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A new photo book celebrates the very Jewish cafeteria culture of a vanished New York
(New York Jewish Week) – Back in 1975, Marcia Bricker Halperin had just graduated from Brooklyn College with the dream of becoming a professional photographer when she stepped into the Flatbush outpost of Dubrow’s, a cafeteria-style restaurant, for a warm cup of coffee.
It was there that inspiration hit. “I was wonderstruck,” Halperin writes in the introduction to her new book of photographs, “Kibbitz & Nosh: When We All Met at Dubrow’s Cafeteria,” describing the “cavernous” space with mirrored walls and a mosaic fountain. “It was the most idiosyncratic room I had ever seen.”
“I sensed it was a vanishing world on its last legs, and that impelled me to document it,” she continues. “On many visits, the tables were empty, sans a painterly still life of condiment bottles and jars in the morning light. I also perceived cafeterias as places that embodied a secular Jewish culture, something that was of great interest to me.”
“I attended a lecture by Isaac Bashevis Singer, who was billed as an “Outstanding Anglo -Yiddish” author, at the Brooklyn Jewish Center on Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights,” Bricker Halperin writes in the introduction. “I adored his short stories, many of which were set in cafeterias, and I regret never finding the nerve that day to tell him about my own cafeterianiks.” (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
Halperin was prescient: She started photographing these once-ubiquitous eateries one decade before the final Dubrow’s location in the Garment District would close in 1985. The chain’s first location was founded in 1929 on the Lower East Side by Benjamin Dubrow, a Jewish immigrant from Minsk. By the mid-twentieth century, the family-owned company expanded throughout Brooklyn, Manhattan and Miami Beach, with ownership passing to the second generation, and then to the third. In Dubrow’s prime, a stop at one of the cafeterias was practically required for politicians such as John F. Kennedy and Jimmy Carter.
Nearly 50 years after her first visit, Halperin’s new book is a tribute to this now-defunct New York City cafeteria culture and the characters she met during the five years she regularly photographed there. The compelling 152-page book features her original black-and-white photos along with essays from Pulitzer Prize–winning playwright Donald Margulies and Jewish American historian Deborah Dash Moore.
“Although Jews were not the only ones to patronize cafeterias, they preferred them as inexpensive places to hang out to bars, which often attracted an Irish immigrant or working-class clientele,” Moore writes in her essay, titled “See You at Dubrow’s.” “By the 1930s, cafeterias were part of the fabric of Jewish neighborhood life in New York City, a welcome alternative for socializing to cramped apartments, street corners, or candy stores.”
Now living in Park Slope and retired from a career as a special education teacher, Halperin talked with the New York Jewish Week about the city’s lost cafeteria culture and what inspired her to capture it with her camera.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
New York Jewish Week: You took these photos nearly 50 years ago. What made you decide to publish them now?
Marcia Bricker Halperin: In the 1970s, there was such good feedback on the work. I was given a show, I was collected by a few people, I had a photo in The New York Times. People wrote me letters in the mail: “Ms. Bricker, I’m interested in buying one of your photos.” At the time, I was in a project called the CETA artists project, a federally funded arts project in the ’70s where I was paid to be a photographer. It was very much like the [Depression-era] WPA project, but one of the great differences with the CETA project was anything you shot, you owned.
So I continued photographing changing New York during those years — some of it by assignment for nonprofit organizations that I worked with, like the Jewish Museum and an organization in Brighton Beach that was resettling the Soviet Jews that were arriving in the ’70s. They wanted photographs to help both the Soviet Jews understand American life and the old Jewish population in Brighton Beach understand Russian life. What a great opportunity!
I was going to be an artist and I did adjunct teaching and different things to make it work. I kind of fell into teaching high school photography and then, from there, I fell into teaching special education — that took over. Thirty-five years later, I retired from teaching. The day after I retired, I took out my negatives and my photography stuff and bought a scanner and all kinds of printers and things.
So, I was a photographer once upon a time and then taught for many years and, overnight, I became one once again.
A man reads the Forvertz newspaper in Yiddish. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
How did it feel to see these photos again? Had you developed any of them before?
