On May 28, near Mbale, Uganda, the Abayudaya Jewish community celebrated the arrival of a tractor, gifted to them by Harmony Foundationof Canada. (photo from Elisha Higenyi & Tarphon Kamya / JRU)
On May 28, near Mbale, Uganda, the Abayudaya Jewish community celebrated a unique occasion – the arrival of a long-dreamt-of tractor.
For decades, the Abayudaya have lived as small and vibrant Jewish communities in a predominantly Christian and Muslim region; their faith rooted in a century-old embrace of Judaism. Life in this rural area is beautiful but challenging. Clean water is hard to find, health care is distant and most families, living on $2 a day, can’t afford to provide their children basic education. A tractor may seem unremarkable to many of us, but, for the Abayudaya and their neighbours, it is life-changing. With it, they can cultivate more land, increase yields, feed more families and send more children to school.
This gift of a tractor was made possible by the Harmony Foundation of Canada, which is supporting sustainable agricultural initiatives with the Abayudaya Jewish community in Uganda through Jewish Response Uganda. JRU is anonprofit founded by members of the Abayudaya in 2017. The organization has worked to improve lives by offering training in sustainable agriculture, helping farmers grow high-value crops, and supporting initiatives in education, health care and women’s empowerment.
With a tractor, the community can cultivate more land, increase yields, feed more families and send more children to school. (photo from Elisha Higenyi & Tarphon Kamya / JRU)
In a region where religious divisions often deepen hardship, JRU has chosen a path of inclusion. Today, Christians, Muslims and Jews work side by side in JRU programs, united by shared needs and a common hope for a better future. This inclusive approach fosters interfaith cooperation, mutual respect and a stronger, more united region.
For more information, watch the Harmony Foundation’s video The Abayudaya; Jews of Uganda on YouTube. You can email JRU at [email protected], or be in touch with Tarphon Kamya, project manager of JRU ([email protected]), or Elisha Higenyi, spiritual leader at JRU ([email protected]).
The Jewpanese Project Archives was launched online earlier this month.
I grew up in a mixed Jewish and Japanese Canadian family. My Jewish grandparents were Holocaust survivors from Poland and what is now Belarus, and my Japanese Canadian grandparents were survivors of the New Denver internment camp here in British Columbia.
Earlier this month – which is Asian Heritage Month and Jewish Heritage Month – I launched on my website the Jewpanese Project Archives, which highlights a selection of 35 US-based interviews, which were collected between May 2022 and April 2025. (See carmeltanaka.ca/jewpanese-project-archives.)
The collection phase of the interviews was funded by my year-long fellowship with the Anti-Defamation League – the Collaborative for Change Fellowship – and the aggregation of data from the US-based interviews was funded by a Jews of Colour Initiative research grant.
Each profile in the Jewpanese Project Archives contains the name of the interviewee and a photo of them; the place and date of their interview; their Jewpanese connection and birthplace; a link to a short video and a written paragraph on being Jewpanese; a link to the full audio and written interview; a link to the Instagram writeup with pictures; and archive notes.
The Jewpanese Project evolved organically. In my early 30s, I started to learn about what happened to my families (as I didn’t know much) and, then, the opportunity fell into my lap to find and interview fellow Jewpanese in Canada, the United States, Japan and Israel. Originally intended to be a 20-interview endeavour, it turned into an 85-plus interview community archive.
The project also has grown into a comic about a kimono heirloom in my Jewish family, an animated film about my journey to Białystok, and a play about being Jewpanese, for which I received an artist grant from the Japanese Canadian Legacies Society (JCLS). I also received an intergenerational wellness grant from JCLS to record the forgotten Japanese Canadian history of the Okanagan Landing Station House in Vernon, BC, which is also available on my website, carmeltanaka.ca.
Growing up, I thought it was just my sister and me who had Japanese and Jewish heritage. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be connected to 230-plus Jewpanese community members worldwide. And there must be more, which is an exciting thought. Many of us in North America hadn’t met another Jewpanese person – other than our siblings – until this project, which was birthed out of our monthly community Zoom calls during the pandemic.
While you peruse the archives, I welcome you to listen and read through the interviews and Instagram highlights to learn about the experiences of being mixed in Japanese and Jewish communities in the United States, which are comparable to those in Canada. Whether it’s language, culture, rituals, identity or traditions, Jewpanese people have a wide spectrum of lived experiences, but one thing is pretty constant – our love of food. We have a number of Jewpanese fusion recipes!
One of the questions I ask in the interviews is whether or not participants have done “roots trips,” going to their ancestral homelands. Many of us haven’t, and many of our parents (including mine) haven’t either, especially here in North America. My first trip to Japan was last year, at the age of 37, as part of this project, and it was life-changing. Even though the collection phase funding has ended, I have used my Avion points to go to Europe to retrace the steps of my Jewish family – and that’s where I am now. I experienced firsthand how healing my Japan trip was for me and for my dad, whom I dragged along virtually, as his health is declining, so I am doing the same for my mom, whose health is also deteriorating.
My journey to Japan inspired a number of Jewpanese and Nikkei people to seek out family members there through a process to obtain one’s koseki (family register document), and I hope that my journey to Poland also will motivate my Jewpanese and Jewish communities to do the same. It can be inspiring to know our history and where we come from.
