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Letty Cottin Pogrebin wants Jews to own up to the corrosive power of shame
(JTA) — When a lawyer for Donald Trump asked E. Jean Carroll why she didn’t scream while allegedly being raped by Donald Trump, I thought of Letty Cottin Pogrebin. In her latest book, “Shanda: A Memoir of Shame and Secrecy,” she writes about being assaulted by a famous poet — and how the shadow of shame kept women like her silent about attacks on their own bodies.
That incident in 1962, she writes, was “fifty-eight years before the #MeToo movement provided the sisterhood and solidarity that made survivors of abuse and rape feel safe enough to tell their stories.”
Now 83, Pogrebin could have coasted with a memoir celebrating her six decades as a leading feminist: She co-founded Ms. magazine, its Foundation for Women and the National Women’s Political Caucus. She served as president of Americans for Peace Now and in 1982 blew the whistle on antisemitism in the feminist movement.
Instead, “Shanda” is about her immigrant Jewish family and the secrets they carried through their lives. First marriages that were kept hidden. An unacknowledged half-sister. Money problems and domestic abuse. An uncle banished for sharing family dirt in public.
“My mania around secrecy and shame was sparked in 1951 by the discovery that my parents had concealed from me the truth about their personal histories, and every member of my large extended family, on both sides, was in on it,” writes Pogrebin, now 83. “Their need to avoid scandal was so compelling that, once identified, it provided the lens through which I could see my family with fresh eyes, spotlight their fears, and, in so doing, illuminate my own.”
“Shanda” (the Yiddish word describes the kind of behavior that brings shame on an entire family or even a people) is also a portrait of immigrant New York Jews in the 20th century. As her father and mother father move up in the world and leave their Yiddish-speaking, Old World families behind for new lives in the Bronx and Queens, they stand in for a generation of Jews and new Americans “bent on saving face and determined to be, if not exemplary, at least impeccably respectable.”
Pogrebin and I spoke last week ahead of the Eight Over Eighty Gala on May 31, where she will be honored with a group that includes another Jewish feminist icon, the writer Erica Jong, and musician Eve Queler, who founded her own ensemble, the Opera Orchestra of New York, when she wasn’t being given chances to conduct in the male-dominated world of classical music. The gala is a fundraiser for the New Jewish Home, a healthcare nonprofit serving older New Yorkers.
Pogrebin and I spoke about shame and how it plays out in public and private, from rape accusations against a former president to her regrets over how she wrote about her own abortions to how the Bible justifies family trickery.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity.
I found your book very moving because my parents’ generation, who like your family were middle-class Jews who grew up or lived in the New York metropolitan area, are also all gone now. Your book brought back to me that world of aunts and uncles and cousins, and kids like us who couldn’t imagine what kinds of secrets and traumas our parents and relatives were hiding. But you went back and asked all the questions that many of us are afraid to ask.
I can’t tell you how good writing it has been. I feel as though I have no weight on my back. And people who have read it gained such comfort from the normalization that happens when you read that others have been through what you’ve been through. And my family secrets are so varied — just one right after the other. The chameleon-like behavior of that generation — they became who they wanted to be through pretense or actual accomplishment.
In my mother’s case, pretense led the way. She went and got a studio photo that made it look like she graduated from high school when she didn’t. In the eighth grade, she went up to her uncle’s house in the north Bronx and had her dates pick her up there because of the shanda of where she lived on the Lower East Side with nine people in three rooms. She had to imagine herself the child of her uncle, who didn’t have an accent or had an accent but at least spoke English.
You describe yours as “an immigrant family torn between loyalty to their own kind and longing for American acceptance.”
There was the feeling that, “If only we could measure up, we would be real Americans.” My mother was a sewing machine operator who became a designer and figured out what American women wore when she came from rags and cardboard shoes, in steerage. So I admire them. As much as I was discomforted by the lies, I ended up having compassion for them.
It’s also a story of thwarted women, and all that lost potential of a generation in which few could contemplate a college degree or a career outside the home. Your mother worked for a time as a junior designer for Hattie Carnegie, a sort of Donna Karan of her day, but abandoned that after she met your dad and became, as you write, “Mrs. Jack Cottin.”
The powerlessness of women was complicated in the 1950s by the demands of the masculine Jewish ideal. So having a wife who didn’t work was proof that you were a man who could provide. As a result women sacrificed their own aspirations and passions. She protected her husband’s image by not pursuing her life outside the home. In a way my feminism is a positive, like a photograph, to the negative of my mother’s 1950s womanhood.