Yes, I printed quite a few of them then. I worked as a darkroom lab technician, so I had an opportunity in the ’70s to do a lot of silver gelatin prints. I would bring in a thick envelope of the imperfect prints to the cafeteria and at that point, everybody knew me. I gave out portraits to people. If I hadn’t shot them, they would gather around me asking: “Do you have my picture? Did you print it?” Especially the staff — there was a very international cohort of people working there and they all wanted pictures to send home to their families.
After that, the pictures lay fallow for all these years. I protected them and stored them very carefully. When I had the opportunity to come back and put together a sample book, I started looking through the negatives and I said, “Oh, my God, I don’t remember that picture.” It was a time warp to see some of these photos taken in the 1970s. In Manhattan, the ’60s had happened, but Flatbush in Brooklyn was the “Old Country.” It hung onto the past for a while and some women dressed like they were still in the 1950s.
Dubrow’s Cafeteria, Kings’s Highway 1975. The photographer appears in the top left corner. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
Dubrow’s closed just ten years after you started shooting there. Could you feel at the time that cafeteria culture was ending?
I kept a journal at the time. When I went back 42 years later to look at it, I had written: “One day I’m going to show up here and this is going to be closed.”
There were other cafeterias in Manhattan and the Bronx and they had all closed. I’ve collected like every article ever written about cafeterias, and there’s one from 1973: “Are cafeterias going to be gone?” So it was fairly well known that this was a vanishing kind of establishment in New York. The automats ceased having the little boxes, Burger King bought them out, they tried to modernize and it got pretty sad. Sometimes during the day, the huge cafeteria would be empty and people would say, “This business can’t survive.” So I knew I was photographing in the vein of needing to document the things that are there and will be gone. It was one of the things that propelled me to get out there and photograph.
Today, things are different. There’s food courts and wonderful little coffee places. There are many businesses, especially here in Brooklyn, trying to perpetuate “grandmother foods” and there are restaurants that are serving “reinvented Jewish-style foods.” So there are some continuations, but in terms of the huge, opulent cafeteria spaces — grand professional murals, intricate woodworking, food with a crazy amount of preparation, 300 items, 30 different cakes — no restaurant could possibly survive like that. The only thing that still exists are my photos of them.
Men and women converse around empty tables at Dubrow’s on Kings Highway. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
What was the Jewish culture of Dubrow’s and Flatbush like at the time?
Growing up, we went to a little old “Conservadox” synagogue. We were the kind of family where my mother kept a kosher kitchen at home, but on Sunday nights we’d go out to the Chinese restaurant. Dubrow’s menu was “Jewish-style” but it was also a place you could go out and have your first shrimp salad sandwich, which became their most popular food. They were famous for shrimp salad!
These cafeterias were all started by Jewish immigrants. But they were democratic for everyone — there was ham on the menu, shrimp. You could choose whether to have just meat or have a meat meal and then have a cream pie for dessert. That was your choice. With cafeteria-style, like religion, you pick and choose what you want and what you want to observe.
When I would go there, all the older people would ask: “Are you Jewish? You don’t look Jewish.” I’d say,“I’m Jewish. I know a few words of Yiddish, my parents speak Yiddish at home.” They would be satisfied with that. There was this sense that it was a club a little bit, it was a Jewish establishment. Not that everybody wasn’t welcome, and everybody socialized with everyone else.
Socializing was a big thing there, not necessarily eating. Many of my pictures are people sitting around — sometimes it’s a coffee cup on the table, most of the time the table is empty. They were there to meet their friends and talk. Some people said it replaced the synagogues. The old men would go to Dubrow’s and have a cup of coffee with their friends in the morning and gossip and talk.
“Kibbitz & Nosh: When We All Met at Dubrow’s Cafeteria” will be published on May 15, 2023. The photos are on exhibit at the Edward Hopper House in Nyack, New York through June 25.
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Amsterdam’s Royal Concert Hall cancels annual Hanukkah concert, citing singer’s IDF ties
(JTA) — Last year, Amsterdam’s Royal Concert Hall held its 10th anniversary of a Hanukkah concert series that was rebooted 70 years after it was halted by the Nazis, in what some Dutch Jews saw as a repudiation of antisemitism that had swelled during the war in Gaza.
