Fewer Than 10 Jews Live in Syria. A Diaspora Is Edging Back.
His family had left Syria along with many other Jews in the 1990s. But here he was with his son, Henry Hamra, who lifted the heavy gold-laced scrolls high above his head as warm sunlight beamed through the stained glass windows of the al-Faranj Synagogue in Damascus's Old City.
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Boston Globe
4 days ago
- Boston Globe
A day of mourning in a time of fear
Other disasters have coincided with the 9th of Av. That was when the No date in the long annals of the Jews is so drenched in grief. For more than 2,000 years, observant Jews have marked the day by abstaining from food and drink for 25 hours. In synagogues worldwide, families will begin the fast at nightfall Saturday by sitting on the floor and reading the biblical Advertisement In a sense, Tisha B'Av encapsulates in a calendar date all the pain and loss that have been inflicted on the Jewish people through the generations by those who hate them. That hatred has ebbed and flowed, but it has never vanished. There Advertisement Tisha B'Av arrives this year as American Jews confront an inescapable and chilling reality: Antisemitism in the United States has surged to levels unseen since before World War II. The threat has been Advertisement Here in Massachusetts, anti‑Jewish hate crimes A In response to these attacks, the ADL commissioned a national survey. Its report stressed that a majority of Americans regard antisemitic hatred as a serious issue and oppose violence against Jews. But between the lines, the survey's findings were horrifying. Asked about the violent attacks in Washington and Colorado, as well as the torching of Shapiro's home, 13 percent of respondents said that such acts were 'justified,' 15 percent believed they were 'necessary,' 22 percent did not consider them antisemitic, and an astonishing 24 percent — nearly 1 in 4 respondents — pronounced the attacks 'understandable.' Advertisement These are no longer fringe views. Raw, antisemitic bigotry is Young people acquire their opinions from multiple sources, of course. But at least some of this animus against Jews has been As Tisha B'Av approaches, more than Advertisement For anyone born after 1945, this normalizing of Jew-hatred in the United States represents a chilling reversal. The Cold War era's moral taboo against antisemitism — bolstered by the revelation of Nazi Germany's genocide, and by the success of the Civil Rights and Soviet Jewry movements — used to render overt Jew‑hatred unthinkable in mainstream America. Now that taboo is shredding. Ours has become a society in which antisemitic venom — As a Jew, and as the son of an Auschwitz survivor, I find all this darkly ominous. So do many Jewish Americans I know. Yet with few exceptions, most of my non-Jewish friends and acquaintances don't seem to understand how frightening it is for Jews to sense history beginning to repeat itself — or how exposed, isolated, and endangered many Jews now feel. It has been pointed out often that the Advertisement That isn't merely a historical observation. It reflects a pattern first articulated in the earliest pages of the Bible. As an Orthodox Jew, I believe in the continuing validity of the promise God made to Abraham in Benjamin Disraeli, who twice served as Britain's prime minister, distilled the biblical pledge into an axiom of statecraft: 'The Lord deals with the nations as the nations deal with the Jews.' Winston Churchill agreed and on multiple occasions quoted his predecessor's maxim. 'We must admit,' More than 80 years later, the renowned journalist and historian Paul Johnson developed the point in It happened to Spain after it expelled the Jews in the 1490s, to France in the wake of the Dreyfus affair, and to Czarist Russia following the wave of antisemitic pogroms in the late 19th century. Germany's descent into genocidal madness led to cataclysmic military defeat in 1945 and brought on 40 years of communist dictatorship in the eastern third of the country. And the antisemitic obsessions of the Arab world over the past century have kept it mired in economic and cultural backwardness, when it could have become 'by far the richest portion of the earth's surface.' Conversely, nations that extended protection and freedom to their Jewish citizens have invariably flourished. Cyrus the Great of Persia liberated the Jews from captivity, and went on to rule the largest empire the world had seen to that time. The Ottoman sultans who welcomed Jewish exiles from Spain presided over a multicultural dominion that thrived for centuries. Above all, the United States — where Jews enjoyed freedom, opportunity, and safety they had never before known in their long Diaspora — grew into the wealthiest, strongest, and most important nation on the globe. Jewish Americans, making the most of the liberty and equality afforded them, became scientists and doctors, entrepreneurs and entertainers, retail innovators and writers, judges and educators. America's ascent to global preeminence was inseparable from its treatment of Jews as full citizens. 