“I’m not an optimist. I call myself a ‘cockeyed strategist,” said Pogrebin, who has a home on the Upper West Side. (Mike Lovett)
You write that you “think of shame and secrecy as quintessentially Jewish issues.” What were the Jewish pressures that inspired your parents to tell so many stories that weren’t true?
Think about what we did. We hid behind our names. We changed our names. We sloughed off our accents. My mother learned to make My*T*Fine pudding instead of gefilte fish. Shame and secrecy have always been intrinsically Jewish to me, because of the “sha!” factor: At every supper party, there would be the moment when somebody would say, “Sha! We don’t talk about that!” So even though we talked about what felt like everything, there were things that couldn’t be touched: illness, the C-word [cancer]. If you wanted to make a shidduch [wedding match] with another family in the insular communities in which Jews lived, you couldn’t let it be known that there was cancer in the family, or mental illness.
While I was writing this memoir, I realized that the [Torah portion] I’m listening to one Shabbat morning is all about hiding. It is Jacob finding out that he didn’t marry Rachel, after all, but married somebody he didn’t love. All of the hiding that I took for granted in the Bible stories and I was raised on like mother’s milk was formative. They justified pretense, and they justified trickery. Rebecca lied to her husband and presented her younger son Jacob for the blessing because God told her, because it was for the greater good of the future the Jewish people.
I think Jews felt that same sort of way when it came to surviving. So we can get rid of our names. We wouldn’t have survived, whether we were hiding in a forest or behind a cabinet, a name or a passport, or [pushed into hiding] with [forced] conversions. Hiding was survival.
I was reading your book just as the E. Jean Carroll verdict came down, holding Donald Trump liable for sexually assaulting her during an encounter in the mid-’90s. You write how in 1962, when you were working as a book publicist, the hard-drinking Irish poet Brendan Behan (who died in 1964) tried to rape you in a hotel room and you didn’t report it. Like Carroll, you didn’t think that it was something that could be reported because the cost was too high.
Certainly in that era powerful men could get away with horrible behavior because of shanda reasons.
Carroll said in her court testimony, “It was shameful to go to the police.”
You know that it happened to so many others and nobody paid the price. The man’s reputation was intact and we kept our jobs because we sacrificed our dignity and our truth. I was in a career, and I really was supporting myself. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. I would have been pilloried for having gone to his hotel room, and nobody was there when he picked up an ashtray and threatened to break the window of the Chelsea Hotel unless I went up there with him.The cards were stacked against me.
In “Shanda,” you write about another kind of shame: The shame you now feel decades later about how you described the incident in your first book. You regret “how blithely I transformed an aggravated assault by a powerful man into a ‘sticky sexual encounter.’”
I wrote about the incident in such offhand terms, and wonder why. I wrote, basically, “Okay, girls, you’re gonna have to put up with this, but you’re gonna have to find your own magical sentence like I had with Behan” to get him to stop.
You write that you said, “You can’t do this to me! I’m a nice Jewish girl!” And that got him to back off.
Really painful.
I think that’s a powerful aspect of your book — how you look back at the ways you let down the movement or your family or friends and now regret. In 1991 you wrote a New York Times essay about an illegal abortion you had as a college senior in 1958, but not the second one you had only a few months later. While you were urging women to tell their stories of abortion, you note how a different shame kept you from telling the whole truth.
Jewish girls could be, you know, plain or ordinary, but they had to be smart, and I had been stupid. I could out myself as one of the many millions of women who had an abortion but not as a Jewish girl who made the same mistake [of getting pregnant] twice.
The book was written before the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. In the book you write powerfully about the shame, danger and loneliness among women when abortion was illegal, and now, after 50 years, it is happening again. Having been very much part of the generation of activists that saw Roe become the law of the land, how have you processed its demise?
Since the 1970s, we thought everything was happening in this proper linear way. We got legislation passed, we had litigation and we won, and we saw the percentage of women’s participation in the workplace all across professions and trades and everything else rise and rise. And then Ronald Reagan was elected and then there was the Moral Majority and then it was the Hyde Amendment [barring the use of federal funds to pay for abortion]. I was sideswiped because I think I was naive enough to imagine that once we articulated what feminism was driving at and why women’s rights were important, and how the economic reality of families and discrimination against women weren’t just women’s issues, people would internalize it and understand it and justice would be done.