This year, the concert has been called off — and the prestigious concert hall citing the chosen singer’s ties to the Israeli army.
The Chanukah Concert Foundation, which organizes the event, had booked Shai Abramson to sing. Abramson is a retired lieutenant colonel for the IDF who serves as the army’s chief cantor.
The Royal Concert Hall, or Concertgebouw, said in a statement on Sunday that it had pressed for months for a change to the program and canceled the concert, scheduled for Dec. 14, when one was not made.
“This decision was made because it was not possible to reach an agreement on an alternative to the performance by the IDF Chief Cantor,” the statement said.
It continued, “For The Concertgebouw, it is crucial that the IDF is actively involved in a controversial war and that Abramson is a visible representative of it.”
The Hanukkah concert was rebooted in 2015, 70 years after the Nazis ended the longstanding tradition in the city and murdered three-quarters of the Dutch Jewish population. The relaunch was billed as a chance to connect and celebrate the city’s Jewish residents, a community that has never come close to its pre-Holocaust size.
Now, the Chanukkah Concert Foundation says the Concertgebouw is contributing to the “isolation the Jewish community feels it is being pushed into in the current era,” even as the concert hall said it “always remain a place where the Jewish community is welcome.”
“The Jewish community has been facing exclusion in the cultural sector for over two years,” the Chanukah Concert Foundation said in a statement on Sunday. “It is ironic that the Concertgebouw — where Chanukah celebrations have been held since December 14, 1921, a tradition interrupted only by World War II — is now confronting the Jewish community with exclusion and isolation.”
The Chanukah Concert Foundation said it would pursue legal action against the Concertgebouw, whose characterization of Abramson as an IDF representative it rejected.
“He is an independent artist, invited by the State of Israel to sing at national memorial ceremonies,” the foundation wrote in a statement. “Labeling him as an IDF representative fosters unwarranted negative sentiment toward Israel, the Jewish community in the Netherlands and visitors to the concert, purposely turning this great musical experience into a political event.”
The cantor’s website says his performances around the world are done “with the intention of developing and strengthening ties with Jewish communities around the world, and intensifying connections with Israel and with the IDF.”
The Hanukkah concert’s cancellation is not the first time the war in Gaza has interfered with plans at the Concertgebouw. In November 2023, a planned benefit concert for the Israeli humanitarian nonprofit Zaka was canceled after the Concertgebouw demanded that half of the proceeds go to a Dutch Palestinian aid group that had been accused of anti-Israel bias. The following year, the concert canceled performances by a Jerusalem-based quartet citing “safety” concerns over planned pro-Palestinian demonstrations.
Amsterdam has been a hotspot of such demonstrations. Last year, the city was roiled by pro-Palestinian protests, and a soccer game between the local team and Maccabi Tel Aviv sparked antisemitic mob violence against Israeli supporters.
In March, the University of Amsterdam suspended a student exchange with the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, accusing the school of failing to distance itself from the war in Gaza.
As for the Hanukkah concert, the concert foundation says it will “assume that the concerts on December 14th will go ahead, including Cantor Abramson,” amid its planned litigation.
The Concertgebouw, meanwhile, has removed the concert from its website, where among the other upcoming performances listed are multiple by the Jerusalem Quartet, the group whose concert was canceled last year over security concerns.
“Making this decision was extremely difficult,” Concertgebouw Director Simon Reinink in a statement about the Hanukkah concert cancellation. “Only in very exceptional cases do we make an exception to our important principle of artistic freedom. To our great regret, such an exception is now occurring. The intended performance by the chief cantor of the IDF is at odds with our mission: connecting people through music.”
The post Amsterdam’s Royal Concert Hall cancels annual Hanukkah concert, citing singer’s IDF ties appeared first on The Forward.
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Amsterdam’s Royal Concert Hall cancels annual Hanukkah concert, citing singer’s IDF ties
Last year, Amsterdam’s Royal Concert Hall held its 10th anniversary of a Hanukkah concert series that was rebooted 70 years after it was halted by the Nazis, in what some Dutch Jews saw as a repudiation of antisemitism that had swelled during the war in Gaza.
