During his talk at YINBH, he told a story about one of his core goals — to reach Jews who don’t attend synagogue regularly (which includes 76 percent of American Jewry), teach Jewish things to non-Jews.

So Sacks decided that, as chief rabbi, he would broadcast regularly on BBC Radio. Yes, its audience is overwhelmingly non-Jewish, but, all the better.

“A Jewish guy comes to his office one morning, and the non-Jewish guy who has the office next to him says to him, ‘You know, I heard your chief rabbi on the radio this morning. He’s quite good,’ ” Sacks said at YINBH. “I turned a whole of non-Jewish Britain into an outreach organization for the sake of Judaism!”

The Orthodox ascent?

Sacks’ prediction of an Orthodox ascent in America stems from the October report by the Pew Research Center, “A Portrait of Jewish Americans,” which says that the Orthodox community’s relatively high birth rate and low, or nonexistent, rate of intermarriage could give it a comparative demographic advantage, over time, to both the Conservative and Reform movements.

“It has become really clear that Orthodoxy is the only element of the Jewish people in America that’s growing,” Sacks said. Based on Modern Orthodoxy’s current position in American Jewry, Sacks’ prediction sounds a bit, well, optimistic. 

According to the Pew survey, only 11 percent of Jews in America identify as Orthodox, and only 3 percent as Modern Orthodox. In other words, Sacks is predicting that a minority within a sliver of American Judaism may hold, within 25 years, the mantle of influence.

A second Pew analysis, however, shows that Orthodoxy is gaining ground on Conservative and Reform Jewry — very quickly. Twenty-seven percent of Jews younger than 18 live in Orthodox homes, and as sociologist Steven M. Cohen told the Forward in November, “Every year, the Orthodox population has been adding 5,000 Jews,” while the non-Orthodox has been losing 10,000.

Therefore, Sacks calls upon the Orthodox movement to prepare as if it will soon inherit American Judaism’s mantle, so that its members will know how to lead on a mass scale and not just in yeshivas or at Shabbat morning sermons.

“The non-Orthodox Jewish world always had a strong sense of tikkun olam [repairing the world],” Sacks told me. “What I’ve tried to show is we in the Orthodox world can have that sense as well.”

“We’ve got a technical glitch”

Mesopotamian cuneiform, Chinese ideograms, Linear B — Sacks was more philosopher than rabbi as he delivered a short keynote address at Harkham Hillel’s gala at the Universal City Hilton, offering a call to Orthodoxy’s leadership to use technology to reach as wide an audience as possible, and to make learning more interesting for Jewish children.

Today, he said, we are living through an information revolution, inaugurated by “Steve Jobs [coming] down the mountain with the two tablets, the iPad and the iPad Mini.”

In fact, he related, on the morning the iPad was released, Jan. 27, 2010, Sacks walked into his London office and told one of his assistants, “This is the game changer.”

When sitting with me, Sacks asked if I could wait a moment as he showed off some of his favorite Jewish iPad apps. “I hear God knocking at our door saying, ‘Use Me. Use this gift that I have given you to spread My message,’ ” Sacks said

“Let’s have a look at this week’s parsha [Torah portion],” he said as he played with an app that serves as a type of Wikipedia for Jewish texts. “Touch that, here are the mefarshim [Torah commentaries].”

And then, Orthodoxy’s challenge stared us in the face.

The app froze. 

“We’ve got a technical glitch,” Sacks said humorously, referring to his app — or was he speaking about the Orthodox movement? 

“It took a long time for Orthodox Jews to be able to develop the techniques and the skills,” Sacks said. “We just haven’t had enough time, to be honest with you, to develop the real resources for the Web and the iPad.”

And beyond creating operational iPad apps, Sacks wants Orthodox Jews to act more like, well, him — using mass media to communicate.

Of course, in America, the decentralized nature of Judaism — there is no chief rabbi — makes it difficult for any one person to spread his religious ideology. That’s why Sacks believes observant Jews should work with Hollywood.

“I would so love to see a film not just about how Jews died, but how Jews live, and I’m afraid I haven’t seen enough of those,” Sacks said, a message that recurred in several of his Los Angeles appearances. 

Speaking at YINBH, he even let the audience in on one of his script ideas — a film on the life of Jewish philanthropist Anne Heyman — and said, only half-jokingly, that he would love to see someone in the room help turn his idea into a film.

