Uncategorized
How Jewish comedy found religion, from Philip Roth to ‘Broad City’
(JTA) — In the 2020 comedy “Shiva Baby,” a 20-something young woman shows up at a house of Jewish mourners and gently offers her condolences. When she finds her mother in the kitchen, they chat about the funeral and the rugelach before the daughter asks, “Mom, who died?”
While “Shiva Baby” explores themes of sexuality and gender, the comedy almost never comes at the expense of Jewish tradition, which is treated seriously by its millennial writer and director Emma Seligman (born in 1995) even as the shiva-goers collide. It’s far cry from the acerbic way an author raised during the Depression like Philip Roth lampooned a Jewish wedding or a baby boomer like Jerry Seinfeld mocked a bris.
These generational differences are explored in Jenny Caplan’s new book, “Funny, You Don’t Look Funny: Judaism and Humor from the Silent Generation to Millennials.” A religion scholar, Caplan writes about the way North American Jewish comedy has evolved since World War II, with a focus on how humorists treat Judaism as a religion. Her subjects range from writers and filmmakers who came of age shortly after the war (who viewed Judaism as “a joke at best and an actual danger at worst”) to Generation X and millennials, whose Jewish comedy often recognizes “the power of community, the value of family tradition, and the way that religion can serve as a port in an emotional storm.”
“I see great value in zeroing in on the ways in which Jewish humorists have engaged Jewish practices and their own Jewishness,” Caplan writes. “It tells us something (or perhaps it tells us many somethings) about the relationship between Jews and humor that goes deeper than the mere coincidence that a certain humorist was born into a certain family.”
Caplan is the chair in Judaic Studies at the University of Cincinnati. She has a master’s of theological studies degree from Harvard Divinity School and earned a Ph.D. in religion from Syracuse University.
In a conversation last week, we spoke about the Jewishness of Jerry Seinfeld, efforts by young women comics to reclaim the “Jewish American Princess” label, and why she no longer shows Woody Allen movies in her classrooms.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity
[Note: For the purpose of her book and our conversation, this is how Caplan isolates the generations: the Silent Generation (b. 1925-45), the baby boom (1946-65), Generation X (1966-79) and millennials (1980–95).]
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: Let me ask how you got into this topic.
Jenny Caplan: I grew up in a family where I was just sort of surrounded by this kind of material. My dad is a comedic actor and director who went to [Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s] Clown College. My degrees were more broadly in American religion, not Jewish studies, but I was really interested in the combination of American religion and popular culture. When I got to Syracuse and it came time to start thinking about my larger project and what I wanted to do, I proposed a dissertation on Jewish humor.
The key to your book is how Jewish humor reflects the Jewish identity and compulsions of four sequential generations. Let’s start with the Silent Generation, which is sandwiched between the generation whose men were old enough to fight in World War II and the baby boomers who were born just after the war.
The hallmark of the Silent Generation is that they were old enough to be aware of the war, but they were mostly too young to serve. Every time I told people what I was writing about, they would say Woody Allen or Philip Roth, two people of roughly the same generation.
In “Funny, You Don’t Look Funny: Judaism and Humor from the Silent Generation to Millennials,” Jenny Caplan explores how comics treated religion from the end of World War II to the 21st century. (Courtesy)
The Roth story you focus on is “Eli, the Fanatic” from 1959, about an assimilated Jewish suburb that is embarrassed and sort of freaks out when an Orthodox yeshiva, led by a Holocaust survivor, sets up in town.
Roth spent the first 20 to 30 years of his career dodging the claim of being a self-loathing Jew and bad for the Jews. But the actual social critique of “Eli, the Fanatic” is so sharp. It is about how American Jewish comfort comes at the expense of displaced persons from World War II and at the expense of those for whom Judaism is a real thriving, living religious practice.
That’s an example you offer when you write that the Silent Generation “may have found organized religion to be a dangerous force, but they nevertheless wanted to protect and preserve the Jewish people.” I think that would surprise people in regards to Roth, and maybe to some degree Woody Allen.
Yeah, it surprised me. They really did, I think, share that postwar Jewish sense of insecurity about ongoing Jewish continuity, and that there’s still an existential threat to the ongoing existence of Jews.