This year, the concert has been called off — and the prestigious concert hall citing the chosen singer’s ties to the Israeli army.
The Chanukah Concert Foundation, which organizes the event, had booked Shai Abramson to sing. Abramson is a retired lieutenant colonel for the IDF who serves as the army’s chief cantor.
The Royal Concert Hall, or Concertgebouw, said in a statement on Sunday that it had pressed for months for a change to the program and canceled the concert, scheduled for Dec. 14, when one was not made.
“This decision was made because it was not possible to reach an agreement on an alternative to the performance by the IDF Chief Cantor,” the statement said.
It continued, “For The Concertgebouw, it is crucial that the IDF is actively involved in a controversial war and that Abramson is a visible representative of it.”
The Hanukkah concert was rebooted in 2015, 70 years after the Nazis ended the longstanding tradition in the city and murdered three-quarters of the Dutch Jewish population. The relaunch was billed as a chance to connect and celebrate the city’s Jewish residents, a community that has never come close to its pre-Holocaust size.
Now, the Chanukkah Concert Foundation says the Concertgebouw is contributing to the “isolation the Jewish community feels it is being pushed into in the current era,” even as the concert hall said it “always remain a place where the Jewish community is welcome.”
“The Jewish community has been facing exclusion in the cultural sector for over two years,” the Chanukah Concert Foundation said in a statement on Sunday. “It is ironic that the Concertgebouw — where Chanukah celebrations have been held since December 14, 1921, a tradition interrupted only by World War II — is now confronting the Jewish community with exclusion and isolation.”
The Chanukah Concert Foundation said it would pursue legal action against the Concertgebouw, whose characterization of Abramson as an IDF representative it rejected.
“He is an independent artist, invited by the State of Israel to sing at national memorial ceremonies,” the foundation wrote in a statement. “Labeling him as an IDF representative fosters unwarranted negative sentiment toward Israel, the Jewish community in the Netherlands and visitors to the concert, purposely turning this great musical experience into a political event.”
The cantor’s website says his performances around the world are done “with the intention of developing and strengthening ties with Jewish communities around the world, and intensifying connections with Israel and with the IDF.”
The Hanukkah concert’s cancellation is not the first time the war in Gaza has interfered with plans at the Concertgebouw. In November 2023, a planned benefit concert for the Israeli humanitarian nonprofit Zaka was canceled after the Concertgebouw demanded that half of the proceeds go to a Dutch Palestinian aid group that had been accused of anti-Israel bias. The following year, the concert canceled performances by a Jerusalem-based quartet citing “safety” concerns over planned pro-Palestinian demonstrations.
Amsterdam has been a hotspot of such demonstrations. Last year, the city was roiled by pro-Palestinian protests, and a soccer game between the local team and Maccabi Tel Aviv sparked antisemitic mob violence against Israeli supporters.
In March, the University of Amsterdam suspended a student exchange with the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, accusing the school of failing to distance itself from the war in Gaza.
As for the Hanukkah concert, the concert foundation says it will “assume that the concerts on December 14th will go ahead, including Cantor Abramson,” amid its planned litigation.
The Concertgebouw, meanwhile, has removed the concert from its website, where among the other upcoming performances listed are multiple by the Jerusalem Quartet, the group whose concert was canceled last year over security concerns.
“Making this decision was extremely difficult,” Concertgebouw Director Simon Reinink in a statement about the Hanukkah concert cancellation. “Only in very exceptional cases do we make an exception to our important principle of artistic freedom. To our great regret, such an exception is now occurring. The intended performance by the chief cantor of the IDF is at odds with our mission: connecting people through music.”
—
The post Amsterdam’s Royal Concert Hall cancels annual Hanukkah concert, citing singer’s IDF ties appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Will Israel ever have another leader who truly wants peace?
Thirty years ago, on November 4, 1995, I attended a pro-peace rally in Tel Aviv’s central square. It was a joyous, carnival-like atmosphere.
“We have decided to give peace a chance — a peace that will resolve most of Israel’s problems,” Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin said. “I was a military man for 27 years. I fought as long as there was no chance for peace. I believe there is a chance for peace. A big chance. We must seize it.” Rabin stepped off the stage and headed toward his awaiting car at the bottom of a concrete stairway. Then, three shots rang out, and the trajectory of Israel’s history changed.
