opinion
Mariupol, a Main Putin Target,
Once Sheltered a Great Yeshiva
BY HENRY ABRAMSON
arring a miracle, Mariupol, the beleaguered
industrial center in eastern Ukraine, may
henceforth be known only as the city that bore the
brunt of Vladimir Putin’s unprovoked assault on
Ukraine’s independence and its people.

But the city also has a rich and often tragic
Jewish history, shaped by conflict and the efforts
of previous generations to preserve their lives,
faith and culture in the face of brutality.

One such story starts at the beginning of the
20th century, not in Ukraine but in Lithuania.

Perched on the western edge of the Russian
Empire, the Lithuanian town of Panevezys (pro-
nounced Ponevezh or Ponevich) was home to
some 7,000 Jews, roughly half the total popula-
tion. The town boasted few amenities, but chief
among them was the yeshiva established in 1909
by Liba Miriam Gavronskii, widowed daughter of
the wealthy tea magnate Kalonymus Wissotsky.

Rabbi Yitshak Yaakov Rabinovich (known as Reb
Itsele Ponevezher, 1854-1919) was its first head, or
rosh yeshiva.

The yeshiva flourished, but it faced an early
threat to its existence with the outbreak of World
War I. Seeking to undermine the Russian war
effort, the Germans directed a Yiddish-language
proclamation to the Jews of the Russian Empire,
promising them full emancipation and equal rights
once the Romanov dynasty was toppled. Already
distrustful of his large Jewish population, the noto-
riously antisemitic Tsar Nicholas II ordered a brutal
expulsion of Jews from the borderlands region to
the interior of the Russian Empire.

The Yeshiva of Ponevezh was forced to relo-
cate, first to Ludza in nearby Latvia, and then once
again to Mariupol. Before returning to reestablish
itself in independent Lithuania in 1919, the yeshiva
would spend the remainder of the war years in
Mariupol. Why Mariupol? The great distance from the front
lines certainly factored in the thinking of the rosh
yeshiva, but Mariupol had developed a reputation
as a haven for Jewish settlement. In 1791, the port
city was added to the Pale of Settlement, the
region of the Russian Empire designated for Jews.

By 1847 just over a hundred Jews had established
homes in Mariupol, participating in the Black Sea
trade. It became a destination for Jews looking for
economic opportunity and those fleeing the over-
crowded regions of Lithuania and Belarus. By the
end of the 19th century, the city was home to over
16 APRIL 28, 2022 | JEWISHEXPONENT.COM
5,000 Jews, constituting 16% of the population;
the 1926 census records 7,332 Jews in Mariupol,
or 18% of the city.

The expanding, dynamic Jewish community of
Mariupol — disturbed only by riots associated with
the 1905 revolution — came to an abrupt end with
the Nazi invasion. Mariupol’s Jews were rounded
up and shot by Einsatzgruppen on a single dark
day — Oct. 18, 1941 — as part of the horrific
“Holocaust by Bullets.”
As for the Lithuanian yeshiva that was shel-
tered by Mariupol in World War I, it went on to
establish itself as one of the greatest institutions
of Talmudic study during the interwar years. In
1939, however, war came to Panevezys again, with
both the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany invading
Lithuania. Under the leadership of Rabbi Yosef
Shlomo Kahaneman (1888-1969), the yeshiva con-
tinued to function under Communist rule despite
the fact that he was trapped outside the country,
with students moving from one synagogue to
another until the Nazis took over in June 1941 and
murdered them all, together with most of Rabbi
Kahaneman’s family.

In 1944, Rabbi Kahaneman reestablished the
Ponevezh Yeshiva once again — this time in B’nai
Brak, in what would become Israel — with seven
students. Amazingly, it has grown to reclaim its
reputation among the most prominent institutions
of higher Talmudic education in the world; at 98,
its current rosh yeshiva, Rabbi Gershon Edelstein,
is regarded by many as the spiritual leader of
the “Lithuanian” non-Chasidic stream of haredi
Orthodoxy. After the Holocaust, Jews slowly trickled
back into Mariupol, which in 1948 was renamed
Zhdanov by the Soviets after the sudden death of
Andrei Zhdanov (1896-1948), long rumored to be
Joseph Stalin’s presumed successor (his son also
married the Soviet dictator’s daughter). By 1959
over 2,000 Jews lived in the city, but only consti-
tuted about 1% of the total population.