Many Jewpanese families are asking when the rest of the interviews (all the non-US-based interviews) will be processed, and my answer is “when I get funding.” I never expected this project to blossom as it has. It’s been the project of a lifetime and deeply personal. If you are in a position to support it, please do reach out. It would be wonderful to have the Canadian, Israeli and Japanese interviews processed for the archives, as well.
If you are a Jewpanese person, couple or family and would like to participate in this project, I am still accepting written interviews. Please contact me for an interview package.
Todarigato! (Toda + arigato, “thank you” in Hebrew and Japanese!)
Carmel Tanakais the founder and executive director of JQT Vancouver, and curator of the B.C. Jewish Queer & Trans Oral History Project (jqtvancouver.ca/jqt-oral-history-bc) and the Jewpanese Oral History Project (Instagram: @JewpaneseProject). A version of this article was published in the Victoria Nikkei Forum.
Shifra Sharfstein and her husband, Shlomo, run Georgia Tech Chabad House with the help of their children. (photo from Shifra Sharfstein)
My parents invited countless people into their home over the decades and fed them on Shabbat and Passover. Little did we know that their acts of kindness would inspire one of their grandchildren to bring Shabbat dinners to hundreds of Jewish students at Georgia Tech in Atlanta each year.
Shifra Sharfstein grew up in Vancouver until she was in Grade 7, going to school at the local Chabad House and also learning about Judaism with her parents, Tzvi and Nomi Freeman, and grandparents, Joyce and Bernie Freeman.
“We went every Wednesday night for a special dinner,” Shifra recalled. “Grandma would spoil us with our favourites each week. She would read us a book and chat with us. She would listen to us talk and let us help make desserts in the kitchen. It was a space that was just all love, pure unconditional love.”
Shifra also gives credit to her grandfather, who supported my mom’s efforts to bring what seemed like the entire Jewish community into our house to feed them.
My mother grew up in India and her parents were from Iraq. Shifra remembers the Sephardi tomato soup with potatoes and meatballs, which took Mom a whole day to make.
“My cousin Ariella and me would talk all night about how much we loved that soup!” she said.
When Mom passed away, Shifra compiled a recipe book for family and friends called With Love from Joyce.
She remembers Mom’s international food.
“Baked Alaska coming out of the oven with cold ice cream inside always seemed like magic,” she said. (And then there was the cherry pie, which I can still taste.)
She remembers gathering together with her cousins before every Jewish holiday, making hundreds of hamantashen.
“I do the same with our college students, today,” she said.
Shifra runs Georgia Tech Chabad House with her husband Shlomo, and with the help of their eight children.
“I could go on forever talking about how much my grandmother and grandfather inspire me,” she said. “Whenever I’m in the kitchen for awhile, especially the week before Pesach, which is grandma’s yahrzeit, I feel her there with me. Sometimes, the powerful work we do is overwhelming, especially when we’re helping students deal with tragedy, and I close my eyes and see Grandma’s smile and feel the beautiful love she had channeled through me, her granddaughter.”
Recently, the couple threw a dinner for 500 Jewish students and dedicated it to the memory of Shifra’s grandparents. It was the first time so many people had dined there.
“Thank G-d we have lots of help and an amazing community of beautiful Georgia Tech students!” she said. “But we keep it all homemade at Chabad and I always incorporate Grandma’s flavours in it.”
Shifra said she also was inspired by the way her grandparents had so many guests who were welcomed like family.
“Grandma always said that what mattered was that we all got along,” Shifra explained. “She told us stories of Jews from different backgrounds and how what was most important is that we all came together, no matter our differences, with love … she truly loved every Jew with zero judgment. I think I absorbed that from her. She looked past the outside and saw that each person has a beautiful soul. She taught me how to do the same and I truly try to make that my focus every time I meet someone new.”
Shifra considers herself a feminist, running the Chabad House they live in and taking care of her children side by side with her husband. She is an accomplished speaker, as well.
“Knowledge is power,” she said. “I grew up being taught to always ask questions. My father and mother spent time learning with me as a young girl in Vancouver and the more I learnt and [the more] I asked, the more I realized how much I could accomplish.”
She added that she is inspired by the late Lubavitcher Rebbe’s teachings about women.
“As a Chabad leader, I know my Rebbe taught me that Jewish women in leadership have a unique power as nurturers who can change the world with love,” she said. “It’s the same message [now] and I intend to take it with me and change my part of the world with that feminine loving touch.”
Chabad Georgia Tech has seven Jewish classes each week, a weekly BBQ, social events, events where they counsel students and, of course, the highlight of their week is Shabbat, with anywhere between 80 and 130 students who come and then stay, chatting late into the night after dinner.
All this activity has had an impact. For example, there have been three weddings in the last 14 years and, right now, another couple is engaged to be married.
Shifra says their success is due, as well, to their dedicated team of students, who run many of the events. There are about 1,000 Jewish students on campus.
Cassandra Freeman is a freelance journalist and improv comedy performer living in Vancouver.
BC emissaries joined the Kinus Hashluchos in February. (photo from chabad.org)
Some 4,000 Chabad-Lubavitch women emissaries and lay leaders from around the globe gathered in February in New York for the 35th annual International Conference of Chabad Women Emissaries, the largest Jewish women’s leadership gathering in the world. BC shluchot (emissaries) who attended were Chanie Baitelman (Richmond), Malky Bitton (Downtown Vancouver), Matti Feigelstock (Richmond), Raizy Fischer (Vancouver), Chana Gordon (Richmond), Fraidy Hecht (Okanagan), Chani Kaplan (Vancouver Island), Riki Oirechman (Vancouver) and Blumie Shemtov (Nanaimo).