It seems incredible in this era of tunnel vision, radicalism and cynicism to even recall Rabin’s last words. His assassin did more than end a man’s life. He also ended the possibility of a better version of Israel, and set the country on a course that has led to a crisis of identity, democracy and purpose.
The Israel that emerged after Rabin’s death was one deprived of its moral center. It was an Israel where fear triumphed over hope, where slogans replaced strategy, and where a cunning politician named Benjamin Netanyahu deployed every conceivable cynicism to stay in power. The tragedy of Rabin’s death is not only what was lost, but what was gained: a political culture of manipulation and paralysis.
Rabin’s realism
Rabin was a successful leader because he embodied a realism forged in battle, combined with the moral courage to pursue reconciliation with the Palestinians.
He knew that if Israel was going to remain a state that was both democratic and Jewish-majority, it needed to separate itself from the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza. He could see, too, that rule over millions of disenfranchised Palestinians would corrode Israel from within.
Because of these eminently sensible perspectives, in the months before his assassination, he was targeted by the most virulent and hysterical protest campaign in the country’s history. Led by the youthful Netanyahu, this campaign viewed Rabin’s willingness to partition the Holy Land, and to hand parts of biblical Israel to the Palestinians, as treason and heresy.
The outlines of a final settlement were already visible, and may have been achievable if Rabin had lived. They involved mutual recognition, phased withdrawal, a Palestinian state that was demilitarized but sovereign, and an Israel at peace with itself and its neighbors. The extremists on both sides, who hated compromise, would have lost their momentum. The world, and the Middle East, might have been spared a generation of bloodletting.
Instead, Netanyahu, elected as prime minister by a whisker in 1996, pretended to honor the Oslo Accords while quietly strangling them. His project ever since has been to make Israelis disdain Rabin’s vision of pragmatic decency. He came into office on a wave of fear following Hamas suicide bombings, and his consistent message to Israelis since has been that peace is naïve, and negotiation with the Palestinians is futile.
This anniversary of Rabin’s assassination could not come at a more striking moment — with Israel involved in a fragile ceasefire after two years of war, which have decisively proven just how disastrous Netanyahu’s omnipresence in Israel has been.
The few times I met Rabin, as a young political reporter at The Jerusalem Post — including once at his home in Ramat Aviv — I was struck by his how his combination of skepticism and blunt pragmatism with a grasp of strategic realities gave him a kind of credibility that was essential.
That kind of leadership is what Israel needs, again, today. But where can it be found?
‘Who could possibly replace him?’
The convulsions of the past two years, triggered by Hamas’ invasion and massacre of Oct. 7, 2023, have undermined Netanyahu’s efforts to shape Israel’s future around a rejection of peace. Every poll since that day has shown Netanyahu losing the next election, and badly.
Yet as Israelis contemplate life after Netanyahu, the same lament is heard again and again: “But who could possibly replace him?”
That refrain is as revealing as it is absurd. Versions of the same sentiment have been heard in every country that has fallen under the thrall of an authoritarian populist cloaked in democratic legitimacy: Russia under President Vladimir Putin, Turkey under President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, and Hungary under Prime Minister Viktor Orbán.
The question accepts the premise of personal indispensability that such leaders cultivate — the notion that the state cannot function without them. In all these states, the idea that no one else could govern is a myth propagated by those who benefit from the paralysis.
Who could replace Netanyahu? Not one person, but a democratic alliance — a potential coalition of competence, sanity, and moral seriousness that Israel has long deferred in favor of the familiar. They could band together to try and create a 61-seat majority in the Knesset, enough to oust Netanyahu from the prime minister’s office in the next election
Perhaps best primed to lead them is former military chief of staff Gadi Eisenkot. He possesses a moral gravitas born of personal sacrifice — he lost a son in the line of duty in the early days of the Gaza war — and combines military realism with a social conscience and intellectual curiosity rare among generals. The son of Moroccan immigrants, he could bridge Israel’s enduring ethnic divides. Quiet in manner, almost austere, he has reminded many of Rabin: uncharismatic but unbreakable.