I hear that and I think of Woody Allen’s characters, atheists who are often on the lookout for antisemitism. But you don’t focus on Allen as the intellectual nebbish of the movies. You look at his satire of Jewish texts, like his very funny “Hassidic Tales, With a Guide to Their Interpretation by the Noted Scholar” from 1970, which appeared in The New Yorker. It’s a parody of Martin Buber’s “Tales of the Hasidim” and sentimental depictions of the shtetl, perhaps like “Fiddler on the Roof.” A reader might think he’s just mocking the tradition, but you think there’s something else going on.
He’s not mocking the tradition as much as he’s mocking a sort of consumerist approach to the tradition. There was this sort of very superficial attachment to Buber’s “Tales of the Hasidim.” Allen’s satire is not a critique of the traditions of Judaism, it’s a critique of the way that people latch onto things like the Kabbalah and these new English translations of Hasidic stories without any real depth of thought or intellect. Intellectual hypocrisy seems to be a common theme in his movies and in his writing. It’s really a critique of organized religion, and it’s a critique of institutions, and it’s a critique of the power of institutions. But it’s not a critique of the concept of religion.
The idea of making fun of the wise men and their gullible followers reminds me of the folk tales of Chelm, which feature rabbis and other Jewish leaders who use Jewish logic to come to illogical conclusions.
Yes.
You write that the baby boomers are sort of a transition between the Silent Generation and a later generation: They were the teenagers of the counterculture, and warned about the dangers of empty religion, but also came to consider religion and tradition as valuable. But before you get there, you have a 1977 “Saturday Night Live” skit in which a bris is performed in the back seat of a luxury car, and the rabbi who performs it is portrayed as what you call an absolute sellout.
Exactly. You know: Institutional religion is empty and it’s hollow, it’s dangerous and it’s seductive.
Jerry Seinfeld, born in 1954, is seen as an icon of Jewish humor, but to me is an example of someone who never depicts religion as a positive thing. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
“Seinfeld” is more a show about New York than it is necessarily a show about anything Jewish. The New York of Seinfeld is very similar to the New York of Woody Allen, peopled almost entirely by white, middle-class, attractive folks. It’s a sort of Upper West Side myopia.
But there’s the bris episode, aired in 1993, and written by Larry Charles. Unless you are really interested in the medium, you may not know much about Larry Charles, because he stays behind the camera. But he also goes on to do things like direct Bill Maher’s anti-religion documentary “Religulous,” and there’s a real strong case for him as having very negative feelings about organized religion which feels like a holdover from the Silent Generation. And so in that episode you have Kramer as the Larry Charles stand-in, just opining about the barbaric nature of the circumcision and trying to save this poor baby from being mutilated.
The few references to actual Judaism in “Seinfeld” are squirmy. I am thinking of the 1995 episode in which a buffoon of a rabbi blurts out Elaine’s secrets on a TV show. That was written by Larry David, another boomer, whose follow-up series, “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” is similarly known for its irreverence toward Judaism. But you say David can also surprise you with a kind of empathy for religion.
For the most part, he’s classic, old school, anti-organized religion. There’s the Palestinian Chicken episode where the Jews are rabidly protesting the existence of a Palestinian-run chicken restaurant near a Jewish deli, and where his friend Funkhouser won’t play golf on Shabbos until Larry gets permission by bribing the rabbi with the Palestinian chicken. There, rabbis are ridiculous and can be bought and religion is hollow and this is all terrible.
But then there’s this bat mitzvah montage where for one moment in the entire run of this show, Larry seems happy and in a healthy relationship and fulfilled and enjoying life.
That’s where he falls in love with Loretta Black during a bat mitzvah and imagines a happy future with her.
It’s so startling: It is the most human we ever see Larry over the run of the show, and I believe that was the season finale for the 2007 season. It was much more in line with what we’ve been seeing from a lot of younger comedians at that point, which was religion as an anchor in a good way — not to pull you down but to keep you grounded.
So for Generation X, as you write, Judaism serves “real, emotional, or psychological purpose for the practitioners.”
