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Einstein’s Smile: A Tale of Two Pictures

By DAVID TOPPER In my previous story in the Jewish Post & News, “Einstein & Johanna: A True Tale of Tragic Comedy,’’ I began by saying that I first heard the name “Einstein” when I was around the age of 10.

Picture 1 Class picture with Albert Einstein (front row, 3rd fr. r.) during his time at the Luitpold-Gymnasium in Munich, Germany. 1890.


So let me begin this story when Albert himself was about that same age, and he had his class photo taken on the steps of his school. This picture is one of the earliest pictures we have of him – and it’s one of my favourites. It shows his all-boys class of 52 students lined-up in five rows. Einstein is in the front row, the third from the right, and clearly one of the smallest in the group.
The unique and utterly fascinating thing about this picture is this simple fact: all the other boys are looking grimly at the camera, while little Albert is the only one with a smile on his face. Look closely: all 51 others, with hands at their sides, appear stern, anxious, intimidated, sulky, or scared; Einstein, with hands behind his back, has a cute, little, slightly impish smirk on his face – unquestionably, a look that any parent would love. Just compare the detailed picture of him with the boys to his immediate sides : the contrast, indeed, is at once stunning and amusing.
Right here, in this astounding image (a mere class photo) is the visual manifestation of the laid-back contrarian that he would become throughout his life. In this one picture, knowing what I know about him, his whole life almost flashes forward before me. So, here, I wish to share a piece of this story with you.
As reported by those who knew him, Einstein was modest and unpretentious, without an iota of conceit or arrogance, treating all people in the same manner, independently of class or rank. He spoke the same way to a president as to a janitor. He also had a hearty laugh, with a child-like twinkle in his eye. OK, all this may be a bit of an exaggeration (sounding more like Santa Claus), but variations of these traits are persistently repeated among those who knew him and reminisce about his personality. He really was a down-to-earth guy. For example, he refused to travel first-class. Even when sent first-class tickets, he sat in third-class, driving the fastidious ticket-takers crazy.
I have a second picture to talk about. But before that, I want to see what else there is about his life that I can read into his class picture. What do we know about his early life that might help us? Best to begin at birth.
Albert Einstein (1879-1955) was born in a small town (Ulm) on the Danube River in south-western Germany to unobservant Jewish parents. Although the town today boasts of his birth, he was still an infant when the family moved to Munich, where he spent his formative years. His mother, Pauline, had a deep commitment to music, and she tried to instill that affection in her young son by forcing violin lessons on him. A love of music eventually sunk into his psyche around his transition to the teenage years, and Albert carried that commitment throughout his life. He exhibited his love of music by packing his violin on trips. Serious music, to him, was confined to the works of the “classical” period of what is called classical music, especially that of Mozart and Haydn, although he would happily dip back into the Baroque and J. S. Bach.
His father, Hermann, was a businessman who could have made a lot of money at the time because he was in the electrical business (motors and dynamos, for example), which was to the late-19th century what computer high-tech paraphernalia was to the late-20th century. But, just as the “dot.com” boom and bust resulted in some winners and many losers, most who made the effort in the electrical business did not achieve success. Hermann’s business went bust.
Albert’s sister, Marie (called Maja), was born when he was age two, and she was his only sibling. Maja, in a short memoir written in the early-1920s, is a crucial source of information about her brother’s childhood; this is important because there are many myths circulating through the media and beyond about Einstein’s youth. Today, many special interest groups wish to embrace Einstein as the poster boy for their various causes. Nonetheless, Einstein was not a slow learner, a vegetarian, left-handed, nor any of a range of idiosyncrasies that you will find in special-group websites on the Internet testifying that Einstein was one-of-them. Although his parents tutored him for his first year of school, he also was not “home schooled,” for he continued through the German school system until the age of 15, when he dropped out before graduating in his final year. Yes, Einstein was a high-school dropout, but I must confess that I have not yet come across a website of “High-School Dropouts” claiming Einstein as one-of-them.