Less power, more influence

As he adjusts to a career in which he no longer has the power of chief rabbi, he seems to believe his new role may allow him more influence. 

Perhaps that is why issues of leadership seem to make its way into most of his work these days.

Every week, Jews across the world receive an e-mail from his office titled “Covenant & Conversation” containing his weekly essay on the Torah, written in English but also translated into Hebrew and Portuguese.

In it, he weaves together biblical narrative with a historical, philosophical and scientific framework — Oxford meets Yeshiva University. This year, he decided, each essay will center around one theme — leadership. 

In Britain, Sacks showed that to influence a society, leaders must work with the followers they are given, and not compromise on core principles for the sake of adding fans. 

In America, he suggested that a window of opportunity is opening up — a window that will allow America’s Modern Orthodox movement to inject Torah values into mainstream American culture, as he has tried to do in Britain. 

And whether the predicted Orthodox ascent comes to pass, and whether Sacks’ insistence on preparation for leadership pays off, he is giving something to American Orthodox Jewry, something that perhaps no one else can deliver quite as well — a clear, passionate and hopeful 25-year advance warning. 

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks spends a weekend in L.A. envisioning the Jewish future Read More »

Q&A with Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Jewish Journal: What are you able to do differently now that you are no longer Chief Rabbi?

Rabbi Sacks: My first passion has always been teaching and rabbi means, “my teacher,” and although I did a fair amount of teaching as Chief Rabbi I didn’t have the chance to really focus on it. I think the first and most important thing is to be able to teach. We have not gotten there yet but I hope one day I will have a little more time for writing because I’ve written 25 books so far but the list of books I have still to write, which I’ve carried around in my head for many years is many more than 25. I haven’t even gotten halfway yet.

JJ: What do you see as your role both to the Jewish world and the non-Jewish world?

Sacks: First, as the Jewish people are concerned I repeat, I just hope to be a teacher. Anyone who has had the privilege as I had of leading a community for 22 years has to set as his or her main priority to raise up a generation of successors. So the most important thing that I’ve set myself to do is to try and inspire young Jews to become leaders. That’s what I’m doing here; it’s what I’m doing wherever I travel. I’ve said many times, for many years, that my decisive encounter was with the Lubavitcher Rebbe. And I said about that encounter, “A good leader creates followers, but a great leader creates leaders.” My great ambition was simply to travel as far as I could and encourage young people to lead. I once called Judaism “God’s call to responsibility.” What I’m really saying to young Jews is, “Don’t complain about the Jewish world. Go and make the Jewish world.”

JJDo you have any thoughts on followers? Every leader needs people to follow.

Sacks: I’ve been very touched by the extent to which Jews I’ve met in America and in fact around the world have been reading [my work]…the kind of letters and emails they send, the kind of thanks that they give is just incredibly humbling. I just feel that there a lot of people out there who welcome the chance to sit and learn together about what it is to face the challenges of our time through the Torah. And I just find this big audience for that. It’s not a massive audience. But it is an audience of people who think hard.

JJ: Any thoughts on Orthodoxy’s tendency to remain insular?

Sacks: One of the many things I tried to do and, indeed, my late predecessor, Lord Jakobovits also did was to bring the Jewish voice into the public domain. And when you do that people really appreciate it. Whether they agree with you or they don’t, they like the fact that we are joining the conversation. And a lot of non-Jews say, “You know what? Judaism makes sense to me.” It doesn’t mean they are about to become Jewish but they feel reinforced by the knowledge that we are fighting for the same things as they are. And I’d love to see that happen in the States as well. One of the things we did a couple of weeks ago together with Yeshiva University was we had 500 kids who were doing what they called the Model United Nations. I was in a room with 500 kids around 18 years old…all of whom want to play a leadership role, and all of them feel very engaged with the big wider social issues of the day. So I’m getting the feeling that Orthodoxy is developing that sensitivity.

JJ: What should be the goal of Orthodox Jewry when engaging with non-Orthodox Jewry?

Sacks: I think the goal of Orthodox Jews should be to welcome every other Jew in love and respect. I think the rest either follows or it doesn’t follow as a consequence. I just think that anyone who takes a stand on being Jewish, who makes sacrifices for Judaism and the Jewish people is worthy of our respect. As for all other matters, I leave that to God. He does that so much better than we do.

JJ: It sounds like you believe that Orthodox Jews are inheriting the mantle in the U.S. of representing Judaism. If you agree with that, how can the Orthodox prepare for that role?

