Between Messiah and Monster: A Brief Biography of Jacob Frank Jacob Frank — born Jakub Lejbowicz in Podolia in 1726, then a province of Poland and now part of Ukraine — was the son of Leib Buchbinder and Rachel Hirschl. Through his father he inherited a link to the scandal‑ridden Sabbateans, the heterodox Jewish movement that continued to uphold the messianic claims of Sabbatai Zevi, the seventeenth‑century Ottoman rabbi, Kabbalist, and apostate whose doctrine of redemption

Under a Spinozan Lens: Israel, Zionism and Bob Dylan’s ‘Neighborhood Bully’ [Article originally published on academia.edu for Holocaust Memorial Day / Yom HaShoah on 27th January 2024.] Thus this prejudice became a superstition, and fixed its roots deeply in the mind — Spinoza, Ethics [1] A little forty years ago — October 1983 — singer-songwriter Bob Dylan unveiled his Infidels album, which featured the ironically-titled ‘Neighborhood Bully’, a song depicting the trials of t

Academia-edu - Under a Spinozan Lens: Israel, Zionism and Bob Dylan's 'Neighborhood Bully' Published on Academia.edu (DOC) Under a Spinozan Lens: Israel, Zionism and Bob Dylan's 'Neighborhood Bully'

"The temple curtain made of some heavy purple fabric, with its curious pleats ..."

When We Were There When we were there in the crooked hell of that scarlet and black room, the world was a useless idol broken and beyond repair. But now we are here, in the cosy tabernacle of this bright asylum, the world seems a god who brings the sun into being. The location of that old place, is hidden by a heavy veil, like the one in the temple; the boundary between heaven and earth.

Photo credit: Rachel Posner / Posner Family Estate, courtesy of Shulamit Mansbach, Haifa, Israel / yadvashem.org The Light in That Place “Our holiday has been turned into a day of mourning” -- Chaim A. Kaplan By lamp and by oil, we hunger the hours as the dusk's frost settles in. There is still time: the freight cars are not ready yet, but we are, we are ready, on this night. Sit, sit down while I set down these makeshift wicks, these meager latkes, this hanukkiah of ours, g

Lifting Up of the Hands By lamp and by oil, we hunger the hours as the dusk's frost sets in. There is time: The trucks to Treblinka are not ready yet and there's bread to be had. But the water and bowl are for the washing of hands. (It's what tradition commands.) Fingers make moves in the silence of thought like chess players at their difficult tables. A mouth is turned open and another is shut, and dusk in due course is steadily swallowed, with every crumb of affliction