Maslul Mizrachi Gap Year is now in its second year!

Mizrachi Campus applications are open (May 1- July 24, 2026)

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Writer: Tahael Harris 

Tell us about the Jewish community in Lod and the “Garin Torani” you are a part of. What was it like to live in a “mixed” city with Jews and Arabs living together, before the May riots broke out?

 For many years, Lod was seen as one of Israel’s least developed cities, with high poverty and crime rates. 20 years ago, two families decided to form a Garin Torani, a group of religious families who would move to Lod to strengthen the Jewish community here. The Garin Torani has since grown significantly, now numbering a few hundred families. The community has a warm, small-town feeling and is in a fantastic location, only a few minutes from Tel Aviv, Ben Gurion Airport, and Israel’s main highway Route 6. 

Lod is 70% Jewish and 30% Arab, but our neighborhood of Ramat Eshkol is the reverse: 70% Arab and 30% Jews. In general, we have excellent relations between the two communities. There is an understanding that the communities operate differently, but we have been excellent neighbors. For myself, living in the same building as Arabs has taught me a lot about their culture. I arrived with many stereotypes, but now I know the culture first hand, which has been very eye-opening. 

What was it like to be living in Lod during the riots?

On Monday evening, May 10th, the riots began. That afternoon, we’d held an event in the cultural center, and we had greeted the Arab women there as usual; everything felt normal. We were caught off guard and never imagined that we would ever be scared simply to leave our homes. On the first night, the rioters burned the local Beit Midrash of the pre-army Mechina, and crowds of young Arab men burned cars and threw stones at Jewish homes. On the second evening of the riots, there were Arabs in our neighborhood throwing rocks and fireworks, but there was a siren because of a rocket fired by Hamas. It was surreal – we had to decide what was riskier; running to the shelter, but possibly being exposed to the Arab rioters, or staying in our home but unprotected from the Hamas rockets. We decided to go to the shelter, and we met Arab families there – or more accurately, half of the Arab families. The women and children were in the shelters, but the men weren’t there, and I can only guess where they were. We couldn’t look each other in the eye – we had nothing to say to them, and they had nothing to say to us. 

Because it was Ramadan when the Arabs fast each day, the days were calm. But the riots kept getting worse in the evenings. It was a lonely time, as we felt abandoned by our Arab neighbors, who didn’t even reach out to ask if we were okay, and abandoned by the police, who were too slow to deal with the rioters. The riots became more severe, as the rioters progressed from throwing rocks to firing guns. After three days of rioting, we decided that I would leave with the children to Yerushalayim, while Yedidia would stay to help secure the neighborhood. 

How has the Jewish community of Lod worked to rebuild since the riots ended?

During the riots, we felt like we received a massive hug from Am Yisrael. People from all over the country sent cakes, games for kids and whatever we needed. Jews from all over came to secure the streets to protect us. 

After the riots, we have been focused on the mental health of the community. Children, parents, individuals – so many people saw horrendous and shocking things. People have had their cars and homes burned, so we are also focusing on rebuilding and fixing what needs to be restored. 

We have even tried to welcome new residents to the community to build and strengthen our presence here. Some people are coming to live here for a year, just to help strengthen the community. We also hope that the Arabs who move here will be those who reject the violence. This area will continue to be a mixed neighborhood, but we want to ensure it will be a neighborhood where people will live in peace together. 

Going forward, do you think it will be possible to rebuild relationships with members of the Arab community of Lod?

It is not easy at all. Do we now need to start sending our children with security guards when they walk in the street? The Arab community is diverse, with many different groups and views. Our community wants to work together with our Arab neighbors, but at this point, the feelings are still raw. I am optimistic, as we remember that it was only half a year ago that we did have good inter-communal relations. I think that we need to regain our basic sense of security and feel comfortable again, and only then can we begin to rebuild relationships. 

Another critical goal is strengthening the moderate Arab voices within Lod. There are many Arabs in Lod who want to live peacefully and side by side with us, and we also understand that being an Arab in Israel means living as a minority, something we must be sensitive toward. It is complicated, it will take time, but I am confident about the future of Lod as a diverse city and about the ability of Jews and Arabs to live in peace around Israel. As the Israeli saying goes, “The eternal people are not scared of a long journey.”

