July 29, 2021

Twenty-five years ago, while watching the 1996 Summer Olympic Games on television, I got into a fight with my mother.

“That poor girl needs to go to the hospital!” my mother yelled as she watched American gymnast Kerri Strug collapse during a vault jump. We weren’t in Atlanta, but even we could see that Strug had hurt her ankle. No one could land the way she did without sustaining a major injury.

“No!” I shouted with the misguided zeal of a child who had an overdeveloped sense of achievement, “She needs to finish! America has to win the gold medal!”

“Would you keep going if you broke your foot like that on the playground with your friends?” my mother asked.

“I would break my foot just to have some more friends!” I snorted. In my defense, it had taken a few years for me to really trust the American kids, especially the beautiful, blonde ones. “Just one more vault!” I yelled.

That second vault, as it turned out, won the U.S. women’s gymnastics team (“The Magnificent Seven,” as they were called) its first gold medal in history. It also ended Strug’s career at the age of 18, forcing her to retire.

In hindsight, my mother was right. I couldn’t feel Strug’s pain; all I could smell was the redeeming aroma of a gold medal just minutes within reach. It reminded me of every classroom pop quiz and playground race I felt I had to “win” in order to not let others down.

But my mother, being a mother, watched only the screen and saw a child in agony.

Few Americans that summer could forget the seemingly heroic sight of coach Bela Karolyi, who encouraged Strug to keep going, and then, after she performed, carried her off the mat (and toward now-convicted doctor Larry Nassar). Strug later said regarding the injury that she actually heard her ankle pop when she landed.

Since learning that four-time Olympic gold medalist Simone Biles, considered by many to be the GOAT (“Greatest of All Time”), withdrew from multiple gymnastic competitions in the Tokyo Olympic Games this week, I found myself thinking a lot about that moment in Atlanta, when Strug was touted as a national hero.

Of course, she was a hero. She was also never able to get atop a vault again.

In addition to the physical and emotional pain (not to mention her long road to recovery), it seems that Strug was, in one way or another, forced to mortgage her future. One can only imagine what brilliance she would have displayed at the 2000 and 2004 Olympic games.

I now wonder whether I would forever sacrifice my ability to do something I truly loved, if it meant getting the highest prize and taking one for the team. It’s a more difficult question than it seems. A fool would argue that bones break, but gold lasts forever. But is anything worth that kind of sacrifice?

A fool would argue that bones break, but gold lasts forever. But is anything worth that kind of sacrifice?

There have been many inevitable comparisons between Strug and Biles this week. Most of us know about (or have Googled) Strug’s Olympics performance, but few know what transpired minutes before Strug took to the vault: Then-fourteen-year-old American gymnast Dominique Moceanu fell during her landing on the first vault (enduring a tibial stress fracture); she again fell during the landing of the second vault (Why was she even forced to get back on the vault? She should have been getting a cervical spine exam).

When Moceanu fell, a collective gasp descended over the crowd. Karolyi and the American team were demoralized, which had them hoping for salvation from the next competitor: Strug. The pressure to perform and succeed was now greater than ever. Even the announcer declared, “Keri Strug. It is up to her.”

But Strug stumbled during her first vault landing and limped off of the mat. In a 2013 video called “My Olympic Moment,” she admits to thinking the following seconds after her injury: “Whatever is in my ankle is just gonna go away. It has to. This is the Olympics.” She turned to Karolyi, who famously affirmed again and again, “You can do it!”

Strug had only one more chance to bring her team to gold, and so she walked back up to the vault. The moment she landed on that injured ankle again is agonizing to watch. She managed to pull herself off of the mat with her knees (a heartbreaking sight), and the announcer ominously said, “Keri Strug is hurt.” But the audience seemed too bewildered with thunderous applause to even notice. If it had been me, I would have shouted expletives, sobbed and screamed again. But I am human, not an Olympic gymnast.