Sacks: You had sequences of immigration to the States. You had, essentially, the Sephardic Jews who came over, ultimately from Spain, in 1655 and thereafter. And then you had Jews, mainly from Germany, who came in the 1820’s. Little by little those communities kind of married out and assimilated. Orthodoxy found itself in the minority in the United States. There are only two places really where that was true. The United States and Israel. It’s one of the great ironies that America was predominantly non-Orthodox and Israel predominantly secular. So it took a long time for Orthodox Jews to be able to develop the techniques and the skills…to allow them to hold their own. Now, with the Pew report, it has become really clear that Orthodoxy is the only element of the Jewish people in America that’s growing. I’ve really been encouraging, as you noticed, throughout the weekend, Orthodox Jews to begin to look outward…They have been very focused inward, “How do I keep my kids frum [observant]?” And that was the challenge of the previous generation. The challenge of the next generation: “How am I going to get my kids to lead?” And that means looking a bit more broadly outward. Facing the challenges of the world.

JJ: Do you believe that religious Jews should disseminate the message of the Torah through any medium possible?

Sacks: Every new form of communication or information technology, whenever it appears, I hear kol dodi dofek [listen, my beloved knocks]. I hear God knocking at our door saying, “Use me. Use this gift that I have given you to spread my message.”…I came into the office the morning after the 27th of January 2010 when Steve Jobs launched the iPad. We all knew that the iPad wasn’t a massive technological breakthrough. It’s basically a big iPhone. But I came into the office, I said, “I have seen the face of the future.” This is the game changer. We just haven’t had enough time, to be honest with you, to develop the real resources for the Web and the iPad.

JJ: Is the Orthodox world coming around?

Sacks: I hope it is. I don’t mind whether it is or it isn’t. If we have to lead the way, we’ll lead the way. T.S Eliot wrote a poem called, “The Waste Land.”…There’s the poem, right? [Using an iPad app] You want all the commentaries to the poem, mikraos gedolot [great scriptures], right? You’ve got all the commentaries. You want to see the original manuscript with the notes of Ezra Pound. Can you see? But what is magic about this, what is absolute magic is 34 videos from the greats in the world telling you about “The Waste Land.”

[Related:  Q&A with Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks Read More »

Intel Israel president rallies momentum

Israel’s tech sector just might be resting on its laurels. 

Shmuel Eden, president of Intel Israel and senior vice president of Intel Corp., said that Israel’s reputation as a start-up nation has caused Israeli innovators, who think their work is done now that Israel is internationally recognized as a leader in cutting-edge innovation, to feel complacent. 

This attitude is dangerous for Israel’s economy, Eden said, speaking at a parlor event in Bel Air on Feb. 19.

The program, which was organized by the Southern California chapter of the American Technion Society (ATS), featured the Israeli business leader giving a keynote on “The Cornerstone of the Start-Up Nation.”

During the 60-minute talk, Eden emphasized that Israel needs to continue to be daring if the country plans to keep up — especially given that globalization has leveled the playing field so much and made it easier for outsiders to steal ideas.

 “The competition is scary, and you cannot keep anything for yourself,” he said.

Eden is an alumnus of the Technion-Israel Institute of Technology in Haifa, and his son currently goes to school there. As the head of Intel Israel, he is responsible for overseeing all of Intel Israel’s operations and strategies. He began working for the company in 1982. 

Many in the crowd — which  numbered more than a hundred — were dressed in suits and ties. Not Eden. Known as “Mooly” and boasting an Israeli accent, he wore a backward Kangol cap, a black blazer, black T-shirt and black slacks. The microphone-equipped headpiece he used, coupled with the film director’s chair he sat in during introductory remarks, completed the post-modern artist look.

A resident of Israel, he was in Los Angeles as part of a speaking tour that included a stop in Santa Clarita and was arranged by Peretz Levie, president of Technion. The idea was that Eden would educate the Diaspora about the school’s accomplishments and, in so doing, increase awareness for a school in need of funds. (ATS, which has chapters all around the country, helps raise donations for the Technion.)

The event took place at the home of Hayley and Michael Miller, who are supporters of ATS. Eden appeared before an audience including current supporters of the Israeli institution and people interested in learning more about the university.

Lindsay Conner, an entertainment attorney and husband of ATS Southern California Chapter President Rena Conner, told the Journal that the evening was a “friend-
raising event.” It was free and by invitation only.

