In 1901, two Jewish brothers from Lithuania crossed Africa's Zambezi River in dugout canoes, hoping to make their fortune in what is now Zambia.

Elie and Harry Susman traveled north to meet King Lewanika of Barotseland and seek permission to buy cattle. Despite the dangers posed by crocodiles, lions and disease, their venture succeeded, laying the foundations for a commercial enterprise that would grow to encompass agriculture, transportation and retail.

The brothers were among the early Jewish pioneers of Northern Rhodesia, as Zambia was then known. Over the decades that followed, Jewish immigrants would help develop the region's economy, govern its towns and participate in its struggle for independence.

Continue to the full article  |  More articles

Ask a Jew to name the greatest expression of G-d's love for the Jewish people, and the answer might be the Exodus, the giving of the Torah, or our survival through centuries of persecution.

But this week's Haftarah, taken from Malachi 1:1-2:7, points to something else: Eretz Yisrael.

The prophet opens with a declaration from Hashem: "I have loved you, says the Lord." The Jewish people respond with a startling question: "How have You loved us?" (Malachi 1:2).

After exile and destruction, they want to know where G-d's love can be seen.

Hashem answers by referring to the brothers at the heart of this week's Parsha: "Was not Esav a brother to Yaakov? ... Yet I loved Yaakov" (Malachi 1:2).

Continue to the full article  |  More articles

In this week's Parshat Toldot, the Torah recounts how the Philistines filled with earth the wells that Avraham's servants had dug (Genesis 26:15). In a region where water was essential to life, the decision seems almost incomprehensible. The wells could have served the Philistines themselves. Instead, they made them useless.

The Radak (Rabbi David Kimchi, 1160-1235) explains that after Avraham's death, the Philistines feared that his son might one day become powerful enough to reclaim the wells. They therefore chose to block them, even at the cost of depriving themselves of the water.

Their attitude, according to the Radak, amounted to: Better that neither of us have it.

Continue to the full article  |  More articles

In August 1776, as British forces prepared to seize New York City, the spiritual leader of Manhattan's only synagogue faced a difficult choice.

He could remain in the city and continue serving his congregation under British rule or abandon his home and join the growing number of Americans fleeing the advancing enemy.

Gershom Mendes Seixas, a 31-year-old Jewish clergyman, chose the latter.

Before leaving, he delivered an emotional farewell sermon at Congregation Shearith Israel, warning that it might be the last service held in the synagogue for some time. According to a historical account, his words were so moving that members of the congregation wept.

Continue to the full article  |  More articles

On November 2, 1917, Britain's foreign secretary, Arthur James Balfour, signed a letter that would help change the course of Jewish history.

Just 67 words long, the declaration expressed British support for the establishment of a Jewish national home in the Land of Israel, helping to lay the diplomatic groundwork for the eventual rebirth of Jewish sovereignty.

Yet 109 years later, the Balfour Declaration's significance is being obscured by an increasingly familiar accusation: that Zionism was a European colonial enterprise imposed on the Middle East.

But that is patently false.

Continue to the full article  |  More articles