Contrary to another myth, Maja reports that her brother was not a slow learner but was “a precocious young man” who had a “remarkable power of concentration,” such that he could “lose himself…completely in a problem.” Later, for Einstein the scientist, this youthful behavior was clearly repeated – like a leitmotif, throughout his scientific life.
It’s true that Albert detested the rigidity of the German way of teaching, but he still got good grades. Yet, he did not hide his feelings about the oppressive atmosphere of the classroom, so that one teacher went so far as to tell Albert’s parents that their son set a poor example for the other students by his overt hostility. This may cast some light on the special smile on his face in our photo, for it surely reveals the contrarian attitude on social mores that he displayed throughout his life. One obvious example: think of his lack of decorum in the grooming of his hair, which began in the 1930s.
An example of nonconformity of a different kind took place in his pre-teen years when he became extremely religious and admonished his anti-religious parents for not following the rules of Orthodox Judaism. This personal obsession lasted for a few years, to the consternation of Hermann and Pauline, only to disappear right before he would have been Bar Mitzvah. (It never happened.) In his very brief autobiography, written in 1947, he says that the reason for this quick change was his discovery of science and math, and for him the accompanying realization that the Bible was untrue. The result was an intellectual and emotional transformation. He viewed the religious outlook as subjective and solipsistic, whereas the scientific viewpoint was a route to objectivity and a liberation from what he called “the merely personal” – or subjectivity. He put it this way: “Beyond the self there is the vast world, which exists independently of human beings, and that stands before us like a great, eternal riddle, at least partially accessible to our inspection and thinking.” This statement acted as a maxim for his scientific endeavours to the end of his life.
But this is not the full story of his transformation: he added a socio-political element that is rather startling and remarkable for someone around age 12 or 13. He said he came to realize that “youth is intentionally being deceived by the state through lies” and that therefore a “mistrust of every kind of authority grew out of this experience.” These are profound and troubling views for someone at an age where most boys are more obsessed with sports and girls. Does this give us a hint at a deeper meaning of the smile in Photo 1? Maybe not, he was but 9 or 10 when the picture was taken. Nevertheless, it does give us a sense of continuity from here to the unconventional citizen we know later in life.
As we continue to pursue the question of the roots of his maverick ways, we find two episodes of interest at age 15 or 16. Both were triggered by the collapse of his father’s business, and the need for the family to move from Munich to the town of Pavia in northern Italy just south of Milan, where his father’s brother had a more successful business. Since Albert was in his last year of high school, he was placed in a boarding house in Munich while his parents and sister went on to Italy without him. Alone and feeling abandoned, he sank into a deep depression and had to leave school. But he had the wherewithal to obtain a letter from his math teacher saying that he completed that part of the curriculum. This was the first episode.
The other episode, however, might not have seemed very level-headed at the time. After crossing the German border, he applied to the government to renounce his German citizenship, making him a stateless person thereafter. Some scholars believe that in order to trigger such a desperate act, something almost elemental about German society had deeply troubled Einstein. We know he had major misgivings about the militaristic features of German society as expressed in the educational system. Or was it a reaction to his father’s loss of his livelihood, and the need to leave the country? His sister, Maja, however, had a simple answer: he was avoiding being drafted into the military.
Accordingly, as a high school dropout, Albert arrived at his parents’ residence in Italy, much to their surprise and surely their chagrin. We have no documentation about the inevitable confrontation between him and his parents, but we can be sure that there was a dispute around the question of what he was going to do with the rest of his life. We, of course, know the answer, in the long run. But even in the short run, there was some hope.
