History « Thurles Information

History Rhymes: Babi Yar, A Ravine Where A City’s Jewish Community Was Erased.

History does not repeat itself exactly, but it often rhymes in the ways hatred is excused, renamed, or redirected.

In the autumn of 1941, a ravine on the edge of Kyiv became one of the most devastating killing sites of the Holocaust. German forces had occupied the city on September 19th, and within days the Nazi campaign of persecution turned into mass murder. Notices appeared ordering Kyiv’s Jews to report with documents, clothing, money, and valuables. Many believed they were being deported or resettled. Instead, they were being led to Babi Yar.

On September 29th and 30th, Jewish families moved through the city in long, fearful columns. Parents carried children. Elderly people walked beside relatives. Others brought small bundles containing whatever remained of their lives. At the ravine, they were stripped of their possessions and clothing, forced toward the edge in groups, and shot. In only two days, 33,771 Jewish men, women, and children were murdered there, making Babi Yar one of the largest single massacres of the Holocaust.

**Section of bodies photographed at the mass grave in Babi Yar, Ukraine, by Soviet researchers, three years later in 1944.**

The killing did not end with those two days. During the Nazi occupation, Babi Yar continued to be used as an execution site. Jews who had survived or hidden were later brought there and killed. Soviet prisoners of war, Roma people, resistance members, civilians, and others targeted by the occupiers were also murdered in or near the ravine. What had once been a natural landmark became a mass grave and a symbol of the “Holocaust by bullets,” the campaign of open-air shootings carried out across Nazi-occupied Eastern Europe.

After the war, Babi Yar’s memory was itself subjected to silence. Under Soviet rule, public commemoration often avoided naming the Jewish victims specifically, presenting the dead mainly as Soviet citizens. For survivors, relatives, and historians, this omission deepened the wound. The ravine held not only the bodies of the murdered but also a history that official memory struggled to acknowledge.

**Soviet POWs being used by Germany to cover the mass grave after the massacre, on October 1st 1941.**
*Pic: Johannes Hähle*.

Today, Babi Yar stands as a place of mourning and warning. Its story reveals how quickly ordinary streets can become routes to destruction when hatred is organised by the state and human beings are reduced to targets. Behind the number 33,771 were families, neighbours, children, workers, students, grandparents, and entire communities whose lives were ended together at the edge of a ravine.
To remember Babi Yar is to restore their humanity against the machinery that tried to erase them.

That silence also speaks to the present. History does not repeat itself exactly, but it often rhymes in the ways hatred is excused, renamed, or redirected. Anti-Semitism rarely begins with violence at the edge of a ravine. It begins with language that turns Jews into a collective blame, with suspicion cast over Jewish identity, with the idea that Jewish fear is exaggerated, or that hostility toward Jews can be justified by events elsewhere. In Ireland today, where public feeling about Israel and Gaza is often intense, there must still be a clear moral line; criticism of any government is legitimate, but blaming Irish Jews for the actions of the Israeli state, intimidating Jewish people, distorting Holocaust memory, or treating Jewish belonging as conditional is antisemitism.

To remember Babi Yar is therefore not only to look back at 1941, but to ask what kind of society we are becoming now. The lesson is not that today is the same as then; it is that dehumanisation must be challenged long before it becomes catastrophe. A country can defend Palestinian lives and rights while also defending Jewish safety, dignity, memory, and belonging.

The measure of moral seriousness is whether we can hold both truths at once, refusing to let grief for one people become hatred of another.

Ted Howell – The Quiet Strategist Behind Sinn Féin’s Political Journey.

The death of Edward “Ted” Howell in January 2025 brought renewed attention to one of the most influential yet least publicly known figures in modern Irish republicanism. While names such as Mr Gerry Adams and more recently, Ms Mary Lou McDonald have become synonymous with Sinn Féin’s political rise; Mr Howell operated largely behind the scenes. Yet those who knew the movement best often described him as its most significant strategists.
His life also highlights one of the enduring tensions at the heart of Sinn Féin’s history: the complex relationship between the party’s political leadership and the legacy of the Provisional IRA.