In the case of Roe, we could not imagine that rights could ever be taken away. We didn’t do something that we should have done, which is to have outed ourselves in a big way. It’s not enough that abortion was legal. We allowed it to remain stigmatized. We allowed the right wing to create their own valence around it. That negated solidarity. If we had talked about abortion as healthcare, if we had had our stories published and created organizations around remembering what it was like and people telling their stories about when abortion was illegal and dangerous…. Instead we allowed the religious right to prioritize [fetal] cells over a woman’s life. We just were not truthful with each other, so we didn’t create solidarity.
Are you heartened by the backlash against restrictive new laws in red states or optimistic that the next wave of activism can reclaim the right to abortion?
I’m not an optimist. I call myself a “cockeyed strategist.” If you look at my long resume, it is all about organizing: Ms. magazine, feminist organizations, women’s foundations, Black-Jewish dialogues, Torah study groups and Palestinian-Jewish dialogues.
Number one, we have to own the data and reframe the narrative. We have to open channels for discussion for women who have either had one or know someone who has had one, even in religious Catholic families. The state-by-state strategy was really slow, but Ruth Bader Ginsburg wanted that. She almost didn’t get on the court because she didn’t like the nationwide, right-to-privacy strategy of Roe but instead wanted it won state by state, which would have required campaigns of acceptance and consciousness-raising.
So, the irony is she hasn’t lived to see that we’re going to have to do it her way.
You share a lot of family secrets in this book. Is this a book that you waited to write until, I’ll try to put this gently, most of the people had died?
I started this book when I was 78 years old, and there’s always a connection to my major birthdays. And turning 80 – you experience that number and it is so weird. It doesn’t describe me and it probably won’t describe you. I thought, this could well be my last book, so I needed to be completely transparent, put it all out there.
My mother and father and aunts and uncles were gone, but I have 24 cousins altogether. I went to my cousins, and told them I am going to write about the secret of your parents: It’s my uncle, but it’s your father. It’s your family story even though it’s my family, but it’s yours first. And every cousin, uniformly, said, “Are you kidding? You don’t even know the half of it,” and they’d tell me the whole story. I guess people want the truth out in the end.
Is that an aspect of getting older?
I think it’s a promise of liberation, which is what I have found. It’s this experience of being free from anything that I’ve hid. I don’t have to hide. Years ago, on our 35th wedding anniversary, we took our whole family to the Tenement Museum because we wanted them to see how far we’ve come in two generations.
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The post Letty Cottin Pogrebin wants Jews to own up to the corrosive power of shame appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Why Israel’s soccer team competes in Europe rather than Asia
(JTA) — TEL AVIV — More than five decades after Israel’s only World Cup appearance, the Israel Football Association says it has no intention of trying to leave Europe for the Asian regional qualifying system that once took the country to the tournament, before Arab-led boycotts helped force it out.
The launch this month of the tournament hosted by the United States has renewed attention to Israel’s absence from the World Cup. Despite a thriving local soccer scene and success in competition abroad, the only time the country appeared in the tournament was in Mexico in 1970.
That’s because Israel seeks to qualify through the Union of European Football Associations, whose ranks are so strong that even a solid campaign can become a long shot for the World Cup. Even titans like four-time World Cup winner Italy failed to qualify this year.
Israel is the only non-European country trying to reach the tournament through UEFA, while most of its neighbors seek places through the Asian Football Confederation. Israel was ousted from the Asian soccer body in 1974. It bounced around the qualifying zones for a few years — it played in the Oceania qualifiers ahead of the 1986 and 1990 World Cups — before settling in the European grouping in 1991.
Shlomi Barzel, head of communications for the Israel Football Association, said a return to Asia is not on the table, both because Israel does not want to leave European soccer, where it has built a standing, and because he does not believe the Asian confederation would accept it back.
The only upside to such a move, he joked, would be if Israel’s opponents boycotted matches against it: “Israel would automatically qualify.”
A boycott of Israel did affect the team’s path to the 1970 World Cup. North Korea was ejected from the Asian qualifying tournament after refusing to play in Israel. As a result, Israel advanced to the final round after winning only two games against New Zealand. In the finals, Israel faced an Australian team already exhausted after fending off South Korea, Japan and Rhodesia (itself in the Asian tournament after being banned in Africa over its white governing regime).
