676 years ago, on the first day of Nisan 5109 (March 21, 1349), one of the greatest tragedies in Jewish history occurred – the Erfurt Massacre. Approximately 3,000 members of the Jewish community in the German city were murdered in riots that erupted during Sabbath prayers, part of the 1349 persecutions that swept across Europe during the Black Death.

The Black Death – the plague epidemic that ravaged Europe in the 14th century – claimed the lives of tens of millions, but that wasn't the end of it. In the midst of the chaos, blood libels spread accusing Jews of poisoning wells and causing the epidemic. The result was a wave of brutal riots in many cities, including Erfurt, which sealed the fate of entire Jewish communities.

The Jewish community in Erfurt, which was a vibrant center of Torah learning, also lost one of its spiritual leaders that day – Rabbi Alexander Suslin HaCohen, author of "Sefer HaAgudah." Jews who fled the city commemorated the tragedy in lamentations, and one of them, Rabbi Israel of Erfurt, wrote "Zion Aryeh Bechi," a heartbreaking lament about what had occurred.

Beyond the bloodshed, a cultural erasure campaign took place: valuable Hebrew manuscripts were defaced and looted. Some were preserved in various libraries throughout Germany, and later became part of what is now called the "Erfurt Collection."

The Erfurt Massacre was not an isolated event. It was part of a horrific chain of killing sprees, during which tens of thousands of Jews were murdered across Europe in a period of less than two years. The exact numbers are unknown, but estimates range from 50,000 to 100,000 Jews who were murdered or perished in riots, escapes, and mass suicides.

The most severe riots occurred in major cities in Germany, Switzerland, France, and Spain. Jewish communities in many cities were almost completely destroyed, and many Jews were forced to convert or flee to Eastern Europe, especially Poland and Lithuania, where they received more tolerant treatment during that period.

If we thought the Middle Ages were behind us, history reminds us again and again: we are the only ones to stand up for our fate. We are the only ones responsible for ensuring "never again."

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The Free University of Berlin has canceled an exhibition about antisemitic pogroms throughout history, citing fears of "emotional reactions" from students.

NOW: Students tried to barricade themselves in the Free University of Berlin, threatening to destroy the server room if police entered the building. They demanded an immediate end to the deep-seated relationship between the university and the State of Israel, among other… pic.twitter.com/StouYZ3d5n

— red. (@redstreamnet) October 17, 2024

The exhibition, "Circle of Magic" by the British National Holocaust Museum, was scheduled to open at the Free University in February 2025. It aimed to showcase several Jewish communities affected by pogroms throughout history in Europe, North Africa, and Israel, including the Hamas attacks in southern Israel on October 7.

A protest camp has started at Berlin's Freie Universität pic.twitter.com/d9KVXqrDCH

— James Jackson (@derJamesJackson) May 7, 2024

According to Jüdische Allgemeine, a Jewish magazine distributed in Germany, the university's history department initially appeared interested in hosting the exhibition.

However, in recent days, the university decided to cancel the exhibition through an announcement by Vice President Verna Bellinger-Talcott. Initially, no additional explanations were provided for her intervention and the exhibition's cancellation. In response to the Jewish magazine's inquiry, the Free University's press department stated that the university building's lobby where the exhibition was to be displayed is "not a suitable location for such an exhibition" as it could trigger "emotional reactions." The university expressed concerns about "intense debates" that might disrupt order in the public space. Currently, discussions are ongoing about finding an alternative venue for the exhibition, though no new location has been secured yet.

Police evict pro-Palestine encampment at Berlin's Freie Universität, reportedly after being called by the Uni's president pic.twitter.com/c0ijcLUBSx

— James Jackson (@derJamesJackson) May 7, 2024

 The violent demonstrations that occurred several months ago at the Free University in Germany appear to be causing concern among university administration about their recurrence, leading to the decision to remove discourse about antisemitism and Israel-related context from the public space.

The exhibition's cancellation is not an isolated incident, as several events discussing antisemitism and Israel have been canceled at German universities in recent months. Recently, two lectures criticizing antisemitism with connections to Israel were canceled at the University of Freiburg, and an additional lecture by an Israeli professor was canceled at Leipzig University due to security concerns.

Israel's Ambassador to Germany, Ron Prosor, commented on the exhibition's cancellation, saying, "Only at the 'Free' University in Berlin, where a culture of Jewish persecution exists in the form of violence, blocked access, and online exams for Jewish students out of concern for their safety, can the removal of an exhibition about Holocaust remembrance be justified due to 'suspected emotional distress.'"

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In a powerful demonstration of Jewish continuity, a 17th-generation descendant of the legendary Rabbi Judah Loew, known as the Maharal, was circumcised in Prague's historic Altneuschul (old-new synagogue), while photos of Israeli hostages held in Gaza adorned its medieval walls.

The infant is the grandson of Prague's Chabad emissary, Rabbi Manis Barash. Following the ceremony, during the celebration, it was revealed that the baby would be named Shneur Zalman, after the founder of Chabad Hasidism, known as the Alter Rebbe, who was himself a seventh-generation descendant of the Maharal.

The Maharal is traditionally believed to be a descendant of King David. The Alter Rebbe's seminal work, the Tanya, explicitly acknowledges its intellectual debt to the Maharal's writings. The ceremony marked a profound historical circle: the last circumcision performed in the Maharal's synagogue was 27 years ago – when the current baby's father was circumcised in the same location.

I stood moved among the congregation near the reading platform where the grandfather and the baby's father stood, with the grandfather seated in Elijah's Chair. Above the synagogue seats, photographs of the hostages held in Gaza lined the walls of the Altneuschul. The atmosphere was deeply affecting – we were participating in an event of profound historical significance beyond just a private family celebration.

Standing there, I physically felt the meaning of "Am Israel Chai." Four centuries have passed since the Maharal stood in this exact spot, and here, his descendants and his people continue to maintain the same traditions, ceremonies, and commandments in the very same place. The past 400 years have seen countless historical events, both positive and negative – pogroms, the Holocaust, the October 7 tragedy – yet our people continue to live and observe the same customs. What other nation would persist like this for 400 years?

Two legends are associated with this place. The first is that stones from the ruins of the Temple in Jerusalem were brought here and incorporated into the synagogue's foundation. The second is that the remains of the "Golem" created by the Maharal to protect Prague's Jews rest in the synagogue's attic.

Some say the name "Altneu" means "on condition" in Yiddish. The synagogue was built on the condition that when the Messiah came, they would remove the Temple stones and bring them up to the Land of Israel. But the truth is less prosaic. "Alt-neu" simply means "old-new" in Hebrew. Initially, it was called "The New Synagogue," but as more synagogues were built in the Jewish quarter, one was named "The New." They added the word "old" to the older one to distinguish between the two synagogues, hence its name "Old-New."

The building is rectangular with a high, pointed Gothic-style roof. The ceiling soars high above, composed of six pentagonal vaults supported by two columns. The walls feature 12 windows representing the tribes of Israel. The ark is made of marble, topped by a pointed arch with stone ornaments. In the center of the synagogue stands an elevated platform surrounded by iron railings. Biblical verses and acronyms adorn the walls. The wall separating the main hall from the women's section has narrow windows to allow the cantor's voice to reach the women's area.

This is the only synagogue in the world where "A Psalm for the Sabbath" is recited twice. One Sabbath evening, the Maharal forgot to deactivate the Golem, which went out into the street and began to rampage. The Maharal was informed of this during the "Psalm for the Sabbath" prayer. He immediately left for the street, returned the Golem, and deactivated it. Afterward, the rabbi returned to the synagogue and recited the "Psalm for the Sabbath" from the beginning. Since then, this synagogue uniquely maintains the tradition of reciting the Sabbath psalm twice during Friday evening services.

Just a minute's walk away stands the Spanish Synagogue, considered Prague's most beautiful. Its interior is breathtaking. The Spanish Synagogue has no connection to Sephardic traditions or Spanish exiles  – it earned its name because the Alhambra Palace inspired its interior design in Spain. The walls are covered with Moorish-style mosaics featuring pure gold ornaments weighing two kilograms.

Glass cabinets line the walls, displaying religious artifacts, Holocaust exhibits, Jewish soldiers who served in the Czech army, and prominent Jewish families. Franz Kafka and Sigmund Freud once prayed here during Jewish holidays. Today, the synagogue serves as a museum of Bohemian Jewish history and the Holocaust rather than an active house of worship.