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“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept as we remembered Zion.” (Tehillim 137:1) This verse of longing for Israel has been recited by Jews throughout the millennia, perhaps most poignantly by the Jews of Babylon themselves, in modern day Iraq. But when Iraqi Jews recited this verse on Tisha B’Av in 1947, they could not have imagined that many of them would be in Israel by Rosh Hashanah of that year!

It all began in June 1941, when the Iraqi Arabs attacked the Jewish community of Baghdad in what would later be known as the “Farhud”, “the looting”. Hundreds of Arabs attacked Jewish homes and businesses, murdering 179 Jews and injuring thousands more. Recognizing that Jewish life in Iraq was no longer safe, the local Zionist movement began searching for a plan to bring Iraqi Jews to Eretz Yisrael. 

At this time, the British ruled over Mandatory Palestine and had enacted a quota system, limiting the number of Jews who could emigrate to Palestine. The Mossad le’Aliya Bet, the agency responsible for the illegal immigration of Jews to Israel during the British Mandate, sent representatives to Iraq to come up with a creative plan.

Shlomo Hillel, a Mossad le’Aliya Bet representative and native-born Baghdadi, joined the effort. Hillel traveled to Baghdad in 1942, hoping to help Iraqi Jews emigrate to Israel, but returned to Israel after a year of fruitless efforts. Five years later, on the 3^rd of Elul, 1947, Hillel was at his Kibbutz, Ma’agan Michael, when the director of Mossad le’Aliya Bet, Moshe Karmil, came looking for him. A rescue plan was coming together and Karmil wanted Hillel to lead the operation. Two American World War II veteran pilots were in Israel with a commando plane which had a capacity of 50 passengers. Though not Jewish nor Zionists, the mercenary pilots were willing to fly to Iraq to bring a plane full of Jews to Israel in return for payment. Hillel immediately accepted the challenge, excited about the opportunity to bring 50 Jews to the Holy Land. Although only 24 years old, Hillel knew Baghdad like the back of his hand and was the perfect fit to lead the mission.

Later that day, pilots Mike and Leo Vessenberg and Shlomo Hillel, dressed as a mechanic, flew to Baghdad in a Curtiss Commando plane, landing in a semi-isolated airport without arousing the suspicion of any Iraqi officials. Hillel immediately went to the Shasha family home in the Al’oliya neighborhood of Baghdad, where Mossad Le’Aliya Bet members were waiting for him. Despite the dangers involved, everyone agreed that the best chance for successful escape would be to leave from the airport. The challenge, of course, was how to smuggle 50 Jews onto the plane without being noticed.

Hillel, disguised as Abu Yusuf, spent the next two days making preparations. The empty plane would taxi along the tarmac, and while at a turning point, it would stop for a few minutes to allow the engines to warm up. While stopped, the passengers would secretly board under the protection of the plane’s blinding lights. With a plan in place, the Mossad Le’Aliya Bet representatives gathered 50 young Jewish men and women from across Iraq. The Shura, the operational arm of the underground, was responsible for organizing the passengers and getting them to the plane safely.

On the 7^th of Elul, the eve of the operation, the pilots approached Hillel demanding their payment. Hillel assured them they would be paid upon arrival in Palestine, but the Vessenbergs were not satisfied. Hillel offered them a personal check. The pilots accepted, not knowing that Hillel, a kibbutznik, didn’t have a personal bank account.

Early on Shabbat morning, Parashat Shoftim, the 50 Jews woke up before dawn, and 10 cars quietly traveled to the airport in Baghdad. It was the month of Elul, and they were accustomed to waking up at that hour during the week to say Selichot at the time known as Et Ratzon. Nine cars arrived as planned, with the tenth being delayed by a herd of camels crossing the road. Fortunately, the delay wasn’t long and all 50 passengers made it to the airport, where they were smuggled through a hole in the airport fence next to the last turn on the tarmac before take-off. It was 3:30 am. The plane’s lights and engines went on, and in the noisy tumult, the young Jews climbed on board. A few minutes later, the plane was in the air, and the new olim cheered their fearless leader, Shlomo Hillel. As they approached Israel, they broke into song. Flying over the Kinneret, they sang songs by Rachel Hameshoreret with tears in their eyes. At 6:30am, they landed in the Yavniel Valley, next to Teveriya, far from the eyes of the British. The Palmach created an artificial runway, lighting bonfires to mark the plane’s landing area. The 50 olim were taken on trucks to nearby kibbutzim. 

