The Balilius Affair: What Was Jerusalem’s Main Synagogue?

In the late 1920s, a fierce debate erupted between the Ashkenazim and Sephardim in Jerusalem over which synagogue should be considered the main Jewish house of worship in the city. This controversy escalated to an international legal battle that lasted many years.

Arik Kitsis | 04.11.24

Presumed portrait of Sima Balilius by an unknown artist. Courtesy of Susan Hyam

Mrs. Sima Balilius died in Hong Kong in 1926 when she was nearly 90 years old. Sima was the daughter of David Joseph Ezra, the leader of the Baghdadi Jewish community in Calcutta, India. When she was around 20 years old, she married Emmanuel Balilius, who was also from one of the city’s aristocratic Jewish families. A few years later, Emmanuel moved to Hong Kong to work in the opium trade. There, he fell in love with a young Chinese woman, and married her. Sima found out but wasn’t willing to give up on her husband. She sailed to Hong Kong to find him. There, the couple reached an agreement that Emmanuel would stay married to both women, and they would all live together in the same house.

Emmanuel died in 1905, and Sima continued managing her husband’s business vigorously until her death, with the elders of Jerusalem gossiping that opium was the most respectable aspect of her dealings. Before his death, Emmanuel arranged in his will to bestow significant sums of money towards the field of education. Two schools were opened in his name: one in Calcutta, which has since closed, and one in Hong Kong, which still operates today. In contrast to her husband, Sima left the money in her will to the impoverished of Jerusalem. She donated 75,000 pounds sterling, the equivalent of several million Israeli shekels today.

Sima was likely influenced by an incident that had occurred a few years earlier, when Elias Kadouri, another wealthy Jew from Hong Kong, left behind money for the purpose of establishing an agricultural school in what was then still Mandatory Palestine. However, the British authorities claimed it wasn’t self-evident that Kadouri intended for it to be a Jewish school. Ultimately, two agricultural schools were established: one Jewish school near Kfar Tavor and one Arab school near Tulkarm. Wanting to avoid a similar situation, Balilius dedicated her bequest to Jerusalem’s poor, through a fund to be managed by the board of trustees of the main synagogue in Jerusalem. However, Sima didn’t explicitly clarify which synagogue she intended to donate the funds to. When news of Balilius’s will reached Israel, a fierce debate ensued between the Ashkenazi community, supported by the Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi Rav Kook, who argued that the main synagogue was Beit Yaakov, more commonly known as the Hurva Synagogue. The Sephardi community, supported by the Sephardi Chief Rabbi Yaakov Meir, claimed that the main synagogue was the one named after Rabbi Yohanan Ben Zakkai, known as the Ribaz. The Mea Shearim Yeshiva also joined in the dispute, claiming entitlement to the funds, but none of the other parties accepted their claims.

990039040400205171 — Rabbi Yaakov Meir’s visit to the Secretariat of the Sephardi Community in Jerusalem. The Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Moshe David Gaon, a scholar of Eastern Jewry whose archive is housed in the National Library in Jerusalem, was involved in the trial as the secretary of the Sephardi community and as an expert witness. He testified in court about the location and significance of the Ribaz Synagogue.

Each community presented its arguments, some stronger than others. For instance, the Ashkenazim claimed that the Hurva Synagogue was the largest in the city, while the Sephardim argued that the building of the Ribaz Synagogue was the oldest in Jerusalem. The Ashkenazim asserted that the British authorities recognized the Hurva, citing the fact that the High Commissioner Herbert Samuel participated in prayers there. For their part, the Sephardim had proof that the High Commissioner had taken part in prayers at the Ribaz Synagogue, including festive prayers held there to commemorate the King’s birthday and the conquest of Jerusalem during World War I.

997012836922605171 — Entrance ticket to attend prayers at the Ribaz Synagogue with the High Commissioner in attendance. From the Moshe David Gaon Archive, the National Library of Israel. This collection is in the process of being cataloged and will be made accessible at the National Library of Israel, thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington, dedicated to the memory of Samuel Israel.

The Sephardi community brought what they considered conclusive evidence: Mrs. Balilius was of Sephardi descent, and therefore it was clear she intended to leave her donation to her own community’s synagogue. In contrast, the Ashkenazim argued that the name Sima was an Ashkenazi name, and thus she must have been Ashkenazi. It is unclear whether the Ashkenazim made an innocent mistake or intentionally misspoke, but Mrs. Balilius’s first name was actually Simcha; Sima was just her nickname. Regardless, the Ashkenazi claim was dismissed after Sima Balilius’ sister testified that the family was of Sephardi origin.