Another stunning synagogue is the Jubilee Synagogue, inaugurated in 1906 following the clearing of the Jewish quarter. It was named "Jubilee" in honor of Emperor Franz Josef's silver jubilee. After the fall of the Iron Curtain, it was renamed "Jerusalem Synagogue" due to its location on Jerusalem Street.

Built-in Art Nouveau style with Moorish design elements, its facade features a large blue arch inscribed with the verse "This is the gate of the Lord through which the righteous may enter," with a large window centered by a Star of David. The facade's ornaments and carvings are painted gold.

The prayer hall is divided into two rows of seats, above which seven arches support the women's gallery. The arches and gallery railings are painted in vibrant colors and adorned with biblical verses. Large windows with colorful stained glass illuminate the space. The ark is decorated with a relief of the tablets of the covenant and grape vines. This is one of the most magnificent synagogues I've ever seen. Despite its distance from the city center, it's a must-visit site.

The former Jewish quarter is now called "Josefov," named after Emperor Joseph II, who granted emancipation to the Jews. Many Jews acquired education and property, allowing them to advance in life and move to new neighborhoods. The crowded Jewish quarter was left with the poor and elderly living in harsh, unhygienic conditions. At the beginning of the last century, authorities decided to demolish the quarter's buildings to install a sewage system. Only the Meisel, Klausen, and Pinkas synagogues were preserved.

Mordecai Meisel was the wealthiest Jew in 16th-century Europe. He helped the emperor finance wars against the Ottomans. Among Jews, he was known as a philanthropist who donated to the needy and established synagogues, study houses, and a hospital. In 1592, he built a private synagogue adjacent to his home, which bears his name. The original building burned down and was rebuilt. What we see today is the structure after a thorough renovation in 1905. Since the Holocaust, it no longer serves as a synagogue, but functions as a Jewish museum. Its walls display Torah ark curtains and covers for Torah scrolls. Opposite the entrance, a tall partition features a large screen showing a virtual tour of the Jewish quarter before its demolition.

The Pinkas Synagogue was built in the 15th century by Rabbi Aaron Meshulam Horowitz and named after his brother Pinchas. Only the ark and platform remain from the original synagogue, with the benches removed. The walls bear 77,297 names of Bohemian Jews murdered in the Holocaust.

The women's gallery on the second floor houses an exhibition of children's drawings from the nearby Theresienstadt concentration camp. The community tried to maintain normal life even in the camp, operating kindergartens and schools. The walls display children's drawings expressing feelings of fear and anxiety – justified, as all the children who created these drawings were murdered within months. Some of the drawings are heartbreaking.

From the Pinkas Synagogue, there is an exit to the Jewish cemetery, on the other side of which stands the Klausen Synagogue, the largest in the Jewish quarter, occupying the area of three houses. Mordecai Meisel built a complex of two synagogues adjacent to the cemetery for the burial society, alongside a yeshiva of the Maharal. The entire complex burned down in 1689, and the Klausen was built on its site in Baroque style.

Between these two synagogues lies the ancient Jewish cemetery, where great Jewish scholars are buried. A path winds through the cemetery, where we see simple tombstones alongside grand and large monuments. Several tombstones have explanatory plaques. It's worth pausing for prayer at the Maharal's grave.

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The Arabian Peninsula holds a rich tapestry of history, particularly concerning the Jewish tribes that once thrived there. These communities coexisted with their polytheistic neighbors for centuries, creating a complex social fabric. However, everything changed with the arrival of the Prophet Muhammad, which led to significant upheaval and transformation for these tribes.

Today, the region known as Arabia is primarily in Saudi Arabia, which is characterized by vast desert landscapes. However, it was home to an oasis called Yathrib, now called Medina, where Jewish farmers cultivated dates alongside their non-Jewish counterparts. This oasis was not just a geographical feature; it was a vibrant community where Jewish tribes had once held considerable power.

By the 7th century, the Jewish influence in Yathrib had waned. The region was governed by various tribes, with no singular authority dominating the landscape. Loyalty to one's tribe and their allies was the unwritten law, leading to a society where blood feuds and alliances dictated social interactions. The Jewish tribes, including the Banu Qaynuqa, Banu Nadir, and Banu Qurayza, were integral to this dynamic, finding their place within a broader tribal network.

The arrival of Muhammad

About 200 miles south of Yathrib, tensions were brewing in Mecca, the holiest city in Islam. The Kaaba, a central religious site filled with idols, was the heart of Meccan religious life and economy. When Muhammad began preaching monotheism and social equality, he threatened the established order, leading to resistance from Mecca's elites.

As Muhammad's influence grew, he faced increasing opposition, culminating in a plot to assassinate him. Narrowly escaping, he and his followers fled to Yathrib, where the local tribes, weary of constant conflict, sought his help to establish peace. This marked the beginning of a new era for both Muhammad and the Jewish tribes of Yathrib.

The constitution of Medina

Upon arriving in Yathrib, Muhammad established the first written social contract, known as the Constitution of Medina or Umma Document. This agreement aimed to unify the various tribes, including the Jewish communities, under a single political entity. For the first time, tribal divisions took a back seat to a collective identity, fostering a sense of community among the inhabitants of Yathrib.

Initially, the Jewish tribes did not view Muhammad as a spiritual leader but as a political figure who could bring stability. While some Jews began to convert to Islam, many remained skeptical, holding onto their traditions and leaders. This skepticism would eventually lead to rising tensions.

The situation escalated when a Muslim man defended a Muslim woman who had been publicly humiliated by a Jewish goldsmith, leading to violence and retaliation. Historians debate the exact events leading to this conflict, with some suggesting that the Banu Qaynuqa were simply too powerful and posed a threat to Muhammad's authority. Regardless, the outcome was the same: the Banu Kuka became the target of Muhammad's military action.

The fate of the Jewish tribes

Faced with the choice of conversion or death, the Banu Qaynuqa ultimately chose exile, abandoning their belongings but preserving their lives. However, the tensions did not end there. The Banu Nadir, having not aided the Banu Qaynuqa, soon found themselves in a precarious position as well. A young member of the Banu Nadir allegedly attempted to assassinate Muhammad, leading to their expulsion from Yathrib.

With the Banu Nadir gone, only the Banu Qurayza remained. They initially supported Muhammad during conflicts with the Meccans but soon found themselves at odds with him as well. The turning point came after the Battle of the Trench, where the Banu Qurayza were accused of breaking their pact with Muhammad by not supporting him adequately.

The Banu Qurayza faced dire consequences. They were besieged by Muhammad's forces, with their leaders forced to consider extreme measures for survival. Ultimately, they chose to submit to Muhammad, hoping for mercy. However, their fate had already been sealed as Muhammad's advisor, Sa'd ibn Muadh, ordered the beheading of the men and the captivity of the women and children.

This brutal episode marked the end of the prominent Jewish tribes in Yathrib. Their disappearance from history left a significant void, and the events surrounding their fate remain a topic of intense debate among historians and scholars.

The history of the Jewish tribes in Arabia is a multifaceted narrative filled with lessons about faith, community, and power dynamics. As we reflect on this story, we are reminded of the importance of unity in the face of adversity and the enduring bonds that connect us all.

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Regardless of background or denomination, most Jews recognize the Star of David as a symbol of Judaism. Today, the symbol is practically ubiquitous in the Jewish world. The most iconic use of the star might be on the Israeli flag. But the Star of David wasn't always a universal symbol for Judaism. How did two overlapping triangles come to be the most universally recognizable symbol associated with Judaism?

In ancient times, the Star of David – or the Magen David – wasn't an exclusively Jewish symbol. It was a common geometric symbol, just like the five-point star and even the swastika.

The oldest record of the six-point star as a Jewish symbol was around the second or third century. Archeologists found Stars of David on the walls of the Synagogue of Capernaum near the Sea of Galilee. However, most experts think that these stars were used for decorative purposes and didn't hold any significant Jewish meaning.

Nearly a century later, the star appeared on the now famous Leningrad Codex, the oldest known manuscript of the Hebrew Bible dating from 1008 CE. However, it's unclear if it was used merely for decoration or had a deeper religious purpose.