I wouldn’t actually call it respect but religion is an idea that’s not just something to be mocked and relegated to the dustbin. I’m not saying that Generation X is necessarily more religious, but they see real power and value in tradition and in certain kinds of family experiences. So, a huge amount of the humor can still come at the expense of your Jewish mother or your Jewish grandmother, but the family can also be the thing that is keeping you grounded, and frequently through some sort of religious ritual.
Who exemplifies that?
My favorite example is the 2009 Jonathan Tropper novel, “This Is Where I Leave You.” I’m so disappointed that the film adaptation of that sucked a lot of the Jewish identity out of the story, so let’s stick with the novel. In that book, where a family gathers for their father’s shiva, the characters are horrible people in a dysfunctional family writ large. They lie to each other. They backstab each other. But in scene where the protagonist Judd describes standing up on the bimah [in synagogue] to say Kaddish [the Mourner’s Prayer] after the death of his father, and the way he talks about this emotional catharsis that comes from saying the words and hearing the congregation say the words — it’s a startling moment of clarity in a book where these characters are otherwise just truly reprehensible.
Adam Sandler was born in 1966, the first year of Generation X, and his “Chanukah Song” seems like such a touchstone for his generation and the ones that follow. It’s not about religious Judaism, but in listing Jewish celebrities, it’s a statement of ethnic pride that Roth or Woody Allen couldn’t imagine.
It’s the reclamation of Jewish identity as something great and cool and fun and hip and wonderful and absolutely not to be ashamed of.
From left, Ilana Glazer, Abbi Jacobson and Seth Green in an episode of “Broad City” parodying Birthright Israel. (Screenshot from Comedy Central)
Which brings us to “Broad City,” which aired between 2014 and 2019. It’s about two 20-something Jewish women in New York who, in the case of Ilana Glazer’s character, anyway, are almost giddy about being Jewish and embrace it just as they embrace their sexuality: as just liberating. Ilana even upends the Jewish mother cliche by loving her mother to death.
That’s the episode with Ilana at her grandmother’s shiva, which also has the B plot where Ilana and her mother are shopping for underground illegal handbags. They spend most of the episode snarking at each other and fighting with each other and her mother’s a nag and Ilana is a bumbling idiot. But at the moment that the cops show up, and try to nab them for having all of these illegal knockoff handbags, the two of them are a team. They are an absolute unit of destructive force against these hapless police officers.
I think all of your examples of younger comics are women, who have always had fraught relationships with Jewish humor, both as practitioners and as the target of jokes. You write about “The JAP Battle” rap from “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” which both leans into the stereotype of the Jewish-American Princess — spoiled, acquisitive, “hard as nails” — and tries to reclaim it without the misogyny.
Rachel Bloom’s character Rebecca in “Girlfriend” self-identifies as a JAP, but she doesn’t actually fit the category. It’s her mother, Naomi, who truly is the Philip Roth, “Marjorie Morningstar,” Herman Wouk model of a JAP. So Bloom is kind of using the term, but you can’t repurpose the term when the original is still there.
So as an alternative, I offer up a new term: the Modern Ashkenazi American Woman. It’s very New York, it’s very East Coast, it’s very particular to a type of upbringing and community that in the 1950s and ’60s would have been almost exclusively Conservative Jews, and then may have become a bit more Reform as we’ve gotten into the ’90s and 2000s. They went to the JCC. They probably went to Jewish summer camp.
But even that doesn’t even really speak to the American sense of what Jewish is anymore, because American Jews have become increasingly racially and culturally diverse.
There is also something that’s happening historically with Generation X, and that’s the distance from the two major Jewish events of the 20th century, which is the Holocaust and the creation of Israel.
The Silent Generation and baby boomers still had a lingering sense of existential dread — the sense that we’re not so far removed from an attempted total annihilation of Jews. Gen X and millennials are so far removed from the Holocaust that they don’t feel that same fear.
But the real battleground we’re seeing in contemporary American Judaism is about the relationship to Israel. For baby boomers and even for some older members of Gen X, there’s still a sense that you can criticize Israel, but at the end of the day, it’s your duty to ultimately support Israel’s right to exist. And I think millennials and Zoomers [Gen Z] are much more comfortable with the idea of Israel being illegitimate.