**L-R:** Mr Gerry Adams; late Mr Ted Howell and seated late Mr Martin McGuinness.

Born in Belfast in 1947, Mr Howell became involved in republican activism during the early years of “The Troubles”. Public records and contemporary reporting show that he was associated with the Provisional IRA and was interned during the 1970s. Like many republicans of his generation, his political development occurred during a period of intense conflict, marked by violence, imprisonment, and political upheaval.

In February 1982, Mr Edward Howell and fellow republican Mr Desmond Ellis were both arrested by U.S. immigration authorities while attempting to cross illegally from Canada into the United States at the Whirlpool Bridge near Niagara Falls. Contemporary accounts state that the pair, accompanied by three Canadians, were carrying false documentation and what authorities described as a “shopping list” for weapons, including detonators and other materials associated with then IRA operations. U.S. officials refused them entry, placed them in immigration detention, and began deportation proceedings.
Reports from the period indicate that Mr Howell, oddly, was accused of only attempting to enter the United States using false documents, rather than being criminally charged with weapons trafficking. During deportation arrangements via Canada and France, Howell reportedly escaped from escort at Paris airport before later being found located in Ireland.
This incident however, then formed part of a now wider U.S. investigation into IRA fundraising and arms-procurement networks operating through Canada and North America during the early 1980s.

A lesser-known aspect of Mr Ted Howell’s political activity was his involvement in Sinn Féin’s international engagement. According to public statements by Mr Gerry Adams, Mr Howell accompanied senior Sinn Féin representatives on visits to the Middle East and took part in meetings with Hamas representatives. Sinn Féin stated that these discussions focused on sharing lessons from the Irish peace process and encouraging political dialogue as an alternative to conflict. The contacts attracted controversy because Hamas is designated as a terrorist organisation by the European Union, the United States and several other countries. Howell’s involvement reflected Sinn Féin’s long-standing support for the Palestinian cause, a position that continues to influence the party’s strong criticism of Israeli government policies today and its advocacy for Palestinian statehood.

For critics of republicanism, the 1982 incident reinforced concerns about Howell’s involvement in the IRA’s international activities. For supporters, it became part of a broader narrative of a republican activist engaged in a struggle that they believed was political as well as military.

What is beyond dispute is that Howell emerged from the turbulent years of the conflict as one of Sinn Féin’s most trusted strategic thinkers. His relationship with Mr Gerry Adams was particularly significant. Adams was the public face of republicanism’s political transformation, but numerous accounts from journalists, former negotiators, and party insiders suggest that Howell was among the key advisers helping shape the movement’s long-term direction. He was involved in developing major policy documents during the 1980s and 1990s, including proposals that laid the groundwork for Sinn Féin’s engagement with the peace process.
Unlike Mr Adams; Mr Howell rarely sought publicity. He preferred to operate away from television cameras and political rallies. Yet those involved in negotiations frequently noted his influence. He was regarded as an intellectual force within republican circles, someone whose opinions carried considerable weight despite his low public profile.

The transition from armed conflict to political engagement remains one of the defining developments in modern Irish history. Supporters of Sinn Féin argue that figures, such as Mr Howell, played a crucial role in guiding that transition. They point to his involvement in discussions that eventually contributed to the Good Friday Agreement and later political settlements.
Critics, however, take a different view. They argue that individuals with IRA backgrounds continued to exercise influence within Sinn Féin long after the peace process had begun. For them, Mr Howell’s career raises important questions about accountability, transparency, and the extent to which former republican activists continued to shape decision-making behind the scenes.

**Sinn Féin President Ms Mary Lou McDonald and Sinn Féin vice president Ms Michelle O’Neill pallbearers at funeral of Mr Ted Howell.**
*Above Photograph:* *Courtesy Liam McBurney*.

These debates resurfaced after his death. The attendance of senior Sinn Féin figures at his funeral, including party president Ms Mary Lou McDonald, attracted considerable attention. Ms McDonald paid tribute to Howell’s contribution to the republican cause, reflecting the high regard in which he was held within the party. Alongside Ms Michelle O’Neill and Mr Gerry Adams, she helped honour a man whom many republicans regarded as a pivotal figure in the movement’s evolution.