Experts like German-Israeli academic and philosopher Gershom Scholem theorize that the star gained more meaning in Judaism in the mysterious teachings of the Kabbalah. The 13th and 14th centuries saw a growing movement of Jewish sages in Spain, Eastern Europe, and the Middle East writing kabbalistic texts that explored the foundations of Jewish mysticism.

These texts were the first sources to ascribe meaning to the six-point star. The Book of Boundary, written in Spain in the early 14th century, contains several depictions of the six-point star, which is identified as being on the Shield of David. According to the legend, King David's protective shield had magical powers and could ward off spirits and demons. Other works of the time make similar references to the king's magical amulet with a six-point star emblazoned on it.

But the earliest known particularly Jewish usage of the Star of David wasn't tied to a kabbalah scholar. In the mid-14th century, Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV gave Prague's Jews the right to bear a flag. Under the red flag, with a yellow Star of David on it, Prague was the world's first Jewish community to use the star as its official emblem.

The Star of David was on flags and books in Prague at the time and in surrounding Jewish communities, but it didn't go viral until the 18th century. It started in Europe, where everywhere Jews looked, they saw the symbol of Christianity: the cross. Seeking their own distinctly Jewish symbol, communities turned to the Star of David. This struck a chord with Diaspora Jews and spread to synagogues across the world.

The star was cemented as the Jewish symbol in 1897 at the first Zionist Congress in Basel, which was chaired by Theodor Herzl. There, the Star of David was chosen over icons like the menorah as the official Zionist symbol for two reasons. First, Jews everywhere already knew it, thanks to the widespread use of the star during the 19th century, when it became splashed on synagogues, prayer books, tombstones, and more. Second, it didn't carry the religious significance that other symbols did.

By the mid-20th century, no symbol was more tied to Judaism. Zionist leaders embraced the six-point star, arguing that it didn't evoke memories of the past and could represent a brighter future. But in Nazi Germany, hopes of a brighter future dimmed. To pervert the symbol of the Jewish people, Hitler decreed that all Jews under the Third Reich wear a yellow six-point star as a badge of shame. The yellow Star of David is one of the most enduring images of the Holocaust. But the Jews who survived would not let Hitler decide their symbol's legacy. On the heels of World War Two, they reclaimed their star with the establishment of the State of Israel.

In the debate over what emblem would be featured on the young nation's flag, the flag of the Zionist movement already had strong support, but Israeli politicians like Minister of Foreign Affairs Moshe Sharett had reservations. He and others feared that Jewish communities in the diaspora could face dual loyalty charges if the flags of the Zionist movement and the Israeli flag were the same.

Therefore, in June 1948, the Israeli government's designated committee announced a public competition calling for flag designs. Though it wasn't a requirement, entries were encouraged to include a menorah and seven gold stars – a design dreamed up by Herzl and sketched in his diary in the late 19th century. During the two-week-long competition, 164 people participated, submitting a total of 450 designs.

While deciding on the final design, Sharett wanted input from the diaspora. So, he reached out to Zionist leaders abroad. The response was clear. They and their constituents overwhelmingly preferred to have the Zionist flag become Israel's national flag. On October 28, 1948, the Provisional Council voted unanimously to adopt the Zionist flag as that of the State of Israel.

But the star can also be controversial. Is it a symbol for a people or a country? The Jewish people predate the modern State of Israel, and so does the symbol. The legacy of the star lives on almost everywhere in Jewish communities throughout the world.

Whether this symbol dates back thousands of years or a few hundred, it's an emblem woven deeply into the fabric of modern Jewish history and serves as a powerful image that binds the Jewish people together today.

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A remarkable archaeological discovery near Beit Shemesh has unveiled a 5,000-year-old settlement that provides unprecedented insights into ancient Israel's first steps toward urbanization. The site features one of the earliest known temples in the Judean Lowlands, containing dozens of pristine ritual vessels and among the region's earliest known pottery kilns.

Archaeologists from the Israel Antiquities Authority have uncovered a 5,000-year-old settlement that offers rare evidence of early urbanization in ancient Israel. The discovery, made at the Horvat Hushim site during preparations for expanding the western "Brosh" industrial zone near Beit Shemesh, centers around an extraordinary public building believed to have served ceremonial purposes.

Inside the structure, researchers found a chamber containing about 40 perfectly preserved vessels, including numerous miniature ceremonial items. "It is interesting that these many pots and juglets were placed here just shortly before the entire site was abandoned forever," said excavation directors Ariel Shatil, Maayan Hemed, and Danny Ben-Ayon of the Israel Antiquities Authority. "You can literally imagine the people who put down this ware and left it all here. It is not known what happened in this room later, but there are signs of burning, and vessels that fell on top of each other. Laboratory examination of their former contents of the vessels using different scientific methods will shed additional light on the site: We will be able to tell if they contained oil, water, wheat – or perhaps they were specifically for exotic oils or other substances."

"The size of this structure, its broad walls, the benches inside it and other variables indicate that it is an important and exceptional structure with a public function – perhaps a temple," the excavation directors explained. "We know almost no public buildings in Israel from this ancient period and earlier. This is probably one of the earliest temples ever discovered in the Judean Lowlands."

Near the main structure, archaeologists discovered an enclosed area featuring large standing stones arranged in rows. "The standing stones were erected even before this enclosed public building was erected," said Dr. Yitzhak Paz, an Early Bronze Age specialist at the Israel Antiquities Authority. "Their presence promises to be instructive of the socio-political process involved in the founding of the cultic service in Hurvat Husham – it seems that originally there was an open cultic activity area for the general public which then transformed into ritual activity in an enclosed compound with more controlled access. This development process on the site, along with other processes, attests to an increase in social complexity."

The site, first discovered in 2021 during excavations led by Marion Zindel and Natan Ben-Ari, has been under extensive investigation for the past three and a half years. The excavation also revealed two pottery kilns for vessel production, ranking among the earliest ever found in Israel. "The site uncovered in Hurvat Husham is exceptional not only because of its size, but because it reveals to us some of the first characteristics of the transition from village life to urban life," the excavation directors explained. "The site teaches us that about 5,000 years ago, the first steps were already taken towards the development of an urban society in the Judean Lowlands. A few generations later, we already see large cities in the area, surrounded by a wall, with palaces and other buildings – such as at the site of Tel Yarmouth, which is in this site's range of vision."

The Early Bronze Age, roughly 5,000 years ago, represented a pivotal moment in ancient Israel's history. This era witnessed significant population growth and the emergence of the first hierarchical complex society. These changes manifested in ambitious public construction projects, including defensive walls, fortifications, and religious and administrative buildings. The period also saw the development of specialized crafts and extensive trade networks reaching Egypt, Syria, Anatolia, and Mesopotamia.

According to Israel Antiquities Authority Director Eli Escusido, "The Land of Israel, due to its nature and its geographical location, was a fertile ground for the development of ancient civilizations. The Hurvat Husham site uncovered by the researchers of the Israel Antiquities Authority, reveals another important piece in the puzzle of urban development in our region."

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The narrative surrounding Jewish expulsions throughout history is complex and often misrepresented. A particularly damaging claim is that Jews have been expelled from 109 countries, a notion rooted in antisemitic tropes. This article seeks to unravel the origins and implications of this claim, shedding light on the historical context of Jewish expulsions and the ongoing impact of generational trauma within Jewish communities.

The origins of the 109 trope

The claim that Jews have been expelled from 109 countries is not merely a statistical assertion; it is a Neo-Nazi calling card. This number serves as a weaponization of Jewish history, distorting the realities faced by Jewish communities over centuries. The origin of this trope can be traced back to a hate website in Australia, which has a history of denying the Holocaust and misrepresenting Jewish suffering.

This trope manipulates historical facts, counting individual regions or cities as separate countries and conflating expulsions with other forms of persecution. By presenting this exaggerated narrative, antisemites can claim they are simply pointing out a historical pattern. However, this manipulation of history obscures the real reasons behind Jewish expulsions and perpetuates harmful stereotypes.

The proliferation of the 109 trope highlights the ease with which misinformation can spread in the digital age. Lies can travel rapidly, often outpacing the truth. The 109 claim twists verified historical events into narratives that fuel antisemitic ideologies, providing a facade of plausibility for those who propagate hate.