Let’s return to that letter in Albert’s pocket when he left Munich, and back up a few years to the non-Bar Mitzvah around age 12 or 13. The unperformed religious transformative rite was replaced by a different revelation – as mentioned, he developed a zeal for science and in particular the logical rigor of mathematical reasoning. Specifically, he was given a primer on geometry, and he devoured it – even trying to prove some theorems before he read the proofs in the book. The logical way that mathematical reasoning produced eternal proofs had a deep psychological impact on this young man, so much so that even when writing his autobiography around the age of 68, he referred to this early textbook as the “holy geometry book.” How revealing this metaphor is: especially when we realize that he was reading Euclid, instead of Torah, the original “holy” book. He went on to teach himself calculus and other higher mathematics, so that by the time he dropped out of school, he was well-grounded in the mathematics required for graduation and beyond. Hence, the letter in his pocket, mentioned above.
Albert’s father had plans for his son to be an engineer. This is no surprise, since he was in the electrical business, which he (correctly) believed was the wave of the future. In particular, he wanted his son to enroll in the Swiss Polytechnic Institute in Zürich, one of the best schools in Europe. As luck (fate?) would have it, a completed high school diploma was not necessarily required for enrollment in the Poly; instead, there were a series of rigorous exams administered by the Institute. It seems that the letter from the math teacher was a factor in placing him in the special category.
So, in the fall of 1895 he took the entrance exams – but flunked them. There was, however, a silver lining to this incident. He did so well on the science and math parts (no shock here) that the Institute’s director recommended that he spend a year doing some remedial studying. After all, he was applying to the Institute a year or two early for his age, since the regular age of admission was about 18 years old.
Einstein spent the next year at the Kanton Schule in the town of Aarau, just west of Zürich. The curriculum was based on the ideas of the great Swiss educator, J. H. Pestalozzi, who (among other things) emphasized using visual materials as well as written texts as educational tools, and especially stressed direct student-teacher interaction. For Einstein, it was a delightful and memorable year: he enjoyed learning in a formal setting for the first time in his life.
Indeed, it was sometime during that year of motivated learning that he came up with what would be his first great experiment in his head, what we call a “thought experiment.” This idea involved moving in space at the speed of light; essentially it was based on this question: What would the world look like if we rode on a beam of light? Perhaps the Pestalozzi emphasis on visualizing played a role here? Listen to the following remark about the school in Aarau that Einstein wrote 60 years later: “It made an unforgettable impression on me, thanks to its liberal spirit and the simple earnestness of the teachers who based themselves on no external authority.”
Ah ha, “no external authority”: such progressive and open-minded thinking was guaranteed to have an impact on Einstein who, as quoted, believed that “youth is intentionally being deceived by the state through lies” and that therefore a “mistrust of every kind of authority grew out of this experience.” This Swiss Kanton Schule was obviously nothing like the German schooling he had previously experienced. No wonder he graduated in the fall of 1896 with good grades.
The year at Aarau proved fruitful. Einstein’s admittance to the Swiss Polytechnic was based on his grades at Aarau, and although his father wanted him to study to become an engineer, he enrolled in physics and mathematics – and we know where it went from there.
One more thing about the Aarau year. There is a class photo of that small graduating class of 10 students. It’s not reproduced here, for no one is smiling. They all look relaxed, but serious too as they ponder their future. Einstein may be a bit more relaxed than the others, and he may be staring off into space much further than his fellow students – but I hesitate in reading anything more into it. Nonetheless, I do know this: once, when reminiscing about that key year in his life, he said that, while the other students at Aarau filled their spare-time by swigging copious quantities of beer, he drank from a different trough – diligently reading The Critique of Pure Reason, by Immanuel Kant. And that surely was nothing to smile about. (Incidentally, Einstein was a teetotaller all his life.)