Former Prime Minister Yair Lapid, who briefly governed before the 2022 election, remains an alternative. Once dismissed as a television personality dabbling in politics, Lapid, the face of liberal centrism, has matured into a disciplined leader of the opposition. His brief premiership was notable for calm professionalism and relative honesty.
He is secular, pro-market, and pro-Western, a believer in diplomacy and inclusion. His weakness: For some Israelis he seems too polished, too Tel Aviv, insufficiently rooted in the gritty national narrative that Rabin embodied. Still, Lapid commands international respect and a clear moral compass.
Yair Golan, leader of the Democrats party, is the conscience of Israel’s old left: articulate, brave and deeply troubled by the moral decay of occupation and theocracy. He speaks plainly about the dangers of fascism and clerical capture, and his military record protects him from the usual accusations of naivety.
Golan’s appeal is limited to the educated and idealistic minority — but history has a way of catching up to such men. It doesn’t hurt that on Oct. 7, he picked up a gun and rushed into the field, in southern Israel, hunting for terrorists.
On the pragmatic right, former Prime Minister Naftali Bennett stands as a curious figure: religious but modern, nationalist but not delusional. His short-lived government was marked by quiet competence and a surprising willingness to include Arabs in his governing coalition —something no Likud leader has ever dared. He might, if he returns, be the one who can sell compromise to the right without appearing weak.
And former Deputy Prime Minister Avigdor Lieberman, often caricatured as a hawk, has in recent years emerged as a voice of secular rationalism. A blunt ex-Soviet with the instincts of a bar bouncer — a job that, in fact, appears on his resume — Lieberman detests the Haredi stranglehold on Netanyahu’s current government. He also understands the demographic peril posed by the occupation of millions of Palestinians — which is odd, considering that he is a West Bank settler. He is no liberal, but he is pragmatic and worldly — precisely the kind of tough realist who could, paradoxically, enable reform.
United by fury
What will matter is not ideology but integrity — the willingness to see the country as a shared project rather than a personal fiefdom.
The real challenge is the electoral math. Netanyahu’s machine persists because it is unified: a coalition of Haredim and ultranationalists bound by shared interests and an obsession with power. The opposition, meanwhile, is fragmented by persistent issues of ego and ideology.
To reach 61 seats, a post-Netanyahu bloc must unite centrists, parts of the pragmatic right, and the Arab parties. This need not mean Arab ministers in the cabinet, but it does require normalization of Arab political participation, as Bennett and Lapid briefly demonstrated. The taboo, although it was broken, is not yet dead. It should be.
But the arithmetic, while brutal, isn’t impossible — because a majority could be united not by ideology, but rather by fury. Fury at corruption, at extremism, at being held hostage by fringe coalitions. A leader who can channel that anger, which keeps building in society, into constructive purpose will find fertile ground.
Amid tragedy, a lesson
That night 30 years ago, I ran to nearby Ichilov Hospital after Rabin’s shooting. Inside, Rabin was already on the operating table. I was there when Rabin’s top aide, Eitan Haber, walked out to tell reporters — at the time, I was night editor of the Israel bureau of the Associated Press — of Rabin’s death.
The reporters, ordinarily immune to showing public emotion, cried out. I have goosebumps at the memory of it.
I filed updates to the story from my apartment overlooking the square where Rabin was shot until the early hours of the morning. Around 3 a.m., it occurred to me that no new prime minister had been announced. That something so obvious was overlooked reflects the degree of shock that characterized the moment. I called Uri Dromi, a key government spokesman, and asked who was now in charge of the country. He didn’t know either.
Dromi called me a short while later to tell me that, in fact, the ministers had held a vote and had in effect elected Shimon Peres, the foreign minister and a longtime rival of Rabin’s for the Labor Party leadership. Peres was destined to fumble the ball: he missed a chance to call a snap election that he would have won by a mile, and by the time he did call a vote, in May 1996, the country was in the throes of a spasm of terrorism.
But the country carried on. Peres replaced Rabin. Netanyahu replaced Peres. Life finds a way forward, in a country as in a person.
No one is irreplaceable.
The post Will Israel ever have another leader who truly wants peace? appeared first on The Forward.