The pattern of Jewish expulsions

To understand the historical context, examining the pattern of Jewish expulsions is essential. Throughout history, empires have conquered and displaced populations, and Jews have often found themselves in the crosshairs. The Assyrian conquest of the Northern Kingdom of Israel and the Babylonian exile are early examples of such displacements.

The most significant expulsion occurred under the Roman Empire, which destroyed the Holy Temple in Jerusalem and crushed a Jewish revolt, resulting in nearly 2,000 years of exile. This long history of displacement has made Jewish communities vulnerable and often targets for persecution.

The vulnerability of displaced peoples

Displaced individuals are often easy targets for scapegoating. Without a homeland, they are seen as outsiders, even when they have lived in a country for generations. Jews have historically been aware of their status as guests in various nations, which has made them susceptible to fluctuating acceptance.

In Christian Europe, Jews were often the only minority, making them prime scapegoats during times of turmoil. When societal issues arose, anger and fear were directed toward the Jewish community, regardless of their actual involvement in those issues.

The economic context: Jews and money

One significant factor contributing to Jewish expulsions is the economic role Jews played in medieval Europe. Barred from many professions, Jews often found themselves in niches like trade, finance, and medicine. This economic necessity led to the stereotype of the "money-hungry Jew," a notion rooted in historical context rather than inherent behavior.

During the Middle Ages, Christian Europeans could not charge interest on loans, allowing Jews to fill that gap. This economic dependency made Jewish communities valuable but also vulnerable. When rulers needed money, they often exploited Jewish lenders, imposing heavy taxes or canceling the kingdom's debts.

A case study: 13th century England

In an effort to raise funds for expensive religious wars, King Edward I heavily taxed and borrowed from the Jews. After bleeding dry the Jewish community, he banned Jewish money lenders, canceling all debts owed to them and bankrupting them. Once they were no longer economically beneficial, he expelled them from England. There were no Jews in England from 1290 to 1650. The expulsion had nothing to do with Jewish behavior; instead, it had everything to do with their guest and minority status in the country.

The impact of power dynamics

Power struggles among European monarchs also played a role in Jewish expulsions. Monarchs often sought to consolidate their authority by eliminating perceived threats. Jews, being a visible minority, were frequently used as scapegoats in these power plays.

Historical events such as the Crusades and the Inquisition exemplify how Jews were persecuted during times of religious conflict. The expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492 and their subsequent persecution in various countries reflect how power dynamics influenced their status as a minority.

Modern-day implications of historical trauma

While Jewish communities today may enjoy more freedoms and rights, the historical trauma of expulsions is not easily forgotten. The echoes of past persecutions remain embedded in collective memory and cultural narratives. The expulsions and suffering of previous generations shape the identity and experiences of contemporary Jews.

The legacy of trauma is particularly pronounced in the context of recent events. The expulsion of nearly one million Jews from Arab countries following the establishment of Israel in 1948 serves as a reminder that antisemitism is not confined to history; it persists in modern times.

Confronting intolerance in the present

Understanding the historical context of Jewish expulsions is crucial in confronting modern antisemitism. While some may dismiss the 109 trope as fringe, it draws on a long history of hatred that can manifest in dangerous ways. Recognizing and challenging these narratives is essential for fostering a more inclusive society.

Jewish communities are aware of the potential for hatred to resurface. The memories of past traumas are not just historical curiosities; they serve as warnings. The commitment to confront intolerance and antisemitism is vital in preventing history from repeating itself.

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Shalom Boguslavsky's new book boasts probably the longest book title you have ever read: "The Unlikely and Oft-Overlooked Story of the Rise and Fall of Jewish Eastern Europe." The first sentence in this highly popular history book, written by the tour guide, lecturer and blogger, who has a strong passion for Eastern Europe, proudly tells us that, "It is a ridiculous feat to recount five hundred years of history in one book."  But Boguslavsky was forced to tell this story in one book as it is precisely this 500-year period from the 15th century to the Holocaust that creates a clear narrative arc: at the start of the 16th century (the period of the Expulsion of the Jews of Spain, the growing strength of the Ottoman Empire and the conquest of America by the Europeans) there were only a few tens of thousands of Jews in Eastern Europe; by the mid-18th century (prior to the American War of Independence and the French Revolution) this number had already grown to 750 thousand; and by the end of the 19th century (the birth of Zionism, the eve of the First World War, against the backdrop of a tremendous wave of emigration to America), there were some 6.5 million Jews there.

But Boguslavsky's book does not necessarily deal with these relatively well-known global events, which accompanied the rise of Judaism in Eastern Europe, but actually focuses on the no less interesting but much less remembered (or "oft-overlooked" in his words) developments of that particular area. Who are the people and the cultures who shared the Eastern-European domain with the Jews? What is the connection between the Jewish mythology of that period – the shtetl, the incessant battles between the Hasidim and the Litvaks (the Misnagedim or "opponents" who later took on the term Litvaks as they came from Lithuania) and so on – and the reality of the other surrounding nations and states? Our inability to perceive the conditions leading to the development of such a major force in world Jewry, does to a large extent underscore the importance of one of the maps presented at the beginning of the book: that large land of two kingdoms Poland-Lithuania, which at the time encompassed Ukraine, Poland, Belarus, Lithuania, Latvia, and Kaliningrad. This is an immense swathe of land that has changed over the years, it expanded and was later downsized, it was partitioned and then reunited, and for the duration of those hundreds of years it was plagued by revolutions no less than those occurring in Western Europe. This certainly had an impact on the Jewish population.

Boguslavsky's interest in the Jews of Eastern Europe began as a necessary part of his profession. "I began to travel to Eastern Europe, mainly to Ukraine, due to personal circumstances, and also as I was extremely interested by it," recounts Boguslavsky. "The more I traveled the more I became captivated with it, and I thought: I travel in any event and deal with guiding and tourism, so why shouldn't they pay me for those trips? So, I began to take groups of tourists with me. I obviously needed to engage in an orderly effort to learn the relevant material so as not to talk garbage when providing commentary on the sites in question. When I learned the general history of those places, it cast Jewish history in a completely different light, and gave me the broader context that I had been missing until then, and that people usually are not aware of. The second thing that happened is that I was overly critical of certain images that had been traditionally associated with the Jews of Eastern Europe. They still remained firmly implanted in my head, but then, gradually I began to see things that did not really fit in with those images."

The first thing that Boguslavsky noticed, which contradicted those preconceptions that had "been implanted in his head," he claims was the number of Jews spread across the lands of Eastern Europe. "There were simply masses of Jews there," he says. "At some point, more than three-quarters of world Jewry were concentrated in that region. This was information that was already available, but it became much more present and tangible when I was there and saw the little that remained of it with my own eyes. It is still possible to feel the prominent presence of the Jews in that region to this day. The first example that caused me to understand this was one of the remains of the synagogues that I saw. Even the little that remained of it was extremely grand and majestic. I thought to myself that it is from the literature written about that period, rather than the academic research, that we always tend to gain the impression of the small, shabby and pitiful shtetl with the non-Jews on one side of the river and the Jews on the other side, and everything is so small and abjectly impoverished. And then, all of a sudden, you see a synagogue hewn from stone in the center of the town, a magnificent edifice built by the King of Poland's own personal architect. Thus, a number of factors began to accumulate that did not correspond with the image that I had entertained, and so I began to delve into this subject a little more.

"In the beginning, I thought to myself, 'Wow, how smart I am, I have unearthed completely new ground here,' but as soon as I began to read I immediately grasped that I had not uncovered anything at all. Everything that I thought I understood – the world of academic research already knew. Prof. Majer Bałaban, Prof. Israel Heilperin and all the leading lights in this field have already written everything there is to write much more eloquently than I could write. But it transpires that there is a gap between what is known to the world of academic study and the popular perception of things. And I, in my profession, am supposed to give this out to people who do not hail from an academic background or who have been dealing with such issues for their entire lives. And so, this is how I decided to take the leap and try and bridge that gap."

Where did the Cossacks come from?