For Sinn Féin supporters, these tributes were entirely appropriate. They viewed Mr Howell as a dedicated activist who helped steer republicanism towards democratic politics and constitutional engagement. They emphasised his role in peace negotiations and his commitment to Irish unity through political means.

But for others, particularly victims’ groups and critics of the IRA, the public recognition of Mr Howell revived painful memories of the conflict. Some questioned whether individuals associated with paramilitary organisations should be celebrated by contemporary political leaders. The sight of prominent Sinn Féin representatives honouring a former IRA member prompted renewed debate about how Ireland and Northern Ireland should remember “The Troubles”.

The relationship between Mr Gerry Adams, Ms Mary Lou McDonald, and Mr Ted Howell also symbolises a broader transition within Sinn Féin itself. Mr Adams represented the generation that led republicanism through conflict and into negotiations. Mr Howell was one of the key strategists working behind that transformation. Ms McDonald, by contrast, represents a newer generation of leadership seeking to position Sinn Féin as a mainstream political force across the island of Ireland.
Yet the party’s history cannot be separated from the individuals who shaped it. Mr Howell’s life serves as a reminder that many of the architects of modern Sinn Féin came from a movement deeply intertwined with the IRA. Whether viewed as a peacemaker, strategist, activist, or controversial figure, his influence on republican politics is difficult to deny.

Ultimately, Mr Ted Howell’s legacy depends largely on the perspective from which it is viewed. To supporters, he was a committed republican thinker. To critics, he remained a figure whose association with the IRA raises unresolved questions about responsibility and remembrance.
What is certain is that, despite spending much of his life out of the spotlight, Mr Edward “Ted” Howell left a significant imprint on Sinn Féin, on the republican movement, and sadly on the political history of Ireland.

Tipperary Film Maker Ms Anne Williamson Wins Los Angeles Film Award for “Bridget”.

Tipperary filmmaker Anne Williamson has won international recognition in Los Angeles for her short film Bridget, a powerful drama based on the life and death of Bridget Cleary, who was murdered in Co Tipperary in 1895.

Ms Williamson, from Mullinahone, Co Tipperary, directed and co-wrote the film, which revisits one of Ireland’s most haunting historical stories. Bridget tells of the murder of 26-year-old Bridget Cleary, who was killed by her husband, Michael Cleary, after he claimed she had been taken by fairies and replaced by a changeling.

The film was co-written by Williamson and Brian Clancy from Clooneen and was filmed by cinematographer Louis Buggy of Diceman Films. It combines a modern-day introduction, filmed in colour, with a striking black-and-white historical retelling of the events surrounding Bridget’s death.

Speaking at a recent screening of the film at the Abymill Theatre in Fethard, Co. Tipperary, Ms Williamson said the story had stayed with her since childhood. “It was always a story that fascinated me from listening to stories my grandfather told me when I was a child,” she said. “It was always a tale that tore at my heart strings — the fact that Bridget was burned and buried in the middle of the night with no mourners. It always got to me that she was wronged.”

Ms Williamson travelled to Los Angeles with cast members Vicky Maher, who plays Bridget Cleary; John Peter Morris, who plays Michael Cleary; and Deirdre De Búrca, who plays a local gossip. All three were present at the Regal Theatre in Los Angeles when Williamson collected her award.

The production features performances from members of the Fionn MacCumhaill Players from south Tipperary. The cast also includes young actor Cathal Fahey as Danny, Mark Fitzgerald as his father, and Eugene O’Meara as his grandfather, who introduces the story.

The drama includes an original ballad, ‘The Maid of Old Clooneen’, written and performed by Dublin folk singer Chris Kavanagh.

Local support for the film has been strong, with cast and crew members receiving messages of congratulations from across Ireland and abroad following Ms Williamson’s success in Los Angeles.

Fethard undertaker and publican Mr Jasper Murphy, who plays a priest in the film, said the award had brought great pride to everyone involved.

Bridget shines a new light on the Bridget Cleary story, seeking to restore dignity to a young woman whose death shocked Ireland and became known around the world. Through the dedication of local writers, actors, musicians and film makers, the film brings this tragic chapter of Tipperary history to a new international audience.