Photo 2 “…from 1931, over four decades later. Here Einstein, now the celebrity, is at a reception in the German Chancellery in Berlin. From the left they are: Max Planck (the famous physicist), Ramsay MacDonald (British Prime Minister), Einstein, Hermann Schmitz (on Einstein’s immediate left), and Hermann Dietrich (German Finance Minister)”.

My key argument here is essentially about the role of pictures and what we can (or cannot) read into them. And this brings me to Photo 2 from 1931, over four decades later. Here Einstein, now the celebrity, is at a reception in the German Chancellery in Berlin. From the left they are: Max Planck (the famous physicist), Ramsay MacDonald (British Prime Minister), Einstein, Hermann Schmitz (on Einstein’s immediate left), and Hermann Dietrich (German Finance Minister).
I have no idea why these five men were seated together or what they were talking about. There are several extant pictures of this table-talk scene, which were taken by the pioneering photojournalist, Erich Salomon. I have chosen this one because it captures an animated Einstein speaking to the British Prime Minister. Notice the gesture with his cupped right-hand. It is a captivating image clearly displaying Einstein’s alert and smiling face, all in stark contrast to the serious, stern, and solemn visages of the other four. “Come on, guys – lighten up!” – I want to say with Einstein. Or, put differently: what’s there not to like about this Einstein fellow trying to cheer-up a much too formal table? Is it not clear why I am juxtaposing this 1931 picture with the smiling boy in school? And so, it seems that a story that began with a smile appears to end with a smile.
But not so fast.
The second picture is from 1931, and two years later Hitler will control the country. Serious looking Hermann Schmitz was from I.G. Farben, the chemical company that would become notorious for its role in developing Zyklon B used in the gas chambers in the Extermination Camps, and for this Herr Schmitz spent time in prison after World War II for Nazi war crimes.
Planck’s son, Erwin – who was also present at this formal affair but is not in this picture – was later executed by the Nazis as part of the plot to assassinate Hitler on July 20, 1944.
And then there’s the photographer Erich Salomon (b.1886). He died in 1944 in Auschwitz, which was supplied with chemicals from I.G. Farben.
The result is that Photo 2 is deeply laden with painful meaning, and I can never again see this picture with that initial innocence I had the first time I smiled along with Einstein as he made a point to the British Prime Minister. Such is the nature of images and the interaction and interdependence of our eyes and minds. To use an analogy: pictures are as much read they are as seen. And so, knowing what we know about Photo 2, there is nothing

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Uri Poliavich and Yael Foundation Activities: Expanding Educational Opportunities

Uri Poliavich is a co-founder of the international charitable organization Yael Foundation. The foundation systematically works on developing quality education and supporting schools in many countries. The organization’s activities cover the development of educational infrastructure and improving the physical resources of institutions. For teachers, the foundation holds international meetings, seminars, and educational events. To recognize educators’ achievements, the annual Yael Awards are presented. All the organization’s initiatives are implemented in dozens of countries and yield long-term results.

Creation of Yael Foundation, Core Principles, and Scope of Operations

In 2020, Uri Poliavich co-founded the Yael Foundation. The foundation directs investments into quality education to strengthen identity, expand community opportunities, and build a future for children. The work is built on an evaluation model and long-term investment in educational impact.

Today, Yael Foundation’s activities with the participation of Uri Poliavich cover 48 countries and 101 cities. Overall, Uri Poliavich supports 145 educational institutions through the foundation. This program covers over 29,000 children in various regions. Cooperation takes place directly with local communities. Specialists study the real needs of schools and determine the necessary amount of assistance. Uri Poliavich contributes to creating safe and modern conditions for students. Educational institutions are provided with tools to upgrade equipment and improve their physical facilities.

Principles for the selection of projects: Impact assessment and infrastructure investments

Grants are awarded based on clear criteria. The team reviews requests from educational institutions and determines the feasibility of support. Uri Poliavich focuses on projects aimed at student development and teacher support. Each program includes measuring achieved results, and funding is allocated under a structured model taking into account the educational impact that forms over time. The physical condition of premises directly affects the quality of education, which is why Uri Poliavich pays special attention to updating school infrastructure.

