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What the new season of ‘Nobody Wants This’ gets right — and very wrong — about Judaism

Despite the name, apparently everybody wanted a new season of Nobody Wants This; the first season of the comedy instantly became one of Netflix’s most-watched shows. Adam Brody charmed as Noah, a young, hot, menschy rabbi. Kristen Bell brought spunk and controversy as Joanne, his blonde, non-Jewish girlfriend. The pair had great onscreen chemistry. The writing was witty. The half-hour episodes made for an easy binge-watch.

Jews, however — myself included — had some sharper criticisms of season one, which we hoped season two might address. The Jewish women in the show were either vapid or harpies, and underdeveloped as characters to boot. And the depiction of Judaism itself wasn’t particularly enticing. Noah may have been a cool, young rabbi who smoked weed and had sex, but the show made it clear that he was the exception to the rule.

(For the record, I know many rabbis who smoke weed. Actually, the stereotype should go the other way; a recent study on psychedelics and spirituality that gave psilocybin to spiritual leaders couldn’t source enough rabbis who had not already tried a hallucinogen.)

Many — again, myself included — wondered whether the second season would take some of these complaints to heart and add some depth to the conversations around interfaith relationships, conversion, Jewish women and Judaism in general. And in a promising move, two Jews — Jenni Konner and Bruce Eric Kaplan, both of Girls fame — took over the showrunner role from its original creator, Erin Foster.

On the surface, the new season is a carbon copy of the first. Again, it is framed around the question of conversion. Noah, who has lost his promotion to senior rabbi because Joanne isn’t Jewish, admits that their relationship probably can’t progress if Joanne doesn’t convert. Joanne, who thought that the question had been put to bed — as many of us did, after the final episode of the last season in which she declared rather clearly that she would not convert for Noah — is taken aback, but decides to see if she can find a reason to fall in love with Judaism. And so we’re off to the races, with a baby naming, a Purim party, a Shabbat dinner, a conversion class.

Leighton Meester, Adam Brody’s real life non-Jewish wife, has a brief cameo as a mother who hired Rabbi Noah for her baby naming. Courtesy of Netflix

This gives the show numerous chances to offer nuggets of Jewish learning. In the Purim episode, Noah goes beyond the usual “Purim is about getting drunk” tagline and gives a nice spiel, explaining that the holiday is a time when expectations are turned upside down. True! Another time, he points out that Judaism is about “analyzing things from every direction,” not just following rigid rules — a concept that deeply appeals to Joanne. (“A religion that encourages you to argue? Love that,” she says.)

The Jewish women are also better this year. The word “shiksa,” a pejorative that season one deployed very, very liberally, always in the mouths of Jewish women, has been erased. And Esther, Noah’s sister-in-law, has some actual plotline — we dive into her marriage to Sasha and her dreams for the future. And her snark feels more like fond ribbing than cruel jabs this season.

The show is still far from perfect — Bina, Noah’s stereotypically overbearing Jewish mother — remains a miserable, meanspirited hag. And the show’s popularity has also led to several clunky product placements and ads for Netflix. (At one point we vicariously watch a whole scene of Love Is Blind, one of the streaming platform’s reality shows, on Joanne’s laptop.)

Perhaps the show’s strongest answer to criticism of last season comes in the form of Temple Ahava, a new, very open-minded synagogue that hires Noah and immediately shows itself to be more focused on vibes than Judaism. It’s a clever, inside-baseball kind of joke; most Jews know this kind of synagogue, where ritual and text is downplayed in favor of broad, easy-to-swallow messaging. Last season, Judaism was portrayed as close-minded and rigid, unwilling to accept Joanne. Ahava is open-minded, sure — but it has lost its depth as a result.

Seth Rogen and Kate Berlant as the leaders of Temple Ahava. Courtesy of Netflix

The head rabbi — played by Seth Rogen — encourages Noah to take off his kippah. (“I’m raw-dogging the world!” he says.) Teens are encouraged to skip Shabbat in favor of movie premieres. The synagogue speedruns their conversion classes, offering a six-month version because no one wanted to sign up for a full year. Noah is skeptical; isn’t Judaism supposed to require learning and commitment? He keeps his kippah on.