Have you seen that in comedy?
I certainly think you can see the leading edge of that in some millennial stuff. The “Jews on a Plane” episode of “Broad City” is an absolute excoriation of Birthright Israel, and does not seem particularly interested in softening its punches about the whole idea of Jews going to Israel. I think we can see a trend in that direction, where younger American Jewish comedians do not see that as punching down.
You’re teaching a class on Jewish humor. What do your undergraduates find funny? Now that Woody Allen is better known for having married his adoptive daughter and for the molestation allegations brought by another adoptive daughter, do they look at his classic films and ask, “Why are you teaching us this guy?”
For the first time I’m not including Woody Allen. I had shown “Crimes and Misdemeanors” for years because I think it’s his most theological film. I think it’s a great film. And then a couple years ago, I backed off, because some students were responding that it was hard to look at him with all the baggage. He’s still coming up in conversation because you can’t really talk about the people who came after him without talking about him, but for the first time I’m not having them actually watch or read any of his stuff.
They have found things funny that I didn’t expect them to, and they have not found things funny that I would have thought they would. They laughed their way through “Yidl mitn fidl,” the 1936 Yiddish musical starring Molly Picon. I also thought they’d enjoy the Marx Brothers’ “Duck Soup” and they did not laugh once. Some of that is the fact that Groucho’s delivery is just so fast.
—
The post How Jewish comedy found religion, from Philip Roth to ‘Broad City’ appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
Remembering Siskel and Ebert’s great debate: Mel Brooks or Woody Allen?
Of the great debates in film history, a few dominate. How much of Citizen Kane did Orson Welles really write? Is the auteur a film’s true author? And, the one that will never be resolved, can we separate the art from the artist?
In 1980, Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert devoted an episode of their PBS review series Sneak Previews to the following question: Who’s funnier, Mel Brooks or Woody Allen?
The camps fall out as one might expect. Ebert, the Pulitzer Prize-winning critic for the Chicago Sun Times, whose work spoke to the everyman, preferred Brooks.
“Mel Brooks satirizes old movies, he plays off of our own shared sense of movie history because we know these cliches and stereotypes as well as he does,” Ebert, who died in 2013, argued. “That’s part of the fun, we’re in on the joke.”
He laid out his evidence in the form of his favorite gags: A man punches a horse (Blazing Saddles); Gene Wilder gets smooshed in a revolving book case (Young Frankenstein); and Burt Reynolds is lathered up by Brooks, Marty Feldman and Dom DeLuise (Silent Movie).
Siskel, the stuffier, Ivy-educated writer for the Chicago Tribune, championed Allen’s films, praising the filmmaker’s perennial theme of “his difficulty, every man’s difficulty, in establishing a long-lasting relationship with a woman.” (Siskel died in 1999, the year of Sweet and Lowdown, Allen’s jazz-inflected riff on La Strada.)
He made the case that Allen’s oeuvre, from Take the Money and Run through to Annie Hall, showed a personal and artistic evolution. “Watch how he grows more competent as a lover, and as a filmmaker.”
It’s a kind of odd proposition for considering comedy, and, depending on your views of Allen, may give you pause today.
Yes, Alvin Starkwell’s reliance on voiceover to express his feelings for a love interest is different from Love and Death’s Boris, who is different from Alvy Singer and his assertive request that Annie Hall kiss him now to “get it over with and then we’ll go eat.”
The scenes Siskel curates by way of argument are not the funniest moments, but taken together they signal what is most unsettling in some of the films. That is to say, they are uncomfortable, or to borrow a term from Claire Dederer, “urpy,” because Allen casts himself as a mostly hapless lover, who only aspires to possess, in the words of his later character from Manhattan, where these problematic glimmers become plot, the “coiled sexual power of a jungle cat.”
1980 was an inflection point in the careers of both Brooks and Allen. Brooks, following the rave response to Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein, had more measured — if not quite tepid — notices for Silent Movie and his Hitchcock sendup, High Anxiety.
Allen’s previous two films were Interiors, his attempt at a serious picture in the mode of Ingmar Bergman, and Manhattan.
Both Ebert and Siskel saw “danger signs” ahead in these artists’ filmographies.