Comprehensive Institutional Development and Professional Development for Educators

Financial assistance is only part of the Yael Foundation grant programs. Uri Poliavich works to ensure that educational institutions receive comprehensive support for their daily operations. Schools receive resources for updating equipment, improving living conditions, and facility safety. Uri Poliavich involves specialists to study the needs of each institution. The organization provides mentorship support and recommendations for organizing educational processes. Uri Poliavich helps create conditions under which institutions expand educational opportunities and operate stably over many years. The success of any initiative depends on the people who implement it. Uri Poliavich relies on experienced educators and organizers. Conditions for continuous learning are created for teachers. Uri Poliavich supports holding international meetings, seminars, and workshops for teachers. Sharing experience helps educators raise the quality of teaching in their schools.

Strategic Philanthropy and Long-Term Social Impact with Uri Poliavich

Modern philanthropy is changing its approaches and priorities. One-off assistance is giving way to well-thought-out projects with clear goals. Uri Poliavich applies this exact approach in his public activities. For him, it is important to create conditions where every initiative yields long-term results.

Consistent work makes it possible to resolve deep social tasks. Uri Poliavich focuses efforts on strengthening the educational sphere and supporting youth. This approach allows institutions to function stably for many years.

Transition to Systemic Projects

One-time donations rarely solve complex community challenges. Philanthropy is moving toward building sustainable support models. Uri Poliavich supports this direction of development. Instead of isolated actions, Uri Poliavich builds the foundation’s work on long-term partnerships with educational institutions. Systemic projects imply sequential resource allocation. This allows schools to plan their development and expand educational opportunities.

Respecting Cultural Characteristics and Supporting Institutions

Yael Foundation activities cover dozens of countries around the world. The organization provides support to schools, kindergartens, and specialized institutions. The main objective of these projects is acquiring a quality education. Children study their own culture, language, and traditions. Educational programs are tailored to the requests of specific communities. This helps preserve students’ national identity.

Apart from education, the condition of premises is of major importance. Many institutions need internal infrastructure updates. The organization allocates resources to improve physical facilities. Upgrading classrooms and purchasing equipment creates proper working conditions. Students and teachers get a comfortable space for daily classes.

Main areas of support for educational institutions:

  • Support for programs to preserve children’s cultural identity.
  • Funding renovation work in school and kindergarten premises.
  • Purchase of new school furniture and educational materials.
  • Meeting the basic household and technical needs of institutions.
  • Creating a safe educational space for students and teachers.
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Book Review: A Yiddish Play about an American Miscarriage of Justice

By HENRY SREBRNIK Mississippi: A Yiddish Play about the Scottsboro Affairby Leib Malach, edited by Alyssa Quint,  translated by Ellen Perecman and Alyssa Quint (Bloomsbury Academic, New York, 2026; 128 pages, $89.50USD hardcover, $29.50USD paperback). 

On March 22, 1935, enthusiasts of Warsaw’s avant-garde theatre scene slipped into a community hall at 19 Dluga Street to see an edgy, new play called “Mississippi” performed by the Yiddish experimental theater group, Yung Teatr (Young Theatre; in Polish, “Teatr Mlodych”).

Program of the 1935 play, “Mississippi”

A new book that includes a translation of the play retells the story of the notorious Scottsboro Affair. Alyssa Quint, the editor, is the author of The Rise of the Modern Yiddish Theaterand the editor of two forthcoming volumes on the Yiddish theatre, Women on the Yiddish Stage and Avrom Goldfaden’s Shulamisa Critical Edition. Ellen Perecman holds a Ph.D. in Linguistics from the City University of New York. Her book, Ten Yiddish Plays in Translation, includes translations of plays by Sholem Aleichem, Sholem Asch, Peretz Hirshbein, H. Leivick and David Pinski. 