The parties then moved on to discuss a broader question: What determines whether someone is Ashkenazi or Sephardi and which of these is the main Jewish community? Bernard (Dov) Joseph, the lawyer representing the Hurva Synagogue, and later a minister in the Israeli government, testified in an affidavit to the court that all Jews around the world are Ashkenazi unless born in Portugal, Spain, Greece, Morocco, or Persia. In response, Meir Hay Genio, the lawyer representing the Sephardi community, declared that all Jews are Sephardi, unless they are Ashkenazi.

The parties then debated which community could claim the larger percentage of Jews in Jerusalem. The Ashkenazim claimed they constituted 80% of the city’s Jews, while the Sephardim contended that only 55% of the city’s Jews were Ashkenazi. The Ashkenazim added that all public institutions in the city were Ashkenazi, and the Sephardim responded with a list of all the educational and charitable institutions belonging to their community.

Each community tried to downplay the other’s importance. The Ashkenazim argued that the Sephardi community seemingly represented only the descendants of Spanish exiles, while Jews from other Arab countries were organized into separate communities, and the Ribaz Synagogue didn’t represent them. In response, the Sephardim contended that the Ashkenazi community also wasn’t one unified entity, but rather divided into numerous groups. The Sephardim pointed out that the inscription on the entrance of the Hurva Synagogue read: “Synagogue for the Ashkenazi Perushim kollels in Jerusalem,” which proved that it didn’t represent the entire Jewish public in the city, but only certain Ashkenazi factions.

990049834300205171 — The Hurva Synagogue. Photo: Efraim Dagani. Source: Nadav Man, Bitmuna. From the Dagani Collection. The Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

997009637641205171 — The main hall of the Yohanan Ben Zakkai Synagogue, Jerusalem. Source: Yad Yitzhak Ben Zvi (Israel Revealed), *L’Avenir Illustre* Newspaper Collection, Morocco. This item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made digitally accessible through the collaboration of Yad Yitzhak Ben Zvi, the Ministry of Jerusalem Affairs and Heritage, and the National Library of Israel.

The arguments continued back and forth, and journalist Nachum Melitz, who covered the case, wrote as follows: “The books Luchot Eretz Yisrael and the volumes entitled Jerusalem by Rabbi Luntz, Moses and Jerusalem by Sir Moses Montefiore, books by Rabbi Joseph Schwarz, German and English Baedekers [travel guidebooks], etc., seem to have been created not for their own sake, but rather to serve as Tanna Demesay’a [evidence] for the parties discussing the Balilius inheritance.”

The courts in Hong Kong weren’t sure how to resolve the conflict. The judges sought assistance from the British Mandate authorities, but those preferred not to intervene and offered only an ambiguous response noting that “there are two main synagogues in Jerusalem”. An envoy sent by the court to Jerusalem returned with the same answer. The trial continued, and both sides, the Sephardim and Ashkenazim, began to fear that the British government would end up exploiting the dispute and expropriating the funds for its own purposes.

Ultimately, through the mediation of British-Jewish lawyer Norman Bentwich, they reached a compromise to establish a joint committee of both Sephardim and Ashkenazim. The committee would include twelve members— nine Sephardim and three Ashkenazim—and would manage the estate’s funds, which would be distributed at a rate of 75% to the Sephardim and 25% to the Ashkenazim. Although the estate’s funds were depleted due to the lengthy legal proceedings and the stock market crash during the economic crisis of 1929, the estate council succeeded in purchasing several buildings throughout the city, dedicating their income to the poor, and seemingly everything was resolved peacefully.

However, about 25 years later, the case resurfaced due to claims from the Ashkenazim that the Sephardi committee was discriminating against them and transferring less funds than it was obligated to. The matter was brought back to the courts – this time rabbinical courts – and indirectly led to the resignation of two Sephardi Chief Rabbis, Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim and Rabbi Ovadia Yosef. Ultimately, the issue gradually faded away. Today, the only thing that remains of the entire affair is a modest street sign bearing the name Sima Balilius in downtown Jerusalem.

I would like to thank the author Simon Choa-Johnston for his assistance in preparing this article.

The Moshe David Gaon Archive is in the process of being cataloged and will be made accessible at the National Library of Israel, thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington, dedicated to the memory of Samuel Israel. Arik Kitsis is the archivist in charge of handling the Moshe David Gaon Archive.

The Goldziher Library: A Scholarly Treasure Revealed

A monumental collection containing books, manuscripts, papers and letters belonging to Ignaz Goldziher, the esteemed Hungarian-Jewish scholar of Islam, has now been fully cataloged - a century after its arrival at the National Library of Israel.