While the yearly conference has a celebratory atmosphere, uniting women leaders from Alaska to Zambia, this year’s gathering came during a particularly challenging time for Jewish communities worldwide. From local wildfires to ongoing war in Israel and rising antisemitism on college campuses, the women on the frontlines of Jewish communal service are confronting urgent realities.
The Kinus Hashluchos in February included a visit to the Ohel in Queens, NY, the resting place of the Rebbe, as well as the nearby grave of Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka. (photo from chabad.org)
The conference, known as Kinus Hashluchos, ran from Feb. 19 to Feb. 23, uniting women leaders from all 50 US states and more than 100 countries for five days of workshops, networking and spiritual renewal. The conference is annually timed to coincide with the anniversary of the passing of Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, of righteous memory, the wife of the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory.
The Thursday morning saw the emissaries visit the Ohel in Queens, NY, the resting place of the Rebbe, as well as the nearby grave of Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka. The women came to pray for their families, communities and humanity at large, carrying countless prayer requests from people around the world.
Friday morning featured the iconic “class picture,” with thousands of women gathered in front of 770 Eastern Parkway, the headquarters of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement in Brooklyn, NY.
The capstone of the conference was Sunday’s gala banquet, held at the New Jersey Convention and Expo Centre in Edison, NJ. This year’s theme, “connection,” highlighted the bonds that unite Jewish people worldwide with each other and with their Creator.
Cochin Jews at the 450th year celebration of the Paradesi synagogue, December 2017. (photo by Shalva Weil)
A study on the Purim traditions of the Cochin Jewish community by Prof. Shalva Weil of Hebrew University was published in the Journal of Modern Jewish Studies. It examines the historical and cultural significance of effigies in Purim celebrations among Cochin Jews, tracing their evolution from the 16th century to the modern day.
The Cochin Jewish community, numbering no more than 2,400 at its peak in 1948, lived in harmony with their Hindu, Christian and Muslim neighbours. Unlike other Jewish communities, they never experienced antisemitism in India, except during the Portuguese conquest of the 16th century. Their unique Purim celebrations featured role reversals that symbolically challenged societal hierarchies based on caste, religion and gender. This inversion of power structures was most vividly expressed through the construction and destruction of effigies representing adversaries, a practice embedded in the communal and ritualistic fabric of Cochin Jewry.
By the 20th century, Cochin Jews increasingly aligned themselves with the global Jewish community. Following the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948, the majority of Cochin Jews made aliyah by 1954, leaving behind only a small number of Paradesi and Malabar Jews scattered across the state of Kerala. The once-thriving Cochin Jewish community on the Malabar Coast is nearly extinct, and traditional Purim celebrations have all but disappeared. With only one Paradesi Jew remaining there and a handful in other former Cochin Jewish locations, synagogue services now rely on visiting Jewish tourists.
In stark contrast, in Israel, where an estimated 15,000 descendants of Cochin Jews now reside, Purim is celebrated in ways that reflect broader Jewish and Western cultural traditions. Children dress up as superheroes, soldiers and biblical figures; they participate in school parties and exchange hamantashen. Observant Jews continue to read the Book of Esther in synagogue and hold festive meals, incorporating their heritage into mainstream Jewish customs.
Weil, who has been awarded this year’s Yakir Yerushalayim honour as a distinguished citizen of Jerusalem due to her lifelong research into ethnicity and gender, highlights in her research the transition of Cochin Jewry from a localized, community-bound identity to an integrated and globalized Jewish experience. While their presence in India has nearly vanished, the legacy of Cochin Jews continues to thrive in Israel and beyond.
Thousands of rabbis pose for a group photo in front of Chabad-Lubavitch world headquarters in Brooklyn, NY, on Dec. 1.(photo by Shmulie Grossbaum/Chabad.org)
Some 6,500 Chabad rabbis and Jewish leaders from around the globe gathered Nov. 27-Dec. 1 in Brooklyn, NY, for the annual International Conference of Chabad-Lubavitch Emissaries, the largest rabbinic gathering in the world.
Attending from British Columbia were Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman (Chabad Richmond), Rabbi Binyomin Bitton (Chabad of Downtown Vancouver), Rabbi Mottel Gurevitz (Tri-Cities Chabad), Rabbi Shmuel Hecht (Okanagan Chabad House), Rabbi Meir Kaplan (Chabad of Vancouver Island), Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld (BC Regional Hebrew Schools), Rabbi Bentzi Shemtov (Chabad Nanaimo and Central Vancouver Island) and Rabbi Yitzchok Wineberg (Lubavitch BC).
While the yearly conference has a celebratory feel, welcoming rabbinic leaders from Alaska to Zambia, the past year was a difficult one for the Jewish people, seeing tragedy in Israel, and elsewhere. For Jews around the globe and the family of emissaries in particular, the days just prior to the conference were especially difficult: on Nov. 25, Abu Dhabi-based Chabad Rabbi Zvi Kogan was buried in Israel, after being murdered by terrorists in Dubai at the age of 28.
Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries, known as shluchim, are husband-and-wife teams who dedicate their lives to strengthening Jewish life in communities worldwide, often in remote locations without established Jewish infrastructure. They aim to reach both affiliated and unaffiliated Jews, welcoming Jews from all walks of life.