'I will bless those who bless you, and those who curse you I will curse,' God said at the dawn of Jewish history, and history has repeatedly confirmed it. But the ancient promise — or, if you like, Paul Johnson's 'historical law' — is also a reminder and a warning to the American nation. Unchecked antisemitism is not merely a Jewish problem. It is an infection in America's soul and a threat to its future. George Washington, in his famous That vision animated America's founding promise and it helped shape the nation's greatness. But today, nearly 235 years after Washington wrote those words, the children of the stock of Abraham are afraid. If that fear is allowed to deepen and spread, the cost will not fall on Jews alone. Tisha B'Av is a day of mourning for the Jewish people — but it ought to be a moment of reckoning for all Americans. To drive out the virus of antisemitism, to ensure that Jews can live in safety and dignity, is not only to defend a beleaguered minority. It is to recommit to the very ideals that made the United States a light among nations. America has been blessed because it blessed its Jews. May it never learn what happens when it stops doing so. This article is adapted from the current , Jeff Jacoby's weekly newsletter. To subscribe to Arguable, visit . Jeff Jacoby can be reached at
New York Post
5 days ago
- New York Post
Starving Palestinians swarm aid trucks in Gaza — as Israel announces daily pause in fighting
Harrowing video captured hundreds of desperate Palestinians swarming aid trucks in Gaza over the weekend — as Israel announced a daily halt in fighting across parts of the enclave so humanitarian supplies can be airdropped in. The grim footage, shot by a reporter on the ground, captured scores of people clamoring on top of two moving trucks in southern Gaza on Saturday, just days after images of starving Palestinian children alarmed the world. As the trucks inched by, hundreds of people on the ground could be seen shoving each other as they tried to rush towards the vehicles, the clip shows. Advertisement The wild scenes came as Israel announced Sunday that its military would pause operations in Gaza City, Deir al-Balah and Muwasi for 10 hours a day — between 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. — to allow for the improved flow of aid into the region. 5 Hundreds of desperate Palestinians swarmed aid trucks in Gaza over the weekend. MOHAMMED SABER/EPA/Shutterstock Israel's military said designated secure routes, or humanitarian corridors, would also be established between 6 a.m. and 11 p.m. from Sunday to allow the United Nations to disperse food and medicine in Gaza. Advertisement United Nations aid chief Tom Fletcher said some movement restrictions already appeared to ease by Sunday after the Jewish state decided to 'support a one-week scale-up of aid.' Initial reports indicated that more than 100 truckloads of aid had already been collected from crossings to be transported into Gaza, according to Fletcher. 'This is progress, but vast amounts of aid are needed to stave off famine and a catastrophic health crisis,' Fletcher said. 5 Harrowing images showed people clamoring on top of moving trucks in parts of Gaza on Saturday. Xinhua/Shutterstock Advertisement 5 People could be seen carrying sacks of supplies as the trucks moved through. MOHAMMED SABER/EPA/Shutterstock Meanwhile, Jordan and the United Arab Emirates parachuted 25 tons of aid into Gaza on Sunday, a Jordanian official said. Aid agencies have welcomed Israel's new measures, but warned they weren't enough to counter the rising hunger in the Palestinian territory. The measures come after photos of malnourished kids sparked global concern late last week — including from Israel's close allies. Advertisement President Trump, who described the portraits of emaciated children in Gaza as 'terrible', vowed Monday to send more US aid to the war-torn enclave. 5 As the trucks inched by, hundreds of people on the ground could be seen shoving each other as they tried to rush towards the vehicles. MOHAMMED SABER/EPA/Shutterstock 'If we weren't there. I think people would have starved frankly,' Trump said. 'They would have starved and it's not like they're eating well.' He added that the United States had already provided $60 million for humanitarian aid but that other nations would have to step up, too. 'We're giving a lot of money and a lot of food, and other nations are now stepping up,' Trump said. 'It's a mess. They have to get food and safety right now.' Trump claimed he'd received blowback from some of his supporters but stressed he decided to send aid to Gaza anyway because there is 'a humanitarian reason for doing it.' 