Samuel Thrope | 28.10.24

Archives Islam Islamic Manuscripts

Ignaz Goldziher, the esteemed Hungarian-Jewish scholar of Islam, photographed in his youth. The Abraham Schwadron Portrait Collection at the National Library of Israel

During the Sukkot holidays in 1924—just a little more than a century ago—Jerusalem’s elite gathered at the Midrash Abarbanel Library, as the National Library of Israel was then known, for an uncommon celebration. Local Jewish, Muslim, and Christian notables, foreign diplomats, Zionist leaders, and British Mandate officials met to mark the opening of the Goldziher library to the public. As the name suggests, the library contained the personal research collection of the late leading European scholar of Arabic and Islam, Ignaz Goldziher. Purchased by the Zionist movement from Goldziher’s family after the Jewish-Hungarian scholar’s death in 1921, the 6,000 volumes had been shipped from Budapest to Jerusalem months before. Now, the collection was finally on display in a four-room annex, rented just for that purpose, adjoining the existing library building in the city center.

A section of the Goldziher Library, photographed shortly after its arrival at the Midrash Abarbanel Library, as the NLl was once known, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Chaim Weizmann, president of the World Zionist Organization, Judah Magnes, soon to be appointed chancellor of the Hebrew University, and others addressed the assembled notables emphasizing how in the Goldziher library “scholars from all the races and religions of the Land of Israel would meet in a collective effort.” Goldziher’s few thousand books served as the foundation for the more than half a million volumes that make up the Islam and Middle East Collection of the National Library of Israel today.

That Jerusalem celebration capped years of intense effort. Zionist leaders in London had fought hard to buy Goldziher’s library when it was put up for sale, beating out competing bids from leading universities in Europe, America, and even as far away as Japan. Goldziher was one of the founders of the European academic study of Islam, renowned within his own lifetime, and his works are still considered essential to this day. As a world-famous Hungarian scholar, securing the permit to remove Goldziher’s books from the country required the intervention of the British embassy in Budapest, and only a last-minute transfer of funds convinced the scholar’s widow, Laura, to finally allow the books to leave.

990037399550205171 B — “The Jewish ladies of Rhodesia paid part of the cost of the Golziher-Library” – A plaque in the Hebrew University’s Wolfson building, one of the former homes of the NLI, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

This successful acquisition was a major coup for the growing Jerusalem library, as well as for the Hebrew University, which opened a year later in 1925. Over the course of decades, Goldziher had slowly built up his collection of Arabic, Persian, and Turkish books and manuscripts, as well as scholarly publications on Islam. This process began with an extended study and book-buying tour through the Middle East in 1873. Alongside essential works on the Qur’an, hadith, and Islamic law, literature, theology, and mysticism, Goldziher’s library also contained numerous titles on Jews and Judaism—observant throughout his life, he had served for many years as secretary of the Budapest Jewish community—philosophy, travel literature, Classics, and other topics. No private collection in Europe, and only a handful of university or public libraries, could rival the breadth and importance of Goldziher’s collection.

Goldziher made annotations, mostly in German and Arabic, in the margins of many of his books, and these notes only increased the collection’s value. It was hoped that access to his marginal corrections and private musings would be almost as instructive as having the great scholar himself at hand.

Goldziher2 — Ignaz Goldziher, pictured with his two sons, circa the 1890s. The Abraham Schwadron Portrait Collection at the National Library of Israel

Alongside his library, Goldziher also preserved in his home in Budapest a voluminous archive of correspondence. Over the course of decades, he had exchanged letters, on topics scholarly and profane, with European students of Arabic and Islam, Muslim thinkers and theologians, Jewish scholars and writers, and other admirers. All told, Goldziher received and preserved more than 13,500 letters from 1,650 individuals in eleven languages. According to his wishes, this epistolary archive was bequeathed to the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in Budapest. Now digitally available through a dedicated website, Goldziher’s letters are an invaluable primary source for understanding not only his own life but a whole period in the history of Hungarian Jewry and in the European engagement with and study of the Muslim world.

Even though Goldziher’s correspondence and other archival materials were meant to remain in Budapest, in 1924, when the librarians in Jerusalem opened the shipping crates and began to catalog Goldziher’s books, they discovered a surprise. Letters, notes, and memoranda were found in many volumes. While some were clearly meant to serve as additional space for commentary and reflection on an author’s argument—a kind of extension of a book’s margins—others had apparently been stuck between the pages and forgotten.

990037399550205171 C — The Goldziher Library photographed at the NLI’s former home in the Hebrew University’s Wolfson building, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Dutifully, the librarians, chief among them David Hartwig Baneth, the Berlin-born Arabist and future director of the National Library, removed the letters and other papers from the volumes, placing them in envelopes on which were written the books’ new call numbers. These envelopes bear the Library’s name, but not in Hebrew. Instead, they are stamped with the German title Jüdische Nationalbibliothek – a sign of the institution’s European identity at the time. These envelopes, as well as offprints of articles and other documents that did not fit inside them, were then set aside to be dealt with later.