The annual conference, also known as the Kinus Hashluchim, unites rabbis and lay leaders from all 50 US states and more than 100 countries and territories around the world for four days of workshops, networking and spiritual uplift. The conference concludes with a gala banquet, which brings all the Chabad rabbis and their guests together in a giant conference centre in New Jersey.
The Thursday was a day of catch-ups between colleagues, as well as the first of a series of workshops on contemporary issues that ran over the weekend. Topics included disaster relief, combating hate, education, counseling and dealing with grief. Conference-goers who serve students on college campuses where Chabad has become part of Jewish life participated in a separate track, discussing issues specifically relevant to campus communities.
The Friday visit to the Ohel, in Queens, NY, the resting place of the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory, marked the pinnacle of the conference. The emissaries came to pray for their families and communities, carrying with them countless prayer requests. Many came with handwritten letters from Jews in their hometowns and read them by the holy site. The Ohel visit culminated in the reading of the pan klali (“general letter”) that was signed by all emissaries and contained prayers for Israel, the Jewish people and humanity at large.
Chabad-Lubavitch rabbis pray at the resting place of the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, in Queens, NY, on Nov. 29. (photo by Shmulie Grossbaum/Chabad.org)
With the onset of Shabbat on Friday evening, the emissaries spent the Jewish day of rest in prayer and brotherly camaraderie, often in the company of family and friends.
Sunday morning saw the snapping of the annual “class picture” under the iconic gables of 770 Eastern Parkway, the headquarters of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, and perhaps the most recognizable Jewish building in the world. The photo, featuring thousands of black-hatted rabbis, represents not just an annual tradition but also the many faces of the Chabad rabbis who bring Judaism to the world, from wartorn Ukraine to the towns along Israel’s hostile borders, to anti-Israel-filled college campuses across North America, to sleepier towns in quieter places.
The capstone of the conference was the gala banquet, held at the New Jersey Convention and Expo Centre, a powerful moment of remembrance and resilience. Speakers honoured Kogan with emotional tributes that emphasized the importance of continuing their global mission. The conference linked by video with the home of Kogan’s parents in Jerusalem, where his family was sitting shiva, and all 6,500 gathered shared the traditional text of comfort with the family.
Rabbi Yehuda Krinsky, chair of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch – Chabad’s educational arm – greeted the audience, sharing words of consolation with Kogan’s family and the emissaries, his “extended family,” and sending prayers for the Israeli soldiers defending the Holy Land, as well as the hostages still held in Gaza.
A video tribute was made for Rabbi Moshe Kotlarksy, the vice-chair of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch, who passed away after a lengthy illness on June 4. Kotlarsky was well-known for his role in the annual Kinus Hashluchim, directing an army of planners, staff and volunteers to ensure every detail of the massive event was perfect.
Among the most inspiring presentations of the evening was that of Rabbi Yehoshua Soudakoff, director of Chabad for the Deaf Community in Israel, who spoke of his path to finding his Jewish self as a deaf Jew.
“The voice you hear is not mine, but the words definitely are,” he said through an interpreter. “It is hard for a deaf person to find a place within the community. Torah and mitzvah while deaf are difficult. That is why I established Chabad for the Deaf Community. There are deaf Jews and Jews with various disabilities throughout the world. Let us continue our holy work to reach out to every single one of them and inspire them, just as I was once inspired,” he said to applause.
The gathering culminated in a roll call of Chabad emissaries. The event featured multilingual welcomes from emissaries around the world, including a notable announcement that a new Chabad couple had been dispatched to Andorra, highlighting Chabad’s ongoing expansion.
The evening concluded with dancing, the assembled rabbis united in their determination to continue their mission of Jewish outreach and community building, regardless of the challenges they face.
King Manuel I of Portugal (1495-1521) had a problem. To marry Princess Isabella of Spain, he consented to the request of her parents – Ferdinand and Isabella – to rid Portugal of its Jews. But Manuel wanted to keep the Jewish citizens close by, for their economic benefits (money and skills). His solution? In 1496-7, he forced Jews to convert. (He also expelled the country’s Muslims.)
Manuel believed that New Christians – this population is likewise referred to as conversos, anusim or Crypto-Jews; marranos is a derogatory term that should not be used – would continue to boost the country’s economy. It should be noted that Jews in Portugal already paid a special poll tax and a special property tax.
Even after they were forcibly converted, Portuguese Jews could not live wherever they wanted. They lived in separate quarters referred to as judiarias, what we might call ghettos. They worked as artisans and rural labourers, weavers, tailors, cobblers, carpenters, leather tanners, jewelers, and every branch of the metal industry, ranging from ordinary blacksmiths to armourers and goldsmiths.
Several Jews nonetheless reached prominence in medieval Portugal. Among them was Abraham Zacuto, originally from Spain. Portuguese King John II invited Zacuto to be the royal astronomer. The king wanted Zacuto to chart a sea route to India. Unlike most of his fellow religionists, Zacuto managed to flee Portugal after King Manuel imposed conversion on the country’s Jews.
There was also Isaac Abarbanel, who was King Afonso V’s treasurer. Yehuda Even Maneer was the richest Jew in the kingdom and, for that reason, was appointed Portugal’s finance minister. Master Nacim, a Jewish eye doctor, was accorded certain privileges because of his professional skills.