And it just may have accomplished its mission. Speaking as the Millers’ living room was emptying out, Jennifer Sternberg, 46, said that Eden’s lecture had impressed upon her the importance of American-Jewish support for the institution.

Attendees enjoyed a pre-keynote cocktail hour in the backyard. Additional speakers at the event included David Siegel, the consul general of Israel in Los Angeles; Rena Conner; and Miller, a board member of ATS Southern California.

Intel Israel president rallies momentum Read More »

L.A. youth become Israel’s brave lone soldiers

“I want to give back, not just sit back,” Samuel “Shimmy” Kandel said. The 19-year-old Angeleno was explaining in a phone interview why he decided to interrupt his studies at Santa Monica College to serve as an American volunteer in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF).

Danny Rubin and Ari Platt, both 24, became friends at Yeshiva University High School of Los Angeles (YULA). Both went on to serve with the IDF’s elite Givati Brigade between 2009 and 2011, after which Platt extended his term for a year to attend officers’ school. Platt is now a pre-med student at Columbia University.

Each year, some 5,000 young men and women like these three come to Israel from about 120 countries — most of them from the United States — to serve in Israel’s armed forces, leaving behind their families and friends for one to two years, sometimes more.

In Israel, these enlistees are known by the somewhat odd designation of “Lone Soldiers,” to indicate, according to the IDF Web site
ldplatt@gmail.com.

L.A. youth become Israel’s brave lone soldiers Read More »

Survivor: Fred Wolf

At 5 a.m. on Nov. 9, 1938, Manfred (Fred) Wolf was awakened by loud banging on the front door of their home in Merl an der Mosel, Germany. He looked out his upstairs window to see two Brownshirts, members of a Nazi militia, standing below with bayoneted guns. “Ed Wolf, you have to come out,” they shouted to Fred’s father. Fred, then 14, watched as his father exited the house and was led away. Fred asked his stepmother what she wanted him to do. “Manfred, there’s nothing you can do. Go to school,” she answered. 

Fred was born on July 15, 1924, in Merl an der Mosel to Ed and Rika Frankel Wolf. Fred’s family lived in a three-story house with his paternal grandmother; the family business, a men’s clothing store where Ed was a salesman, occupied the first floor. 

One of only two Jewish families in Merl, the Wolfs were observant, though only Fred’s grandmother was strictly Orthodox. 

The family interacted mostly amicably with the 1,500 residents of their town until 1933, when Hitler came to power. Fred remembers Nazis marching through the streets singing anti-Semitic songs, always stopping in front of their house. 

One day in 1935, Fred’s mother was reading the newspaper next to an open stove when her skirt caught fire. She was hospitalized with burns covering more than 85 percent of her body.  Several weeks later, on a Shabbat morning, Fred woke up to screaming and crying. His father told him that his mother had died. Fred hugged his father and said, “I still have you.” He was 11 years old.

After a year, Ed remarried, to a woman named Johanna Levy. “I liked her very much,” Fred recalled.

Bicycling home from school in Zell, the next town over, on Nov. 9, 1938, Fred was stopped by some school chums. “Manfred, don’t go home. Something terrible will happen to you,” they warned. Fred returned to Zell; he waited until dark and walked home.

The house was pitch-black and in shambles. “Every step I walked was full of glass,” Fred remembered. His stepmother came downstairs and hugged him. That night became known as the notorious Kristallnacht. 

Fred and his stepmother later learned that Ed had been taken to Dachau, but he was released after five weeks. At his father’s urging, Fred traveled to Cologne, where he joined a kibbutz, or camp, that was part of the Zionist youth movement’s Hakhshara (preparation) program to give young people the agricultural and technical skills necessary for immigration to Palestine. There, Fred learned to be a machinist.

When the kibbutz closed several months later, Fred left for another kibbutz in Schniebinchen, where he cut down trees. The Schniebinchen group then moved to a farm, where they harvested potatoes and sugar beets.

In the summer of 1939, the entire group was sent to a labor camp in Paderborn, where they worked for the city — cleaning streets, shoveling dirt from the sewers and even making marmalade. “We were treated well,” Fred said.

Fred was still in Paderborn in 1942, when he received a telephone call from his father, who was living in Cologne. “We will be evacuated within the next four or five days. Do you want to come with us?” Ed asked. Fred knew what this meant. “Papa, I think I can help you from here wherever you go,” he said, wanting to be kind. That was the last time he spoke to his parents. He was 18. 