However, as is sometimes the case in the history of libraries, this “later” turned out to be not next week, next month, nor even next year, but almost a century. It was only this year, 2024, that the Goldziher archive at the National Library of Israel was finally catalogued.

Ms Ar 2 001 Photography By Ardon Bar Hama — Goldziher’s notes and emendations in Arabic and German on a manuscript of Abu Hatim al-Sijistani’s *News of the Aged* (Akhbar al-mu’ammarin), copied in Cairo in 1892, Ms. Ar. 2. Photograph by Ardon Bar Hama. From the collections of the National Library of Israel, Project “Warraq”.

After first having been reviewed by Sabine Schmidtke of the Princeton Institute for Advanced Studies—and with the Institute’s financial support—Goldziher’s archive was cataloged by Kinga Dévényi of the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Dévényi spent two intensive weeks in the NLI’s Special Collections Reading Hall deciphering Hungarian asides and Arabic notations. The former curator of the Goldziher collection in Budapest, she is also the co-editor, along with Hans-Jürgen Becker, Sebastian Günther, and Schmidtke, of the recent book Building Bridges: Ignaz Goldziher and His Correspondents (Brill, 2024).

The fruits of her labors include a brief Hebrew-language summary of Mamonides’ epochal philosophical treatise The Guide for the Perplexed, written when Goldziher was only seventeen; notes for a planned article on Abu Mahdhura al-Jumahi (d. 678), an early convert to Islam and companion of the Prophet Muhammad who was responsible for calling the faithful to prayer in Mecca; an invitation to attend a public lecture by the American-Jewish Orientalist Richard Gottheil in Cairo on February 24, 1905, and more. Notably, among the printed items, she identified several reviews of Goldziher’s publications, a reflection of his well-known practice of collecting critiques of his work.

Goldziher3 — Ignaz Goldziher, the Abraham Schwadron Portrait Collection at the National Library of Israel

In cataloging the Goldziher archival material, Dévényi applied the expertise developed during her previous work with the Hungarian Academy of Sciences collection. The archive contains a diverse array of both handwritten and printed materials. The often-brittle papers, frequently consisting of loose pages, had inevitably become mixed up over the past hundred years. Therefore, her initial task was to carefully sort the material, determining which pieces belonged together. She then separated the handwritten materials from the printed ones and tried to group the documents thematically. Given the special significance of the items, she cataloged each piece individually, ensuring careful attention to detail. She took measurements and counted the folios where relevant, especially for manuscripts and other unique documents.

After the Goldziher papers in Jerusalem are scanned, we hope that they can be digitally reunited with the much larger archive in Budapest, allowing scholars and students to benefit from new perspectives on Goldziher’s life and work.

How Curious George Escaped the Nazis and Brought Joy to the World

One of the sweetest and most beloved characters in children’s literature was created in the minds of a Jewish refugee couple. Who were Margret and Hans Rey? How did their talent allow them to escape Nazi Europe by the skin of their teeth, and what other character beloved by generations of young boys and girls did they create? This is the story of the author and illustrator whose innocent and optimistic children’s books continue to brighten our lives to this day.

Dorit Gani | 12.09.24

Diaspora German Jewry Jewish Culture World War II

Hans and Margret Rey. Photo from the de Grummond Collection for Children’s Literature, the McCain Library and Archives, University of Southern Mississippi, and the character they created as he appeared in "Curious Honi Rides a Bicycle", one of many Hebrew translations, Modan Publishing, 1983

What would you take with you if you had to flee your home and country on a bicycle?

Hans and Margret Rey were forced to ask that question of themselves in June 1940, making a fateful choice which would affect their lives dramatically.

But to fully understand that decision, we have to go back a few years, specifically to Brazil 1925, on whose shores arrived a young Jewish man named Hans Augusto Reyersbach. Hans’ source of income in this new county came from selling bathtubs and sinks, but Brazil also allowed him to combine his three great loves – boats, painting, and animals, and he spent what free time he had sailing up the Amazon River and drawing the many monkeys he saw along the way.

Ten years later, after Hitler rose to power, a family friend arrived in Rio De Janeiro from Hamburg, Margarete Elisabeth Waldstein. She convinced him to get out of sales, after which they opened up an advertising agency, with Hans in charge of illustration and design and Margarete doing the copywriting. Their partnership quickly turned into a romance, which blossomed into a marriage. They replaced the name Reyersbach, which Brazilians had difficulty pronouncing, with Rey. Margarete became Margret. Hans stayed Hans.