Strug was quickly bandaged up, but if you watch closely, you’ll see that she is the only American to stand on the podium without any pants. I don’t know whether the pants would have fit over her bandages, but someone must have been in such a rush to send Strug up to that podium that she wasn’t even afforded the dignity of pants. To me, that’s the ultimate metaphor for how the Olympics unintentionally put medals ahead of humans (and, in some cases, women).

That’s the problem when we don’t see people, but performers. Elena Mukhina, the 1978 women’s gymnastics world champion, broke her leg before the 1980 Olympics, but her Russian coaches told her to keep training. During one practice, her weak leg couldn’t withstand the dangerous Thomas Salto artistic move (which is now banned), and she landed on her chin, breaking her neck. She became a quadraplegic at age 20, and died at 46.

I’m not likening Biles to Mukhina. But in stepping aside and choosing her mental health, Biles may have done us all a favor.

Who, especially in the last seventeen months of a soul-crushing pandemic, hasn’t thought of stepping aside or walking away? I know young mothers who temporarily hide in closets; children who stay beneath the covers lest there’s another Zoom-based instruction session; fathers who wear thick headphones and pray for five minutes of quiet; and workers who hold their tongues and look the other way as they’re verbally abused, yet again, by customers who won’t comply with requests to wear masks.

Yes, there are some who have criticized Biles, but they’re outliers. In fact, the generally warm (and self-identifying) way with which most of us have received Biles is a signal of the times: Imagine if Biles had competed during the Cold War and withdrawn; she would have been booed upon her return to the airport and accused of handing the gold medal to the Russians. I don’t even think Biles would have received such encouragement and compassion 25 years ago (one can only imagine how much Strug would have been criticized if she’d walked away after the first vault).

But that’s precisely why Biles is receiving so much support from former gymnasts around the world. If anyone gets it, it’s them, and not us. In fact, many of us are guilty of staying up late to watch the Olympics, and then cursing at the screen when our team doesn’t win a medal. I know one friend who woke up in the middle of the night to watch the games, then shouted at losing athletes on the screen, “I woke up at 4. a.m. for you!”

But that’s precisely why Biles is receiving so much support from former gymnasts around the world. If anyone gets it, it’s them, and not us.

Biles’ predicament has made me realize that I never want to be called the “Greatest of all Time” with regard to anything (unless it’s haggling at a bazaar—a skill I mastered in Iran before the age of 5). I think I’d be perfectly happy being called “Sporadically Above Average.”

In fact, I mean no disparagement in saying that, from now on, whenever I choose my precious mental health first, I will gratefully acknowledge having “pulled a Simone Biles.”

Tabby Refael is a Los Angeles-based writer, speaker and civic action activist. Follow her on Twitter @RefaelTabby

I remember my first long flight to Israel as a five-year-old-girl piled on top of my siblings, just trying to sleep through it all. My parents’ great desire was to instill in us a deep, passionate connection to the land. Since then, I’ve had many memorable trips to the Holy Land. As I reflect on these trips, I realize that my parents ignited the spark for my connection to Israel, but my year in Israel kindled a flame.

In February 2020, I planned to graduate high school and go straight to Washington University in St. Louis. I was excited to be on my own and experience real independence for the first time. Then my plans imploded. COVID-19 emerged and the world turned upside down. I had the choice to start college online or do a gap year in Israel, where I would attend a seminary along with other Jewish students my age.

I had experienced everything Israel has to offer, I thought. Why did I need to go back? On the other hand, Israel was the easier option, so it’s the one I chose. I didn’t realize that Israel would have its own obstacles and surprises to share with me.

As I boarded the flight to Tel Aviv, I was filled with anxiety and uncertainty. I cried the entire way from Los Angeles to New York. When I arrived, I called my Abba and told him to “call it off,” but he told me to keep going. I was leaving my LA friends, my family, the beautiful beach sunsets, and for what?

At the luggage claim in Tel Aviv, I instantly bonded with my first friend. She offered to help me with my bags and I knew she was going to be my best friend. Immediately, the seminary students were loaded onto busses and driven to Kibbutz Almog in the hot Negev. It felt like a fever dream. My first two weeks were spent with strangers in a place where 100-degree heat was considered a cool day. I was desperate to procure simple, fresh vegetables. I called my mom: “SOS! I need food.” The next day, two angels, Yigal and Shifra, arrived bearing the best gifts—10 bags of fresh groceries. My new friends were amazed. I realized only in Israel would someone drive from Hebron to Almog just to deliver groceries to me. Yigal and Shifra opened my heart and eyes to truly see the people of Israel for the first time.

But things were about to get more difficult. When the travelers’ quarantine ended I was not allowed to leave the radius of the room. Trapped in my school, my dreams of doing my own thing evaporated quickly. I couldn’t see friends from home, sit in a restaurant or even go out for shabbat. But the challenge allowed me to bond with the girls at my school in a way I never expected. This created yet another reason for me to stay.

After my five months at seminary, Israel began to roll out its vaccination program. I received my first vaccine, and everything seemed to be looking up until the school had a COVID outbreak. I left campus to quarantine alone in an Old City apartment. Once again, only in Israel, two incredible women took amazing care of me, bringing me lunch, dinner, snacks and activities so I would never feel alone. I was treated like a princess and didn’t want the quarantine to end.

By March, I had already been in Israel for an extremely challenging six months. I realized my view of Israel had changed. As the country began to open, I immediately felt welcomed into the extended Israeli community. Everywhere I went there was an opportunity to celebrate simchas and everyday life. Israel was opening and I was open to new experiences. I tried delicious vegan southern food in Mitzpe Rimon, joined strangers who made me feel I was a part of their shul for a Torah dedication, and, believe it or not (Sorry mom!), I jumped out of an airplane. Yom Ha’Atzmaut was unforgettable. Perched on a rooftop (thank you Eli Beer) in Tel Aviv I watched with pride as a military formation flew overhead. I felt like a part of Am Yisroel, filled with energy, optimism and love of the land.

I felt like a part of Am Yisroel, filled with energy, optimism and love of the land.

But just as I started to feel a sense of normalcy, the ground started shifting again. The mood in the country changed abruptly. The Meron tragedy on Lag BaOmer plummeted the entire nation into acute pain and turmoil. I attended the funeral of Donny Morris, a boy my age and someone I had never met. I stood with over a thousand Jews mourning together as a community. This experience changed me forever. I had never heard euologies like the ones spoken in his memory. How is it possible that someone so young could make such an impact? All of the people of Israel came together to mourn Donny, and the lessons they learned from the euologies opened their hearts.

Sadly, as the community was beginning to heal from the Meron tragedy, the country once again was under siege. I was dancing, singing, celebrating and waving flags with thousands of people at the Yom Yerushalayim parade. Suddenly, the sirens sounded and the parade paused. We ducked to the ground and covered our heads from incoming rockets. I felt exposed and vulnerable but I knew the Iron Dome was protecting me. I had a clash of emotions. The sirens stopped, people stood up and continued the celebration onto the Rova with quintessential Israeli resilience.

With the war now a full blown reality, my parents wanted me to come home. I packed up eight months of my life in two days. I didn’t have time to say a proper goodbye to my friends. The war was raging and my parents were concerned. I was booked on an El Al flight for the next day not knowing if it was even going to take off with what was happening in the country.

Once at Ben Gurion, my flight was repeatedly delayed. Finally they announced permission to board. I stood in line, feeling confident that I would finally be going home. Suddenly, people who had already boarded were running toward me. Outside the airport window, I saw flashing lights and rockets flying overhead. The red alarm blared, and I rushed to a bomb shelter. This LA girl was in the middle of a war.

Strangers in the bomb shelter came together as a community, comforting and taking care of one another. We were strangers, but we took care of one another.

Finally, we were released from the bomb shelter and within 40 minutes we were in the sky. Ten hours into the flight, the pilot announced that all the luggage had been left behind because shrapnel damage on the original runway required them to use a shorter runway. They had to unload all of the luggage at the last minute for lift off.

I flew to Israel crying and filled with uncertainty. I returned with deep emotions and gratitude for my experience. As I reflect on my year, I can say wholeheartedly that I wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way. I learned so much about myself, Israel and my personal resilience. I went in feeling alone and scared, without friends or family, but I left with the strength of an entire community by my side. I now know why I was there.

Sonya Kest lives in Los Angeles. She graduated from Yula girls high school in 2020 and will be attending Washington University in St. Louis this August. 

Heschel HaLevi was born in the city of Trier on April 15, 1777. His father and grandfather had served as the local rabbi, and his older brother Samuel would eventually become the rabbi as well. When Heschel married in 1814, he married the granddaughter of a rabbi, Henriette Pressburg.

Heschel trained as a lawyer. But when Napoleon was defeated in 1815, Jewish rights were rolled back, and Jews in Prussia could no longer practice law. Heschel appealed and asked for an exemption, but to no avail.

Finally, Heschel took the step of converting to the Lutheran church in order to preserve his career, and changed his name to Heinrich Marx. A few years later, he converted his wife and his children, including a precocious son by the name of Karl.

It may seem extraordinary to us now that the son of a rabbi would convert so readily. But Heinrich Marx was not exceptional. The German-Jewish historian Heinrich Graetz estimated that about 50% of Berlin Jews in the late-18th and early-19th century converted (although others dispute this figure). Many of these Jewish converts to Christianity did not see conversion as a betrayal of their roots, and remained connected to the Jewish community. Heinrich Marx would continue to maintain warm relations with his brother Samuel, the Rabbi of Trier, and with the members of the Trier Jewish community. To Heschel HaLevi, accepting Christianity was simply a stepping stone to his success and the success of his children.

Indeed, what motivated the turn of the century conversions was not persecution; it was success. Despite prejudicial laws, Jews at the time were far more prominent than before, and had celebrated achievements. But they wanted more. Deborah Hertz in “How Jews Became Germans: The History of Conversion and Assimilation in Berlin” writes that many of the Jewish converts saw conversion to Christianity as an act of personal and cultural emancipation; they were not embracing Christianity, but rather the idea of being fully German. One of the more famous converts, Heinrich Heine, quipped that a conversion to Christianity was “a ticket of admission to European culture.” Upwardly mobile German Jews were already successful; but conversion gave them the possibility of entering exclusive circles and professions. By converting to Christianity they could realize their bourgeois dreams.

What happened in Berlin at the turn of the 19th century is a preview of the next 250 years. Jews in the Middle Ages had to struggle with hatred and antisemitism; they may have achieved material success, but were always outsiders, subject to official and unofficial discrimination. But in the contemporary era, Jews have achieved equal rights and integrated into the mainstream; and now, in the United States and elsewhere, Jews are full members of society. But this has not brought to American Jews a golden age of Judaism; on the contrary, it has increased assimilation.

The correlation between Jewish rights and assimilation raises a difficult question: what happens when we are no longer hated? Critics of Judaism have argued that Jews may very well disappear without antisemitism. Baruch Spinoza wrote that the Jews managed to retain their identity in exile only because of antisemitism. “As to their continuance so long after dispersion and the loss of empire,” he wrote, “there is nothing marvellous in it, for they so separated themselves from every other nation as to draw down upon themselves universal hate … that they have been preserved in great measure by Gentile hatred, experience demonstrates.” This theory sees Jewish identity as a reaction, a refusal to bow to the harshness of antisemitism; and without antisemitism, the Jews would disappear. Based on his theory, less hatred of the Jews should lead to fewer Jews.

Spinoza dismissed the value of Jewish identity, which is why he needed to explain Jewish survival. And a supporter of Spinoza’s theory might feel vindicated by contemporary assimilation, which they might see as the disappearance of a people whose survival was purely an act of defiance.

However, Spinoza’s theory doesn’t account for the fact that assimilation predates exile. The Torah itself predicts assimilation multiple times; in our own Torah reading it says “Beware that you do not forget the Lord your God … lest—when you have eaten and are full, and have built beautiful houses and dwell in them. When your herds and your flocks multiply, and your silver and your gold are multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied; when your heart is lifted up, and you forget the Lord your God …” (Deuteronomy 8:11-14).

The Torah sees decadence as the cause of assimilation; the worship of success gets in the way of the worship of God. Assimilation is not directly caused by a lack of persecution, and even occurred in the Jewish Commonwealth in Biblical times. Rather, it is materialism that impacts Jewish identity. Whenever success is more important than spirituality, and fame and fortune become the ultimate goal of life, Judaism will slowly disappear.

Whenever success is more important than spirituality, and fame and fortune become the ultimate goal of life, Judaism will slowly disappear.

Rabbi Ovadiah Seforno takes this lesson a step further. In his commentary to Deuteronomy 8:2, he says that it is a nisayon, a test of character, to have every material need provided for. Confronting difficult conditions is a nisayon, but so too is the pursuit of happiness; it is easy to lose our soul when we have everything we need. And while Jews have managed to survive centuries of Crusades, inquisitions, massacres and pogroms, we find ourselves unequipped to handle equal opportunity and material success.

In the last two centuries, American Jews have come a long way in overcoming discrimination. They have asserted their rights, and made a point of opening up previously restricted private clubs to Jewish membership. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l  would joke that perhaps that’s the way to fill up empty synagogues: just put up large signs outside synagogues declaring “no Jews allowed,” because contemporary Jews would make certain to get into any restricted institution! Sadly, for too many Jews, getting into the restricted golf club is more important than returning to a neglected synagogue.

Sadly, for too many Jews, getting into the restricted golf club is more important than returning to a neglected synagogue.

Throughout history, Jews have been able to handle adversity; but as of yet, we haven’t figured out how to handle success. We have to reconnect to our mission, remember “that man shall not live by bread alone,” and that our commitment to covenant, community and character is the only way forward.

Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.

The New York University political theorist Bertell Ollman advised his students in the late 1980s to first read the business section of the New York Times, so they will know what happens before the news later appears on the front page as political events.

Plainly put, economics plays a decisive role in political events. This is certainly the case in Germany.

Human rights concerns, the fight to combat Jew-hatred, and Western values have never been front and center in animating Germany’s domestic and foreign policies.

The business of Germany is exports, which explains why an approach aimed at German business is required if one wishes to affect the country’s political superstructure. Working the other way around has proven to be largely futile.

Political leaders in the southwestern state of Baden-Württemberg have shown no desire to end their promotion of BDS and support for the clerical regime in Tehran. To change this state-sponsored antisemitism, the focus needs to be on the international automobile giant Mercedes-Benz, whose headquarters is located in the state’s capital city, Stuttgart.

BDS is an abbreviation for the Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions campaign that targets Israel. According to the resolutions passed by the German and Austrian federal parliaments, BDS is an antisemitic movement.

The state government and city of Stuttgart furnish a bank account, via their near 50% ownership in the Baden-Württembergische Bank (BW-Bank), to an organization devoted to destroying the Jewish state, the pro-BDS Palestine Committee Stuttgart.

Michael Blume, the commissioner tasked with combating antisemitism in Baden-Württemberg, along with the state’s Governor Winifried Kretschmann and Interior Minister Thomas Strobl, have refused to take actions against the BDS account.

In fact, Blume, who has faced accusations over the years of trafficking in antisemitism, liked a Facebook post equating Zionists with Nazis.

Rabbi Abraham Cooper, Associate Dean of the Los Angeles-based Simon Wiesenthal Center, said regarding the BW-Bank: “They should follow the decisions by some of Germany’s most prominent banks to end any relationship with the antisemitic BDS movement. In 2021, everyone knows what BDS’s goal is: The elimination of the Jewish state.”

Blume has also made no effort to encourage Germans not to buy Ben and Jerry’s ice cream due to the company’s BDS activity.