In March 1943, Fred’s group was evacuated to Bielefeld, then sent in open boxcars to
Auschwitz, arriving at night.

Raus, raus,” the guards shouted. “Out, out.” Fred came face to face with a German officer wearing polished blacks boots and carrying a horsewhip. “How old are you?” the officer asked. “Eighteen,” Fred answered, clicking his heels. The officer, who Fred later learned was Dr. Josef Mengele, ascertained he could work and permitted him to stay.

Loaded onto a military truck with other young men, Fred gazed at the stars. “God, what did I do?” he asked himself. “I’m a Jew. That’s all.”

The prisoners were brought to Buna or Auschwitz III, a subcamp of Auschwitz, which, in November 1943, became a full-fledged concentration camp. As they were being processed, the SS ordered them to hand over any jewelry. Fred took the watch his grandmother had given him for his bar mitzvah and smashed it against a washbasin. 

One day soon after arriving, Fred was ordered to stay behind when others went off to work, to clean the barracks. Two prisoners with black triangles on their uniforms suddenly approached him. “Put your pants down. Bend over,” one said.  He held Fred’s head while the other prisoner raped him. 

Fred worked as an electrician in the IG Farben factory, working among non-Jewish Poles who hated him. 

In his next kommando (detail) assignment, he had to run up a plank to a train car, bend over for kapos to place a 50-kilo (110 pounds) sack of cement on his back and run down the plank. At the end of the first 12-hour day, completely dispirited, he purposefully injured his eye by looking into a welder’s flame and went to the infirmary. But he left when a friend warned that the SS would take him. 

Outside, standing alone, he began to cry.  A Polish-Jewish kapo, Harry Naftaniel, befriended him.

Harry suggested Fred volunteer for a roofing kommando. He, Harry and others were taken to Sosnowitz, a subcamp of Auschwitz, where they repaired the roofs of three barracks. Fred then worked in a factory assembling anti-aircraft guns.

In January 1945, as Soviet troops approached, they were forced to join a death march, sleeping at night in the snow. Near the Czechoslovakian border, the Nazis loaded them into cattle cars and took them to Mauthausen. 

When they arrived, Fred was given a pair of shoes. When he put them on, one shoe bothered him, and when he took it off, the heel fell off to reveal a hidden cache of diamonds and gold pieces. Fred’s friend Harry took the jewelry to an SS officer, who, in exchange, gave him salami, bread and cheese, which the men shared.

From Mauthausen, Fred was taken by boxcar to another camp, where he worked in an underground cave on the fuselages of Messerschmitt Me 262s. 

There, Fred was mistakenly given a uniform with a red triangle, which marked him as a communist. “How come you have this triangle?” a kapo asked, ordering 25 lashes. When Fred returned to the barracks, the head kapo ordered another 25 lashes; Fred passed out. 

From Mauthausen, the prisoners were marched to Gunskirchen, a small, overcrowded subcamp in Upper Austria. American troops liberated the camp on May 4, 1945. 

Eventually, with the help of the Haganah, Fred made his way to Genoa, Italy, where he boarded an illegal ship to Haifa and later reconnected with his Uncle Max, his father’s youngest brother. Fred fought in Israel’s War of Independence. 

By 1951, Fred returned to Germany to determine if ownership of the family’s house in Merl, which his father had been forced to give to the town’s most powerful Nazi, could be restored. He was not successful. But while in Cologne, he met Sonya Berger, and six months later they were married. In January 1953, their daughter, Rita, was born. 

In April 1954, sponsored by a family from their synagogue in Zell who was then living in Erie, Penn., Fred and Sonya immigrated to the United States. They also settled in Erie, where their son, Eddie, was born in July 1955. 

A year later, searching for more economic opportunities, they moved to Los Angeles, where a cousin of Fred’s lived. Fred worked for several aerospace companies and then owned and ran the Cork and Bottle liquor store in Venice for 30 years, selling the business in 1993 after Sonya died. In 2001, Fred got a job as a bagger for Gelson’s in Pacific Palisades, retiring in March 2013.
Fred met Calia Mintzer at a Culver City Senior Center dance in 2002, and they married in January 2010. She has four daughters, eight grandchildren and five great-children. Fred has three grandchildren. 

Throughout the years, Fred has spoken to school groups and individuals about his Holocaust experiences. Today, at 89, he continues to tell his story. 

“I hope people will understand what we had to go through with those God-damned Nazis,” he said.

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Time is of the essence in ‘Zol Zayn’ exhibition

“Alot of the way I work is by creating so much desire to see something that you actually project that into the space,” Jonas N.T. Becker said on a recent morning at the Shulamit Gallery in Venice. She’d just finished giving a tour of her new exhibition, “Zol Zayn” (“What If”), and was relaxing on one of those extremely expensive couches that looks like a sculpture and seems incapable of being cozy, yet magically is. In Becker’s case, such a couch provides a double sort of comfort, as she loves living and working among ironies and paradoxes. Her comfort is evident in her newest exhibition, a response to apocalyptic visions in Judaism, which leads visitors on a video journey through a world at the edge of forever.

Becker, who was born in West Virginia, started out shooting fashion and did so through her mid-20s, before discovering her love of video art. “Zol Zayn” is centered around four video installations — “End(s) of the World,” “Prodigal Sun,” “Almost Always” and “The Pile.” The works make use of four very different styles of filming and use sound to create four unique visions of what time — and, most appropriately, the end of time — really means.

“In most of the works, what I was interested in was either a balance or a cycle,” Becker said. “For Jews, thinking about the end of the world is really about the here and now, and thinking about how to make the here and now a better place in preparation.”

For “End(s) of the World,” Becker and 31 collaborators shot video at locations across the globe that have been called “the end of the world” at one time or another. The video features no people, merely shots of the vistas, some notably grander than others. Although, as Becker tells it, the piece that seems so empty of humanity is anything but. “In a weird way, I still consider my work to be all portraiture … the absent character is always the subject.”

There’s no such absent character in “Almost Always,” a series of stitched-together videos from New Year’s Eve celebrations in 2012. People abound, cheering, screaming, singing, but each video cuts off right as midnight is about to strike, jumping to another clip and locking the viewer in an endless cycle of build-ups to a new year that never comes. “We’re all expected to jump for joy the minute the clock hits midnight, but for most people it’s one of the most anxiety-producing evenings of the whole year,” Becker said. “That’s the part that’s interesting to me.”

“Prodigal Sun” is perhaps the most high-concept of the videos; it features video shot directly into the sun juxtaposed with images from a European circus performance. The sun continues to eat up more and more of the space on the screen until, by the end of the piece, the film is literally burning.

The most ambitious work here is “The Pile.” When entering the gallery, visitors encounter a stack of red felt objects that reaches nearly to the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, the objects reveal the desires of 1,000 people who participated in an earlier exercise, in which Becker asked people to write down what thing would most make their life better, then insert their writings in a box. Becker’s mother and a couple of friends stitched together the felt symbols representing those desires — a house representing the security of home, a caduceus representing affordable health care.

The physical pile is paired with a stark video shot entirely by Becker over the course of a year at her family’s farm. Her mother is shown sitting in a cornfield, stitching the felt symbols together, and as the video progresses, the seasons change around her, the field’s crop grows, and then withers and dies away. In many ways, this is the most menacing of the videos in the exhibition, featuring subsonic sounds that rumble as the pile appears on screen.  

“I’m really interested in the relationship between the two-dimensional and the three-dimensional,” Becker said of the piece. “What does it do to have this big red pile? Is it evidence? Is it a new creation? Which is the genesis, like chicken and egg?

“When you have that, you are able to create a conversation between what you’re seeing and experiencing and a memory of that experience, or a projection of that experience.

“I very much ride the line between the optimist and pessimist,” she said. The works are as utopic as they are dystopic.

“One of the things that I love about the pieces is that they do allow you to sort of unpack them further and further,” Becker said, explaining that, in many ways, the work is about “how we package time.”

Nowhere is this more clear than in “Almost Always,” her New Year’s exploration, which projects onto a ball that hangs from the ceiling of a dark room. “I think a lot about climax and gratification in terms of being a narrative, and that piece never gives you that.”

And while Becker’s pieces don’t offer easy answers, they do provide quite a bit of thought-provoking material. “A lot of the way I work is by creating so much desire to see something that you actually project that into the space,” she said. “There’s always going to be one more desire.”

“Zol Zayn” runs through March 8 at the Shulamit Gallery. For more information, visit shulamitgallery.com/events.

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