מרגרט והנס — Hans and Margret Rey. Photo from the de Grummond Collection for Children’s Literature, the McCain Library and Archives, University of Southern Mississippi

A year after their marriage, these Brazilian citizens decided to return to Europe. They settled down in Paris and began to write and illustrate children’s books. Their first book told the story of a giraffe and a family of monkeys (known in English as Cecily G. and the Nine Monkeys and in French as Rafi et les neuf singes). One of the monkeys in the story, a mischievous little fellow named Fifi, was so captivating that they decided to write a new book centered on him.

צילה גי — From *Cecily G. and the Nine Monkeys*. Translated into Hebrew as *Tzila G. and the Nine Monkeys*

Hans and Margret had just moved again to a small French village to get away from the noise of the city and enjoy the peace and quiet of the beautiful countryside. It was here that they planned to write their new book, but this was not to be. These were the early days of World War II, and while the war was still relatively far away, an atmosphere of fear and suspicion permeated the small village.

The couple’s German accent led neighbors to call the police on them. The locals suspected they were German spies. An officer was sent to their home, who began to interrogate them. Only when he entered Hans’ study, and saw the drawings of the little monkey spread out across his work table, was he convinced that these were children’s authors and not spies. After this incident, the couple decided to return to Paris, where Hans began to draw the adventures of Fifi.

But their stay in Paris did not last long, either. In May 1940, the city was filled with thousands of refugees and a sense of real danger hung over the residents – certainly its Jewish ones, including Hans and Margret. Within the chaos and tumult, they managed to renew their Brazilian passports and withdraw some money from the bank.

By June 10, the Nazis were approaching the city, and Hans and Margret knew they had to escape quickly. They didn’t have a car, the trains were shut down, and it wasn’t even possible to find a functional bicycle in the stores. So, Hans spent a huge amount of money on some spare parts from which he was able to assemble two makeshift bicycles. They were forced to leave most of their belongings behind, taking with them a few clothes, some food, an umbrella, a pipe, and manuscripts at various stages of writing and illustration, including the manuscript describing the adventures of Fifi.

They set out early in the morning, pedaling among millions of other bicycle riders, pedestrians, trucks and other vehicles, all of whom were fleeing south. In the coming days, they rode dozens of kilometers on their improvised bikes, over long days which started before dawn and ended in darkness. The couple would sleep in random barns they found along the way. On June 14, they reached their first destination: the train station at Orleans. That same day, Nazi soldiers marched through Paris and raised the Nazi flag over the Eiffel Tower.

The Reys continued on their journey – another bike ride, another train – with the aim of reaching Portugal and then the United States. On the next, desperately packed train, a stern police officer began moving among the passengers, looking for stowaways or any other people who could conceivably be taken off the overcrowded train. When he reached the Reys, he asked to see their documents as well as the suspicious pile of papers they carried with them. It was the manuscript of Fifi’s adventures. The officer’s appearance softened as he examined the written content and illustrations, and he let them stay on the train. Once again, the little illustrated monkey was a better character witness for them than any official document. On October 14, 1940, four months after they began their flight, the Reys stood on the deck of a ship which brought them to the gates of New York. In a year, the manuscript would be published, and the monkey would become a hero, known to children across the United States. Along the way, Fifi changed his name to Curious George, at the publisher’s request.

להגעה לארהב — From the *Curious George*, the first book in the series

Curious George is Abducted and Ends Up in the Zoo

As we all know, George is a small (and very, very curious) monkey who lives in the home of the Man with the Yellow Hat. Not many know of or remember the story of how they first met – an encounter which begins with the Man in the Yellow Hat taking George from Africa, and ends with George arriving at the big city zoo. It is only in the second book that George is taken to the man’s home, where his new owner tries unsuccessfully to keep him out of trouble.

Following the first book, six new books describing the adventures of the adorable monkey were published between 1947 and 1966. Although the seven books were all collaborative projects, with Hans responsible for the drawings and Margret writing the story, their publisher advised them that the children’s literature market was swamped with female authors, and that the book might sell better if Hans’ name was on it. A few years later, Margret would regret this arrangement and her name would be added to the books.

What’s in a Name? Trouble With the King of England

The book’s American success led to an effort to distribute it in England, as well. The only problem was that this was during the reign of King George IV. Publishing a book featuring a monkey bearing the king’s name could be seen as an insult to the British Monarchy. Moreover, at the time, “curious” was slang for homosexuality. The times being what they were, it was clear that the monkey’s name would have to be changed yet again, and the books published in Britain gave him the name Zozo (one of the other monkeys in the book Cecily G. and the Nine Monkeys). Other countries also decided to change George’s name, not due to any political considerations but simply to make it more appropriate to local culture. Thus did George become Coco in Germany, Vili in Finland, and Joji in Japan.