It’s a powerful lesson about what makes Judaism truly meaningful. But the show undoes this exact lesson in its final scene. Joanne has been waiting all season to feel like she wants to convert. And even though she loves Shabbat and she’s picked up Jewish expressions, she doesn’t.

But Esther thinks she’s focusing on the wrong things. “I feel like you have this idea of being Jewish that’s so much more complicated than it actually is. I mean, you feel Jewish to me. You’re warm and cozy, you always want to chat about everything,” she tells Joanne. “You’re funny — that’s Jewish. You love to overshare. No matter how much I resisted, you literally forced me to be friends with you — forced. You’re a true kibbitzer. You’re always getting in everyone’s business. Ever heard of a yente, Joanne? You’re a yente.”

Joanne, she concludes, is already Jewish.

But that’s not true. Noah was right that six months is too fast for a conversion, because there’s more to Judaism than a list of facts or rules; it’s a millennia-old tradition of rich thought, text and discourse. Joanne may align with cultural stereotypes of Jews, but those are considered stereotypes for a reason — they’re shallow and incomplete. Being neurotic or anxious does not make someone a Jew anymore than being funny does.

This ending shouldn’t be surprising, however. The show’s creator, Erin Foster — who herself converted to marry her husband — rejected the critiques of the first season’s stereotypes.

“With the heaviness of what’s going on in the world around the Jewish faith,” she said in an interview with Vanity Fair about the new season, “to have a lighthearted, sweet, happy show that reminds people how beautiful Judaism is — don’t find something wrong with it! Take the win, you know?”

In response to any criticism about its reliance on Jewish tropes, the new season seems to answer that those tropes are actually core to Jewishness. Sure, season two of Nobody Wants This gets rid of the term shiksa and has a few nice Jewish moments. But it comes to the same conclusion as the first: Judaism is about vibes, not ritual or learning or commitment. It’s the same message Ahava offers — and like Noah realized, it’s not satisfying.

In many ways, this ending is a carbon-copy of the first season’s; in fact, the closing scenes are almost shot-to-shot identical. Last season, Joanne decided she couldn’t convert and Noah decided it didn’t matter — if Judaism was limiting them, then he’d reject Judaism. In this ending, Joanne embraces Judaism, but only because she’s decided it doesn’t actually mean that much.

The post What the new season of ‘Nobody Wants This’ gets right — and very wrong — about Judaism appeared first on The Forward.

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California Jewish groups decry antisemitic conspiracy theories printed in governor’s race voter guide

(JTA) — As Californian voters checked their mailboxes this week, they found a voter guide containing conspiratorial claims about Israel and antisemitic rhetoric.

The mailer, which was sent by California Secretary of State Shirley Weber to the households of all registered California voters, featured biographical information about candidates slated to appear in the state’s June primaries. In all, there are 32 candidates listed, of whom 10 are considered serious contenders.

Among those who are not: the far-right activist Don J. Grundmann, who is not affiliated with any party and has previously described a group he was affiliated with as a “totally peaceful racist group.” Grundman used his entry in the guide to promote a series of anti-Israel conspiracy theories and antisemitic rhetoric.

His entry claimed that Israel had been behind the murder of conservative activist Charlie Kirk; purposefully killed U.S. soldiers during an attack on the U.S.S. Liberty in 1967; orchestrated the 9/11 attacks and planned to “suitcase nuke” the United States.

“Israel, the REAL terrorists, created and funds Hamas via Qatar,” Grundmann wrote. “Countless war crimes by lsrael/ Netanyahu. No further funding for Israel. They call Palestinians AND Christians AND America ‘Amalek;—their sworn forever enemy.”

The paragraph, which included a series of links to websites promoting antisemitic materials, also included a series of antisemitic claims about Jewish supremacy.

“We are ‘goyim’ (less than human animals/cattle) that they will enslave. We are stupid chumps,” Grundmann wrote, using the Hebrew word for non-Jews that has been increasingly used by the far-right. “Israel rules our conquered Republic. Talmud—their Bible—says Christ boiling in in Israel allowed/planned/promoted Hamas attack (they murdered their own people) to justify genocide and steal billion$ in Gaza oil/gas rights. Christian Zionism = soul poison. Talmudic Judeo-Christian values’ don’t exist . . .”