Sport Should Not Be Asked To Carry The Whole Weight Of Politics.

The controversy around Ireland’s scheduled football fixtures against Israel in 2026 is real, serious and understandable. People are entitled to strong political and moral views. They are entitled to protest, to criticise governments, to question sporting bodies, and to demand consistency from international organisations.
But there is still an important principle worth defending: where possible, politics and sport should be kept separate.

That does not mean sport exists in a fantasy world, untouched by history or suffering. It plainly does not. Ireland knows that better than most.

In October 1936, Ireland played Germany at Dalymount Park, at a time when Hitler’s regime was already in power. The German team gave the Nazi salute before the match.
Looking back now, the images are deeply uncomfortable. Yet the match itself has also survived in Irish football memory as a sporting occasion, with Ireland winning 5–2, and the players on the pitch did what players are supposed to do; – they played football.

That example does not excuse the politics of the time. It does not make the symbolism harmless. But it does show the danger of making every football match a referendum on world affairs. Once we insist that teams may only play countries whose governments we approve of, sport becomes impossible to organise fairly. The rule will always be applied unevenly. Some states will be punished, others ignored. Some causes will become fashionable, others forgotten.

The recent Ireland match against Qatar also shows why consistency matters. Qatar has faced years of serious criticism over the treatment of migrant workers, especially around the 2022 World Cup. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have reported abuses including exploitation, unpaid wages, unsafe conditions and cases amounting to forced labour, even while acknowledging that some labour reforms have been introduced. Yet Ireland still played Qatar in Dublin in May 2026. That does not mean those concerns were unimportant. It means that, in practice, international football has continued to operate even when the opposing state has a deeply controversial human-rights record. If sport is to become a tool of political exclusion, the rule must be clear, consistent and applied equally; not selectively according to which controversy is most prominent at a given moment.

The players themselves are then placed in an impossible position. They are selected to represent their country in football, not to solve foreign policy. Asking them to carry the burden of international diplomacy is unfair. A footballer may have personal views, moral doubts, or sympathy with victims of conflict. But when a national team is drawn in an official competition, the decision to play should not be dumped on the shoulders of the players alone.

The same applies to supporters. Fans can protest. Fans can refuse to attend. Fans can display conscience. But the existence of protest does not automatically mean the fixture itself should be cancelled. A democratic society should be capable of allowing both: the match and the protest; the sporting contest and the political opinion.

There is also a practical issue. International sport depends on agreed rules. If Ireland refuses to fulfil a fixture, the consequences may not fall on the government whose actions are being criticised. They may fall on Irish players, Irish supporters, the FAI, and Ireland’s future standing in competition. That may satisfy a political demand in the short term, but it may do little to change the conflict itself.

None of this means sport should be morally blind. There are extreme cases where exclusion may be justified, particularly where international sporting bodies agree a clear, consistent and rules-based position. But that decision should be made transparently by the governing bodies responsible for the competition, not improvised country by country, match by match, under public pressure.

The lesson from Dalymount in 1936 is not that politics does not matter. It is that sport often becomes a stage onto which politics intrudes. The challenge is to prevent that stage from being completely consumed by it.
Ireland can condemn injustice. Ireland can speak strongly in international forums. Irish citizens can protest, campaign and argue, but the national team should not automatically become a substitute foreign ministry.

Football cannot fix war. It cannot settle borders. It cannot undo suffering. What it can do, at its best, is preserve a small space where people compete under rules rather than slogans.

That space is worth protecting, not because politics is unimportant, but because sport matters too.

History Rhymes – The Village That Chose to Save Children.

The True Story of Villa Emma – The Village That Chose to Save Children.

At a time when Israel’s very presence on the football field is again the subject of protest, including the disruption of Ireland’s friendly against Qatar in Dublin over upcoming fixtures with Israel, the story of Villa Emma carries a particular force. The protests are framed by many as opposition to Israel’s conduct in Gaza, but for Jews and Israelis they also echo a longer and painful history: a people repeatedly attacked, excluded, and told that even their children, athletes, and symbols of ordinary national life are not entitled to safety or normality. From the Jewish children hidden in Nonantola in 1943, to the children killed at Majdal Shams, to Jewish children reportedly targeted in Skokie, the question is not only political but moral: when Jewish or Israeli children and communities are made vulnerable, do bystanders turn away, join the hostility, or choose protection?