The aerial operation, the first of its kind during the British Mandate, was named “Operation Michaelberg” after the pilots Mike and Leo Vessenberg. The pilots later flew two more rescue operations, a second rescue flight from Iraq and one from Italy, and the plane was later used in the War of Independence. Shlomo Hillel, the organizer of the mission, would later become Israel’s Chief of Police and ultimately the Speaker of the Knesset. He passed away earlier this year.

In the month of Elul, in the hours of Selichot, 50 Iraqi Jews were brought from “the rivers of Babylon” to kibbutzim in northern Israel to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, a new year and a new life in Israel.

They fulfilled the words of the piyut “Achot Ketana” (a pizmon sung in Sephardic communities before the commencement of the Rosh Hashanah evening prayer): 

חִזְקוּ וְגִילוּ כִּי שֹׁד גָּמַר לְצוּר הוֹחִילוּ בְּרִיתוֹ שָׁמַר – “Be strong and rejoice for the plunder is ended; place hope in the Rock and keep His covenant.”

לָכֶם וְתַעֲלוּ לְצִיּוֹן וְאָמַר סֹלּוּ סֹלּוּ מְסִלּוֹתֶיהָ – “You will ascend to Zion and He will say: Pave! Pave her paths.”

May the new year bring blessings, joy, and many more Jews to Eretz Yisrael!

__________________________________________________________________

1. Rachel Bluwstein Sela (1890-1931), a celebrated Hebrew-language poet. Many of her poems were set to music and became classic Israeli songs.

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Writer: Joe Zevuloni

When Champlain Towers collapsed, the Surfside community was devastated, literally overnight. How did Strong for Surfside, your network of volunteers, emerge from this horrific catastrophe?

When Champlain Towers collapsed, Surfside was in absolute chaos. The scope of what happened was overwhelming. Thousands of people were streaming into the community – relatives of the victims, emergency workers, rescue personnel, police and fire departments. All of this emergency personnel needed support; food, supplies and so on. People were helpless, and government officials seemed vulnerable too. When I approached the mayor and other bureaucrats in the area to tackle the logistical problems, I got nowhere.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait for the government to get started. My friend, Eli Ginsburg, is the owner of Surf-n-Sides, a kosher restaurant in Surfside’s community center, about half a mile from Champlain Towers. Together, we dove in and repurposed Eli’s kitchen to prepare over 3,000 high-quality kosher meals a day – teriyaki salmon, rib-eye steak; you name it. Hundreds of kashrut-observant Jews ate at the kitchen, but we also served thousands of others. Each day, we used golf carts to bring lunch boxes to the emergency workers at the site.

When the building collapsed and we began to realize the enormity of the situation, it struck me that we all have to join together and be strong for Surfside. So we made “Strong for Surfside” t-shirts and bumper stickers, and amazingly, it went viral. Within a few days, over a thousand volunteers had signed up to help from all walks of life. People who were vacationing in Florida and felt guilty about being at the beach came to volunteer.  

Initially, we self-funded the project, and then friends joined in to help.  Rabbi Sholom Lipsker and the Shul of Bal Harbour were a huge help as well. With their help, we were able to produce more than $10,000 worth of food every day.

We tried to make the community center a home away from home for the families of the victims and the first responders. We made meals to order; Michael, who lost his daughter in the collapse, liked pastrami sandwiches, and the Patel family only ate vegetarian. The community center is where the families came for updates, and the police and other responders come to the center to recover after exhausting days at the site. Many police officers and firefighters took the “Strong for Surfside” stickers off the food boxes and added them to their uniforms. 

As someone at the disaster site every day, what did it mean to you to see members of the Israel Defense Forces’ Home Front Command on the ground in Surfside?

Immediately after the collapse, many Jewish families that lost loved ones in Surfside pleaded with local officials to bring the IDF search and rescue team to Surfside. To their credit, the local officials agreed. When the IDF arrived, the vibe at the disaster site immediately changed for the better; they were the only tactical army team at the site, and their confidence and competence boosted everyone’s morale. The US rescuers said that the Israelis brought a different approach, and within a few days, they had learned how to bolster their efforts with tactics they learned from the IDF. 