In both the print version delivered to voters and the online version of the voter guide, a disclaimer was added for Grundmann’s entry that did not appear for any other candidates: “The views and opinions expressed by the candidates are their own and do not represent the views and opinions of the Secretary of State’s office.” The line also appears on the bottom of each page.

Local Jewish groups, including the Jewish Federation of Orange County, decried the inclusion of the entry, saying in a letter to Weber, “When something appears in an official voter guide, it carries a level of legitimacy and reaches millions.”

Added the groups, including the federation, the Anti-Defamation League of Orange County/Long Beach, the Jewish Community Action Network and Israeli American Council, “By including a statement containing antisemitic tropes and conspiracy theories in an official voter guide, the State has effectively provided a government platform for rhetoric that fuels division and undermines the safety and dignity of Jewish communities.”

The groups called on Weber to explain how the statement was approved. They contended that the entry violated the guidelines by making “extensive reference to third parties” and using “largely of inflammatory and conspiratorial claims unrelated to any permissible category of content” included in the provisions.

“At a time of rising antisemitism, including rhetoric rooted in antisemitic tropes in a state publication is deeply concerning,” read the letter. “This isn’t about limiting speech—it’s about enforcing neutral standards and maintaining the integrity of our election materials.”

The voter guide comes as antisemitism has emerged as a notable issue in the upcoming California governor’s race, with several candidates staking out their approach to rising antisemitism in the state at a candidate forum in February. The primary is on June 2.

The post California Jewish groups decry antisemitic conspiracy theories printed in governor’s race voter guide appeared first on The Forward.

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Matan Koch, disability advocate who urged Jewish communities to ‘let everyone in,’ dies at 44

(JTA) — Matan Koch needed little introduction as he rolled up to the podium to speak at his synagogue’s Disability Shabbat service in October. His wide smile and power wheelchair made him well known to many his Los Angeles congregation, Ikar.

Still, Rabbi Sharon Brous, beaming at him, described her congregant warmly before ceding the microphone.

“The most important thing for you to know about Matan is that he is a deeply soulful, profoundly decent, and incredibly kind human being. And every single day that you have been in our community, you have made our community better,” she said. “It’s an absolute joy and honor to dive in with you, to call you a friend, and to have you as a beloved member of our community.”

In the sermon that followed, Koch described times that he had felt excluded from Jewish communities, or struggled to be included, because of his own disabilities. He urged his fellow congregants to change the way they think about inclusion.

“Every time you’re looking for one more participant, one more volunteer, one more Torah reader, think about who is excluded from our community by disability or any other reason — and think about how we would be enriched if only they were here,” he said. “Then let that motivate us to create an inclusive community that truly lets everyone in.”

It was a synopsis of the mission that Koch carried with him in his personal and professional life. Koch, who used a wheelchair throughout his lifetime, and who was respected as an accomplished lawyer, a passionate advocate for people with disabilities, and a committed member of Jewish communities, died Friday in Los Angeles, after a brief but fierce battle against stomach cancer. He was 44.

“His condition declined far more quickly than he, and we, had hoped,” his family wrote as they shared the news of his death on his Facebook page, filled with remembrances from hundreds of friends and followers from across the country.

“Ever optimistic, he pushed to squeeze every drop of love and connection and intellectual engagement out of life,” they added. “Even as options narrowed, Matan remained focused on staying present and connected to the people he loved.”

At the time of his death, Koch was the Los Angeles’ ADA compliance officer and director of its disability access and services division, ensuring that the city comported with the requirements of the 1990 Americans with Disabilities Act.

In the last post he authored earlier this month, Koch expressed both anger about his illness and appreciation for the many people who were contributing to a crowdfunding campaign to allow him to die with dignity at home. He said he was feeling “fury that my life has been cut so tragically short, euphoric overwhelming at the outpouring of love and support, and awe and gratitude for my family as they work with all of you in a full court press to see my needs met.”

Born in 1981, in New Milford, Connecticut, Koch was both brilliant and precocious and from an early age moved through a world not built for his body with clarity and determination, according to Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein, one of his four siblings.

Born prematurely, he had cerebral palsy, a neurological condition that severely limited his mobility and required him to use a wheelchair.

It was just a few years after the passage of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, which reshaped the requirements for schools to serve students with special needs. Yet his parents, the late Rabbi Norman Koch and Rosalyn Koch, a Jewish educator, had to fight for services from their local public schools.