Before King Manuel decreed the forced conversion, the Jewish community of Tomar built a synagogue, in spite of attacks orchestrated against them and other Jews in the country. Unfortunately, the building was used for its original purpose for only a short period, after which – for years and years after the forced conversion – it was used by the Church. The town itself became one of the sites of the Inquisition tribunal. Today, the synagogue has been renovated and is considered a national monument.
Crypto-Jews continued to covertly practise Judaism. In the town of Porto, for example, the Crypto-Jews secretly operated a synagogue, hiding it from the Inquisition.
In 2013, a renovation project at a facility for Portuguese senior citizens turned up a Torah ark, carved directly into the stonework separating the building from its neighbour. (photo by Deborah Rubin Fields)
In 2013, a renovation project at a facility for Portuguese senior citizens turned up an amazing find. Hidden behind the eastern wall of the dining room was a Torah ark, or aron kodesh, carved directly into the stonework separating the building from its neighbour. There were two compartments, a square space topped by a slightly larger arched tablet-shaped opening, with space for approximately six small Torah scrolls. Besides this relatively recent discovery, we have the 16th-century testimony of Immanuel Aboab, a native of Porto. (The late Yom Tov Assis, who was a professor at Hebrew University, had likewise been trying to locate where such an aron kodesh was located in the area.)
It was common among Crypto-Jews to light one Shabbat candle in a secret cabinet. There was also an emergency tool for snuffing out Shabbat lights if it was suspected that a Christian neighbour was spying. To make Shabbat different from other days, these secret Jews ate no meat. Purim was marked by three days of fasting beforehand. Passover was celebrated two days late, so as to throw Christians off the track. Other secret Jews took the risk of undergoing circumcision.
Within limits, these Crypto-Jews read psalms and recited the Shema, didn’t work on Shabbat, didn’t eat pork and fasted on Yom Kippur. Manuel (Abraham) de Morales passed out manuscripts of what he thought were important points to know about Judaism. But most of the Jewish customs were orally transmitted from mother to children.
Not surprisingly, the period before the forced conversion was not totally free of tension between Jews and Christians: Franciscan and Dominican clergy walked through judiarias, ready to convert Jews. Moreover, Portugal’s new merchant class was apprehensive about the influence of the Jewish citizens and their capital. Under the reign of João I (1385-1443), new laws obliged Jews to wear an identifying sign on their clothes and imposed curfews on the judiarias. There were scattered outbreaks of violence, like the attack on the Lisbon judiaria in 1445, in which many died.
Jew Street in Lisbon, Portugal. (photo by Deborah Rubin Fields)
After the forced conversion, New Christians would be charged with being infidels, not heretics. These New Christians generally adopted Christian given names and Old Christian surnames. They probably did this to deflect attention. But harder times still followed for Portuguese Jews, with the massacre of 2,000 conversos in Lisbon in 1506 and the Portuguese Inquisition, which began in 1536. Inquisitors would come to a town and tell the gentile population that they were looking for secret Jews. They would present a list of suspicious behaviour to look for.
In medieval Portugal, turning in New Christians became a profitable venture. Arrested conversos had their assets seized by members of the Inquisition. Occasionally, Church officials would accept bribes for temporary pardons.
Apparently, if a New Christian approached an inquisitor, he had a chance of redeeming himself by admitting that his family lit Shabbat candles or washed sheets for Shabbat. On the other hand, if an Old Christian accused a New Christian of still practising Jewish rituals and the latter denied the observances, he would face a worse outcome from his trial.
The number of Inquisition victims between 1540 and 1765 is estimated at 40,000. Punishment included being raised by a pulley with one’s hands behind one’s back. Convicted infidels were then burned at the stake.
Cells where Crypto-Jews were held before their Portuguese Inquisition trials. (photo by Deborah Rubin Fields)
The cruel punishments passed down by the Portuguese Inquisition drew large crowds of spectators. The crowds were akin to those who would come to watch bullfights.
Trials ceased after about 250 years, although Portugal’s Inquisition was not officially abolished until 1821.
Jewish informers should also be mentioned. These people, as can be imagined, found an open ear among Portugal’s prejudiced secular and religious leaders. If these traitors were discovered by the Jewish community, they might have had their eyes gouged out, their tongue removed or been put to death for putting the community at tremendous risk. So serious a crime was acting against one’s own people that even Maimonides condoned Jewish informers.
The impact of the forced conversion and the Inquisition continue to be felt. Take, for example, Belmonte, located in the northern part of Portugal. It has a small Jewish community that has retained the rituals of Judaism despite all the hardships and persecution. In the 1990s, when the idea of building a synagogue was raised, some Jewish communitymembers were against it. Why? Because being a member of the anusim community was their cherished identity. Almost 200 years after the Portuguese Inquisition had been abolished, they couldn’t imagine living openly as Jews.
Estimates are that at least 20% of Portugal’s current population has anusim roots.
Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.
Ysabella Hazan said phrases such as “the West is next” imply “exactly what the enemies of Israel accuse us of – being a Western outpost in the Middle East, a settled body, which is not true.” (photo by Dave Gordon)
Rage Against the Hate in New York on Oct. 31 had the goal to “gather Jewish organizations, and to find ways to start fighting back, to retake the streets, to retake the campuses, to retake social media, to combat antisemitism in a way that we haven’t,” said Nitsana Darshan-Leitner, president of the Israeli nonprofit Shurat HaDin Law Centre, organizers of the full-day conference.
