September 14, 2026

PHILOSEMITISM REQUIRES MORAL CLARITY:

Israel’s Elimination Project (Yuli Novak, 9/14/26, NY Times)

As a Jewish Israeli, I grew up inside that language. It turned violent domination into “security,” dispossession into “settlement” and large-scale violence into “self-defense.” That language draws much of its power from real fear. I know that fear. I grew up with it. That fear has many sources, including decades of armed attacks against Israelis. The Hamas-led attack of Oct. 7, 2023, has intensified it. Israeli political language manipulates it by dehumanizing Palestinians, collapsing them into a single category — namely, a threat. It uses violence by some to justify the control and oppression of an entire population. This is one way apartheid sustains itself.

The language I grew up with did not require me to deny Palestinian suffering. I could acknowledge it, even be horrified by it, while still regarding the system that produced it as fundamentally legitimate. Today, after years of deepening dehumanization, Palestinian suffering is simply ignored in much of Israeli public discourse. That is why the language of those who live under this system matters so much. The people who witness, endure and survive under that power can describe what their lives look like: unprotected, shaped by fear, vulnerability and uncertainty.

On Monday, B’Tselem is publishing a report on the process unfolding in the West Bank. It tells a story with deep roots. From the mass expulsion and displacement of Palestinians during the Nakba in 1948, when hundreds of thousands of Palestinians were displaced or expelled and the subsequent refusal of refugees’ right to return, through occupation, settlements and apartheid, Israeli policy has repeatedly worked to entrench Jewish sovereignty while making Palestinian presence and political life more precarious.

ALL FOR HIMSELF:

How One Man’s Quest for a Musketeer’s Bones Got Him Locked Up: A secret archaeological dig inside a Dutch church has led to drama worthy of Alexandre Dumas. Did Wim Dijkman really find the bones of the fourth musketeer? We may never know. (Jeanna Smialek, Sept. 13, 2026, NY Times)

Yet the investigation into whether the bones belong to Charles de Batz de Castelmore d’Artagnan, who died during the Siege of Maastricht in 1673, was about to take twists and turns that might have impressed Dumas himself.

Within days of our conversation, Mr. Dijkman would find himself in a cell at the local police station. Within weeks, he’d be arguing in the local media that he was being framed for grave mistakes in unearthing and processing the skeleton.

Within months, it would become clear that Mr. Dijkman and his band of mostly amateur archaeologists might well have uncovered D’Artagnan’s remains — but the town of Maastricht would allege that they may also have impaired the chances that the world will ever know whether the bones truly belong to the musketeer.

The quest for D’Artagnan’s skeleton would prove to be a story full of power struggles, hubris and hot heads. It continues to consume the little corner of the Netherlands, nestled between Belgium and Germany, where it has unfurled.

WE NEED MORE GUINEA FOWL:

The Tick That Hunts Down Its Hosts—Including Us (Burkhard Bilger, June 29, 2026, The New Yorker)

“Everyone comes here and is afraid of Jaws,” he said. “That is not what you should be scared about. It’s the little things.” […]

Roden-Reynolds pointed to a row of stocky little bugs, each with a white dot on its back. These were lone-star ticks, first confirmed to be on the island in 2011. Most ticks are content to sit and wait for a meal to wander past; lone stars have no patience for that. “We see them actually pursuing hosts, which is really disconcerting,” one entomologist told me. Roden-Reynolds has found lone stars on walking trails and benches, in toolsheds, parking lots, and the yards of hundreds of local homes that he has surveyed. He has heard of them scrambling down dunes and across burning sand to feed on sunbathers. “Oh, they’re relentless,” he said.

HOME:

How Mexico’s World Cup run brought a small Oregon town to life: The story of Woodburn, OR, is the story of the American dream. But can this town, with its vibrant soccer-loving Latino community, realize the potential afforded to so many other cities across the country? (Roberto Jose Andrade Franco, Jun 30, 2026, ESPN)

Across Oregon during World War II, people from small towns who weren’t drafted to fight in the European or Pacific fronts moved to cities where the defense industry flourished. Portland, a little over thirty miles north of Woodburn, became a hub for shipbuilding, while in Seattle, 175 miles further north, Boeing built bombers. That, combined with the forced internment of people of Japanese ancestry — including U.S. citizens, many of them agricultural workers — meant there weren’t enough laborers to pick the berries that grew there during the spring and summer. Woodburn has so many berries that it used to call itself the Berry Center of the World.

“My grandparents are from Coahuila, Mexico,” Anthony says. “They arrived here in 1943.” They were among the laborers who came to the northwest as part of a 1942 binational agreement between Mexico and the United States called the Bracero Program. More than four million Mexican men, across 24 states, came to help the country’s agricultural industry survive.

“We now have five, six generations of Mexicanos, Mexican Americans, Latinos,” Anthony says of Woodburn. Over time, the laborers’ personal roots grew into Woodburn’s fertile soil. The Bracero Program ended in 1964, but many Mexican workers remained, or returned with their families, ready to make home and community out of a place that needed them. Today, 61.4% of the town’s 31,000-plus residents are Latino.

From the beginning, the Braceros played soccer when they weren’t working in fields and forests. It helped close the distance between their new home and the one they left behind.