Koch advanced to Yale University at age 16 and went on to Harvard Law School when he was just 20, graduating in 2005. He held numerous appointments on disability rights committees, first at Yale and then as vice president of the New Haven Disability Commission. In 2011, President Barack Obama tapped him to serve on the National Council on Disability.

“His whole life was breaking glass ceilings,” Epstein told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in a phone conversation just hours before Matan’s death.

“He had a body that was built for a world that doesn’t yet exist and he spent his whole life working to build systems that recognize ability, expand access and include people across the full spectrum of disability,” Epstein said, adding, “He sees the goodness in every person he meets, and he sees the possibility.”

The family of five kids grew up in a deeply Jewish home. Epstein recalled her younger brother having deep conversations about Jewish values and ideas with her and their father.

“That was something very important to Matan. He really loved to learn and loved to sing. He sang with gusto. And he loved camp,” added Epstein, who serves as executive director of Atra, the Center for Jewish Innovation.

Their parents were leaders at Camp Eisner, the Jewish summer camp in the Berkshires, and the family spent their summers there. “The Jewish community is his home,” she said.

Rabbi Jonah Pesner, director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism and senior vice president for the Union for Reform Judaism, was the director of education at Camp Eisner when Koch was a camper. He recalled a time when Koch asked Pesner to help him to go to the bathroom.

Koch led Pesner back to the bunk and explained step-by-step, how to assist, with laughter and without making Pesner feel self-conscious. “From the earliest age, Matan was engaging, mature beyond his years and non-judgmental,” Pesner said.

After graduating from law school, Koch worked first as an associate at major law firms before striking out on his own as a consultant working to help businesses and nonprofits become more inclusive. From there, he joined a disability rights organization called Respectability, moving to Los Angeles to become its local director.

Many people assumed that because he was quadriplegic, Koch must be helpless, according to Jennifer Laszlo Mizrahi, the Jewish activist who co-founded the group, now known as Disability Belongs. In fact, she said, his abilities were remarkable.

She recalled the role Koch played during the Covid-19 pandemic, a perilous time for people with disabilities, who faced high mortality rates if they became ill from the virus.

Many of his staff were disabled. They — and countless other disabled people — couldn’t risk going to a grocery store before vaccinations were available.

Koch’s team partnered with Los Angeles and the federal government to change the regulations to allow SNAP beneficiaries to have their groceries delivered in California and in several other states. “That was huge,” Laszlo Mizrahi said.

In Los Angeles, Koch was an active and beloved member of Ikar. In his Disability Shabbat sermon, he recalled an experience in college that led him to take a deep dive into a Talmudic debate on excluding people who might be distracting from leading the priestly blessing, he told them. Ultimately, the rabbis reasoned their way into acceptance.

“In using that text, Matan acknowledged the reality of how a community might interact with someone with a disability,” recalled Morris Panitz, the congregation’s associate rabbi. “People might be uncomfortable at first. But the work of the community is to get to know the person.”

Koch delivered his sermon with conviction, but gently, with his warm smile, Panitz said. This was true of him generally. “He invited people along for the journey,” he said.

“Matan Koch left an indelible mark on our community,” the synagogue told its members in an email on Sunday that added, “Matan’s persistent belief and tireless work to ensure that everyone feels welcomed and known will endure as a moral vision in our community. We will miss Matan’s enthusiastic davening, wide smile, and generous love.”

Koch could hold court in meaningful conversations as easily with heads of businesses as with Jewish texts, said Jack Rubin, one of his closest friends since they met their first week at Yale. Until Koch could not anymore, they talked for hours at a time.

“Nothing was outside the bounds of his intellectual curiosity or his capacity to wonder,” said Rubin, whose family spent the first of Passover with Koch at Koch’s home earlier this month.

“We had seder with him, for as long as he had the energy. He asked my kids questions. It was amazing,” Rubin said, holding back tears just a few hours before Koch died.

Although Koch possessed a unique ability to persuade people to embrace inclusion and implement meaningful opportunities for disabled people, according to those who knew him well, he did face limits in his own life.

At one time, Koch hoped to attend Hebrew Union College and become a rabbi, Pesner recalled. He and others tried for a long time to make it happen. But Koch’s complex medical needs couldn’t be overcome within the school’s physical and programmatic constraints at the time.