In the tournament in Mexico, Israel’s all-amateur team defied expectations, losing 0-2 to Uruguay but notching draws against Sweden and Italy before being eliminated.
Four years later, Israel was effectively ejected from the Asian Football Confederation following a resolution introduced by Kuwait that passed 17 to 13, with six abstentions. The vote came a day before a high-profile Israel-Iran game in Tehran that Iran won 1-0 on an Israeli own goal.
Today, Barzel rejects the premise that rejoining the AFC would guarantee Israel a place in the World Cup going forward.
“It would be a little patronizing and arrogant for me to say that,” he said, adding that he was not sure Israel would beat teams such as Jordan or Qatar.
Barzel also cited Israel’s place inside UEFA’s institutions as a benefit for sticking with the current arrangement. Current IFA chairman Moshe “Shino” Zuaretz was elected to UEFA’s Executive Committee in April 2025, despite the war in Gaza and growing calls to sanction Israeli soccer, while former IFA chairman Avi Luzon previously served in a senior role on the same body.
Institutional backing has extended beyond Europe, Barzel said, pointing to the 2022 World Cup in Qatar, where Israeli fans were allowed to attend despite the absence of diplomatic ties. He also cited the global soccer body FIFA’s decision to move the 2023 under-20s World Cup from Indonesia to Argentina after Indonesia objected to hosting Israel’s team. Israel went on to finish third.
Still, Israel’s formal place in international soccer has done little to shield its teams and supporters from hostility. Maccabi Tel Aviv fans were attacked in Amsterdam after a match against Ajax in November 2024, and the club’s supporters were later barred from attending an Aston Villa match in a decision that became a political and policing scandal in Britain.
Despite its absence from the World Cup, Israel has remained a political flashpoint around the event, which U.S. President Donald Trump vowed to make “an unprecedented success.” Speculation that Trump’s hopes for a World Cup untainted by war spurred his push for a ceasefire with Iran prompted a denial from the top White House official dealing with the World Cup.
That didn’t keep the conflict from seeping into the events.
In Boston on June 19, kilt-clad Scotland fans waiting in blocks-long lines to board shuttles to the stadium where their team would face Morocco accepted Palestinian flags from activists lining the route.
Hours before Canada’s opening match on June 12, activists draped a “Kick Israel out of FIFA” banner over a World Cup logo near one of Toronto’s busiest highways.
Days later, a viral video from Iran’s match against New Zealand in Los Angeles showed security guards confiscating an Israeli flag from a fan — who was told they were acting on orders from their superiors — while other spectators behind him held Palestinian flags.
Trump’s special envoy for global partnerships, Paolo Zampolli, told Israel’s Kan public broadcaster he was “very disturbed” by the incident in Los Angeles, adding that there was “no place for antisemitism or double standards in sports.” Zampolli, who had previously urged FIFA to replace Iran with Italy at the World Cup, called on the soccer body to treat the episode seriously.
Barzel drew a distinction between the flag incident, which he said was likely a poor decision by stadium staff, and any official FIFA policy against Israel, noting that Israel’s flag is displayed alongside those of other member associations at official FIFA and UEFA events. FIFA generally discourages flags of teams not playing in a given match, he said, and added that Israeli teams have grown used to seeing Palestinian flags in soccer stadiums.
“Personally, I don’t get worked up by flags — they don’t scare me,” he said.
Yoav Borowitz, head of sports at Kan, said FIFA appeared wary of flags being used as protest symbols, pointing to the Iranian lion-and-sun flag, the country’s flag before the 1979 revolution installed the current theocratic regime, which some fans waved at the same match. FIFA’s failure to clarify whether Israeli flags were allowed in stadiums in the days after the incident, he said, “shows where Israel stands at the moment.”
“There were official FIFA stewards there,” he said, “and if the fan was effectively forced to remove the flag, then I would have expected FIFA to have issued a response by now and said that Israeli flags are allowed into stadiums, just as Palestinian flags are allowed into stadiums, just as the flag of any country is allowed into stadiums.”
Any limits placed on Israel’s soccer association have been imposed solely on security grounds, Barzel said, though in October UEFA came close to holding an emergency vote on whether to suspend Israel over the war in Gaza.
At FIFA’s congress in Vancouver in April, when Palestinian Football Association president Jibril Rajoub refused to shake hands with Israel FA Vice President Basim Sheikh Suliman despite repeated appeals from FIFA President Gianni Infantino, who called on the sides to “give hope to the children.”