As Jews, seeing Israel and the US working together was a massive source of pride. Israel, of course, is the “little brother” in the US-Israel relationship. But when the US is suffering, it is incredibly comforting to see how the “little brother” is there to help. I think we all understand this from personal experience. When you are suffering, having your family and close friends with you is deeply comforting. It’s not that the American personnel on the scene were incapable of doing the job independently. It’s simply friendship; when a friend is suffering, you need your friend to be there with you.

The American first responders working at the scene bonded with the Israelis; they felt a powerful kinship with one another. One day, while we were delivering lunches, one of the American captains approached me and asked: “where can we get Israeli patches for our uniforms?” I bought hundreds of patches with the flag of Israel and distributed them to the rescuers working at the scene, who attached the patches to their uniforms. One of the captains gave me his patch in return. It was an extraordinary moment. 

It’s hard to describe how heartbreaking the Champlain Towers collapse has been for our neighborhood.  We all lost friends in that building. But once again, the people of Israel showed that our nation is a source of light and friendship to the entire free world. They came to a place of darkness and brought light.

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Writer: Mr. Robert Ejnes 

How did the Jewish community of France react to the court’s ruling in the Sarah Halimi case? Do you believe the court’s ruling was antisemitic?

The Halimi Case is a long and complex judicial story. Sarah Halimi was murdered by being thrown out of a window on April 4, 2017 by a Muslim fundamentalist. The murderer was immediately arrested but put under psychological surveillance. For several months the judge hesitated to label the killing as antisemitic. The assailant was declared to be not criminally responsible when the judges ruled the murderer was undergoing a psychotic episode due to cannabis consumption, as established by three independent psychiatric analyses.

The final decision was made by the highest French Court, the Cour de Cassation, which confirmed the previous decision,so the assailant will not be judged for the crime of murdering Sarah Halimi.

The Court ruling was based on legal principles, but while the judges can be justified within the technical letter of the law, they did not serve justice to Sarah Halimi and to the Jews of France.

President Emmanuel Macron criticized the court’s decision and made statements in support of the Jewish community. Did the President’s response reassure you?

To his credit, in the Sarah Halimi case, President Macron called for justice.

President Macron, together with the rest of the government and most of the political leaders of France, are supportive of the Jewish community. The Jewish communal buildings are secured with the assistance of the Ministry of Interior and Jewish synagogues, schools, and events are protected by security forces. The Jews are threatened by terrorists more than other French citizens. The president and the government understand this, and this is meaningful to our community.

How has the ruling impacted the Jewish community’s sense of security in France?

The fact that the antisemitic crime of Sarah Halimi went unpunished leads essentially to a loss of trust in the French Judicial system.

Since the recent wave of antisemitism in the 2000s, Jews have felt a greater sense of insecurity in France. Reports established by the security service of the Jewish community together with the Ministry of Interior show that antisemitic threats and attacks against French Jews are increasing. Surveys show that 90% of Jewish students in France have been bullied or attacked.

This is especially true in the outlying suburbs of the major cities, the “banlieues.” These areas have been described as the “lost territories of the Republic” according to a book first published in 2002, which showed that Jewish children had to leave the public school system in some of these areas.

Jews may not feel threatened in the streets, but nonetheless we share a feeling of insecurity in France.

In the wake of the Halimi trial, what do you believe lies ahead for the Jewish community of France?

Jews have lived in France for more than 2000 years. They have survived being expelled from France in the Middle Ages, the Dreyfus affair of the 19th century, the Vichy regime of the Second World War and the Shoah. 

They also remember that France was the first country to give Jews emancipation and full citizenship in the modern era. Globally, Jews have a very long history in France and feel very attached to the French Republic and to its culture and history. Jews have also very extensively contributed to the Republic.  There are many new home constructions in Jewish areas, a sign that many Jews believe they have a future here. 