'Will I do more aid, yeah,' Trump said when asked about sending additional resources. 'The US is going to do more aid for Gaza but we would like to have other countries participate.' Advertisement 5 The wild scenes came as Israel announced Sunday that its military would pause operations in Gaza City, Deir al-Balah and Muwasi for 10 hours a day. AFP via Getty Images The Gaza Health Ministry said dozens have died of malnutrition in recent weeks — including at least 14 new fatalities in the 24 hours leading into Monday. In total, 147 have died of malnutrition and hunger since the war began in 2023, including 89 children, according to the health ministry. Israel has blamed Hamas for the current humanitarian crisis gripping the region, arguing the terror group has disrupted food distribution. Advertisement 'Israel is presented as though we are applying a campaign of starvation in Gaza,' Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said in the wake of the recent backlash. 'What a bald-faced lie. There is no policy of starvation in Gaza, and there is no starvation in Gaza.' With Post wires
Los Angeles Times
5 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
Relishing a grandmother's love, one meal at a time
My most vivid food memories involve overcooked spaghetti in a wooden bowl, and my grandmother Phyllis. For decades, my grandmother's wooden bowls sat stacked in the cabinet next to the refrigerator in her old, two-story home in Gardena. They followed her to her retirement home in Palm Desert, which she lovingly referred to as 'toe-tag city.' She was part of the volunteer wellness-check committee that called other residents to make sure they were still breathing. The bowls were lopsided and smooth, burnished and misshapen by countless years of scraping Lipton onion dip and spaghetti off the sides. When she died on July 17 at the age of 91, the first memories that came to mind involved spaghetti in those wooden bowls, and all the meals and laughs we shared together. They were not the expensive cherry wood, olive wood or acacia you might find at Crate & Barrel. The wood was thin, pressed and woven — the chicken nugget equivalent of a piece of dinnerware. My grandmother bought them at a restaurant supply store in Los Angeles almost 40 years ago. An internet search for 'cheap wooden bowls' produces images of something similar. During my childhood summers, I spent most of my days lounging on a fraying towel on a patch of lumpy grass in my grandparents' backyard, eating out of one of those wooden bowls. My too-long hair was always damp from the aboveground pool where my late grandfather, Warner, taught me how to swim. 'You're my favorite,' he would say. He said that to all the grandkids. Phyllis and Warner were Jewish but never kept kosher. She used to boast that her grandfather opened the first kosher butcher shop on Pico Boulevard, though she could never remember the name or the year. There was always bacon in the house. She used a plastic tray to microwave the bacon until it was crisp and perfect. And her most famous dishes involved both meat and cheese in those wooden bowls. The sound and sensation of my bent fork against the wood is palpable even now. My grandmother's spaghetti was always cooked two minutes past al dente. I squeezed the noodles between my tongue and front teeth and counted how many I could eat without chewing. The sensation was simply exquisite. The meat sauce, slightly salty and grainy, was always seasoned with Lawry's spaghetti mix from a paper pouch. The ground beef was pulverized until it became one with the canned crushed tomatoes. My grandmother slid the emerald green cylinder of Parmesan across the table and never questioned the Everest-sized mountain I managed to shake into the bowl. I used to study the grooves and nicks in the bowls and wondered what would happen if I accidentally ate wood. Is there a tiny tree growing in my stomach right now? Armed with a head full of dreams, a slender grasp on reality and the high of a new Hello Kitty backpack for the fast-approaching fall, I happily slurped my noodles, unburdened by the anxiety of the 1/8th-life crisis that so often crept into my thoughts and threatened to ruin a good meal. But never this meal. The bowls were a promise, that at least for the time it took to eat whatever filled them, things would be just fine. I have my grandmother to thank for this, and for so many of my fondest memories, food quirks and preferences. It's thanks to Phyllis Harris that I prefer the Lipton onion soup mix dip to anything whipped up in a restaurant kitchen. And that I know how to host everything from a small gathering to a proper rager. She's the reason my friends ask me to make latkes for every Hanukkah party. Her holiday gatherings were