The book weaves the general history of the region with the local Jewish history and the Jewish memory, or the Jewish mythology of Eastern Europe. Familiarity with the broader view of the story, says Boguslavsky, sheds a different light on our story, that of the Jews. "If you ask historians dealing with Jewish history what was the greatest event that occurred in the last third of the 18th century, the rise of the Hasidic movement will always stand out together with the bitter split between the Hasidim and the Misnagedim, Boguslavsky points out. "Ostensibly, this is an internal Jewish theological-ideological dispute, a fight for the spiritual leadership of the Jews, and similar issues. However, when you study the wider picture, you come to understand that all this took place in parallel to the Civil War, revolutions, invasions, and severe internal political strife in the Polish-Lithuanian kingdom. The Jews were involved in all these affairs. At that time, the historic Four-Year Sejm (Parliament) discussions were well underway, which were intended to determine the fate of the kingdom, and the Jews sent their emissaries to it, took part in the rebellions, and played an important role in the wars – both as victims but also as fighters, here and there. So, to what extent did the Jews who lived at that time really regard the halakhic disputes, such as the question of whether it is permitted to stand on your head during prayers, as a central issue? I don't know and there is no way of checking this. But we really should not be telling our story without the broader context."

How does that context have a specific impact?

"The issue of the denunciatory letters sent by opponents of Hasidism to the Russian government is a central pillar in the conflict between the Hasidim and the Misnagedim. I have heard this story more times than I care to remember, and I have never come across anybody who mentions that there is a wider context to the use of such a tool: the Russian government in those areas, which were given over to Russia following the partition of the Polish-Lithuanian kingdom, was completely new, it had just materialized there. So, everybody was trying hard to prove to the new administration that they were loyal to it and that the other side was full of treachery and plans to undermine it. This is also a government, and once again it is important to mention here the wider context, which until that point had not come across any Jews at all. Until that time, there had been no Jews in Russia so that its government had absolutely no idea who these people were and what was happening among the Jews. So now, each side was convinced that it had been presented with a golden opportunity to go to the new administration and present to it the reality of the situation as it saw it, and in a manner that would support its own cause.

"This is not the only context. This dispute is also connected to the processes of modernization that were just beginning to take shape at that time. The leadership crisis in the Jewish world that led to the rise of Hasidism is a direct outcome of the crisis of modernity. The Enlightenment is not the only thing that was born out of that crisis. Hasidism too, as well as the Misnagedim movement, along with the Enlightenment, are modern phenomena. These are three distinct movements that appear at the same time, against the same background, and under the same circumstances. I believe that this puts the whole story in a much more interesting context than the purely internal Jewish theological and sociological aspect that it has been customary to talk about."

Another example is that of the Khmelnytsky Uprising in the mid-17th century, clearly one of the more severe traumas that is indelibly etched in Jewish historical memory – but without any context. "The story usually goes something like this: people called Cossacks, known by and familiar to only a handful of people, suddenly appeared from nowhere, and they slaughtered us because they are antisemites with a deep-rooted hatred of anything Jewish," says Boguslavsky. "The truth is that this is correct, as who did not hate Jews during that period? Having said that, when you zoom out from what was clearly a horrific series of pogroms, you see a historical event in dimensions that are reminiscent of the Thirty Years' War, one of the longest and most destructive conflicts in Western European history, which was just coming to an end when the Khmelnytsky Uprising began. We are talking about several decades of wars resulting in millions of dead and wounded, with a whole spectrum of factors involved. An epic drama of which we remember an episode that lasted for a year and a half and which was not necessarily the most fatal event for the Jews at that time, but regarding which the most eloquent text was written, which also survived, the book "Yeven Mezulah" or the "Abyss of Despair", written by Rabbi Nathan Nata ben Moses Hannover. What would have happened had this book not been written or had it not survived? We might have completely forgotten about this event or not even known about it."

A highly selective memory

The book is replete with figures we have heard of, but also brings to life from the 'abyss of despair' colorful characters, who might not have left a personal stamp on history but their stories are no less riveting. One of these figures, whose story to a large extent is the story of the entire period, is Fabus Abramovich of Kraków. "A rogue and a con artist who took over the community in Kraków at the end of the 18th century. This is an amazing story. He was the leader of the opposition in the community. In the Jewish communities of that period, an oligarchy comprising just a few families was able to rule all the community institutions for more than a hundred years on occasion, even though elections were actually held annually. In terms of the situation in those days, this was one of the most democratic forms of government that existed on Earth, but such an oligarchy also gives rise to opposition, which is usually composed of those people who were not given the jobs that they believed they ought to have been given. In the 18th century, when the initial buds of mass politics were just beginning to sprout, the opposition began to portray itself as ostensibly being the force that represents the 'simple people' against the 'arrogant elite'. Of course, had they succeeded and risen to power they would have acted precisely as those preceding them did. These struggles were always a sordid affair, but the events in the community of Kraków were especially sordid and violent.

"Our man, Abramovich, took advantage of the fact that Kraków was conquered time and again by various forces during the period of the partition of Poland-Lithuania. Against the background of this tumult, he succeeded in creating a devious bureaucratic manipulation that would appoint him as a dictator to rule over the community. Jewish communities in Europe were run for hundreds of years by a joint leadership of four 'parnasim' (heads of the community), each one running the community for one month at a time on a rotation. Underneath the parnasim were the 'tovei ha'ir', the good (elder) citizens, who themselves were above the rest of the community. This form of government, which has roots in the Hellenistic-Roman world, ensured decentralization of power, creating checks and balances. The community rabbi too had his own form of power. Abramovich left this entire structure in place in Kraków but then placed himself above it all as a sort of dictator. He managed to convince the community that the governor had appointed him to this position; while he persuaded the governor that the community had asked him to assume that position. He relied on the fact that both sides would fail to uncover the deception.

"In the end, it failed, and the deception was indeed exposed. This story, apart from the fact that it is extremely entertaining, reflects the fact that the leadership structure of the Jewish communities, which worked so well for hundreds of years, had ceased to function by the end of the 18th century. Due to its inherent weakness, all sorts of issues began to crop up, such as the Hasidic takeover and manipulations such as that of Abramovich.'"

One of the declared goals of the book is to change the image of Jewish Eastern Europe. "The image that we have is of a later period, the end of the 19th century and the turn of the 20th century. The period about which authors such as Sholem Aleichem and others wrote, the era of mass emigration to America, was one rife with crises. People tend to emigrate when bad things occur. The Jewish town was old and decrepit at that point, and the majority of the Jews were living under the rule of the Russian Empire, an extremely despotic and antisemitic form of government. This is the period addressed by the literature with which we are familiar and these are the memories that people carry with them.

One of the declared goals of the book is to change the image of Jewish Eastern Europe. "The image that we have is of a later period, the end of the 19th century and the turn of the 20th century. The period about which authors such as Sholem Aleichem and others wrote, the era of mass emigration to America, was one rife with crises. People tend to emigrate when bad things occur. The Jewish town was old and decrepit at that point, and the majority of the Jews were living under the rule of the Russian Empire, an extremely despotic and antisemitic form of government. This is the period addressed by the literature with which we are familiar and these are the memories that people carry with them. They are not historians, they do not have an overall perception of the periods from the 15th century onwards, in some of which life was better and in some it was much worse. They are familiar with what they remember, and the tendency is to assume that the reality with which we are familiar is the fixed, permanent situation. This picture is not completely baseless, although it is somewhat exaggerated, and this is the death knell. But we are interested in the entire period, not only the demise but also the ascendancy and the golden period of prosperity.

"To all of this, we need to add the existing image that we have regarding Poland, Ukraine, Belarus and the rest of the places that make up the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. We regard these as being extremely antisemitic areas, where the local inhabitants are breastfed on antisemitism. This has always been a matter of concern for me. Could the Jews be such complete idiots who specifically went to those places where they were so hated? That is simply not logical. If so many Jews chose to live there of all places, this must mean one of two things. Either the fact that there were so many Jews there led to the hatred of our people, and this is not very flattering for us as Jews, or that the situation there was not as bad as in other places.

"And lo and behold, just as it was clear to anybody living throughout those eras, it was indeed not as bad there. In other places, where we do not regard the local inhabitants to be antisemites from birth, they simply did not allow the Jews to settle among them. The best method of not being attributed the current image of an antisemite was prevalent already back in the Middle Ages, by expelling all the Jews, and in this manner, nobody would accuse you of antisemitism. This is the reason why nobody accuses the English of being antisemitic. They threw out all the Jews back in the 12th century and since then, everything there has been just 'peachy keen'. The Jews lived in Eastern European countries and thus they were subject there to the best things and the worst things too. And it is from here too that we have the most historical sources and memories."