Despite such gestures, Israel continues to compete as usual — almost. It has been unable to host matches at home for close to three years because of war and has had to play its home World Cup qualifiers in neutral third countries. It is hosting several contests this fall in Moldova, which last year gained an Israeli embassy, and direct El Al routes, for the first time. (Russia, by contrast, has had its national teams and clubs suspended from FIFA and UEFA competitions since its invasion of Ukraine.)
Despite the controversies, FIFA has kept pressing ahead with its vision of soccer as “a force for unity, peace and hope,” including reported discussions about opening a new under-15’s tournament in the United States in September with a symbolic match between Israeli and Palestinian youth teams.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Why Israel’s soccer team competes in Europe rather than Asia appeared first on The Forward.
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A klezmer virtuoso, Joseph Moskowitz was a cymbalist of Jewish progress in America
The restaurant occupies a long narrow basement on the Lower East Side. It is packed with a hundred Jews who fill the air with a fog of blue tobacco smoke as steak and lamb grills over charcoal. Everyone, it seems, has a glass of red Romanian wine, including the cymbalom player who is banging out a sad peasant ballad. The whole room sings along.
The scene is from the early 1900’s in Jews Without Money, Michael Gold’s 1930 novel about the poor of the Jewish Lower East Side. The mustachioed man at the cymbalom is not a fictional character, though. He is Joseph Moskowitz, a Romanian-born Jew who ran the restaurant with his wife.
One of the first klezmer virtuosos in America, Moskowitz had a hand in several of the city’s restaurants, including a wildly successful Second Avenue establishment frequented by underworld figures, politicians and showbiz royalty. The Kardashians would envy his shrewdness in garnering publicity for his multifaceted career.
In April 1908, just four months after Moskowitz came to Amerike, he landed on to the front-page of The New York Times in a review headlined “CHAMPION CYMBALIST IS PLAYING HERE NOW.” The story noted his strange instrument, a hammered dulcimer popular in Eastern Europe, looked like “a baby grand piano with the top off.” The newspaper reported that Moskowitz’s performance was greeted with cries of “Bravo!”
Nixon was here
Moskowitz’s career as a musician met with great success but his life as a restaurateur had its ups and downs. He ran a number of eateries in New York, including one in the Bronx and another in what is now referred to as the East Village with three waiters as partners. Then, after a performance in Akron, Ohio, he ran a restaurant there called The Romany.
The Moskowitz family lived above the joint. Its clientele included members of the Firestone and Goodrich families but the patronage of the rubber barons was not enough to sustain the restaurant, so Moskowitz moved to Washington, D.C. There, he performed at Michel’s, a restaurant started by a violinist he played with. Legend has it that among the regulars at Michel’s was congressman Richard Nixon who would bring in a brown paper bag concealing a fermented beverage.
“I would like to point out that one of Nixon’s first foreign trips as president was actually to Romania, where he was photographed dancing the hora at the Museum of the Romanian Peasant with Nikolai Ceausescu, the Romanian dictator,” said Pete Rushefsky, a widely esteemed cymbalist who is also executive director of the Center for Traditional Music and Dance in New York.
The triumphs and travails of Moskowitz’s life are recounted in his unpublished and untitled memoir, which is now part of the Joseph Moskowitz Archive, acquired earlier this year by the Music Division at the Library of Congress. The archive was established after a box of artifacts was discovered in the home of one of Moskowitz’s descendants in Cleveland.
An affair to remember
In the early 1900’s there were dozens of Romanian Jewish restaurants on the Lower East Side, which was home to so many Romanian Jews it was known as Little Romania. The neighborhood was also distinguished by a large number of dance halls and libraries.
The Moskowitz memoir, which was written in Romanian, makes clear that his restaurants did not always attract the cream of the crop. One became the headquarters for some Russians gangsters, most of them pickpockets.
At Lupowitz & Moskowitz, which moved from its original location to Second Avenue and 2nd Street, dinners started at 85 cents. In Moskowitz’s telling, business was going great until his partner Sam Lupowitz, stole money with the assistance of Moskowitz’s wife Rebecca with whom he was having an affair.
According to Moskowitz, the affair went on for nine years. It all started, he writes, when Lupowitz took Mrs. Moskowitz to a party and got her “totally drunk,” after which they proceeded to the kitchen to burn off some calories. Mr. Moskowitz put an end to the affair when he came home one night and caught his partner leaving Mrs. Moskowitz’s bedroom.