Although devoid of any Jewish themes, “Mississippi” is, nonetheless, an original Yiddish play. In their English translation” Perecman and Quint have undertaken what the publishers call “a work of cultural salvage.” Penned in 1935 by Polish-Jewish playwright Leib Malach, “Mississippi” was performed on the Warsaw stage by the experimental Yiddish theatre company Yung Teater (Young Theatre) led by legendary director and drama theoretician Mikhl Weichert. Yung Teater dramatized favorite themes of the international left, including the trials of the anarchists Sacco and Vanzetti and the Scottsboro trial. Malach and Weichert were keen to depict a dramatic episode from contemporary life that reflected their humanistic and leftist political ideas as well as avant-garde theatrical practices. Weichert praised the cultural activities of the Soviet Union, especially its innovations in the theatre, but he and Malach were not members of the Communist Party, as Communism in interwar Poland was illegal, though they saw their production as contributing to this movement.

Writing in the weekly Literarishe Bleter on the eve of Mississippi’s premiere in March 1935, Malach explains how watching Weichert’s theater group inspired him to write about the Scottsboro Affair:

“I itched to write something with a social theme. I had just been in America. . . . I had attempted to represent in dramatic form the tragic event of the Scottsboro incident, the tragic lynch-sentence of nine Black boys. The event is well known to everyone. But the living drama is so big that my first attempts at capturing it struck me as lifeless . . . But seeing the youth of Yung Teatr in their performance [. . .] brought the Scottsboro tragedy back to my head.”

Malach, Quint tells us, researched and laboured over the play “in the context of a growing corpus of literature by Yiddish writers who trained their focus on racism in the Jim Crow South, and who identified with the socialist and Communist Party politics attached to the ordeal of the Scottsboro Boys. Moreover, they also found that the racism and lynchings depicted in the play bore a deep resemblance to the injustices perpetrated against Jews both historically and contemporaneously.”

Quint notes that historically, Malach’s most significant encounter with Black Americans and Black American culture was in Harlem, and the very specific details with which one of the Scottsboro Boys, Peter, dreams of Harlem are likely a product of this encounter. 

The Yiddish composer Henekh Kon wrote all the songs that appear throughout the play. They are in Yiddish but based on Kon’s understanding of African-American genres including gospel, freedom songs and jazz. A self-taught musician who grew up immersed in Jewish music — tunes of the Hasidim, of the klezmorim and of the wedding jesters — and who later trained at the Music Academy of Berlin, Kon composed music for over forty works, including the film version of S. Y. Ansky’s The Dybbuk (1937).

“Today’s readers of Mississippi will note that it is not a play that might have been written or performed today,” Quint writes. “Its portrait of African-American life tilts toward stereotype, its Communist ideological aspirations are also too baldly expressed, and the play lends itself to charges of cultural appropriation.” Since the actors are all white, they also perform in blackface. Presumably, there were few, if any, Yiddish-speaking Black actors in Poland, so the problem of how to present the actors playing the Scottsboro Boys as Black Americans without the production’s resorting to make-up might have seemed insurmountable.

I’ve written books and articles on American Jews and Communism, so I’m familiar with the story of the “Scottsboro Boys.” But I knew almost nothing about Leib Malach and “Mississippi,” though it has been mentioned in some books by, among others, Amelia Glaser, in Songs in Dark Times: Yiddish Poetry of Struggle from Scottsboro to Palestine; Joshua Morris, in The Many Worlds of American Communism; and the very many others who have written shorter articles on the Jewish left and theatre, like Zack Rothbart and Jeffrey Veidlinger. In fact Alyssa Quint herself has written about the play in a volume, Oyfn Sheydveg: At the Crossroads: Jewish Intellectuals and the Crisis of 1939, edited by Joshua Karlip.

Leib Malach (the pen name of Leib Zalzman, 1894-1936) was born in Zwolen, Poland where he received a traditional Jewish education. He moved to Warsaw as a teenager, supporting himself by working in various trades. His literary talents were discovered by Hersh Dovid Nomberg, who helped him publish his first ballad in 1915. He later became a prose writer and noted dramatist. He emigrated to Argentina in 1922 and traveled widely in South America. After his return to Poland in 1929, he continued to travel and write popular travel sketches. He lived in Mandate Palestine from 1934-35 and was active with the Labour Zionists. Many of his plays reflect his leftist politics and concern with social injustices. He died after an illness in a Paris hospital, aged 41.