Nitsana Darshan-Leitner, president of Israeli nonprofit Shurat HaDin Law Centre, which organized the Rage Against the Hate conference in New York Oct. 31. (photo by Dave Gordon)
More than 30 organizations were conference partners and keynote speakers included radio host/author Dennis Prager, attorney Alan Dershowitz, actor Michael Rapaport, activist Shabbos Kestenbaum and NGO Monitor’s Gerald Steinberg.
Dershowitz, 86, said that after speaking to Jewish high school students, he was “stunned by their lack of knowledge” about Israel. To fill the void, he will be giving away a million copies of his latest book, The 10 Big Anti-Israel Lies and How to Refute Them with Truth, to 1,000 universities and high schools across the United States. He lambasted what he called the “educational malpractice” pervasive on college campuses, where professors “give disguise” to Jew-hatred through diversity, equity and inclusion policies, and oppressor-versus- oppressed beliefs.
“I offered $1,000 to anybody who could find me a single protester in any of these protests on university campuses that has ever called for a two-state solution. Nobody has taken me up on it. No protester wants to see an Israeli state,” he said to the audience of 300.
He added that “we are in a fight for our lives. We are in a fight for the future,” because these students will become politicians, corporate executives, media influencers and other types of leaders, and they will have all “been brought up with this kind of knee-jerk anti-Zionism.”
Darshan-Leitner characterized Students for Justice in Palestine as a “propaganda arm of Hamas.” She believes their activity is “actually providing material support to a terror organization” and, in doing so, contravenes the Anti-terrorism Act in the United States.
Kestenbaum – who, last January, became the lead plaintiff in a lawsuit against Harvard University, alleging systemic antisemitism, and has testified before Congress about antisemitism on college campuses – told the Jewish Independent: “Jewish students are fighting a really remarkable fight with limited resources, with limited help and limited funding. It’s the Jewish nonprofits, who raise billions of dollars each year, who could be in a position to do a lot more. And so, I would encourage the Jewish nonprofits not to say, ‘What can the students be doing?’ but to ask themselves, ‘What can I be doing?’ to help students.”
“It is imperative that larger organizations actively support grassroots initiatives that can manoeuvre and mobilize quickly and efficiently, whereby large organizations cannot,” said Amir Epstein, director of Tafsik, a Jewish civil rights group that fights Jew-hatred in Canada and more broadly.
“Hundreds of millions of dollars are donated to large organizations, so it isn’t unreasonable for them to contribute considerable monetary aid to empower these grassroots efforts, so we can create a united front to combat the degradation of our Jewish community’s safety, and address the unprecedented antisemitism we face in universities, K-12 schools, media, politics and the arts,” said Epstein.
Montrealer Ysabella Hazan, who started the movement called Decolonized Judean, said phrases such as “the West is next” and “Israel is the only democracy in the Middle East” do not resonate with the younger generation. “They do not speak about us, convey our story or address the accusations that we are facing on the world stage,” she said. “And they indirectly prove exactly what the enemies of Israel accuse us of – being a Western outpost in the Middle East, a settled body, which is not true.”
Columbia business professor Shai Davidai, who has earned renown for calling out Jew-hatred on campuses, told the audience that antisemites have “created the new normal” by making students feel uncomfortable being visibly Jewish.” He said, “If we don’t fight back in the court of public opinion and in the court of law, we’re not going to win this war.”
At the Rage Against the Hate conference Oct. 31, Dennis Prager offered an idea of how to counter the delegitimization of Israel. (photo by Dave Gordon)
Prager, who did graduate work at the Middle East and Russian institutes of Columbia’s School of International Affairs, said, “I was basically taught by moral idiots, but they were giants compared to who’s teaching in Columbia today, or at Harvard or at Princeton.”
An argument he proposed to use against the delegitimization of Israel is to draw a parallel to the creation of Pakistan, born the same year as the modern Jewish state. “There were two Israels in history,” said Prager, “but there was no Pakistan in history. When it was created, it was wrenched out of India. Nobody ever challenges the right of Pakistan to exist.”
Rapaport, known for his social media posts about Israel, advised: “Fight with your heart, fight with your prayers, fight with your genius, brilliant, Jewish, Zionist minds. Fight ferociously and do not take a step back,” he implored, while also encouraging Jewish education: “The more that I learn about our fantastic, magical history, the prouder I become.”
Journalist Douglas Murray, who is not Jewish, and Darshan-Leitner, shared a question-and-answer session.
Murray lamented how “very senior politicians” and “a generation of Americans” have bought into the “delusion that, if you were to solve the Israeli-Palestinian dispute, peace would break out, not just in the region, but around the world.” But a state of Palestine with Hamas leadership “will be another Iranian proxy state nearer to Israel,” he said, and it’s “an obscenity that more people don’t realize that.”
He also said this is “a great opportunity for alliance-building,” and reminded the audience “not to forget the Christian communities” and others “who have been so supportive of Israel.”
Winnipeg attorney Lawrence Pinsky told the Independent that the conference was “inspiring and helpful,” and he plans to create a community “situation room,” he said, “just so that we can have a multi-directional approach to any problem. These will be individuals who may or may not be parts of organizations, who actually want to do, and can do.”
He said the conference helped him realize that activism should involve “no ego,” and that people should jump into action, not feeling they “have to reinvent the wheel.”