In the old country, Moskowitz himself had not been exactly celibate. He recounts an affair with a Romanian widow he describes as a grifter. For nine months, he wrote, they made love every day. This feat was apparently an exhausting endeavor because Moskowitz decided to depart abruptly, leaving a letter informing the widow that he could no longer “carry on in this manner.” The widow had other ideas and asked a local magistrate to arrest Moskowitz who managed to avoid incarceration by hiding.
A heavy lift
Joseph Moskowitz’s real superpower was performing on the cymbalom, which he started playing at the age of eight, taught by his father on a small folk version of the instrument. One of his first gigs was playing on the ferries that travelled the Danube. Eventually he learned how to play the large concert version of the cymbalom, which was developed in the late 19th Century and became a major orchestral instrument in Eastern Europe.
“He was an absolute virtuoso,” said Rushefsky. “His technical competence on the instrument was just incredible.”
Moskowitz was recorded playing a wide range of music on the instrument, including ragtime, classical, as well as Turkish, Russian and Greek music.
His cymbalom weighed 150 pounds and was not an easy instrument to schlep around, which made performing at restaurants appealing, since he could just leave the instrument there, though he did perform from time to time in concert venues, including Town Hall.
Rushefsky told me he was impressed with Moskowitz’s savvy at drumming up publicity for both his performances and restaurants. Moskowitz deftly cultivated relationships with media figures and other bold-faced names of the day. His memoir notes that among the celebrities who came to hear him play were Theodore Dreiser, Chaim Weitzman and Jascha Heifetz.
“He had a meticulously curated scrapbook filled with articles about his restaurant and reviews of his performances. You can tell that was really important to him,” Rushefsky said.
In Around The World In New York, a book about the city’s ethnic neighborhoods published in 1924, the immigrant newspaperman Konrad Bercovici described Moskowitz’s restaurant as a place with “haunting melodies, tripping dances” and spicy food. “At Moskowitz’s on Houston Street the Rumanian Jews sing at the top of their voices the songs of the country they left,” Bercovici wrote.
A klezpirational figure
Many of the old scratchy 78 rpm vinyl disks that were vital to the first wave of the klezmer revival in the 1970’s and 80’s featured a clarinet-centric sound but the earliest recordings we have of klezmer, from circa 1908, the violin is the main instrument, often accompanied by cymbalom.
Moskowitz’s recordings are widely available on YouTube.
“His repertoire is performed by klezmer bands around the world,” Pete Rushefsky told me. “His recordings continue to be an inspiration for a small but dedicated group of musicians working to revitalize the cimbalom as an essential part of klezmer’s sound.”
The post A klezmer virtuoso, Joseph Moskowitz was a cymbalist of Jewish progress in America appeared first on The Forward.
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Primaries prove it: In New York, pro-Israel politics are now a liability
(JTA) — A little more than a year ago, thousands showed up for the annual Paul Feig z”l Tikkun Leil Shavuot at the Marlene Meyerson JCC Manhattan, an all-night bonanza of eclectic Jewish learning. The program featured dozens of rabbis, scholars, journalists and artists. Yet the unquestioned star of the night was Ritchie Torres, the congressman from the Bronx who has become a beloved figure in the pro-Israel community.
Hundreds packed the gym to hear from Torres, with many others turned away at the door. Eventually the discussion turned to the upcoming mayoral primary that was just weeks away. Many in the crowd were alarmed by the surging popularity of Zohran Mamdani, but still skeptical that a staunchly anti-Israel lawmaker could be elected in the city with the world’s largest Jewish community outside of Israel.
Instead of reassurance, Torres, who was backing former New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo in the mayoral primary, issued a warning: If Mamdani pulled off his improbable upset, it would quickly become open season on pro-Israel Democrats like himself.
As it turned out, Torres didn’t have to worry. He won his primary race Tuesday night in a landslide, securing around 70% of the vote in New York’s 15th Congressional District against an anti-Israel challenger. But his prediction was still spot on: The primaries were a Mamdani wave, with all three of the mayor’s endorsed congressional candidates winning their primaries – and knocking off two solidly pro-Israel incumbents, Dan Goldman and Adriano Espaillat, in the process.