legendary, with a full spread of golden latkes, brisket, bagels, lox and white fish. And there was always a bowl of pitted black olives. My cousins and I used to slide an olive onto each finger and pop them into our mouths while we ran around the house. My grandmother was the master of something called the schmutz platter. I can't recall which one of us came up with the name, but I suspect it was me. It was more of a table-wide spread than an actual platter, comprising various deli cold cuts, leaves of romaine lettuce, dill pickle chips, black olives, sliced cheese (always havarti and usually provolone), a wooden bowl of tuna salad, another of potato salad, sliced rye bread and challah, ramekins of mayonnaise and mustard. While grandma made her own tuna salad and potato salad, both studded with bits of hardboiled egg, the coleslaw was only ever from Kentucky Fried Chicken. 'KFC or bust,' she would say. And she meant it. I brought countless acquaintances out to the desert to visit, and each time, a schmutz platter would be waiting on the dining room table when we arrived. But even when it was just me, the platter was there. After living in Los Angeles for most of her life, grandma was used to the depth and breadth of cuisines in the city. Her move to Palm Desert 20 years ago was accompanied by a bit of culinary shock, when she realized there were no Asian markets nearby and the local dim sum restaurant wasn't exactly local or actual dim sum. Each trip to visit came with a request to bring her a loaf of double-baked rye bread from Langer's Deli and an order or two of siu mai. The desert being the desert, we used to brave the 30-second walk to her car in the 110-degree heat to drive to the Rite Aid down the street for ice cream. She used to call the pharmacy waiting area an 'ice cream cafe,' and we sat in the blood pressure chairs while we licked our cones. I was only ever able to convince her to order the Chocolate Malted Krunch (the best flavor) once. Grandma only had eyes for rainbow sherbet. While we sat in the ice cream cafe, she asked about work and my love life, but never in a prying way. She listened intently and never judged, though I gave her plenty to question. By the time I made it to the bottom of my cone, I felt like there was at least one person in the world who understood me. As much as grandma loved to host company, with her weekly card games and mahjong, she lived for a night out. She had her hair done regularly into a golden coiffed pouf. Her nails were always painted. I don't think I ever saw her leave the house, let alone her bedroom, without lipstick. There were dresses for the grocery store, dresses for the mall, lunch with the girls and dinner out. We often staged mini fashion shows to compare outfits. Sullivan's, a lively chain steakhouse on the second floor of the El Paseo shopping center in Palm Desert, was our favorite place. She went so often that she had a regular table. She always enjoyed a glass of red wine. I sipped a martini. And we both ordered the crispy Shanghai calamari. This was the height of luxury and culinary achievement for grandma. A plate of battered and fried squid from Point Judith, R.I., coated in a sweet chili glaze with cherry peppers, scallions and sesame seeds. The rounds of squid were always tender, dredged in a light, crisp, shaggy coating. The orange, chile-flecked sauce was sticky and sweet, similar to the condiment typically served with Thai barbecue chicken. I can see her licking the sauce from her fingers as I type this. One of the last great meals we shared was at Alice B., Mary Sue Milliken and Susan Feniger's restaurant at the Living Out LGBTQ+ community in Palm Springs. Feniger was there that evening and graciously took us on a small tour of the property before steering us toward an order of executive chef Lance Velasquez's excellent biscuits. My grandmother, who was a fan of Feniger's for years, was elated at meeting the chef. If the TV was on at grandma's house, it was tuned to the Food Network. We marveled at the texture of the biscuits, equal parts crunch and fluff. We finished every drop of the honey and butter. Grandma and I shared a love of fried chicken and discussed the restaurant's chicken cutlet for much of the drive home. She grew teary-eyed as we finished dinner. Grandma was someone who treated each meal, whether it was out or a schmutz platter at home, like it was something to be savored and appreciated, grateful for every moment we got to spend together. I know that with time, this pang in my chest will dull, but I'm confident that these memories will stay vivid. I can summon the smell of her kitchen. The warmth of her embrace. The sound of her laughter and the way it filled a room. I can taste her spaghetti and feel the grooves of the wooden bowls. Thank you, Grandma, for showing me just how delicious this life can be.