Dave Gordonis a Toronto-based freelance writer whose work has appeared in more than 100 publications around the world. His website is davegordonwrites.com.
Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver executive director Ezra Shanken, left, and Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs Pacific region vice-president Nico Slobinsky were in Buenos Aires last month. (photo from Jewish Federation)
Nico Slobinsky was a 15-year-old high school student in Buenos Aires when, on July 18, 1994, the principal announced that their Jewish community centre and administrative hub had been blown up in an apparent terror attack.
The Asociación Mutual Israelita Argentina (Argentine Israelite Mutual Association, or AMIA) building was attacked by a car laden with 275 kilograms of explosive ammonium nitrate fertilizer and fuel oil. The building collapsed, killing 85 and injuring more than 300.
The AMIA attack remains the most significant terrorist attack in Argentina’s history. Two years earlier, though, the Israeli embassy in Buenos Aires was the target of a suicide bombing, on March 17, 1992, in which 29 were killed and 242 wounded.
“I remember vividly the morning that the building was targeted and blown to pieces,” said Slobinsky, now the Pacific region vice-president of the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA). “I remember the pervasive feeling [that] we are no longer safe and what’s going to become of us. I remember the dinner that night at my family’s home, where the bombing, the targeting of the AMIA, was all that my parents were talking about and what was going to happen next. There was a lot of uncertainty at the time and, 30 years later, I can tell you that the same feeling of lack of justice and lack of safety persists.”
The perpetrators of the AMIA bombing have never been brought to justice, nor have the perpetrators of the earlier embassy attack. Hezbollah claimed responsibility for the 1992 embassy bombing but it was only this year that an Argentine court ruled that Iran was behind the 1994 bombing, through their international terror subsidiary Hezbollah.
Two of Slobinsky’s friends were murdered in the attack and many in his circles of acquaintances were killed or injured. He attended and helped organize memorial events on the anniversaries of the AMIA bombing when he lived in Argentina, until 2000, and then joined with the Argentine community in Israel when he lived there.
Last month, Slobinsky traveled to Buenos Aires for ceremonies marking the 30th anniversary of the atrocities. He was joined by a small delegation of other Vancouver Jewish community leaders, including Ezra Shanken, chief executive officer of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, and his wife, Rachel Shanken, director of operations at Jewish Family Services Vancouver; Karen James, who is on the national board of CIJA and also on the board of the Jewish Agency for Israel (JAFI); and Candace Kwinter, who is on the board ofJAFI, as well as the board of Jewish Federations of Canada-UIA, and her husband, Alan Kwinter, who is on the board of Congregation Beth Israel.
The anniversary of the terror attack coincided with a meeting of the World Jewish Congress in Buenos Aires, which the Vancouverites attended.
It is widely believed that there was government complicity in the AMIA attack. Police who were routinely stationed in front of the building departed before the bombing. Rubble from the building, which should have been preserved for investigation, was dumped in a river. In 2015, Alberto Nisman, a prosecutor leading the AMIA investigation released a 300-page report accusing then-president Cristina Fernández de Kirchner and other political leaders of covering up Iranian involvement. Hours before Nisman was to present his findings to parliament, he was found dead in his apartment. The government declared it a suicide.
James was impressed with the panoply of world leaders who attended the AMIA commemoration and the WZO conference, particularly Javier Milei, the new president of Argentina, who has made justice for the AMIA terrorists a belated priority. The presidents of Uruguay and Paraguay were also in attendance, as were Jewish parliamentarians from around the world, including Liberal Member of Parliament Anthony Housefather, and special envoys for antisemitism from scores of countries, including Canada’s Deborah Lyons, Deborah Lipstadt of the United States and Michal Cotler-Wunsh of Israel.
Family members of the bombing victims spoke and time has not lessened the agony of the attack, said James.
“They were sobbing and some couldn’t finish speaking,” she said. “There’s never been closure for them. It was so emotional. I was in tears.”
Candace Kwinter said that standing shoulder to shoulder with the families affected 30 years ago was an act of bearing witness.
“We’ve all been to Israel since 10/7 and it just feels like another deep, dark, awful part of our history,” she said.
Supporting Slobinsky in the return to the time and place of the bombing was a motivator for those who joined the trip, according to Alan Kwinter.
“It was important certainly to support Nico and also, in this time when there is rising antisemitism and there are so many people that are turning their backs on the Jewish people, I feel that it’s important for us to come together as a community, a global community as well as the local community, and for us to be there with those families that lost their loved ones and have never had justice,” he said. “It was important for me that we show solidarity with them, that they feel that they’re not alone.”
Slobinsky acknowledged the emotional impacts of the commemoration and drew contemporary connections from lessons of the past.
“It was difficult to be there with thousands of Argentinians on the streets still asking for justice 30 years later,” he said, noting that this early life experience reinforced his commitment to taking a leadership role in Jewish life.
“For those who argue that Canada should embrace the Iranian regime by reestablishing diplomatic ties, the 30th anniversary of the AMIA bombing that we just attended is just another painful reminder that Iran and its proxies like Hezbollah must be held accountable not only for the horrific attack on the AMIA [but] for their export of terrorism around the world,” said Slobinsky. “In memory of my friends Viviana and Christian and to the victims, the survivors and their families – I will never forget.”