At the same time, French Jews are very close to Israel. Most Jewish families in France have relatives in Israel, visit Israel very often (when they are not prevented from doing this because of the Coronavirus), and about 2,000 Jews make Aliyah from France each year. (Editor’s Note – this is around 8 times the rate of American Aliya. per capita) However, Aliyah numbers jumped to close to 8,000 per year from 2013-2015 after the Toulouse killing, when a Rabbi and three children were murdered in a Jewish school in another anti-semitic attack.

What will be the future of the 500,000 Jews in France? Only G-d knows.

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We had been dreaming of, planning for, and hoping to attend a wedding this summer in Israel. There were many complexities in leaving our children in Chicago and flying to Israel, but they did not dim our excitement and anticipation for this rare trip. But ultimately, my wife and I experienced what so many others have over the past months. The Israeli government would not allow tourists to enter due to health considerations. With just a keystroke, our trip disappeared; we never reached the Promised Land.

Although the cancellation of our planned trip was undoubtedly a “first-world problem,” it was still a significant disappointment – and one which provoked reflection. First and foremost, my wife and I were sad to miss sharing a simcha with people who mean so much to us. But on a deeper level, I felt a sense of disbelief: Even after vaccines and so much progress in fighting the COVID pandemic, a trip to Israel was still out of reach. Israel out of reach? I felt a strange sense of being in exile, locked out.

It was noteworthy that the Israeli government’s decision to foreclose summer tourism was reported on Tisha B’Av, a day when we contemplate the complexities of our relationship with Hashem, the state of our exile, and our relationship with Eretz Yisrael.

On Tisha B’Av, we mourn. We grapple with tragic events and are left with profound and challenging questions. We feel our collective longing for Israel, the home of our fathers and our future. Captured in the words of generations of poets, we express our desire to return to the beautiful Land of Israel. 

And yet, our Tisha B’Av experience today is profoundly different from that of our great grandparents. Their experience highlighted a longing for a far-off, mostly out-of-reach dream. But in the modern era, Tisha B’Av has taken on a new dimension for Jews living in the diaspora. Today, Tisha B’Av challenges us by posing an implied question: Why am I not now living in Hashem’s Land, the Land of our people?

We confront the same questions as we move through the Jewish calendar. On Tu B’Av, we recall a turning point for the people of Israel, who finally stopped dying in the desert as Hashem cleared them for landing in the Land. On Rosh Hashanah, we remember Avraham Avinu’s journey to Hashem’s chosen place in the heart of Eretz Yisrael. The introspection of the Yamim Noraim opens our eyes and hearts to consider whether we are doing our best to nurture our connection with Hashem. This overall spiritual reflection invites us to seriously engage the contradictions of our Jewish life in the diaspora, especially today.

Why haven’t we chosen to make our life in Israel? Why is it important in the first place? And how can we strengthen our connection with Eretz Yisrael from afar? These age-old questions lie just beneath the surface of our busy everyday lives.  We should consider them as part of our annual spiritual checkup.

The recent reality of only Israeli citizens and their immediate relatives being allowed into Israel has highlighted our family’s personal decision to live in America, bringing the implications of this choice squarely into focus. We have become more conscious of our separation from the Land of Israel.

Why is Hashem preventing us from entering our holy Land now? Hashem’s ways are mysterious; we are not privy to His plans. We do not ask מדוע, seeking a rationale, but rather למה, “for what.”  Perhaps Hashem wants us to consider the reasons we haven’t moved to Israel. Or maybe He is challenging us to find new ways to connect to our Land and our people. Or could it be that He wants us to keep asking questions, to keep the conversation going?

The Chafetz Chaim and Rav Kook, 20th-century spiritual visionaries, kept the Land of Israel at the center of their spiritual and everyday conversation. They emphasized that we are on the threshold of redemption. We can too. Although this process may be slower than they imagined, we know that Israel is our ultimate destiny. We know the unfolding of the process of Jewish history will continue, along with its hiccups and frustrations. We know that one day all barriers of entry to Israel will disappear. Most importantly, we know that even if we are not currently in Hashem’s Land, we can connect with it wherever we are.

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​With a Jewish population that dwarfs that of other Diaspora communities, New York City has long been the hub of American Jewish life and a stronghold of Religious Zionism in the United States. But this year New Yorkers have experienced an unprecedented wave of antisemitic attacks and tension with local government officials. 