Siskel thought Brooks was repeating himself and straying to a more niche mode of parody.
He was right, and after High Anxiety, Brooks could be said to have officially entered his flop era with History of the World Part I. Siskel also diagnosed a generally-agreed-upon development in the work to come: Brooks giving himself starring roles, and the proportional decline in quality corresponding to his screentime.
But it’s Ebert’s view of Allen that seems most prescient, however unwittingly.
Ebert likens Brooks and Allen to Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. In Keaton he sees a man who remained true to himself and the persona he sought to perfect — this, one infers, is analogous to Brooks. In Chaplin, come The Great Dictator, there was a “creeping seriousness.”
I have to say, I stopped listening after “creep,” aware, as I am, that Chaplin, at age 54, married Oona O’Neill, a month after her 18th birthday.
Manhattan, and later Allen’s relationship with his now wife Soon-Yi Previn, echoes such an age gap. But Ebert’s issue with Manhattan, and he is not alone in this indulgence, isn’t with the film’s tacit approval of Isaac Davis’ relationship with a 17-year-old (played by a 16-year-old), it’s with its pretensions.
Out is Alvy Singer’s relatable, late-night campaign against a spider in his ex-girlfriend’s bathroom. In is black-and-white film stock and Isaac’s defense of Bergman as “the only genius in cinema today.”
“You can see Woody Allen there slipping away from his all-purpose comic persona that he developed in those other movies and into a character who might be a lot closer to life, but he’s also a lot less funny,” Ebert said.
Ebert’s forecast was astute. As Allen became ever more a caricature of himself, there have been both bright spots — Hannah and Her Sisters, Zelig — and diminishing returns — the run from, say, 2009 to the present, where actors including Larry David and Wallace Shawn have served as his surrogate.
Running through the discussion is a subtext of Jewish particularism. Allen’s voice is so personal, so dialed in to New York neuroses, that his departure to WASPs in Interiors sounded a symphony of false notes. In contrast is Mel Brooks, who brands his comedy not as Jewish, but “New York humor,” and whose main inspiration has always been the wider province of popular culture.
That Siskel, a Jew with a snobbish streak, should favor Allen and Ebert, a Catholic and the real film lover of the pair, Brooks, perhaps says it all.
But baked into everything is the unspoken question of legacy — who would fare better in the long-term. In a way it’s a tossup. So many of Brooks’ references were locked in place and time, even as they parodied older films. A young viewer today may need footnotes to get the joke behind the profusion of Johnsons (Howard, Olsen and Van) in Rock Ridge.
In this formulation, Allen skews (mostly) evergreen. Except when he doesn’t because of where the culture, and his reputation, is now.
For their closing arguments, Ebert and Siskel each selected a scene from their preferred filmmaker. One of them holds up today.
Ebert brought a scene from The Producers, where Leo Bloom has a meltdown over Max Bialystock’s suggestion they break the law. While this timid CPA is hyperventilating, Bialystock crosses the room to get him a glass of water — and douses him with it. Leo: “I’m hysterical and I’m wet.”
It’s timeless.
Siskel’s pick is from Annie Hall. It’s when Alvy Singer recalls his second-grade classroom.
“In 1942,” he says, “I had already discovered women,” a curious word choice for what follows. Alvy, 6, kisses a classmate (definitively a girl).
The girl cries out for the teacher, who scolds Alvy for his precocious sex drive. “6-year-old-boys don’t have girls on their minds.”
In comes the adult Alvy, cramped in a child-sized desk, to insist he had no latency period. He then gets the child actors to report on where they are a few decades later. The boys name their careers, and in one case, addictions. One girl, in glasses and a Peter Pan collar, simply says “I’m into leather.”
Is it funny? Such things are subjective, in the end. Given what we know now of Allen, the allegations of sexual abuse against him by his daughter Dylan Farrow (which he denies) and his proven and unrepentant association with Jeffrey Epstein, it’s harder to watch.
Without knowing it, Siskel chose the exact wrong clip.
As for Brooks, the baggage, and the ambition, may seem lesser, but in fact point to something unimpeachable.
