From the 9th century through the 19th, the Jews of Fustat, a suburb of Cairo, left discarded manuscripts in the genizah (repository) of the Ben Ezra synagogue, but it was not until the end of the 19th century that the rabbi and scholar Solomon Schechter realized what a boon this collection could be for the study of Jewish history, and set about examining it systematically. Playing a key role in making this collection available to scholars was Stefan Reif, who has recently written a memoir. Yakir Feldman writes:

Highly readable and richly laced with understated . . . British humor, [the memoir] is factual, yet a good story; funny, yet serious; personal, yet universal. . . . Powered by a seemingly near-photographic memory and buttressed by disciplined research and a natural raconteur’s inerrant sixth sense of what is relevant and interesting, Stefan Reif brings post-World War II Edinburgh to life, conveying in indelible verbal images that are unstintingly honest what conditions were like in that bygone era for a bright child of struggling Jewish immigrant parents.

In an interview, Reif tells Feldman:

I was twenty-nine years old when Cambridge appointed me to look after this collection. There were 200,000 fragments, most of them deteriorating, lying in crates—unavailable, unexamined, unconserved. The prevalent idea in the Cambridge University Library was that this was not at all a priority and was in any case too enormous a job for one career, one scholar, one lifetime. I disagreed.

Just as the Dead Sea Scrolls completely changed our understanding of the Second Temple Period, the Cairo Genizah completely changed our understanding of the early medieval period, the 10th century to the 13th century in the Mediterranean as a whole—from France to India. It contains priceless treasures—for example, 120 writings in Maimonides’ own handwriting.

Established in 2012 and maintaining branches in Europe, North America, and Iran, the Samidoun Palestinian Prisoner Network claims its goal is merely to show “solidarity” for imprisoned Palestinians. The organization’s leader, however, has admitted to being a representative of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), a notorious terrorist group whose most recent accomplishments include murdering a seventeen-year-old girl. As Arsen Ostrovsky and Patricia Teitelbaum point out, Samidoun is just one example of how the European Union allows Iran-backed terrorists to operate in its midst:

The PFLP is a proxy of the Iranian regime, which provides the terror group with money, training, and weapons. Samidoun . . . has a branch in Tehran. It has even held events there, under the pretext of “cultural activity,” to elicit support for operations in Europe. Its leader, Khaled Barakat, is a regular on Iran’s state [channel] PressTV, calling for violence and lauding Iran’s involvement in the region. It is utterly incomprehensible, therefore, that the EU has not yet designated Samidoun a terror group.

According to the Council of the European Union, groups and/or individuals can be added to the EU terror list on the basis of “proposals submitted by member states based on a decision by a competent authority of a member state or a third country.” In this regard, there is already a standing designation by Israel of Samidoun as a terror group and a decision of a German court finding Barakat to be a senior PFLP operative.

Given the irrefutable axis-of-terror between Samidoun, PFLP, and the Iranian regime, the EU has a duty to put Samidoun and senior Samidoun leaders on the EU terror list. It should do this not as some favor to Israel, but because otherwise it continues to turn a blind eye to a group that presents a clear and present security threat to the European Union and EU citizens.