For generations, Jews have felt at home in New York City. Have recent events changed the way you feel about the city?

This past year has definitely been the hardest year we’ve ever experienced here, between the pandemic, crime and hate crime in New York City, but I don’t think it’s really changed how I feel about New York. Antisemitic attacks are in no way relegated to New York City. Yes, we’ve seen an increase in these attacks, but that is likely because we have an extensive and robust Jewish community here.

For me, personally, it raises a larger question about this country. A Chabad Rabbi was stabbed in Boston a few weeks ago, and we all know what happened in Jersey City, Poway and Pittsburgh. These attacks are happening across the country, not just in New York. In New York, we feel a little more shocked when these attacks occur; we might expect antisemitism in places where the KKK (Ku Klux Klan, a white supremacist hate group) was historically strong, but not in New York City, where Jews have felt at home for so long. But I really believe that this is a country-wide epidemic.

I also believe that the place where it is most rampant, and most dangerous, is not in a particular geographic location, but in the virtual space. The virtual space is where much of this violence is instigated, and from which it can really mushroom into something much more terrifying.

How has the rise in antisemitism impacted your community?

People are certainly worried. Quite a few people haaskeding for our opinions and advice, and sometimes even help, in buying real estate in Israel. This past year, especially when the borders were closed (and they are still closed to most American Jews), I felt a sort of dull, constant panic that we can’t get in, unless we make Aliyah. The feeling that we can’t just go there whenever we want is very painful. 

Many people are also rethinking things. If you’re stuck in one place, where do you want to be? Where’s that one place that you want to be? I’ve seen quite a few families end up buying homes in Israel this past year, even without seeing it and considering Aliyah more seriously. 

That being said, I don’t think people are moving en masse out of New York City, specifically. People are weighing their options. There has been financial instability and COVID questions, so it’s not just antisemitism pushing people to make these decisions. It’s one of several factors.  

Mayor Bill DeBlasio strongly criticized and singled out the New York Jewish community during the COVID pandemic, eliciting an angry response from many Jews. Do you believe that his statements were rooted in antisemitism?

I do not believe his statements are rooted in antisemitism, and I say this because I know his history. Look at New York City politics over the last few years. You’ll see that before he became mayor, he had a solid relationship not only with the Jewish community generally but with the Orthodox Jewish community as well. If you talk to a lot of askanim in the Orthodox community, off the record, they have quite positive memories of working with him, of situations where he had their back on various things. 

This past year, shockingly, looked very different. He posted a critical tweet about the Jewish community after thousands of Chassidim attended an outdoor funeral for their Rebbe. He attacked the community for it. But even so, I don’t think it was due to antisemitism. I think it was a terrible and poorly worded statement, and it was undoubtedly dangerous in that it could incite more hatred. But I don’t think it came from hatred himself.

At the same time, I don’t think De Blasio has been the smartest person in the way he’s run New York City. It’s a general failure of leadership. And one of the ways it manifests itself is through his poor decisions regarding minority communities like the Orthodox community. 

Do you believe that the rise in antisemitism will pass, or is antisemitism in New York here to stay?

I am a daughter of Soviet Jewish immigrants, so I was always raised with this feeling and awareness that antisemitism is not going anywhere. Before this past year, I was always conscious of it and knew that it existed under the surface. It’s just that it has been far more emboldened over the last few years because of the political climate in the United States. With more considerable economic instabilities, identity politics and nationalism on the rise, it’s not surprising to any student of history that antisemitism is on the rise here as well. I think it is here to stay, and it is here to stay in New York as well. It is painful, but we have to understand that this is the reality of being a Jew in a time of galut. 

Those of us who imagined that America would forever be different were being slightly delusional and naive. We are not the first Jews to be welcomed by foreign countries, experience golden ages in the Diaspora, and imagine ourselves finally stable, comfortable, and fully integrated. This story has played out before. I’m very mindful of that. And so we must trust in G-d and figure out the best way to protect ourselves. When we see disturbing things happening in the public arena, we have to stand up and speak up. Over the last few years, I’ve been talking more and more about what it’s like to be a visibly Jewish person walking in New York City; what it means to be an Orthodox Jew in this city, where you are wearing a target on your back. It’s crucial that these realities are voiced.

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