In the first few years of 1900, my paternal grandparents – who had been married since 1886 – came to a decision. Economic life in Pinsk was too challenging and a drastic lifestyle change was required. So, in 1905, my grandfather, Yehiel Rubachka, age 34, journeyed alone from Pinsk (then under control of czarist Russia) to find work in Toronto. He knew Yiddish and a bit of Russian, having served in the Russian army for three years. He left behind my 27-year-old grandmother, Liba, and their four young children, Bessie (born in 1899), David (1902), Minnie (1903) and Herschel (1905), in Pinsk Karlin. Today, Karlin might be called a suburb of Pinsk.
On the one hand, Pinsk, with its sizeable and well-organized Jewish population (according to Yad Vashem, 21,819 or 77.3% of the city’s population, in 1896) offered the comfort of the familiar. On the other hand, living conditions were not good. By the time my grandfather left Pinsk, he and my grandmother had buried five children. There were also political and social issues, such as the fact that, in czarist Russia, Jews by and large lived under restrictions: forbidden to settle or acquire land outside the cities and towns, legally limited in attendance at secondary school and higher schools, virtually barred from legal professions, denied the right to vote for municipal councilors, and excluded from serving in the navy or the guards. Not to mention the repercussions of the failed 1905 Russian revolution, and the deaths and damage done by periodic Cossack attacks.
It is not clear what my grandfather’s relocation ultimately meant. For all intents and purposes, entering Canada was fairly easy; he did not need a passport or a visa to enter the country. But did he go to Toronto to test the waters so to speak – perhaps Canada would turn out to be no better than eastern Europe? Or was his plan, from the start, to make enough money to bring over the rest of the family? Or was it all left open-ended? On the birth certificate of one of my aunts, his occupation in Canada was listed as a (humble) rag collector.
In any case, around 1906, my grandparents decided a family portrait was needed. (Since my Uncle Herschel still looks like an infant, this photo was probably produced earlier than the 1910 date my father held to.) The problem, of course, was that the family was based in two distant locations, Toronto and Pinsk. So how was such a picture taken?
A family living on separate continents in the early 1900s has a photo with everyone in it. (photo from Deborah Rubin Fields)
According to Rita Margolin, a Yad Vashem historian, glass plate negatives were in use from the 1850s through the 1920s. They were popular with both amateur and professional photographers. In these years before courier and other delivery services, it would have been tricky to safely send glass negatives, they might have shattered in mailing. This suggests that some other method was used for putting together the two photos that became the family portrait.
Margolin further elaborated that a Pinsk photographer named Rendall might have made the composite image, as he was active in Pinsk in 1910. She pointed out, however, that photographers generally displayed their name on the photos they took, and my family’s photo is lacking a signature both on the front and the back side. (It is probably not a good idea with my unskilled hands to search for a signature by separating this very old photo from the cardboard to which it is pasted.) The lack of signature might mean that the photo I have is a copy and not the original.
Early 20th-century photo studios preferred photomontage – the production of images by physically cutting and joining combined photos – to create, for instance, tall-tale postcards. Tall-tale postcards are also known as “exaggerations.” Examples of these kinds of postcards include hilarious old farming photos in which farmers are seen pushing a wheelbarrow or a wagon containing giant harvested onions or enormous potatoes.
According to my father, the late Sidney (also known by his Yiddish name, Sheya) Rubin, z’l, my grandfather was added to the picture. One photographer with whom I consulted agreed that this is a likely scenario, as normally the head of the family would be prominently featured in the front, rather than the back, row of a photo.
In my family’s photograph, my grandmother is standing, facing the camera, straight on and straight-faced. My Aunt Bessie is sitting on a wooden chair while my Aunt Minnie is sitting on what might be a tree stump. My Uncle Dave is sitting on a suitcase. The baby, my Uncle Herschel, dressed in some sort of baby’s gown, sits atop a stack of cases. My grandfather, with a somewhat wistful look on his face, is cleverly placed behind a trunk, with only his upper torso visible.
My grandfather’s family left Pinsk and joined him in Canada in 1911. Sadly, all the relatives who remained in Pinsk were killed in the Shoah. My father’s family settled at Toronto’s 13 Leonard Ave. Between 1880 and 1928, 70,000 Jews left Russian-held territory for Canada.
Four more children were born in Toronto. These included two more aunts, one uncle and my father. Rachel or Rae was born in 1911, Birdie (often called by her Yiddish name Faigel) was born in 1913, Harvey (often called Mo) was born in 1915 and my father was born in 1917. My father’s family, however, did not remain in Toronto. In 1920, they moved to the United States, settling in Chicago. Along the way, the family name was changed to Rubin. My grandfather’s first name was anglicized to Joseph and my grandmother’s first name was anglicized to Elizabeth (or Lizzie). My grandfather became a naturalized American citizen in 1953. By that time, he had been living in the United States for more than 30 years but, still, he signed his naturalization papers in Yiddish.
As a child, I remember visiting the street where my father had lived as a young child. Perhaps surprisingly, the missionaries still had a close-by storefront. According to reports, missionaries had been “working” in the area since the time my grandfather was living in Toronto. Although they apparently succeeded in converting very few Jews, it did not stop them from trying for years on end.
Photoshop and other digital photo editing tools are a great help to today’s photographers. In the early 1900s, of course, computers and such programs did not exist. Yet, in the early 1900s, photographers on two continents managed to make a composite image nonetheless.
Deborah Rubin Fieldsis an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.