The fact that masses of Jews lived in this region distorts the perception as to the actual scope of persecution of the Jews. "If a war is being waged – and wars at the time were without intervention from the High Court of Justice or human rights groups such as B'Tselem, with armies massacring civilian populations without any remorse, just for the fun of it – then in a place that was home to tens of thousands of Jews, then it is a predictable consequence that hundreds and thousands of Jews would be killed. If the same type of war occurs elsewhere, where only a few thousand Jews were living, then a few dozen or perhaps a few hundred Jews would be killed. Clearly, thousands of Jews being killed leaves a much more lasting impression, but this does not necessarily mean that the warlords and the soldiers in those places with a much denser Jewish population were more antisemitic. We remember one event, and the other, smaller event, we have never heard of – and this is what shapes the story."

Their rise and fall

The book paints the rise of Jewish Eastern Europe in bold colors along with the years of its glory and grandeur, but it also focuses equally on the long and hard years of its demise. Boguslavsky succeeds in persuading the reader of the existence of a strong bond between the overall geopolitical processes and the severe crisis experienced by the Jewish population. "In the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Jews developed into a status of their own within the feudal order, just like the classic classes of the nobility, the peasants and the bourgeois," he explains. "In Poland-Lithuania there were two parallel urban classes: A Christian urban class and a Jewish urban class, more or less equal in size. One of the issues that set the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth apart from Western Europe was that it was engaged in the conquest and settlement of non-developed lands, mainly in Ukraine and Belarus. In the process of the settlement and regulatory organization of these territories, the government and the nobility encouraged different types of people to settle there: urban dwellers, peasants, and Cossacks. The Jews had good reason to take an interest in settling down there, as they had been pushed aside and removed from other locations, and this led to a situation whereby they developed into an extremely important factor in these areas.

"Therefore, the entire system in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth became dependent on the Jews in relation to a number of matters – for example, in the mediation efforts between the nobility and the peasants, or in the field of public administration. Somebody had to manage the estates, postal services, fishponds, and forests. The concept of a 'leaseholder', which is very familiar to us from Jewish literature, comes from here. Leaseholding is the accepted method of management in the feudal regime – a type of privatization: the government or the noblemen who own the estate do not manage the day-to-day running of the lands on their own. They issue a 'tender' and then check to see who is ready to run everything and pass on the profits to them. This is privatization in its pre-modern form. The Jews were also responsible for the transportation of goods. The peasants would grow agricultural produce and the Jews would then export this. The local Jewish merchant purchased the goods from the peasants and then sold them wholesale at a regional fair, and from here the produce was then transferred to the next fair, and it would proceed from one fair to another until it was eventually shipped abroad. The imported goods would also be passed on via the Jews. The result is that large parts of the largest country in Europe were simply unable to function without the Jews.

"In other places, the Jews were not involved in leaseholding. In Medieval times, the Jews were traditionally involved in commerce, but here the commerce actually moved aside somewhat in favor of the leaseholding. This is based on the fact that the Polish nobility took control of the Jews in the 16th century: the Parliament of Nobles was much more powerful than the king, and the nobles simply succeeded in taking control of the asset that was called the Jews. They took it from the king for themselves, just as they took other assets, and in essence, they used the Jews for whatever they deemed to be important to them."

All this was turned on its head once modernity appeared at the doorway and the social order was undermined. "The nobility began to decline and the state became more centralized. During this modern era, the king was not made any weaker and actually gained power: suddenly there was no such thing as every nobleman doing whatever took his fancy. And so, the status of the Jews was undermined. Their unique role was eroded. And as soon as the Jews become like everybody else, then those selfsame 'everybody elses' no longer wished for the Jews to be part of them. And this is what leads to their demise. Prior to the rise of nationalism, society was divided up into groups – there were nobles and peasants, there were Catholics and Protestants, and there were also Jews. But, then when all of a sudden there is a collective identity, the question inevitably arises: Are the Jews really part of it? These questions arise and this is also the trigger for the revival of Jewish nationalism, which did not occur in a vacuum, disconnected from what was happening in the greater environment surrounding the Jews at that time."

Jewish Eastern Europe has become a genuine magnet for young Israelis these days. Do you understand why this is happening at this specific juncture?

"The truth is that I have no clear answer to this. I can however hazard a guess: This is a reaction to the dismissal of the Diaspora, which was an extremely acceptable approach in Israel until not so long ago. People who made aliyah from Eastern Europe preferred to leave behind what was there, but after a few generations there is no longer any sense of urgency to escape from this, and now, all of a sudden, they are beginning to show interest and they really wish to learn. This is part of a natural process of searching for your roots, even among today's youngsters. The discourse surrounding identities picked apart the liberal 'Israeli' identity, and so young people whose families came from Eastern Europe are now asking themselves why everybody has an identity apart from me. Suddenly everybody is looking for their own personal identity."

Boguslavsky (47), a resident of Jerusalem ever since he made aliyah at the age of five, is married with two children. Until a number of years ago, he was known to the followers of the blog entitled "Drop the Scissors and Let's Talk about it". Following the Russian invasion of Ukraine, he became a social media influencer and even almost a media star. The strongly opinionated and well-reasoned analyses he published on social media regarding the war attracted considerable attention, turning him into one of the leading commentators in that field for some time, even though he is neither a journalist nor an academic researcher of the conflict.

"It became a part of my routine," he says. "I used to travel to Ukraine several times a year, I have friends there, colleagues, acquaintances, and relatives, and so when the war broke out, it naturally preoccupied me and is still doing so. Writing on that topic provided me with a form of escapism. This is a war that I felt was 'close to home' so that by writing about it on a more intellectual level, I was able to stand back and distance myself from it to some extent. Apart from that, I also saw that many people were writing nonsense about what was going on there and that really annoyed me.

"Truth be told, this is often the trigger that gives me the impetus to start writing: I see that someone else is writing absolute baloney and I feel a need to correct them. That's the reason that people write on the internet, no? And indeed, the knowledge that people in the West and in Israel have about Ukraine is sorely lacking, to put it delicately. I don't claim to be an expert on that country, but in view of the overall paucity in that field I am a genuine 'lily in a field of thorns'. The professional experts, almost all of them, are experts on Russia – and based on their expertise on Russia they tend to extrapolate and project their knowledge onto other post-Soviet states, usually looking at issues via a Russian prism. This is why what they said was hot air, and somebody had to portray a different picture of things and write less nonsense. I'm sure that there are those who will beg to differ but this is how I saw things."

You have recently ceased to write about this topic.

"I don't like repeating myself. If I have written something a number of times, then I get fed up. In addition, during the initial months of the war I spent long hours, often close to 12 hours a day, just going over all sorts of Telegram channels and other sources of information in a variety of languages in order to get my hands on the rawest of information available. It is not possible to go on living in that fashion for a long time. So today, I still try and keep up to date but not with the same intensity.

"And also – I wore myself out. There is a limit to the number of atrocities to which you can become exposed. When October 7 came round, I had already developed the ability, even before you actually see what is in the photo, to scroll down the feed as you know that this will be a trigger. Your finger knows to skip over it before your eye identifies what is in the image, because you really need to maintain your sanity."

The post Beyond 'Fiddler on the Roof': The untold story of Jewish life in Eastern Europe appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

1.

More than eight months have passed since the October 7 massacre, a relatively short period in historical terms, even more so when it comes to the history of our people. On that day, the barbarians invaded our borders and massacred, raped, and burned alive women, children, and the elderly; they wiped out entire families and destroyed whole communities – communities where many had previously worked for the welfare of Gazans. They kidnapped hundreds of Israel, alive and dead, and murdered some of the hostages in captivity. Had they been able to, they would have continued their murderous path and killed all of us.

They didn't carry out these atrocities because of the "occupation" or due to "repression" or to economic problems. Today we know, despite the enemy's propaganda and lies, that there was no siege of Gaza. Via huge tunnels crossing into Gaza from Egypt, Hamas smuggled in everything imaginable. There was no occupation of Gaza: In the summer of 2005, Israel withdrew from Gaza taking with it even its dead who had been buried there. The only repression that existed in the Strip was that imposed by the Hamas reign of terror which used its citizens as human shields, hid arms and missiles in kindergartens, schools, mosques and hospitals, and, of course, in the offices of the UNRWA aid agency.  Over the past twenty years or so, all these places served as launching grounds for the tens of thousands of rockets fired at Israeli towns and communities during that time.