“It’s the biggest regret of my career that we could not figure out how to get him rabbinic ordination,” Pesner said. “I think it was a loss for the Jewish people.”

Yet Koch never stopped pressing Jewish communities to rethink how they treat members with disabilities, challenging up-and-coming leaders at the Reform movement’s youth conference and being honored in 2016 by the Jewish disability inclusion organization Matan.

“Sometimes you can be a change-maker and be a person who’s putting out really big ideas, but sometimes it can come with a sharp edge,” Rabbi Rick Jacobs said in a movie compiled to honor Koch at the time, which also included a tribute from the actress Mayim Bialik. “With Matan, it comes with love, and he raises people up.”

Meredith Polsky, the director of the organization Matan, said in an email that her group would continue the mission of the friend and advocate who shared its name — a name meaning “gift” in Hebrew.

“Though his final breath came far too soon, we carry that charge forward, committed to building a Jewish community that reflects his vision of true inclusion and belonging,” Polsky wrote.

Koch’s father Norman died in 2015. Koch is survived by his mother, Rosalyn Koch, siblings Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein and Jason, Yonatan Koch, Adina Koch and Aytan Koch; nieces and nephews Amichai, Kobi, Avigayil, Duncan and Jason and his honorary family: Martin Smith, Jack and Stephanie Rubin and their children Olivia and Edward.

The post Matan Koch, disability advocate who urged Jewish communities to ‘let everyone in,’ dies at 44 appeared first on The Forward.

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Assault outside synagogue and rock thrown through Judaica shop window ratchet up Toronto Jews’ concerns

(JTA) — A pair of incidents took place outside of Jewish sites in the Toronto area over the weekend, adding to a series of attacks that have left the city’s Jewish community unnerved.

During Shabbat services on Saturday, a man tried to force his way into the Sephardic Kehilah Centre, in the suburb of Vaughan. After the man was turned away by security, he reportedly encountered a father and son on their way to the synagogue and punched the father in the face. The father was left with no serious injuries.

The following day, photos circulated after a rock was hurled and broke the window of Aleph Bet Judaica, a shop on the heavily Jewish Bathurst Street corridor. Police did not confirm which business was hit, but confirmed that a rock was thrown at a business near Bathurst Street and Regina Avenue, and that the Hate Crime Unit “was consulted and is aware.”

No suspects have been identified in either incident.

Unlike other recent attacks on Toronto synagogues and Jewish businesses, which were carried out late at night, these two incidents took place in broad daylight, both around 9:30 a.m.

The UJA Federation of Greater Toronto wrote in a statement that the Sephardic Kehilah Centre incident, which is being investigated by the police’s Hate Crime Unit, reflected “a continued pattern of antisemitic violence targeting our community.”

In March, three synagogues across the Toronto area were hit with gunfire. In the last couple of months, a restaurant owned by a Jewish pro-Israel advocate was shot at twice, at two of its locations. And in 2024, a Jewish girls’ elementary school was hit by gunfire on three separate occasions.

“As these incidents become more normalized, they erode public safety and our way of life as Canadians,” the UJA’s statement read. “This cannot be tolerated.”

The Canadian Jewish News reported that the suspect was turned away by synagogue security on Saturday for “suspicious behavior,” according to an email from the rabbi, and told security that he was Middle Eastern and not there for prayer services. After the man left the building, according to the email, he threw away torn pieces of paper which looked to contain verses of Psalms.

B’nai Brith Canada blasted “people in positions of authority” who it says have “responded with hesitation, weak enforcement, and political platitudes while Jewish communities continue to pay the price.” It also thanked Vaughan Mayor Steven Del Duca, who wrote that “we must be vigilant and do everything possible to support and protect our Jewish residents.”

The group called for the federal government to take eight specific actions to combat antisemitism, including establishing a national antisemitism task force, providing emergency funding for the protection of Jewish institutions, and prosecuting the repeated gunfire attacks as acts of domestic terrorism.

On Monday, B’nai Brith also released its annual audit of antisemitic incidents, which found that there were 18.6 antisemitic incidents reported per day across Canada in 2025, a 9% increase from 2024.

The post Assault outside synagogue and rock thrown through Judaica shop window ratchet up Toronto Jews’ concerns appeared first on The Forward.

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