הנס ריי אלזה דורפמן — Hans Rey reading his book to children. Photo: Elsa Dorfman

Curious George Makes Aliyah

In the early 1980s, Israeli children also got to meet Curious George. First they encountered him in the series of children’s cartoons aired on the Martziper children’s television program and then in the series of books bearing his name, which were published by Modan and translated by Puah Herschlag (six of the seven books were translated into Hebrew; the story of George learning the alphabet was not translated). As was common in that era of Israeli culture, it was decided that George would be given a proper Hebrew name – “Curious Honi”, after “Honi the Circle-Drawer” from the era of the Jewish sages.

חוני הסקרן — *Curious Honi Wins a Medal* (Hebrew), Modan, 1983

The illustrations in the Hebrew edition were Hans’ original work, but where they included English text, it was replaced with Hebrew, such as one drawing showing a newspaper boy handing out copies of Haaretz.

הארץ — *Curious Honi Rides a Bicycle* (Hebrew), Modan, 1983

In 2005, Keter Publishing released a book including a number of Curious George’s stories and drawings. It included the first story, here called “Curious Gur” (pup), as well as a translation of the Cecily G. story and another story which had only come to light around that time, a decade after Margret Rey’s death.

Among the manuscripts they took with them upon fleeing Paris, in addition to the work that would become the story of Curious George, was a story about a penguin who decided to travel the world. This story remained in their desk drawer and was only discovered after Margret’s death. Whiteblack the Penguin Travels the World was soon published in the United States and was also included in the Hebrew story collection.

Curious George’s Little Brother

Curious George was not the only illustrated hero created by the Reys. In 1944, they wrote and drew another famous book, which few tied to the creators of the beloved monkey. The book is called Pretzel in English and Beigele in Hebrew. It tells the story of Duke, a dachshund who falls in love with a female dog named Greta (or Zehuva in Hebrew). This book credited Margret Rey as the author, and this was also the moment when it was decided to add her name to the Curious George books. Two years later, a sequel called Pretzel and the Puppies came out which would eventually, in 2022, lead to a TV series inspired by the book.

בייגלה — *Beigele* (a Hebrew translation of *Pretzel*), Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1975

P And The Pupps — The sequel to *Pretzel* – *Pretzel and the Puppies*, Harper and Brothers, 1946

Hans passed away on August 26, 1977. Margret died on December 21, 1996. Hans experienced the success of the books and enjoyed it, but Margret was the one who got to see George become a household name, leading to a movie, a TV series, and a whole range of popular merchandise.

Even after Margret died, books continued to come out, telling of George’s new adventures. Hans and Margret had their names on the cover, but these were stories based on the original books which were created by a series of different authors and illustrators. We do admit that one of our favorite stories can be found in one of these later books, which Margret wrote after Hans’ passing: Curious George Visits the Library.

מבקר בספרייה — *Curious George Visits the Library* (Hebrew)

One thing never changed in any of the incarnations or portrayals of Curious George: his being a captivating and good-hearted character, who out of curiosity and never malice always ends up in trouble, but who also always manages to get out of it, and even help others around him.

Every child – even every adult! – needs a person like that in their life, someone who can show them that mistakes are a part of life, and that you always have an opportunity to make things better.

Why Did Hitler Want a Jewish Delegation at the 1936 Nazi Olympics?

The 1936 Olympics in Berlin were an international event which Hitler used as an awesome spectacle. He wanted to show off Aryan Germany rising from the ashes, with its crowds giving the Nazi salute and shouting "sieg heil". Yet still, Jewish athletes participated in competitions, and a delegation was even invited from Mandatory Palestine, which would be allowed to march under the Jewish flag. How did the Nazis attempt to legitimize the 1936 Olympics? What did the Germans really want? And how was the Nazi invitation received back home in the Land of Israel?

Miryam Zakheim | 11.08.24

Germany the Jews and Israel History of Israel Nazi Germany היסטוריה ישראלית

Hitler arriving at the opening of the Berlin Olympics, 1936. German Federal Archive

Two flags wave in the gentle breeze blowing over the heads of the masses occupying the streets of Berlin. The crowds are happy and excited to be witnessing the upcoming events. Does the combination of symbols hovering above even bother them in the least? Are any of them terrified to see the famous five Olympic rings hanging alongside the Nazi swastika?

Berlin, 1936.

Almost five years earlier, the German capital had been chosen to host the Olympic games of 1936. The decision was a sort of peace offering by the European countries to their defeated, proud neighbor, humbled at their hands during the First World War. The year was 1931, and although the Nazi party had already gained substantial power in Germany, few saw what was coming.