In the summer of 1942, a group of Jewish refugee children arrived in the small Italian village of Nonantola, near Modena.
They had already been on the run for years, fleeing Nazi persecution across Central and Eastern Europe. Most came from Germany, Austria, and the Balkans. Many had lost their families.
An Italian Jewish aid organisation, DELASEM, arranged for them to stay in an abandoned countryside mansion known as Villa Emma.
By the spring of 1943, their number had grown to around 70–73 children and teenagers, cared for by a small group of adult educators.

**Catholic Priest & Teacher, Don Arrigo Beccari.**

A fragile refuge.
For about a year, life in Nonantola was unexpectedly peaceful. The children attended lessons, worked, and gradually adapted to village life. Local residents helped furnish the villa, brought food, and supported daily life.
Two local figures became especially important, namely Don Arrigo Beccari, a Catholic priest and teacher, and Dr. Giuseppe Moreali, the village doctor. Both formed close ties with the children and helped organise their care.
At this stage, despite anti-Jewish laws, Italy had not yet begun systematic deportations in the same way as Nazi-occupied territories but that would soon change.

By September 1943: everything shifts. On September 8th, 1943, Italy surrendered to the Allies. German forces quickly occupied northern Italy.
The danger was immediate and clear. Within hours, the people responsible for the children realised that staying at Villa Emma would likely lead to arrest and deportation.
What happened next was decisive. A village acts. In less than two days, often described as under 36 hours, the children were dispersed and hidden. Younger children were sheltered in the local seminary Others were taken in by families across the village and countryside
Around 30–35 families, along with clergy and others, participated in hiding them.
This was not a centralised operation directed by a government or military. It was a coordinated local response involving priests, doctors, educators, and ordinary villagers.

Forged identities and a dangerous plan
Hiding the children was only a temporary solution. German patrols were active, and a search could happen at any time.
Beccari, Moreali, and others began preparing an escape. They obtained blank identity documents and created false papers to disguise the children’s identities. The plan was to move them north, across the Alps, into neutral Switzerland.

The escape.
Between early and mid-October 1943, the children left Nonantola in small groups. They travelled by train and on foot, guided through checkpoints using forged papers, and eventually crossed the Swiss border, often at night.Most of the group made it safely. One known exception was Salomon Papo, a boy who had been too ill to travel. He was later arrested and deported to Auschwitz, where he died.

Aftermath and consequences
The rescue did not go unnoticed. Don Arrigo Beccari was later arrested and imprisoned by Fascist authorities. He was interrogated and beaten but did not reveal information about the network that had helped the children.
He survived the war and returned to his life as a priest in the same community.

What this story really represents
The rescue of the Villa Emma children was not the work of a single hero. It involved Jewish organizers who arranged the children’s refuge – Local clergy and medical professionals and dozens of ordinary families willing to take risks. Together, they protected and ultimately saved the lives of dozens of young people.
After the war, many of those children emigrated to Palestine and later Israel, where they built new lives.

Why, then, are so many Christian communities silent? Perhaps because Israel has become politically contentious, and many fear that defending Jews or Israelis from hatred will be treated as taking a side in every aspect of the Middle East conflict. But this is a false moral trap. One can grieve Palestinian suffering and still condemn antisemitism. One can criticise Israeli policy and still defend Jewish children from intimidation, exclusion, and violence. The legacy of Villa Emma should make Christians especially uneasy about silence. When Jewish children were in danger, Don Arrigo Beccari and others did not hide behind complexity. They protected life. That remains the standard.

A legacy of quiet courage.
In 1964, Don Arrigo Beccari and Giuseppe Moreali were recognized by Yad Vashem as Righteous Among the Nations for their role in the rescue.
Today, the story of Villa Emma is remembered not just as an act of individual bravery, but as an example of collective moral choice. In a time of fear and occupation, a small rural community chose to help. and because of that, dozens of children survived.