In November, Mamdani’s ascension to City Hall felt like a political earthquake, putting an exclamation point on the reality that being staunchly anti-Israel was no longer a road block to success in Democratic politics. Yet Tuesday’s results feel more seismic – this is the first time that incumbent congressmen have lost their seats in campaigns in which they were repeatedly attacked for being too supportive of Israel. Whatever other issues were at play in the individual races, the success of candidates with an outsized focus on criticizing the Jewish state and groups that support it – in particular, the American Israel Public Affairs Committee – sends the message that their approach is a winning strategy.
There are still plenty of districts where Democrats can win with pro-Israel positions and pro-Israel support, for example the congressional seat being vacated in Marylan by pro-Israel stalwart Steny Hoyer. Hoyer’s pick to succeed him, Adrian Boafo, won Tuesday in a crowded 24-candidate primary with major backing from AIPAC.
But suddenly, for a widening swath of the Democratic congressional caucus, backing Israel has gone from being the politically safe move to a potential career-ender.
Goldman, who won his first reelection primary with about 65% of the vote in 2024, ended up on the wrong side of a similar landslide this time around in his race against former City Comptroller Brad Lander. Espaillat, who has served in Congress for nearly a decade and is chair of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, lost to Darializa Avila Chevalier in New York’s 13th Congressional District, which includes Upper Manhattan and parts of the Bronx.
Following Mamdani’s lead, Lander and Avila Chevalier both sought to turn their opponent’s support for Israel into a defining moral failure and painted backing from AIPAC as the dictionary definition of being in the pocket of special interests.
Lander kicked off his campaign by making clear he wouldn’t be “doing AIPAC’s bidding” and made Goldman’s support from the pro-Israel lobby group a central issue throughout the campaign. Though Lander describes himself as a liberal Zionist, he repeatedly accused Israel of committing genocide in Gaza and promised to oppose U.S. weapons sales to Israel.
Just last year, Cuomo and then-Mayor Eric Adams thought Mamdani’s stance on the Jewish state was a major political liability, so they did all they could to play up his anti-Israel bona fides in their race against him. In a sign of how quickly the political winds have shifted in New York, Goldman this spring sought to minimize his differences with Lander on Israel, noting that they both received endorsements from J Street, the dovish group that advocates for more U.S. pressure on Israel to achieve a two-state solution. Goldman, in the final debate, even offered his own criticism of AIPAC, saying the pro-Israel group “has some real problems and is harmful in many ways.”
In contrast, Espaillat took aim at Avila Chevalier on Israel. “She went to celebrate the death of innocent people in Israel right after the attack,” Espaillat said during a recent televised debate, referencing her participation in an anti-Israel rally, which the Democratic Socialists of America had promoted, the day after Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023, attack.
Like Mamdani, Avila Chevalier’s early anti-Israel activism was a key aspect of her political biography: She was part of the Students for Justice in Palestine group during her years as an undergraduate at Columbia Univeristy and later helped organize the school’s pro-Palestinian encampment as an alumna in 2024. During the campaign, she criticized Espaillat for his response to the detainment of Columbia University encampment leader Mahmoud Khalil, whose arrest last year became a rallying point for pro-Palestinian activists.
What should really alarm the pro-Israel community, however, is that this progressive playbook contributed to victories in two very different races. In the case of Lander versus Goldman, you had two Jewish self-described Zionists running in a very Jewish district. Avila Chevalier, on the other hand, was a non-Jewish anti-Israel challenger taking on a non-Jewish incumbent with strong pro-Israel credentials in a district with relatively few Jews (at least by New York’s standards).
As Mamdani’s handpicked squad heads to Washington, the pressure on other congressional Democrats to speak out strongly against Israel and back measures such as end to U.S. arms sales will only intensify. That was clear from the election night victory speeches.
During Avila Chevalier’s speech, the crowd erupted into cheers of “Free Palestine.” She couched her victory as a rejection of funding from AIPAC, crypto and other corporate interests.
Lander promised in his victory speech to be “one of the Jewish members of Congress most willing to stand up loud for Palestinian human rights.”
“We cannot keep paying for Netanyahu’s wars with our tax dollars,” he added. “Democratic voters across the country are saying this loud and clear.”
It’s possible that Lander’s wrong and that Mamdani’s rise and coattails are an only-in-New York thing. But based on several other results this election cycle and polling in upcoming races, that hope increasingly feels like betting against the Knicks.
For the pro-Israel community, there’s at least one bright spot: At least for now, they still have Ritchie Torres.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Primaries prove it: In New York, pro-Israel politics are now a liability appeared first on The Forward.