“I think what Mel Brooks wants, when he walks past a theater that has one of his movies playing into it, is the sound of laughter coming from inside,” Ebert said. “That’s what I want when I go to a Brooks movie is to laugh. I can defend his career on that basis. That he wants to amuse me, that’s enough. I’m satisfied.”
To that, I say, Dayenu.
The post Remembering Siskel and Ebert’s great debate: Mel Brooks or Woody Allen? appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
A Jewish gun club teams up with the NRA, in pursuit of self-defense
Capitalizing on heightened anxieties and surging Jewish interest in gun ownership, the National Rifle Association this week announced a partnership with a national Jewish gun club, in a move the mega gun lobby group says will help in the fight against antisemitism.
“People are scared,” said Gayle Pearlstein, the Chicago firearms instructor who launched Lox & Loaded, the Jewish group the NRA is teaming with. “You can see it in their faces. People see history repeating itself.”
The arrangement will give Lox & Loaded access to NRA resources — and give the NRA a foothold in a burgeoning demographic as its core membership wanes. It is the first partnership of its kind between the NRA and a Jewish group.
“When people think of the NRA, they don’t necessarily think of Jewish populations, right?” Justin Davis, director of public affairs for the NRA, said. “To help bridge that gap between never having touched a firearm, getting world class training, comfortability and proficiency in firearms, I think it’s a great opportunity for the community.”
Lox & Loaded, a for-profit company founded last March, is one of several Jewish gun groups that has emerged in the U.S. since the Hamas attacks in Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, with many targeting first-time gun owners. Pearlstein says it has attracted more than 1,000 members and established 49 local chapters nationwide.
The rising Jewish interest in gun ownership is also prompting concerns, and not just among gun violence experts who stress risks to gun owners. Security experts working with Jewish institutions are also forced to plan for unpredictable scenarios involving concealed weapons.
A national brand
After the Hamas-led attacks of Oct. 7, Pearlstein started offering discounted pistol lessons to the Chicago Jewish community. “I really wanted to do something to help the community,” she said, “and I didn’t want to just give tzedaka (charity) or just send money over to Israel.” Then she started giving concealed carry classes through the Chicago Jewish Alliance, a local pro-Israel group.
Eventually she joined forces with a similar group in Cleveland to form Lox & Loaded,whose members pay $118 a year for training, monthly shooting practice and other events.
Many of those members, she said, are seniors — and quite a few are longtime gun skeptics turning to firearms for self-defense after personally experiencing antisemitism.
The partnership comes amid an uptick in antisemitic violence and in the wake of multiple high-profile antisemitic terrorist attacks that were both carried out and stopped with guns. In the Temple Israel attack in West Bloomfield, Michigan, last month, a man armed with a rifle rammed a truck loaded with explosives into the synagogue before he was shot dead by a security guard.
And it points to a spillover effect from the increased focus on security — a developing interest in firearms not just in synagogues, but also in domestic life.
Historically, American Jews have among the lowest rates of gun ownership in the country. Just 10% of Jews owned guns according to a 2005 report, compared to 26% nationwide at the time; in 2018, a survey found 70% of American Jews said gun control was more important than protecting gun rights.
But newer data points to a change in tune; for example, NYPD reports show a spike in concealed carry permit applications after October 2023. Whether an increase in Jewish gun ownership actually makes American Jews safer, however, is hotly contested.
Pearlstein, who is a longtime NRA member, said the partnership came about after she introduced herself to the organization’s executives at a national trade show in January.
Davis, who was one of the people she met that day, said the NRA had been paying attention to the rise in antisemitic attacks and was eager to help.
“Meeting with folks from Lox & Loaded has been incredibly eye-opening,” Davis said, “to see the transformation that’s happening — the community of folks who are realizing that they have to take their safety into their own hands.”
That newfound Jewish enthusiasm comes at a ripe moment for the NRA, which has been beset in recent years by government efforts to break it up and declining revenue overall. Its former chief executive was found guilty of financial misconduct. And the organization filed for bankruptcy, only for a judge to block its petition.
For Pearlstein, the benefits were clear: the NRA still has the resources to throw behind additional training and club recruitment, as well as safety courses that are considered the industry standard. Pearlstein emphasized that Lox & Loaded “does not push guns in people’s faces.”