Born in Podhajce in eastern Galicia and raised in Stanislawow, Weichert received his education at kheders and in Polish schools. He attended law and humanities programs at universities in Lwów, Vienna, and in Berlin, where he studied avant-garde theatre with the preeminent German director Max Reinhardt. 

“Mississippi” is a fictionalized retelling of the Scottsboro Affair, which began with the wrongful arrest of nine African American youths accused of rape in Alabama in 1931. It was staged in Warsaw in early 1935 and hundreds of times thereafter at various theatres in Poland, Israel, Canada, and Argentina. While the Scottsboro trial played out in the state of Alabama, the playwright thought it best to set the play in Mississippi, a name closely associated with the American South. The internationally acclaimed play highlighted the injustices of the American South, resonating with Eastern European Jewish audiences. It demonstrated how important it was to Yiddish writers of the 1920s and 1930s to grapple with the persecution of American Blacks. 

In her introductory essay, Quint treats the political aspirations that animated Malach and Weichert, and the vulnerability felt by European Jewry that it saw reflected in the experience of Black Americans. It was the first play on the Yiddish stage — and possibly on a Polish stage — to depict the oppression of Black Americans. It traveled to multiple Polish cities and was met by the Jewish press with almost uniform enthusiasm and curiosity. That the Scottsboro trial unfolded against the backdrop of the rise of Nazism in Germany lent Jewish works more urgency in seeking solidarity across ethnic lines.

In the 1930s, the story of the Scottsboro Boys, nine black teenagers accused of raping two white women on a train in Alabama, was reported in newspapers around the world. From the American south to the Yiddish stages of Eastern Europe, news of the affair and the injustice that followed spread quickly. Many believe the high-profile series of events was an inspiration for the book and movie To Kill a Mockingbird.

The Scottsboro Boys case began on March 25, 1931, when nine young Black men and boys hopped aboard a Southern Railway train in search of work in Memphis, Tennessee. At some point a fight with whites on board erupted, and the Black riders forced some white travelers off the train. The ejected riders then claimed that they had been attacked, and two of the female white riders then asserted that they had been raped. An all-white jury convicted the nine, and all but the youngest, who was 12 years old, were sentenced to death. Numerous retrials followed, all resulting in guilty verdicts.

No crime in American history– let alone a crime that never occurred — produced as many trials, convictions, reversals, and retrials as this one did. Over the course of the next two decades, the struggle for justice of the Scottsboro Boys launched and ended careers, wasted lives and produced heroes, opened southern juries to African Americans, exacerbated sectional strife, and divided America. 

The Scottsboro Boys, thanks to the efforts of, among others, a New York Jewish lawyer, Samuel Leibowitz, who later took over their defence and was himself under attack by antisemites, avoided execution. The fact that Leibowitz was Jewish and brought in by Communists certainly did not help his cause, nor that of his clients, once the retrial commenced. His style and bravado were not welcome in Alabama.

But he prevailed and they were all ultimately spared the death sentence. In the years and decades that followed, all of them had their convictions overturned or were pardoned. This included three posthumous pardons granted by the governor of Alabama in 2013, more than two decades after the last of them had passed away. 

A cause celebre, Scottsboro has been the subject of countless articles and books, and this new one, about a Yiddish play that dramatized the affair, provides an interesting lens to how deeply it resonated with Jews in Canada, the United States and Europe. 

Henry Srebrnik is a professor emeritus of political science at the University of Prince Edward Island.

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He was a privileged Jewish kid from NYC’s Upper East Side. Donald Trump was his greatest invention.

By Ann Levin August 31, 2026

This story was originally published in the Forward. Click here to get the Forward’s free email newsletters delivered to your inbox.