With the collapse of the Soviet Union, the city
reclaimed its original name of Mariupol in 1989,
and became part of newly independent Ukraine
shortly thereafter. The heroic presence of the
Chabad-Lubavitch movement in Mariupol, as in
many formerly Soviet communities, supported the
tiny Jewish population that remained after most of
them emigrated to Israel in Operation Exodus —
when Jews escaped the crumbling Soviet Union
more than three decades ago — and continued to
serve even through the Russian invasions of 2014
and 2018. Now, in the midst of the invasion of 2022,
Chabad and others are working to evacuate as
many of them as possible. JE
Henry Abramson is a specialist in Jewish history
and thought who serves as a dean of Touro
College in Brooklyn, New York.

FrankRamspott / iStock / Getty Images Plus
B



opinion
The Here and Now of Holocaust
Remembrance BY RUTHIE BLUM
FreedomMaster / iStock / Getty Images Plus
I t is of tragic relevance that anti-Jewish Arab
riots, rocket fire and hate-filled solidarity protests
around the world upstaged the lead-up to Yom
HaShoah, which began on April 27.

Normally at this time, Israel’s preparations for
Holocaust Remembrance Day are highlighted
in news broadcasts and discussed at length by
the punditocracy. Even during the more than
25-month pandemic period, when the customary
somber memorials around the country were can-
celed altogether or replaced by Zoom ceremo-
nies, the day marked by Israel for the anniversary
of the Nazi genocide of the Jews — purposely
slated for the week before Israel Independence
Day — was treated with deference.

This year, however, one would have been hard-
pressed even to realize that the date was fast
approaching. If anything, Israelis have been invok-
ing the Holocaust mainly to decry the events in
Ukraine, whose president, Volodymyr Zelensky,
played on this very heartstring last month when
he addressed Israel’s Knesset via video.

The desire to universalize the particular plight of
the Jews is nothing new. Nor is it surprising that
many Jews are at the forefront of the effort to turn
“never again” into a slogan that applies to any and
all forms of death, destruction and discrimination.

For the past few years, even a number of promi-
nent Israelis have joined the endeavor with gusto,
not only through false analogies but by using the
occasion of Holocaust remembrance to warn the
Jewish state about its own dangerous extremists.

Though some purveyors of this pernicious “cau-
tionary tale” happen to be members of parties in
Israel’s governing coalition, including in ministerial
positions, their narrative has difficulty permeating
the national membrane.

For one thing, most Israelis are too concerned
with their personal safety in the face of shootings,
stabbings, car-rammings and Molotov cocktails to
worry about the purity of their souls and adher-
ence to an unrealistic “rules of engagement”
doctrine. For another, the very real possibility of a nuclear
Islamic Republic is both looming and concrete,
with Iranian forces and proxies stationed along
Israel’s borders.

Israelis are aware as well that Tehran is among
those fanning the violent fervor of young Arabs
desecrating their cherished Al-Aqsa mosque —
on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem — by spread-
Doomsday scenarios are not constructive.

They certainly aren’t conducive to a “never again”
mindset or outcome, both of which require
internal resolve and military might.

ing the lie that Israeli forces are “storming” and
“defiling” it.

Such pressing security threats, with no end in
sight, help to explain the results of a poll released
this week by the Pnima movement. According to
the survey, conducted by Direct Polls, nearly half
of the Israeli public (47%) fears another Holocaust
against the Jews.

To be sure, this level of existential anxiety may
be misplaced or a function of general dread on
the part of a certain slice of society. Still, given
the steep rise in global Jew-hatred — coupled
with the spike in terrorism against Israelis and the
P5+1 countries’ desperation to return to a deal that
fills Iran’s coffers and guarantees its ayatollah-led
regime an arsenal of atomic bombs — it’s not com-
pletely irrational. It’s especially understandable
when explicit calls for the extermination of the
Jews have become so commonplace inside Israel
and abroad.

Nevertheless, doomsday scenarios are not con-
structive. They certainly aren’t conducive to a
“never again” mindset or outcome, both of which
require internal resolve and military might.

The same applies to those Israelis who opt
to learn the wrong lessons from the Holocaust.

Embracing the bogus comparison between
Hitler’s “final solution” and other conflicts is as
ill-fated as believing that a repeat performance is
inevitable. And even entertaining the idea that the
Jewish state is on some kind of slippery slope to
Nazism — when it’s forced to defend itself against
the terrorists in its midst and beyond its shores —
is immoral. JE
Ruthie Blum is an Israel-based journalist and
author of “To Hell in a Handbasket: Carter,
Obama, and the ‘Arab Spring.’”
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