Sm 2013 7779dfhb Enhanced — The streets of Berlin adorned for the Olympic games, 1936. Press photo Gmbh

By 1936, everything looked very different. Germany was now under Nazi control, and Nazi racial doctrine was no longer just a terrifying theoretical premise but governmental policy. Concentration camps were established, racial laws passed, signs reading “No Jews and Dogs” were hung in store windows. Jewish blood was made forfeit and Jews were excluded from the public sphere as a whole – this of course included all official sports teams, organizations and arenas.

According to the Nuremberg Laws passed a year earlier, a Jew could not be a German citizen, which naturally meant that they could not represent Germany in any sort of tournament.

The more rumors spread about Hitler’s Germany, the louder the calls became, especially in the United States, to move the Olympics to another country or at least to boycott this round of games.

For a brief moment, Hitler agreed: He at first thought hosting the Olympics was a bad idea, one which did not align with the fascist ideology he created. How could Germany allow impure races on its soil? How could Nazi Germany afford to allow competitions where Aryan athletes, with their blond hair and blue eyes, might find themselves defeated by “subhuman” Blacks, Jews, or homosexuals?

But Minister of Propaganda Josef Goebbels, the man who would embrace anything so long as it served the Nazi interest, convinced Hitler to change his mind. The Olympics could be a golden opportunity to prove to the western world that Germany was a state that could be trusted, an enlightened state which was being smeared with lies and falsehoods. A state which the free countries of the world could happily let control the enormous “living spaces” of Eastern Europe in place of the hated communists.

The Germans hit the ground running. They planned and erected the most glorious Olympic village yet seen in the history of the modern Olympic games, renovating and building installations for the various competitions at an unprecedented level, with the crown jewel being the main Olympic Stadium which contained 110,000 seats.

Alongside these efforts, they worked hard to convince the world, and especially the United States, not to boycott the coming event. The American delegation was the largest and most important in the world; if it boycotted the Olympics or worse – decided on an alternate tournament – all the German efforts would be in vain.

The Nazi propaganda machine, which was already well-oiled and becoming ever more sophisticated, began working on a plan which included three main elements: “cleaning” the city of Berlin from inconvenient signs of repression, choosing a German representative with Jewish blood to take part in the games, and most blatantly of all – inviting an Olympic delegation from the Land of Israel to take part in the competition alongside the other countries of the world.

The man invited to see this “clean” and “renewed” Berlin for himself was the President of the American Olympic Committee, Avery Brundage. Brundage was not a particularly hard nut to crack for the Nazis, as he was one of the greatest opponents of the American boycott effort, and did not hesitate to state that Jewish complaints were intentionally exaggerated and that the boycott effort was an attempt to undermine the global Olympic spirit.

The American Illustrated News, August October, 1936 (olympic Number) Dpla 1750bc0f2db7f8b5158b5868e002d32a (page 27) — An ad for the Berlin Olympics. Courtesy of the University of Illinois

Although their audience was a captive one, the Nazis still left nothing to chance. There would be little opportunity for journalists to stumble upon stories that might damage the Nazi cause. All signs prohibiting Jews from public places were removed. The Nazi daily Der Stürmer was suddenly unavailable at newsstands. The Hitler Youth were ordered not to sing their racist songs for the duration of the games. Homosexual bars and clubs which had been shut down were allowed to reopen, and the police were instructed not to harm Jews, gypsies, or homosexuals in public places.

None of this was the result of any real soul-searching or permanent change of policy, of course. Outside of Berlin, where the world wasn’t watching, things continued very much as usual. Dachau and other concentration camps continued to brutally enslave Jews, gypsies and others who “polluted” the pure Aryan realm, subjecting them to torture and murder. But the city of Berlin, in a chilling prelude to a similar façade that would be created in the ghetto of Theresienstadt – took on a mantle of tolerance and equality for a few very brief moments.

Brundage returned to America and declared that the Jews were in an entirely tolerable state in Germany and all the calls for boycotts were needless.

This was the signal for the next stages of Goebbels’ plan.

Helene Mayer was Hitler’s Jewish fig leaf. At first, Hitler threatened to cancel the Olympics if any Jew represented Germany, but then the German Olympic Committee presented the talented fencer, who was half-Jewish and a bona fide star athlete. At the 1928 Olympics, she had won the gold medal, and though she did not win any medals at the 1932 Olympics, she was still greatly admired.

The most important detail in her favor? She wasn’t “really” Jewish; only her father was. Her mother was Aryan and she herself lived a life free of any sign of Jewishness, including public declarations disavowing any Jewish identity. The cherry on top was her appearance: She looked like the perfect Aryan – blonde, tall, and green eyed. She was the epitome of what an ideal German woman should look like under the Nazi regime.