American Scoundrel: Roy Cohn’s Dark Journey from Joe McCarthy to Donald Trump
By Kai Bird with Susan Goldmark
Scribner, $32, 528 pages

By the beginning of the new millennium, Roy Cohn, the red-baiting scourge of the McCarthy hearings, lived largely in the pages of U.S. history books, trotted out on occasion to illustrate how America always manages to overcome its worst nativist impulses. But just in case someone never knew or had forgotten about Cohn’s malign influence on U.S. politics, Tony Kushner brought him back as a villain in his brilliant drama of the early 1990s, Angels in America.

Then, in 2016, Donald Trump was elected president and suddenly, Cohn was breaking news again. The very next year, when Trump was furious at then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions for recusing himself from an investigation into whether Russia meddled with the election, the president cried out to his advisers, “Where’s my Roy Cohn?”

Now, as if in answer to that question, Kai Bird has written a magisterial biography of the notorious lawyer and Trump whisperer that is indispensable reading for anyone who wants to understand the current political moment. Bird, the co-author of American Prometheus, the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of Robert J. Oppenheimer and inspiration for the Oscar-winning movie, began it in 2022, a couple years before Trump’s re-election. He collaborated with his wife, Susan Goldmark, who did the research for this riveting account of the unseemly, outrageous life of the hustler and con man about whom Trump once said, “If you need somebody to get vicious, hire Roy Cohn.”

Though Cohn has been long gone from public life — he died of AIDS at age 59 in 1986, insisting to the very end that he had succumbed to liver cancer — Bird demonstrates how he practically invented the dark political arts of resentment and division adopted by his former client, protégé and future president of the U.S.

Indeed, over the recent 4th of July weekend — decades after the collapse of the Soviet Union — Trump used Cohn’s divisive, inflammatory rhetoric in back-to-back speeches, including one at Mount Rushmore, branding his political opponents as evil, godless communists.

Bird walks us through Cohn’s life decade by decade. He grew up as an only child in a wealthy Jewish family on the Upper East Side and attended elite private schools, where his boyhood friends included Si Newhouse Jr., heir to the Condé Nast media empire, Gene Pope Jr., who would go on to found the National Enquirer, and, improbably, Al Lowenstein, later a well-known liberal Democratic activist and politician.

After Cohn graduated from Columbia Law School, his father, a judge, pulled strings to get him a job in the U.S. attorney’s office for the Southern District of New York, where he made a name for himself as the boy prosecutor who sent Julius and Ethel Rosenberg to the electric chair in 1953 for passing nuclear secrets to the Soviets. His tactics were highly irregular, including private meetings with the trial judge.

Not long after that, he went to work as chief counsel to Wisconsin Senator Joe McCarthy, using his position to force U.S.-funded libraries abroad to purge 30,000 books on the flimsy pretext that the authors were communists or Soviet sympathizers. He was also a central figure in the so-called Lavender Scare, when hundreds of federal employees thought to be gay lost their jobs because they were deemed a security risk.

By the 1960s, Cohn was back in New York, hanging out at the Stork Club and 21, squiring Barbara Walters around town, and representing mobsters though still living at home with his mother at 1165 Park Avenue. Over the next decade he would be indicted three times by U.S. Attorney Robert Morgenthau Jr. for bribery, perjury, extortion and other white-collar crimes. In each case, he managed to beat the rap though months before his death he was finally disbarred for unethical conduct.

After Cohn’s mother died in 1967, he moved into a stately townhouse on East 68th Street, where he established his law practice and stopped the pretense of dating women though he never publicly came out as gay. Then, in 1973, Cohn met his most consequential client. At the time, Trump was the 27-year-old son of a Queens real estate mogul trying to break into the Manhattan market and living in a rent-controlled studio on East 75th Street with a view of a water tank on an adjacent building.

Cohn advised the family on how to fight a Justice Department lawsuit accusing the real estate company of violating the Fair Housing Act by refusing to rent to Black tenants. Over the course of the litigation, