fbpx

December 1, 2021

Black Eyed Peas Singer Rejects Calls to Boycott Israel

Black Eyed Peas singer will.i.am (real name William James Adams Jr.) rebuffed those calling for the band to boycott Israel.

The Associated Press reported that the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) France website called the November 29 Black Eyed Peas concert in Jerusalem “scandalous” because it was scheduled on the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People and urged people to boycott the concert.

Speaking at a press conference, will.i.am said, “I’m a musician and a tech enthusiast and people like our music. Do I turn my back on people that live here because of politics? No, that’s not the way we were built. So, you know, there’s beautiful people here as well as beautiful people in Palestine. And one day we want to go there too.”

Will.i.am said that he always wanted to go to Israel because a lot of his friends in Los Angeles growing up were Israeli and his grandmother would talk about her experiences visiting Israel with her church; the singer said he cherished the memories he has with his grandmother when they visited Israel together. Will.i.am also lauded the “inspiration” and “talent” in Israel. “The developers here are mind blowing,” he said. “I’m inspired by the community here.”

The Black Eyed Peas went on with their scheduled performance that night.

Jewish groups praised will.i.am.

“Pressing artists to boycott Israel and its cultural offerings does nothing to advance peace and understanding,” the American Jewish Committee tweeted. “Thank you, [will.i.am] and [Black Eyed Peas], for pushing back against pressure from the bigoted BDS Movement and performing in Israel as planned.”

B’nai Brith International also tweeted, “Black Eyed Peas’ @iamwill won’t give into the hateful, anti-Semitic #Israel boycott. The group performed in Jerusalem in spite of BDS’s bullying campaign. As he made clear, he refuses ‘to turn [his] back on people that live here.’ That’s how it should be.”

Black Eyed Peas Singer Rejects Calls to Boycott Israel Read More »

Rosner’s Domain: Is Hebron Above Controversy?

At the Cave of the Patriarchs, President Isaac Herzog made a bold statement. In fact, just his presence was a bold statement. It was Sunday evening, the first night of Hanukkah, and Israel’s President, formerly the head of the Labor movement, decided to pay a visit to our forefathers, in the city of Hebron. “The historical connection of the Jewish people to Hebron, to the Cave of the Patriarchs, to the heritage of mothers and fathers is unquestionable,” he said. “The recognition of this connection should be above all controversy.”

Well, it isn’t. The leftist Meretz party condemned the visit. Peace Now said it was “incomprehensible.” Other left-leaning parties decided to refrain from criticism, but grumbled behind closed doors. And on the right, politicians celebrated as if Herzog just joined the Revisionist movement. 

Herzog is a thoughtful and calculated leader. If he decided to go to Hebron, knowing quite well how this visit would be interpreted by this or that group (and the furious Palestinians), this wasn’t something he just stumbled into by accident. Cynics might say that Herzog is trying to appease the right, thinking about the day after the presidency, in case he wants to return to the political arena. Less cynical observers might say that Herzog is trying to appease the radical right, because he believes that this will make him more effective as president. His predecessor, Reuven Rivlin, lost the support of right wingers fairly early in his term, and never recovered from it. 

The least cynical observers would assume that Herzog was actually doing what he did as a message to the left. He was trying to remind the left, that politics aside, there is history, culture and tradition that must be respected and preserved if the Zionist idea, and the Israeli enterprise, aim to keep thriving. Yes, Hebron is a city with an Arab majority. Yes, it was captured by Israel in the Six Days War. Yes, it’s political future is undecided and much debated. And yet, it is undeniably a component of our history and tradition. An important component. Second to only one place—Jerusalem.

A few years ago, I was testing the ties of Jewish Israelis to different places as part of a study by the Jewish People Policy Institute. This is the proof I have when I say that indeed Hebron is not “above all controversy” as the President wants it to be. The connection of Jewish Israelis to Hebron is relatively weak, our study found. A majority of them said they were “not at all connected” to the place (see graph on the right hand column). The 30% who said they are  “connected” or “highly connected” had a strong Orthodox tilt. “This could mean,” we concluded, “that the stature of conflict-charged places diminishes even when its value from a Jewish historical, cultural, and religious perspective is high.”

Herzog made a decision to battle this diminishing stature of a high-value city. By doing this, he was reminding Israelis what brought them back to this land to begin with. 

Herzog made a decision to battle this diminishing stature of a high-value city. By doing this, he was reminding Israelis what brought them back to this land to begin with. Obviously, not all of them liked this reminder. And I assume this is as true for Jewish Americans as it is for Israelis, if not more so.

In fact, from the same study I know that a majority of Jewish Americans are as alienated from Hebron as Jewish Israelis. Very few American tourists visit Hebron, and those who do are almost all Orthodox. Very few who remember that Hebron was occupied in 1967 by Israeli forces, also remember that Jews lived in Hebron for hundreds of years, if not thousands, before they were thrown out of the city in a heinous massacre in 1936. 

I think what Herzog was trying to say to Jews all around the world is that a 3,000-year heritage cannot be taken hostage by a 100-year national dispute. So when leftist Haaretz Daily comments that the President chose to visit a place “which has no equal in symbolizing the ugliness of the occupation,” a defense of Herzog’s move would not even need to dispute this specific point. Maybe. Maybe Hebron “has no equal in symbolizing the ugliness of the occupation.” It also has no equal in symbolizing the chain that links our forefathers and hence us to this land. Hebron is a troubled, often violent, always disputed place. It is also the place of Abraham and Sarah, of Jacob, of David. 

Is it “above controversy”? That depends on the timeframe one thinks about. And on Hanukkah, Herzog chose the 3,000-year longview.

Something I wrote in Hebrew

When a Likud Member of Knesset argued that Legal Advisors should be jailed (for being against Likud), I explained why I wouldn’t have him as a guest on my talk show (I don’t have a talk show):

Should the manners of MKs, or of any other speaker, be a consideration in choosing interviewees? My answer is yes. Why? Because the media at its best aims to serve the public, and the public is not well-served when the media contributes to the deterioration of public discourse … Ask: And who determines what is the basic required etiquette? The answer: Each and every one set the goal for his or her own show. Naturally, this means that what is considered polite on one stage will be considered rude on another stage. And that’s okay. For the very act of placing politeness as something to be aspired to, even if there is no meticulous agreement on its essence, is an important act. 

A week’s numbers

The numbers that prove the point I’m trying to make in the article on the left hand column.

A reader’s response:

Avi Lefkovitz responded to an article on Iran: “Israel cannot trust the U.S. anymore. But you are wrong to say that Iran is winning. Israel managed to thrive without the U.S. in the fifties and sixties, and can do it again today.” 


Shmuel Rosner is senior political editor. For more analysis of Israeli and international politics, visit Rosner’s Domain at jewishjournal.com/rosnersdomain.

Rosner’s Domain: Is Hebron Above Controversy? Read More »

The Miraculous Bread Menorah: A Prisoner of Zion Celebrates Hanukkah in a Russian Prison

As told by Ari Volvovsky (translated from the Hebrew)

It was Hanukkah, 1986. 

I had arrived at the Gorky Prison in June. In September I was sentenced to three years of hard labor. As the time drew close for my appeal, to be held in Moscow, Hanukkah also drew near.

I had been judged guilty of “the distribution of lies and false reports against the Soviet regime,” but what was meant by “lies and false reports,” nobody knew. I had passed around to friends that notorious book by Leon Uris, “Exodus,” and the police claimed that they found something in then book that was anti-Soviet. Furthermore, I had invited friends to a Passover seder in our home. I had compared Egypt to the Soviet regime.

Mila, my wife, says I was a free man in a country that was not free. I openly wore a kipa (skullcap) with a star of David. I taught Hebrew, which was not formally an illegal act.

I was sent to the Gorky prison, an enormous complex with 15,000 inmates. The authorities were afraid I would influence others, so I was placed with three non-Jewish prisoners, each of whom was afraid that the others would inform on him.

From the moment I entered prison I told all my cellmates that I was a Jew. I explained to them some general rules of my religious behavior, such as my adherence to keeping kosher. They accepted it with understanding. I spoke abut the land of Israel, about Torah and about the Jewish People. At first they just listened. Then they began to ask questions about the Bible and Israel. I felt that because I was not afraid to speak of my Jewishness, they accepted and respected me. I never experienced antisemitism from fellow prisoners.

As Hanukkah drew near, these three gentiles sat with me and listened as I told them the story of Hanukkah and described the laws and customs we practice. They said, “We want to celebrate Hanukkah with you. How will we do it? I explained that we need oil or candles.

An electric light burned twenty-four hours a day in our cell. We were required to follow a strict daily schedule, allowed to do nothing out of the ordinary, and go to sleep at ten o’clock.

All the wardens were women and they were unusually cruel. Nevertheless, I said to my fellow cellmates, “We must go ahead with our plan. We must celebrate Hanukkah.”

Among the wardens was an old lady who was slightly less cruel than the others. About a week before the holiday, I said, “Friends, we will somehow obtain oil.” Nobody believed me. I said, “God wants us to do it. Just wait and see what I do.”

I knocked on the door. The elderly warden looked in and barked cruelly, “What do you want?” I told her that I suffered from stomach problems, and that it would be helpful if I received a teaspoon of oil before meals. My cellmates waited for her reaction, holding their breath. She suddenly replied, in a surprisingly human tone of voice, “Bring me a cup tomorrow morning, and I will get you some of the oil that sits on top of the cooked cereal.”

The next morning she knocked on the door and asked, impatiently, “Where is the cup?” I gave her my empty cup and received in return a full cop of oil. My cellmates were shocked. “Now we need a menorah.” We thought about how to accomplish that next feat. One of the gentiles said, “We will make it from bread.” And so we did.

The wardens usually looked in the peepholes of our doors every twenty minutes. But that first day of Hanukkah, a miracle seemed to happen.  Half an hour before the time to light the menorah, they suddenly disappeared. 

On the first day of Hanukkah in that Gorky prison, a miracle seemed to happen. The wardens usually made their rounds and peeked in the peepholes of our doors every twenty minutes. But that day, half an hour before the time to light the menorah, they suddenly disappeared. Someone stood in front of the peephole, watching, just in case.

I gave my Russian friends the transliterated text of “Al Hanisim,” the prayer extolling the Hanukkah miracles, sung after the lighting of the menorah. I lit the match, ignited the oil in the brad menorah and said the three blessings. My cellmates answered, “Amen” and sang “Al Hanisim” with me. While the oil burned, for thirty minutes, no one came to check our cell. It had been an hour altogether, during which time they should have come by to check three times.

For eight days I lit the menorah, said the blessings and we sang. For eight days, no warden came to check our cell during that hour.

On the last day, after I lit, my cellmates said, “There is oil left. Let’s go on.” I said, “No. Next year I’ll continue – as a free man, and you, as free men, will tell your friends the story.”

The next morning the elderly warden came by. I asked her something, thinking we were friends now, and she barked at me nastily. Her good humor had lasted only for the period of Hanukkah. “For eight days she was different so we could perform the mitzvah,” I told my cellmates. “That is the way God worked.”

That was my first and last Hanukkah in that particular prison. Even in a place where horrifying events occur, God tried to show us that there is light, light with great hope.

My three-year sentence was commuted to two years. I was released from the hard labor camp on Purim, 1988, and arrived in Israel two days before Passover, another festival of freedom.


Toby Klein Greenwald is an award-winning journalist, theater director and editor-in-chief of WholeFamily.com. Ari and Mila Volvovsky made aliya to Efrat, the town that adopted the Volvovsky’s while they were still in the USSR, and where they live until today. 

The Miraculous Bread Menorah: A Prisoner of Zion Celebrates Hanukkah in a Russian Prison Read More »

Hanukkah Behind the Ghetto Wall

Hebraist, elementary school principal, and Mir Yeshiva graduate Chaim A. Kaplan was a bookish introvert who dreamed of a quiet life of scholarship and chinuch. Instead he is today remembered as a chronicler of Jewish life in the Warsaw Ghetto under the Nazi occupation.

Kaplan’s accounts of how Hanukkah was celebrated in the ghetto in 1940 and 1941 offer stark and revealing contrasts.

In 1940, Chanukah arrived just a few months after the ghetto walls were completed, and before the Nazis had fully implemented all their suffocating regulations. Never before in Jewish Warsaw were there as many Hanukkah celebrations as in this year of the [building of the] wall,” Kaplan wrote.

Although none of the festivities were held in public—“because of the sword that hovers over our heads,” he wrote—Hanukkah parties were held in nearly every courtyard, even in rooms which face the street; the blinds were drawn, and that was sufficient. How much joy, how much of a feeling of national kinship there was in these Hanukkah parties! After sixteen months of Nazi occupation [since the German invasion of Poland in September 1939], we came to life again.”

In the year to follow, Kaplan’s diary entries were increasingly filled with descriptions of extreme overcrowding, famine, disease, and random Nazi atrocities. Jews were permitted just 181 calories’ worth of food each day. By mid-1941, over 5,000 ghetto residents were dying each month.

Kaplan wrote of once-wealthy people who now filled the soup kitchens, waiting their turn for a bowl of watery soup,” and families bundled up in rags, moaning with heartrending voices.” Often he felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of the horror; My inkwell has grown tired of lamentations,” he wrote.

Kaplan’s descriptions of how Hanukkah was celebrated in the ghetto in 1941 reflected the deterioration of Jewish life. This year very few Hanukkah candles were lit,” he recorded. Our holiday has been turned into a day of mourning. The courtyard of the prison on Dzielna Street was turned into a slaughterhouse today,” as fifteen Jews who were caught beyond the ghetto walls were executed.

Kaplan’s descriptions of how Hanukkah was celebrated in the ghetto in 1941 reflected the deterioration of Jewish life… By mid-1941, over 5,000 ghetto residents were dying each month.

In June 1942, Kaplan learned from Jewish refugees reaching Warsaw that throughout Poland, Jews were being deported en masse, “in tightly sealed freight cars,” and taken to “the place of their execution, where they are killed.” He realized it was only a matter of time before the Germans did likewise in Warsaw—and he was desperate to make sure his chronicle of the ghetto would survive, even if he did not.

The last words of Kaplan’s final diary entry, on August 4, 1942, read: “If my life ends—what will become of my diary?”

Kaplan stuffed the precious documents in several kerosene cans and gave them to a friend to smuggle out of the ghetto. He, in turn, passed them along to a non-Jewish Polish acquaintance, who preserved them for posterity.

Kaplan did not live to celebrate another Hanukkah. He and his wife were deported to Treblinka and murdered there. But the diaries were saved, and eventually purchased by New York University. They were published in English, in 1965, as Scroll of Agony: The Warsaw Diary of Chaim A. Kaplan and have gone through many editions since then. They remain one of the most valuable eyewitness accounts of the fate of the Jews in the Nazi era.


Dr. Medoff is founding director of The David S. Wyman Institute for Holocaust Studies and author of more than 20 books about Jewish history and the Holocaust.

Hanukkah Behind the Ghetto Wall Read More »

Getting to Know Your Candles – a Hanukkah Writing Workshop with Emily Stern – NIGHT 4 2020

Come write a poem as an intention for your 4 candles! In this series of videos for Hanukkah, Emily offers a different teaching and writing exercise for “getting to know your candles” for lighting Hanukkah candles each night. Corresponding to the number of candles we light each night, these teachings and writing prompts are to help you get in touch with your personal intention and cultivate a unique relationship with your candles each night. On this 4th night of Hanukkah, learn about a fascinating alternate pronunciation for the word Hanukah taught by the Chassidic masters. In this two part writing prompt, you will write a poem about the eternal in your life for lighting 4 Hanukkah candles.

Getting to Know Your Candles – a Hanukkah Writing Workshop with Emily Stern – NIGHT 4 2020 Read More »

Rabbis of LA: Rabbi Sherre Hirsch – The Power of Jewish Wisdom

When she was in eighth grade, Rabbi Sherre Hirsch announced to her family that she was going to be a rabbi. 

“Everybody laughed,” she said. “My father said that wasn’t a good job for a nice Jewish girl, and my mother asked who would marry me.”

But it turns out that being a rabbi was in her blood. Her grandfather went to rabbinical school, her uncle was a rabbi and her cousins were all ordained. 

Still, she didn’t pursue the rabbinate right away. After a stint at Smith College, where she majored in American Culture, she transferred to Northwestern and met an Orthodox rabbi at Hillel who would change everything for her.

“In passing, he told me he thought I’d be a great rabbi,” she said. “I thought about it and I couldn’t let it go.”

In 1998, she became ordained through the Jewish Theological Seminary and attended American Jewish University (AJU). But before she landed in her current position as chief innovation officer at AJU, she made history as the first female rabbi of Sinai Temple.

“The first year there, I was a deer in headlights, and I think the congregation was as well,” she said. “They were struggling to find their leadership and they took a risk having a female rabbi. It was about engendering trust to discover we were really on a mission to bring Judaism and Jewish wisdom to the forefront and elevate Sinai in the community.”

Hirsch stayed there for eight years, and during that time, she’d gone through a number of life changes: She got married and had three kids, her father died and her mother became sick. 

“You don’t usually leave a job when you love it, but I was no longer able to do it because of my life,” she said. 

After this, she saw an opportunity to spread Jewish teachings by accepting a small request to be on a segment for the Hallmark Channel’s “New Morning.” That led to appearances on PBS and the Today Show, and eventually a book deal with Random House. She wrote “We Plan, God Laughs: What to Do When Life Hits You Over the Head” and “Thresholds: How to Thrive Through Life’s Transitions to Live Fearlessly and Regret-Free.” She also started running Jewish-themed retreats for women of different backgrounds. 

“I taught women all over Los Angeles Torah,” she said. “I could see the power of Torah to transform and elevate humans, regardless of their religion.”

One of her children struggled with autism, so Hirsch began looking into mental health as well. When she worked as Hillel International’s senior rabbinic scholar, she developed Hillelwell, which offered preventative mental health services on college campuses. She said she was “taking Jewish wisdom and enabling people to see how it could be transformative.”

In her role at AJU, Hirsch and her team created B’Yachad Together: Spirited by American Jewish University, at the start of the pandemic.   It offers what they call “immersive experiential digital learning,” combining adult education and programs that draw on AJU’s faculty and diverse and inclusive community to advance ideas, dialogue and debate. Starting December 1, that program will be called Maven, which means, “to understand” in Hebrew. 

“Not only do we bring Jewish wisdom to the world, but we also provide communities that are understaffed or don’t have experience in this new digital age with the ability to give enhanced adult education,” she said. “We have a lot in the works to reimagine what is the Jewish value proposition in the future, and how institutions can understand that and be equipped to serve Jewish communities and the greater world.”

“I want people to feel really transformed, empowered and informed by their Judaism.
I want to be an agent for that change.”

No matter what she is working on, Hirsch keeps one Jewish teaching at the forefront of her mind: “We work in partnership with God, and our job is not to ever take that lightly,” she said. “I have a very strong mission, and I feel urgency in the world to empower individuals, communities and institutions. I look forward to a day when there are no rabbis needed anymore. I want people to feel really transformed, empowered and informed by their Judaism. I want to be an agent for that change.”

Fast Takes With Sherre Hirsch

Jewish Journal: What do you and your family do for fun together?

Sherre Hirsch: We volunteer for Operation Provider. 

JJ: What’s your favorite place to travel to?

SH: Costa Rica. I love to surf.

JJ: Is there one Jewish food you really love?

SH: I love my grandmother’s kreplachs – not the taste of them, but the memory of them and her love from them. 

JJ: What’s your Shabbat ritual?

SH: We eat Shabbat dinner, and afterwards we plop down on the sofa and everyone does their own thing. What I love about Shabbat afternoon is everybody knows we’re home, so people stop by left and right. 

JJ: What’s your favorite yoga position?

SH: Triangle pose. It reminds me of how much the world is constantly in change and how my job is not to fight it, but to embrace it. 

Rabbis of LA: Rabbi Sherre Hirsch – The Power of Jewish Wisdom Read More »

A Tale of Two Menorahs: Agnon Rekindles the Hanukkah Lights

With vivid childhood memories of Hanukkah flashing through his mind, Israeli author S. Y. Agnon sat in his book-lined study in his Jerusalem home to compose a new short story. The story, “A Tale of Two Menorahs,” was part of a larger book of short stories Agnon was working on in the 1950’s. When asked by colleagues to describe the nature of this book (which he later titled “A City in its Fullness”), Agnon responded “I am building a city – Buczacz.” This was the city in Polish Galicia where he was born Shmuel Yosef Halevi Czackes in 1888, and the city of his upbringing and education until his emigration to Palestine in 1908 (where he changed his name to S.Y. Agnon). 

In “A Tale of Two Menorahs,” Agnon tells the story about the strange year when the Hanukkah menorah in the Buczacz synagogue mysteriously disappeared. It was a beautiful menorah made of fine metals, featuring an artistic depiction of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem, as well as an engraved plaque with the Hanukkah blessings. All year long this menorah hung on the northern wall of the synagogue, and just before Hanukkah, the caretaker would take it down, polish it until it shines, place it on a table opposite the synagogue entryway, and fill each lamp with oil and wicks. This year, it was gone.

When news reached the Buczacz community that the menorah was missing, the children were particularly upset. They met and decided to donate their dreidels for the purpose of making a new menorah. They brought their lead dreidels to the local town artist, and promised to pay him with all of the “Hanukkah coins” they would receive over Hanukkah. Within one to two days, the artist crafted a new menorah. The children took the menorah, brought it to the synagogue and kindled the Hanukkah lights.

A few months later, while cleaning the synagogue before Passover, someone found the original menorah. There was no deep mystery: it simply lay hidden under one of the synagogue benches. He picked it up and hung it back in its natural place.

The following Hanukkah, the synagogue caretaker prepared the original menorah to kindle the Hanukkah lights. Upon seeing this, the synagogue elders said: “Last year, our beloved children donated their dreidels and Hanukkah coins in order to have a new menorah cast for our city. It’s only proper that we should kindle the Hanukkah lights using their menorah.” 

They ruled that from now on, the annual Hanukkah lighting in the Buczacz synagogue should be done with the lead menorah that the children commissioned, even though the original menorah was artistically superior to this plain one. 

So it was, the light of the children illuminated the synagogue every year throughout Hanukkah.

The story ends tragically: “Upon the arrival of the reviled degenerate, along with his cursed and impure gang of accomplices, the light was extinguished.”  This ending is a reflection on “A City in its Fullness,” the book where Agnon compared the act of writing to “building a city.” 

It was 1943 when – in Agnon’s words – “the news reached us that all the Jews in my town had been killed.” The massacre of the Jews of Buczacz devastated Agnon. Everything and everyone from his childhood were gone.

In his introduction to “A City in its Fullness,” Agnon wrote: “This is the chronicle of the city of Buczacz, which I have written in my pain and anguish so that our descendants should know that our city was full of Torah, wisdom, love, piety, life, grace, kindness and charity, from the time of its founding until the arrival of the reviled degenerate with his impure and deranged accomplices who wrought destruction upon it.”

What did Agnon mean by “reviled degenerate”? In his ingenious use of Hebrew, Agnon employs the term ha-shikutz ha-meshomem , the same term that the biblical book of Daniel and the apocryphal Book of Maccabees used to describe the defilement of the Jerusalem Temple by Antiochus, the villain of Hanukkah. 

For Agnon, the “reviled degenerate” was Hitler, who along with his “impure and deranged accomplices,” defiled Buczacz and extinguished the light of the children’s menorah.

Agnon’s writing about Buczacz became his battle for memory. His weapons were pen and paper, and he was determined that the Nazis would not get the last word. The children’s menorah – at least on paper – would stay alive.

Only memories and stories survived, and Agnon’s writing about Buczacz became his battle for memory. His weapons were pen and paper, and he was determined that the Nazis would not get the last word. The children’s menorah – at least on paper – would stay alive.

“For his profoundly characteristic narrative art with motifs from the life of the Jewish people” (words from the Nobel Committee), Agnon was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1966. He was the first Israeli ever awarded a Nobel Prize.

The 1966 Nobel Prize ceremony took place on Saturday night, the 10th of December, but the Hebrew date is more symbolic here. As destiny would have it, the Hebrew date was the 28th of Kislev – the fourth night of Hanukkah. 

At the risk of being late to his own Nobel Prize ceremony, Agnon did not leave his hotel room until lighting that night’s four Hanukkah candles and waiting for their flames to extinguish. As he sat in his room gazing at the Hanukkah lights, in anticipation of receiving the world’s most prestigious literary prize, I cannot help but think that flashing through Agnon’s thoughts were the children from Buczacz and their menorah. On this night, the flames of the menorah would not be extinguished by a “reviled degenerate.” On this night, a child from Buczacz lit the menorah and was then awarded for “getting the last word” – literally. 

Don’t let the lights go out.


Rabbi Daniel Bouskila is the Director of the Sephardic Educational Center and the rabbi of the Westwood Village Synagogue. His monthly column on Agnon will appear on the first Thursday of the month. 

A Tale of Two Menorahs: Agnon Rekindles the Hanukkah Lights Read More »

Every Culture Has Its Maccabees

Because Hanukkah comes so much earlier on the Western calendar this year, it creates some breathing room before the typical overlap with Christmas and the commercialized efforts to conflate the two holidays into one sprawling seasonal celebration. Without the distractions of Santa Claus and Mariah Carey, we can examine the Hanukkah story more closely and think about how it has helped shape our identity as a culture, a religion and a people.

Long before I had ever heard of Luke Skywalker or Captain America, I knew all about Judah Maccabee.  

Long before I had ever heard of Luke Skywalker or Captain America, I knew all about Judah Maccabee. For a young Jewish boy growing up in late 20th century America, the Maccabees were the same type of heroic role models that the Avengers and the crew of the Millennium Falcon later came to be. 

The best thing about Judah and his brothers isn’t just that they were superheroes, but that they were rebels. And for a post-Diaspora generation of young Jews whose knowledge of the Middle East was formed during the Israeli underdog sagas of 1967 and 1973, the Maccabee’s exploits had even greater immediate relevance. The opponents might have been Arabs rather than Antiochus, but the tales of courageous Jewish persistence and victory were part of one single elongated historical narrative.

But half-a-century later, most of the world no longer sees Israel as the plucky upstart, but rather an authoritarian power. Too many see us not as the oppressed, but as the oppressor. Or, to borrow from another chapter in Jewish history, not as David but as Goliath.

As the American humorist Mark Twain reminds us, history doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes. After the Hanukkah miracle that we all learned as children, the next steps forward for Judah and his brothers also became much more complicated. Having won a war to achieve their religious freedom, the Maccabees then became divided about whether and how to broaden their reach to neighboring territories to attain greater freedom and security. Similarly, as the modern state of Israel now must navigate geopolitical challenges much more complicated than its early fights for survival, the internal debates over the nation’s economic, cultural and military role grow fiercer too.

Telling the story of the Maccabbees and of the Hanukkah miracle allows us to remind ourselves that we are not only the chosen people but that we have fought fiercely and bravely throughout history to protect ourselves and our faith. If Judah and his fellow dissidents can be hailed for their victories over autocratic repression and prejudice, then it stands to reason that current-day Israeli soldiers should receive similar applause and appreciation for their efforts to protect the Jewish homeland and its people from terrorist attack and death.

But our critics don’t know the Hanukkah story, nor do they care to. They don’t see us as underdogs but as overlords. They are not interested in our history and have little regard for the obstacles we have overcome. So they don’t applaud Israel’s soldiers but rather castigate them, along with the government they serve and the men, women and children they guard.

Which leads us to consider how a story that has so inspired us throughout history is of so little relevance to many others. The challenge becomes how to maintain a hard-earned and genuine self-image from our past even when it creates an obstacle to building the bridges we will need in our future. Because as long as we see ourselves in a fundamentally different way than we are seen by others, our efforts to find common ground will be much more difficult.

The image of a rebel is an extremely romantic one and so it’s understandable that we don’t want to give it up. Moreover, we have earned our underdog status the hard way, and we shouldn’t abandon it just because other underrepresented communities have faced more recent travails. But we also need to recognize that our story of overcoming persecution and oppression is not a unique one. Every culture has its own Maccabees, and being willing to hear those similar stories from others might make them more willing to hear ours.


Dan Schnur is a Professor at the University of California – Berkeley, USC and Pepperdine. Join Dan for his weekly webinar “Politics in the Time of Coronavirus” (www/lawac.org) on Tuesdays at 5 PM.

Every Culture Has Its Maccabees Read More »

Why Do Jews Have Such a Love Affair with the IDF?

I was 16 when I first visited Israel with my mother. She spent most of the trip coming between me and aggressive young Israeli men who thought it was cute when I said, “Shalom, korim li Tabby” (“Hi, I’m Tabby”) with a French accent because I couldn’t—and still can’t—roll my Rs like a true sabra.   

To say that my mother was stringent about my dating life (or lack thereof) is a hilarious understatement. “No boys, no drugs, only education” was her motto for raising two daughters in America. That, and “Shove this steak into the meat grinder while it’s still cold.”  

But one afternoon in Israel, my mother spotted an IDF soldier near the Western Wall who introduced himself as Yitzhak, and she all but pushed me into his arms. “You want to go to a club with me?” he asked brazenly. I looked at my mother and blushed. “Go ahead!” she cried, and placed his arm around my shoulder. This, coming from a woman who begged me not to hold hands with my soon to-be-fiancé a decade and a half later, fearing he would get the wrong message.   

Each time my mother sees an IDF soldier, whether in Los Angeles or on the internet, she slaps her cheek and says in Persian, Ghorboon-et beram (“May I be sacrificed for you”). It’s the Persian version of Israeli mothers who run after their beloved children, yelling “Kapparah! 

What is it about Israeli soldiers that drives my mother crazy in the best possible way?   

On November 6, I attended a wonderful luncheon in honor of IDF soldiers organized by Friends of the IDF (FIDF) Western Region at Nessah Synagogue in Beverly Hills. The event was entirely sponsored by Simon Etehad and his wife, Malissa. Etehad, who left Iran at the age of 10, loves Israel with a kind of affection that’s utterly remarkable.

A local attorney, Etehad has been involved with FIDF for 20 years and formerly served as vice president of FIDF Western Region. He’s participated in multiple FIDF missions to Israel and helped organize soldiers’ visits to the U.S. to meet with various Jewish communities, whether at schools or synagogues. His first FIDF luncheon at Nessah was in 2004. He even met Malissa at an FIDF event.   

Each year, FIDF coordinates a visit by a delegation of up to a dozen soldiers to visit the U.S. In Los Angeles, the soldiers are guests of honor at the annual FIDF Gala. On Shabbat, they join hundreds of Iranian American Jews at Nessah for services and a fancy lunch, as only Persians can pull off (think sushi chefs next to a gourmet meat-carving station). The trip was cancelled last year due to the pandemic, but resumed this year, though it only included four soldiers, who spent nearly a month in the U.S., traveling to cities such as Chicago, New York, Palm Beach, Los Angeles and San Francisco.   

“We at FIDF, are incredibly grateful for the outpouring of love and support that the Los Angeles community provides to Israel’s soldiers. And this year was no exception,” Executive Director Jenna Griffin told me. “Together, we are sending a clear and strong message to these brave soldiers—that we stand wholeheartedly behind them in their protection of Israel.”  

I was thrilled to meet the 2021 delegation: Lieutenant S., who serves in the IDF’s Home Front Command; Corporal A., a self-described “troubled kid” who now serves as a commander in the Educational Corps; and a father and son duo—the father, Lt. Colonel Y., is a heroic F-16 pilot; his son, Corporal J., serves in the 947th Iron Dome Battalion. This past May, while his father was conducting aerial missions to protect the Jewish state, Corporal J. and six other soldiers were protecting over 200,000 Israelis from Hamas rockets by operating an Iron Dome battery in the south.  

As I watched hundreds of attendees at Nessah’s annual Shabbat luncheon give the soldiers one standing ovation after another, I had an epiphany: This is extremely unusual. In fact, it defies all reason and sensibility.   

Do those around the world who identify as French or Francophile, but who don’t live in France, attend events in support of the French army and embrace French soldiers as their own children? Are Korean Americans moved to tears upon meeting young Korean soldiers in Los Angeles? Could there even be an event that united Muslims in support of one army? (There are over 50 Muslim-majority countries worldwide—which army would be representative of 1.9 billion people?)

But there they were, hundreds of Jews at a Shabbat luncheon—99% of whom weren’t Israeli—crying and cheering and hugging Israeli soldiers with an unconditional love reminiscent of family bonds. Why?  

Why wouldn’t a little old woman in Quebec run into a French soldier and kiss his or her hand? Why aren’t there branches of FROK (Friends of the Republic of Korea Army) in the U.S.? Why wouldn’t a Muslim child from Bangladesh make a hand-written card of gratitude and shyly present it to an Afghan soldier? Do Catholics in Colombia sponsor visits by members of the de facto military of the Holy See in Vatican City?  

And in what universe does a woman who was born in Tehran hug a 20-year-old Ashkenazi Israeli soldier so tightly that he nearly gasps for air? The answer is simple, yet eternal: in a universe Jews call Am Israel (“the people of Israel”). 

Whether Iranian, Argentinian, Russian or Polish, most Jews are connected to Israel because it’s the only Jewish state in a world of nearly eight billion people. And, as the army of the Jewish state, love for the IDF defies nationality. That is something I can’t say for any other army.   

Whether Iranian, Argentinian, Russian or Polish, most Jews are connected to Israel because it’s the only Jewish state in a world of nearly eight billion people. And, as the army of the Jewish state, love for the IDF defies nationality. That is something I can’t say for any other army.   

“The ancient rabbis taught the value of ma’aseh avot siman levanim (‘’the deeds of the parents are an example to their children,” Etehad told me. “Our parents and grandparents set an example for us, and the Iranian Jews’ love for Israel and IDF is unmatched. I say this as someone who has, for years, taken these soldiers to different synagogues, schools and various other events to both shine a light on what our IDF does for us and raise both awareness and support.”

The Nessah luncheon raised $250,000 for FIDF and elevated the attendees as well the soldiers themselves. For Etehad, supporting Israeli soldiers involves as much heart as it does logic. 

“I have always said, if the Islamic Republic of Iran can spend one billion dollars a year to support Hezbollah and other terrorist organizations, we Iranian Jews should each raise a million dollars a year to support Israel and our IDF soldiers.” 


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

Why Do Jews Have Such a Love Affair with the IDF? Read More »