Hamas's motives are discussed in detail in the Hamas Charter, the group's founding document, where it speaks of a total commitment to the destruction of Israel and the killing of Jews wherever they may be. The reason is explicit: their religious beliefs, which explains our longstanding blindness as we analyzed the motives of our enemies in terms of rational interests.

2.

The Gaza Strip was the biggest attempt at setting up an independent Palestinian state. What this attempt has shown is that territories that Israel vacates become terror fortresses and citadels of death both for Israel and for the residents of these territories. Moreover, evacuation of territory under pressure of terrorism was interpreted – and rightly so – as a display of weakness by Israel: Perhaps under pressure the Jews will abandon all the land. Compare this with Judea and Samaria where in 2002 in Operation Defensive Shield we restored security control and in the years that followed we methodically purged the territory of its terror nests and prevented the possibility that a terror entity would be established on the mountain ridge right opposite our population centers.

So little time has passed since October 7, yet already there are voices among us who call for an end to the war, for compromise, for the release of murderers from their jails and, most importantly, for the establishment of a Palestinian state. It is unbelievable how memory can fade and deceive us.

The current military campaign requires time and patience. We have to maneuver not just between terror tunnels and terrorist nests as we try not to inflict harm on the civilian population, but we also have to maneuver amidst enormous international pressure to end the war before we have achieved our goals. Even our most faithful ally pressures us with public statements against our military measures and with bureaucratic slow-downs of arms deliveries. And we must not forget that another campaign awaits us in the north, and we must also deal with the head of the octopus, Iran, which finances and supports Hamas and Hezbollah, as well as the Shi'ite militias in Iraq and Syria, the Houthis in Yemen, and other hostile elements.

3.

Sinking Europe is afraid of millions of its Muslim immigrants and is trying to gain a few more years of quiet by scapegoating Israel. The credit we received at the beginning of the war stemmed from the massacre we experienced. For a brief moment, we returned to our "traditional" role – eternal victims, crucified like Jesus. But as soon as we rose from the dust and fought back, global support began to erode: the deep antisemitic currents that are thousands of years old negatively influence how the world reacts when Jews refuse to be victims and refuse to be crucified, but instead slay their attackers. Jesus came down from the cross, wrapped himself in a prayer shawl and returned home to be a Jew in Galilee. This time he is no longer willing to be crucified; He has weapons, and he knows well how to use them.

As in the 1930s, Europeans will find themselves facing the bitter truth, and then we will see their moral standards as they fight for their lives in the streets of their cities. About one million Jews live in Europe. Why do they cling to a dream that is over? Why do they not come to Israel, what are they waiting for? Dear Jews, danger is already knocking on your door. Stop grazing in foreign fields, come home.

4.

Were someone unfamiliar with the situation to browse social networks or watch almost all the news channels, they would get the impression that the war with our external enemies is over, and in fact the real enemy is within us, in the form of a political rival, even though his sons too are fighting for the security of the people. A certain group, the same group that led the protests in the dreadful year preceding the massacre, is once again disseminating appalling messages against their brethren (even if they are political opponents), especially against Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

A certain person who received a religious education, calls the prime minister "Satan," compares him to Saddam Hussein, and polishes off by saying, "We will erase the memory of Netanyahu." Shame on him. What blasphemy to quote the eternal biblical commandment [to erase the memory of Amalek] that is appropriate for the Nazis and the Hamas terrorists and apply it to those who lead the military and diplomatic campaign against our enemies and would-be murderers. Why didn't the media and the intelligentsia cry out that we must eradicate evil from our midst? And where is the Attorney General? After all, people were arrested on charges of incitement and sedition for far less than that.

5.

This Shabbat we will read about the spies that Moses sent to scout Canaan and gather intelligence ahead of its conquest. The spies returned from their mission and spoke in praise of the land, but instead of concentrating on the facts that Moses had asked for, they made themselves advisors and expressed reservations at what they had seen: "However, the people that dwell in the land are fierce, and the cities are fortified, and very great; and moreover, we saw the children of Anak there."Moreover, the land was full of might peoples, and they "spread an evil report of the land which they had spied out." The people were swayed by the spies' report, and they blamed the leadership for bringing them out of Egypt only to kill them in a war for "this land" (the land had become a hateful object). What use did they have for war and international pressure? The peoples of the region want to remove us from our land and the effort required amidst this reality to maintain a strong society with Torah and science, economy and education, cultural foundations, is enormous. We would be better off in the desert or in Germany, France or the United States, and live at the mercy of others, they say.

The people said: "Let us make a captain and let us return into Egypt." They had forgotten in little time that they had come from the House of Bondage, from the concentration and labor camps, from newborn males being thrown into the Nile, from the cruelties and the horrors they had suffered for so long. At that moment, fear dictated their thoughts. The night that the Children of Israel cried and despaired they would never enter the Promised Land has since been marked as the root of all our troubles; our sages noted the date, Tisha B'Av! (the 9^th of Av) Since then and throughout history, the sin of the spies hung as a sword over the people, disenchantment with the land our fathers yearned for, a poison chalice for the destruction of the first and second temples and for our long exile.

The great test was the atonement for this sin, returning from exile despite the dangers, and clinging to the land while settling in it and making it bloom. The test is not over. Hamas and Hezbollah, the Palestinian Authority and Iran and other enemies seek to expel us from our country. The war does not end with eradicating evil and destroying terrorists; it requires us to strengthen our hold on all parts of the Land of Israel and deepen our roots there. In the face of cries of despair, we repeat today the immortal cry of Joshua and Caleb: "The land that we traversed and scouted is an exceedingly good land."

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Prof. Israel Knohl is an Israeli biblical scholar and historian, the author of the book "From the Fountain to the Mountain" (published by Carmel and the Shalom Hartman Institute), a senior research fellow at the Shalom Hartman Institute, and a visiting lecturer at Harvard, Berkeley, Stanford, and Chicago universities. Emeritus professor in the Department of Bible at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

Q: Prof. Israel Knohl, in your new book "From the Fountain to the Mountain - The Hidden Roots of the Story of the Giving of the Torah", you shed new light on a very significant moment in Judaism – the revelation at Mount Sinai. You claim that the giving of the commandments and the revelation of God did not occur at Mount Sinai or in a dramatic scene, as is commonly believed, but rather beside a spring, in a much quieter place. Before we get to the crux of the matter, how did you come to think of this in the first place?

A: "I grew up within the Jewish tradition, and throughout the years I heard the familiar story of the giving of the Torah that we all know. I grew up thinking that this was the only story and there was no other. Shortly before the coronavirus outbreak, I led a seminar on the Book of Hosea, and when the pandemic broke out, we could not meet physically, so I suggested, casually, that we read on Zoom the ancient poem at the end of the Torah, chapter 33 in the Book of Deuteronomy. As we began reading the poem, we reached Moses' blessing on the tribe of Levi, and for the first time, I thought - what does it actually say? What happened there at the Waters of Meribah?"

Q: This is not the first time you have read this blessing, but it seems to be the first time you realized something about it. After about 60 years of reading the same text over and over again, you suddenly deciphered it differently.

A: "We read this blessing ritually every Simchat Torah. But during COVID, I gained a new perspective on this blessing. I understood it meant something else, and from there it snowballed. So yes, only after about 60 years of reading the same text over and over again, did I suddenly understand that the commandments were given in a different location. I attribute this insight, this discovery, to the outbreak of the Corona pandemic."

Q: The discovery you are talking about is closely related to the desire of the biblical narrators to reach an audience. This is quite an interesting angle.

A: "My general claim, in terms of the development of literary genres within the Bible, is that the writing of a story is linked to the emergence of an audience. If you want to publish a book, you need an audience of readers. However, in ancient Israel, until the 8th century BCE, it seems there was no established audience of readers. We know this from archaeological evidence, which shows few archaeological inscriptions before the 8th century BCE. Another evidence for this is the prophets – We have numerous stories about the prophets Elijah, Elisha, and Samuel, but their actual prophecies were not recorded in book form until after the 8th century BCE.