A promotional video released by the NRA about the new partnership highlights Jewish vulnerability. In the two-minute spot, news coverage of the Temple Israel attack rolls on screen — including an image of the suspect brandishing a rifle — followed by video of college protesters chanting “globalize the intifada.”
“Today, Jewish families face unprecedented threats, simply for who they are,” a voiceover intones. “Many thought they’d never need to defend themselves — until now.”
Through the scope
Pearlstein’s club is part of a “material increase” in Jewish gun groups since Oct. 7, many catering to first-time gun owners, according to Michael Masters, national director of the Secure Community Network, an organization that provides safety guidance to hundreds of Jewish institutions. Some of those groups now provide neighborhood patrols, first response and armed security outside synagogues.
But it’s unclear what safety benefits come from the prospect of increased Jewish gun ownership itself — and some say the trend introduces new safety concerns.
Lately, Masters has been fielding lots of questions from synagogues whose members want to bring their guns to services. Last year his organization released a white paper detailing best practices for concealed carry in houses of worship.
Complicating the picture is that Jewish gun groups, like gun groups in general, vary in their adherence to standardized training curriculums or certification requirements — meaning not everyone who joins them comes away equally prepared.
“Those distinctions between different groups can result in inconsistencies for the community,” Masters said, “all of which can have significant impacts on life, safety and liability.”
Gun violence researchers also point to ripple effects that accompany gun ownership.
Deborah Azrael, director of research of the Harvard Injury Control Research Center, said that decades of studies have consistently shown that access to guns is associated with substantially increased risk of suicide for both a gun owner and their family.
“There isn’t really any compelling evidence of a countervailing benefit in terms of homicide reduction,” Azrael said. “And on the contrary, there’s evidence that you increase your risk of dying, and the people you love dying, if you bring a gun into the home.”
Davis, the NRA spokesperson, said that if someone wants to harm themselves, they will do it whether they have a gun or not. The bigger issue, he said, was a national mental health crisis that had gone unaddressed — and which factored into the violent threat American Jews now face.
“It’s an old adage, but when the seconds count, police are minutes away,” Davis said. “You have to be able to be your own first responders.”
Azrael said research undercut the notion that armed crime victims could reliably help themselves. When guns are used in self-defense, she said, the people who use them aren’t significantly less likely to be injured or to lose property than people who fight back in other ways, or run.
And she was suspicious of the idea that firearms training would prepare an amateur to act in a worst-case scenario. “You’re asking people to take on a role that police officers often don’t do that well,” she said.
Masters, too, was conscious of a possible disconnect between firearm ownership and capacity to respond safely in those scenarios. Lately, he said, he has begun advising law enforcement that active threat scenarios in Jewish spaces may feature armed civilians trying to help.
And he was also aware that not everyone in a synagogue felt comfortable or safe with more guns around them.
“This is perhaps a transition for many members of the community in how they feel about this issue, but it’s a reality that people have an option and are exercising it,” Masters said. “As security professionals, we have to deal with that reality.”
The post A Jewish gun club teams up with the NRA, in pursuit of self-defense appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
How a young woman smuggled weapons into the Warsaw Ghetto
This is a revised version of the original article in Yiddish which you can read here.
On Both Sides of the Wall
Vladka Meed and Steven D. Meed
Citadel Press, 448 pages, $29.00.
“But surely by this morning we will learn something.” It was a sentiment that was going around the Warsaw Ghetto, overheard among the groups of Jews huddled on street corners. On occasion someone would muster up some hopeful words: “Jews, have no fear! You will all see. With God’s help, once more we shall survive the evil decree!” It was July 22, 1942: the first day of the Great Deportation. Any optimism was unfounded: On that day, the Germans led roughly 250,000 Jews to the death camps.
Thus begins the opening scene of On Both Sides of the Wall, Vladka Meed’s memoir of her life in Warsaw during World War II. Her story originally appeared in installments in the Forward shortly after her arrival in America, in 1946, under her real name, Feygele Peytel Miedzyrecki. A book-length edition was published by the educational committee of the Workers Circle in 1948.
In 1977, an English translation came out, with an introduction by Elie Wiesel. Now Meed’s memoir is available in an expanded edition, complete with an introduction from the historian Samuel Kassow and a foreword by the translator, Steven (Shloyme) Meed, Vladka’s son.
Vladka Meed takes the reader into the heart of the Warsaw Ghetto, with its charged atmosphere of hope, terror and despair. She summons the cacophony of those last ten, tragic months of the Ghetto; we hear the voices of Jews, Germans and their Ukrainian accomplices.
Fortunately, Vladka managed to avoid the daily aktsyes (deportation campaigns) when the mundir forces (“Jewish police,” in the ghetto vernacular) would capture Jews for deportation. Vladka soon found herself alone: “My mother, brother, and sister have all been taken from me to some unimaginable fate,” she writes. Vladka was lucky to find a job in one of the workshops that served the Germans.
Following the second selektsye (separation of fit and unfit Jewish laborers) in September 1942, the Jews that remained in the ghetto began preparing for an uprising. Vladka remembers their calls: “If we are to die, anyway, let us die with dignity!” “The enemy must pay a heavy price for our lives!”
As a young girl, Vladka was active in the Jewish Labor Bund, an affiliation that helped keep her alive during the Holocaust. She spoke Polish well without a trace of a Yiddish accent, and had “good Aryan looks.” The leadership of the ghetto’s Bundist underground suggested that she become a courier between the ghetto and the Aryan side. That’s how the young Jewish girl, Feygele Peltel, was transformed into a Polish woman by the name of Wladislawa Kowalska, or simply — Vladka.
Step by step, she integrated into “normal life” among Christian Poles. At first she had high hopes. “I had expected to encounter a strong interest among our Polish neighbors about life within the ghetto,” she writes. But she soon realized that her neighbors preferred very much not to know what was happening on the other side of the ghetto wall.
Vladka and her comrades on the Aryan side were charged with obtaining weapons for the ghetto. But their relations with members of the Polish underground army were poor, and little came of their interactions: “As we travel about the city, trying and failing to get arms…we beg them: ‘Help us to obtain weapons. We are willing to pay well for them!’”
Most of their requests fell on deaf ears. Often they’d hand over payment and receive nothing in return — or worse, their Polish contacts would betray them to the Germans. Even when the Jewish ghetto fighters managed to get their hands on a revolver, another challenge remained: smuggling it into the ghetto.
The book is a gripping read. Vladka Meed is a skillful narrator, and she gives a detailed accounting of her dangerous missions. Any day could have been her last: she never knew if she’d live to see the evening. Vladka had many more failures than successes, and in many cases she was saved by a fateful coincidence.
Kassow’s introduction describes the greater historical context of that period, while Steven Meed provides personal details about his mother’s life before the Holocaust, based on her interviews in the American press.
In his translation, Meed includes bracketed phrases that provide brief, helpful contextual notes. He has also chosen to preserve Yiddish words from the so-called “ghetto language”, like aktsye (action), mundirn (police forces), and blokade (blockade). The choice to keep such vocabulary gives the text an authentic feel, even as Meed’s strategy occasionally raises questions. Why, for example, did he ‘translate’ the word kristin (Christian woman) in the Yiddish as “shikse” (an often pejorative term for a gentile girl) in the English? In general, his translations in the book occasionally veer far from the original.
In the United States, Vladka Meed dedicated her life to Holocaust education. This newest edition of her book carries this mission forward, and constitutes a significant addition to the ever-growing library of documents and research on the Warsaw Ghetto.
Unfortunately, the history of Jewish resistance to German occupation still hasn’t been properly integrated into American Holocaust education, even in Jewish day schools. At the University of Michigan, when I discuss the Warsaw Ghetto uprising with students in my course on the history of the Jews in Eastern Europe, I often get this response: “Why didn’t anyone tell us about this in our Holocaust education classes? It’s so important!”
To this day we often view the history of the Holocaust with a focus on mass murder. Vladka Meed’s book, writes Kassow, “demonstrates [that] this battle to stay alive, against all odds, refuted the oft-made claim that Jews went passively to their deaths.”
The post How a young woman smuggled weapons into the Warsaw Ghetto appeared first on The Forward.