The university city of Freiburg retains its twin city partnership with the Iranian city of Isfahan. The clerical regime in Isfahan holds an annual al-Quds Day rally promoting the destruction of the Jewish state. The eliminatory antisemitism of the authorities in Isfahan has not fazed Blume or municipal leaders in Freiburg.

As for the German automaker, “Leading managers of Daimler-Benz lent valuable assistance to the National Socialists before Hitler became Chancellor in 1933,” Bernard P. Bellon writes in “Mercedes in Peace and War: German Automobile Workers, 1903-1945.”

“The corporation even claimed that it was responsible for ‘helping to motorize the [Nazi] movement.’”

“On a massive scale, Daimler-Benz threw tens of thousands of men and women, including foreign workers and concentration camp inmates, into the battle to produce engines for the German air force,” Bellon writes.

According to the New York Times, “Daimler-Benz used Jewish women from the concentration camps at Ravensbruck and Sachsenhausen as worker-slaves. One group of female inmates working at Daimler-Benz was moved back to Sachsenhausen in the final weeks of the war, apparently to be gassed. They survived to tell the tale when the camp’s gas chamber failed to function.”

In 1944, Mercedes-Benz employed about 46,000 forced laborers, about 15 percent of whom were Jews. In 1988, the company announced it would pay nearly $12 million in compensation (about $260 per employee).

If Mercedez-Benz seeks to internalize the lessons of its role in the obliteration of European Jewry, it can use its leverage to influence change in the recalcitrant positions of its host state’s leaders.

If Mercedez-Benz seeks to internalize the lessons of its role in the obliteration of European Jewry, it can use its leverage to influence change in the recalcitrant positions of its host state’s leaders.

What can the automobile giant do? First, it can announce it will relocate all of its production operations, or some of them, to a German state that does not sponsor BDS and help to mainstream the Iranian regime’s lethal antisemitism against Israel.

Thanks to U.S. sanctions and the efforts of former U.S. Ambassador to Germany Richard Grenell, in 2018 Mercedes-Benz announced a freeze of its operations in Iran.

If Mercedes-Benz decides to remain inactive against the antisemitism and pro-Iranian regime policies of its headquarters state, consumers should take this into account when purchasing cars.

Baden-Württemberg is a dangerous place for Jews to live and has become arguably the most antisemitic state in Germany. Kretschmann, Strobl and Blume remained largely indifferent to the case of Serkan P., who fled to Turkey in June after allegedly torching a synagogue in the city of Ulm. The state authorities failed to notify the federal government, and thereby damaged the chances to apprehend Serkan P., the Stuttgarter Nachrichten paper reported.

Michael Rubin, an Iran expert at the American Enterprise Institute, wrote an article for the National Interest titled “Germany is a bad ally.”

“Since the time of German Foreign Minister Klaus Kinkel, Berlin has consistently allowed the promise of commercial contracts to undermine consensus with regard to Iran’s nuclear program and Iran’s horrendous abuse of human rights,” Rubin wrote.

He continued, “Both [former German Chancellor Gerhard] Schröder and [his successor, Angela] Merkel have consistently turned a blind-eye or even sought to bury intelligence showing Iranian cheating on its nuclear commitments in order to augment Germany’s own commercial relations.”

A WikiLeaks diplomatic dispatch revealed the widespread truth that dare not speak its name, but was cited as a reason for Merkel’s refusal to shut down the Hamburg-based European-Iranian Trade Bank (EIH): “The German business community is very powerful.” This despite the bank being sanctioned by the U.S. for financing the Iranian regime’s illicit nuclear and missile programs.

The key takeaway is that economics takes priority over power politics and the fight should focus on getting German corporations to influence their state and federal governments.

Germany’s government has reversed a few of its pro-Iranian regime policies, but only when the cost-benefit analysis showed that sticking with Tehran would entail greater damage to its economic interests.

The time is long overdue for Mercedes-Benz and other businesses in Baden-Württemberg to pressure state and municipal political leaders to end their support of BDS and Iran’s clerical regime.

Benjamin Weinthal is a fellow at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies. Follow Benjamin on Twitter @BenWeinthal