"Only after that can we find prophets who wrote down their prophecies – Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, Micah. These are the first four prophets whose prophecies were written in a book, all in the 8th century BCE. Before that, there may have been elitist writing at the royal court – a poet would sit and write, for example, about Jezebel and Ahab's marriage. But it was only for the elites."

Q: And the writing you refer to from a later period was much more widespread.

A: "It was widespread and comprehensive. For example, even the opposition had their words recorded in a book. The words of Amos, the outright opponent of the king of Israel and his official cult, are included in the book. These are sharp, oppositional prophecies that challenged the regime. By the way, it's unclear whether Amos himself could read and write, but if not – he had someone beside him who wrote down his prophecies in a book."

The beginnings of Israelite consciousness

Q: You are describing an inherent problem: if the prophet Amos, for example, did not necessarily know how to read and write, then large segments of the people probably did not either. So how were important contents disseminated when most of the people did not know how to read and write?

A: "The primary medium before the 8th century BCE was poetry. Poetry, because of its rhythms, was considered easy to memorize and transmit, and it tells us about the main events of the period. In the current book, I proposed separating what the ancient poem tells us about the foundational events from the narrative recounted later in the Torah. To my great surprise, I realized that the situation depicted in the poem is very different.

"True, Mount Sinai does appear there, but Mount Sinai is only God's starting point because it seems they worshipped him there. We know this through ancient Egyptian records, which indicate that even before the biblical period began, around 1,400 BCE, tribes in that area worshipped a god named Yahweh.

"So God sets out from Sinai, which is a volcanic mountain in Shei'r, Edom, Midian – indicating a place in southern Transjordan or northwestern Saudi Arabia. This departure shakes the mountains, but according to the poem, it is not accompanied by any speech from God. However, speaking, giving of the commandments, making of the covenant, and its violation – all take place in a completely different location, beside a spring near Egypt, in the western Sinai Peninsula. He speaks to all the people, without the mediation of Moses. So as you said at the beginning – the giving of the commandments and the revelation of God did not occur on Mount Sinai or in a dramatic scene, but rather beside a spring, in a much quieter place."

Q: Can we regard the poetry as a reliable source?

A: "Let's take, for example, the Song of Deborah, which begins with the story of 'When you, Lord, went out from Seir, when you marched from the land of Edom, the earth shook, the heavens poured,  the clouds poured down water. And then it mentions 'the mountains quaked at the presence of the Lord' – meaning, molten lava streaming down from Mount Sinai. But the opening about Mount Sinai is not the main point. The main focus of the poem is a battle between the Canaanites, who lived in the valleys, and the Israelites, who lived in the hill country, and it seems to have occurred around 1,100 BCE.

"At that time, there was no king in Israel, no taxes were collected, and therefore it was not possible to maintain a standing army. So the soldiers were actually farmers who volunteered for war. In the Song of Deborah, there is mention of a small village – Meroz – which is not mentioned anywhere else in the Bible: ''Curse ye Meroz', said the angel of the Lord...because they came not to the help of the Lord, to the help of the Lord against the mighty.' It's not 'with the Lord's help' but 'to the help of the Lord' – meaning, God needs the help of the warriors of Israel. And that village, which did not send soldiers to the war, is cursed.

"So to answer your question, I don't think a later poet would bother to mention such a minor detail. Many scholars believe that this is an extremely ancient poem, reflecting the state of consciousness of the people of Israel, in its very beginnings."

"The quiet power of water"

Q: Is it coincidental that the prominent and widespread description of the event at Mount Sinai was associated with a dramatic, volcanic phenomenon? The story about the solid spring did not resonate with the people, perhaps because it was perceived as less memorable.

A: "The poem, along with all its beauty, is a text written in a language that is not always easy to understand. In addition, the Torah was sanctified as the founding document that is read on Shabbat and during the week. Moreover, the thundering and roaring volcanic revelation certainly has a strong visual and auditory effect. It leaves a powerful impression, instilling fear, and becomes etched in memory. But the spring has a different uniqueness. It is etched in the national memory by the demand for one God – 'There shall be no strange god in you' (Psalm 81:10). This is the core of monotheism, which demands a profound change in religious practice. So at the spring, there is a foundational event, not dramatic, but on a level of content that profoundly affects religious life."  

Q: But this commandment is quickly violated.

A: "Part of the people violate it and worship other gods because they were asked to go against their habit, against what was acceptable. Monotheism was revolutionary at the time, but ultimately – that revelation by the waters, which is based on the commandment not to worship other gods – has survived until our very days. This shows the power of it."

Q: "Still waters run deep." In the book, you also refer to the narrator. What do we know about him? 

A: "He takes the core elements from the poem and creates a volcanic motif, endowed with greater authority since everything that was said to Moses at Sinai by God carries immense weight. I believe the narrator was affiliated with prophetic circles, a fierce opponent of the official cult and the golden calves. He opposes prosperity and splendor, and encourages a simple and elementary cult with stones and ashes, without hewn stones, silver, or gold. He is against the priesthood and believes that all the people of Israel have a status of holiness – 'a kingdom of priests and a holy nation', that is his motto. The narrator opposes the king, and in a socio-economic way cares for and supports the poor and weak in society through relevant commandments. He is a religious-social reformer."

Q: In the book, you also refer to the role of Moses as a national leader, and not as one whose role is to mediate religious knowledge. Does this make religion more egalitarian, and more accessible?

A: "Yes, because we are used to looking at the biblical religion as prophetic, with Moses as a founding and establishing figure. In the poem, Moses is much more of a political leader, who leads the children of Israel when they cross the Red Sea. He is not the one who mediates religious knowledge, which according to the poem is transmitted equally to everyone. We do not need a religious establishment to mediate between us and God, because we have direct access to God."

Q: How is this approach manifested?

A: "The question is whether a person needs to go to Bethel, where he will meet God and speak with Amaziah the priest of Bethel, who will mediate the word of God for him; or whether a person can go to the sons of the prophets, who sit in all kinds of tents, devoid of splendor, silver, and gold – and they are the ones who will mediate religious knowledge for him. The narrator takes a traditional approach that testifies to a more egalitarian and accessible religion, as mentioned."

"Society drives progress"

Q: What does the traditional approach you mentioned, which makes religion accessible, attest to?

A: "I think this tradition attests that the public, in general, as a whole, holds more power than the leadership.  According to the poem, it is essentially the public, not the leaders, who are important and decisive. The public is the one that leaves its mark, has direct contact with the divine, and needs to internalize the fundamental commandments.

"The tradition of the poem, written in a pre-monarchic society, in the period of the Judges, a time when there was no king in Israel, without a permanent regime – is a tradition that believes more in the people and its strength, its survival, than in the ruling figures. This tradition entrusts the people with the responsibility of preserving tradition and culture, alongside recovery and revival after severe crises."

Q: This is a message that resonates greatly with our times.

A: "Absolutely. For example, the poem describes a terrible civil war within the tribe of Levi: 'Who said of his father, and of his mother: 'I have not seen him'; neither did he acknowledge his brethren, nor knew he his own children; for they have observed Thy word, and keep Thy covenant.' An enormous crisis that tears families apart, with strife and disagreement. But the people still have the strength to overcome this internal war. I think this is a wonderful message for our times.

"I believe that even today, we must have faith in the strength of society and the public, even if the leadership fails. It is the society that drives progress. Even during a harsh civil war, there is no need to panic. The people have resilience, and I sincerely hope this is what we will see in these times as well."

Q: How are your new insights received in the world of biblical studies and academic research? Surely, some strongly disapprove of them.

A: "The book was only released three weeks ago, and so far I have received positive responses from academics, but we have to wait and see."

Q: Will the religious establishment accept your thesis? 

A: "I don't expect great things, but it's important to remember that I'm also not writing for the religious establishment, that's not my target audience. However, I'm aware my books are studied in the yeshiva world. There are yeshiva students who keep my book 'Sanctuary of Silence' under their Talmud. This book delves into the priestly literature of the Torah, and at the time it was quite innovative.It didn't receive much enthusiasm from the academic community back then, but today it has become widely accepted as the consensus."

Q: Will this also be the case with the current book?

A: "I don't rule it out, but it takes time, perhaps many years. We'll wait and see."

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