The Jewish calendar is full of anniversaries, but so is the regular calendar.
Every week marks the anniversary of events that helped shape Jewish history, whether that’s a Nobel Prize-winning discovery, a pivotal Supreme Court decision, the birth of an iconic artist, the founding of a community, or a moment that changed the course of the Jewish people.
Welcome to Unpacked’s latest series, “This Week in Jewish History.” Each week, we’ll take a look back at the stories worth remembering and why they still matter today.
Check out previous editions here.
Alfred Dreyfus is arrested (October 15, 1894)
There are few events in Jewish history that altered collective Jewish consciousness quite like the Dreyfus Affair.
For centuries, Jews across much of Europe lived under restrictions that dictated where they could settle, which professions they could enter and whether they could participate in public life. For Europe’s Jews, the French Revolution at the end of the 18th century promised a different future: the right to live as equal citizens in the countries they called home. France granted Jews full citizenship in 1791, helping usher in an era of Jewish emancipation that would gradually spread across Europe.
In other words, Europe’s Jews were free at last. Right?
Not quite.
While emancipation granted Jews legal rights, they soon learned that equality on paper could not erase centuries of prejudice. That contradiction came into sharp focus on October 15, 1894, when Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish captain in the French army, was arrested and falsely accused of passing military secrets to Germany.
That December, Dreyfus was convicted of treason in a military trial held behind closed doors. Secret evidence was presented to the judges without being shown to his defense, denying him the opportunity to challenge it. He was sentenced to life imprisonment.
On January 5, 1895, Dreyfus was subjected to a public military degradation ceremony. His insignia were stripped from his uniform and his sword was broken. Outside, a French mob — in the supposed homeland of enlightenment and civilization — hurled antisemitic abuse at him.
The hatred was not directed only at an alleged traitor.
It was directed at a Jew.
For Jews around the world, the spectacle was profoundly shocking. This wasn’t happening in a small shtetl in the Pale of Settlement, but in France, where Jews had been emancipated for more than a century. Dreyfus had served his country and risen through its military ranks. And yet, when he was accused, his Jewishness became a weapon against him.
For many Jews, the affair exposed the limits of emancipation: Citizenship could grant legal equality without guaranteeing acceptance. Theodor Herzl, then a journalist covering events in Paris, saw in the case further reason to doubt that assimilation could protect Jews from antisemitism. Though historians debate how decisive the affair was in his turn toward Zionism, it reinforced his conviction that Jews needed a state of their own.
By 1896, French intelligence officer Georges Picquart had uncovered evidence pointing to another officer, Ferdinand Walsin Esterhazy, as the real culprit. Rather than correct the injustice, military officials worked to suppress Picquart’s findings and protect the original verdict.
But France was not united against Dreyfus. His family and supporters fought to clear his name, and the writer Émile Zola’s intervention helped turn the case into a national reckoning. Dreyfus received a presidential pardon in 1899, but a pardon was not an acknowledgment of his innocence. That would not come until 1906, nearly 12 years after his arrest.
Jewish history is a story of both tragedy and triumph. This week is no exception.
Eliezer Ben-Yehuda starts speaking exclusively in Hebrew (October 13, 1881)
In 1881, Hebrew was not a native language passed from parents to children. By 1922, it was one of three official languages in British-administered Palestine, alongside English and Arabic.
For well over a millennium, Hebrew had largely ceased to be an everyday spoken language. But, of course, it was never fully extinct. It remained central to Jewish prayer and study, served as a means of communication between Jews from different parts of the Diaspora, and sustained a rich tradition of literature and poetry, including secular works.
Then, over just a few decades, Hebrew returned to homes, classrooms and everyday conversations. Today, millions of people speak it as their first language.
How in the world did this happen?
The story of Hebrew’s revival is multilayered. Arguably, its successful revitalization could only have happened under a very specific set of circumstances. Without waves of aliyah — Jewish immigration to the Land of Israel — Eliezer Ben-Yehuda’s efforts might never have caught on as they did. These newcomers spoke different languages and needed a way to communicate. Hebrew, already familiar to many through prayer and study, offered a shared foundation.
But immigration alone was not enough. Teachers, writers, parents and children helped turn that foundation into a language people could use to teach a lesson, report the news or argue over dinner.
Even so, Ben-Yehuda’s contribution can hardly be overstated. On October 13, 1881, he and a group of friends reportedly agreed to speak to one another exclusively in Hebrew.
Read more: The hidden story of Hemda Ben-Yehuda, the woman who helped build modern Hebrew
The principle was simple, even if putting it into practice was not: To become a living language, Hebrew needed people who would actually live in it.
Ben-Yehuda, who had studied Hebrew from childhood, was determined to bring the ancient language into modern daily life. In 1881, he and his wife, Devorah, moved to Jerusalem, where they resolved to speak only Hebrew with anyone who knew the language. For him, reviving Hebrew and reviving Jewish national life were inseparable projects.
His efforts extended beyond conversation. Through journalism, dictionary work and the creation of words for modern objects and ideas, he helped equip Hebrew for a world far removed from the one in which its biblical texts had been written. Among the words credited to him are glida (ice cream), bubba (doll) and haydak (bacteria).
Ben-Yehuda remained fervently — arguably fanatically — committed to his Hebrew-only household after the birth of his son, Ben-Zion, in 1882. The boy, later known as Itamar Ben-Avi, was raised to speak Hebrew as his first language.
The experiment came at a personal cost. His father sought to shield him from other languages, limiting his contact with other children. In a later account of his childhood, Itamar recalled a bitter argument that erupted when his father caught his mother singing him a Russian lullaby. Accounts differ on precisely when he began speaking, but the story captures the intensity with which Ben-Yehuda pursued his dream.
As an adult, Itamar carried on the family’s work as a journalist and Zionist activist. He also contributed to Hebrew’s growing vocabulary, claiming credit for atzmaut, the word for independence.
What began as an unusual family experiment became part of a much larger transformation. Hebrew’s revival required far more than one man’s determination. But Ben-Yehuda helped demonstrate something that had once seemed improbable: An ancient language could become the language of a new generation.