Elek Ilona Berlin (1936) — Helene Mayer gives the Nazi salute on the podium at the Berlin Olympics

Hitler approved her as the representative, and even allowed the existence of a “training camp” for Jewish athletes – none of whom were actually allowed to represent the country.

After the public areas of Berlin were sufficiently cleansed and the German delegation had its impressive fig leaf athlete, the time came for the third phase of the plan.

To round out the picture, Goebbels needed to bring a truly Jewish delegation to the Olympics to show off to the world.

The Palestine National Olympic Committee was formed in 1933, the year the Nazis rose to power. Its rules stated that it “represent[ed] the Jewish National Home”. A year later, it was recognized by the International Olympic Committee, and by 1935 it was accepted as a partner with full rights.

Many questions loomed over this achievement: How could a body not even representing a sovereign and independent state be allowed to join this prestigious club, and why now? Did the Nazi regime, so desperate to show off its hosting of a majority Jewish delegation, competing under the Jewish flag, have anything to do with it?

Either way, an official request that the Palestine National Olympic Committee participate in the Berlin Olympics was placed on the desk of Frederick Kisch, chairman of the committee.

The request was sent through diplomatic channels – Dr. Theodor Lewald, President of the Organizing Committee in Berlin, sent the request to Dr. Heinrich Wolf, Nazi Germany’s General Consul in Jerusalem. It may sound very strange today, but until 1939, a Nazi consulate operated in Jerusalem, located downtown in the Hotel Fast. Wolf himself was no enthusiastic Nazi, to say the least, and he refused at first to raise the Nazi flag at the consulate. He was however ultimately forced to fall in line.

When Wolf received the invitation, he was very blunt with Lewald: There was no chance Jews would be allowed to participate in the Berlin Olympics, “and I don’t think there’s any need to explain the motives to you,” he said in his letter.

In the meantime, Hebrew language papers in the Land of Israel and around the world began to report on these negotiations, and a public outcry emerged. Serious complaints were made against Kisch for not summarily rejecting the request.

Only after the publication of the Nuremberg Laws the following year did Kisch officially refuse in the name of the Olympic Committee, with an unconvincing explanation put forward – that the athletes were not yet ready to compete in the Olympics.

Kisch felt a complete and blunt rejection of the proposal would jeopardize the safety of German Jews, but Jews both at home and abroad were not impressed.

Kishpress — “*Col. Kisch Playing Politics*” – The contemporary Hebrew press was highly critical of Olympic Committee chairman Kisch and his communications with the Nazi regime concerning the Berlin Olympics. Article in *Hazit Ha’am*, 1934. From the Historical Jewish Press Collection, the National Library of Israel

On August 1, 1936, the Berlin Olympic games officially began. Tens of thousands of onlookers screamed “sieg heil!” in unison when Hitler made his entrance Olympic Stadium. Spyridon Louis, the Greek marathon runner who won a gold medal at the Athens Olympics, the first modern Olympic tournament, presented the Fuehrer with an olive branch. Members of the Austrian delegation and other European delegations gave the Nazi salute when they passed by him. The members of the American delegation settled for removing their hats as an honorific gesture which they would later claim was “minimal.”

The power of Nazi Germany was now fully on display, before the eyes of the entire world.

When Helene Mayer went onto the podium after winning the silver medal – next to two other Jewish fencers who won gold and bronze – she wore the official delegation uniform bearing the swastika symbol, and gave the Nazi salute.

The Americans, in a very controversial last-minute decision, removed two Jews from their delegation, Maty Glickman and Sam Stoller, and replaced them with two other runners. Jesse Owens, the indisputable star of the Olympics, would later remark, “Hitler didn’t snub me—it was [Roosevelt] who snubbed me. The president didn’t even send me a telegram.”

But other Jews represented other countries and won a slew of medals, to the dismay of the Nazis.

After the conclusion of the Olympics, the Nazi machine went back into full gear. Berlin was once again carpeted with anti-Jewish signs. But the prohibition on Jews in public areas or insulting caricatures would soon become the least of German Jewry’s problems. This would shortly afterwards be true for European Jewry as a whole.

The next two Olympics did not take place, in 1940 and 1944, as the world was busy trying to stop that same Germany which had so graciously hosted their delegations in 1936. In the first Olympics following the war in 1948, Germany was not allowed to participate, and the Jews of the Land of Israel were busy with more existential problems.

More than 70 Jewish athletes representing 20 other countries did take part, though. Among these was French Jewish swimmer Alfred Nakache, who had been liberated from Auschwitz just three years earlier. His wife and daughter were both murdered there.

It was only in 1952, in Helsinki, that the blue and white flag was finally flown at the head of a delegation of athletes representing the independent State of Israel.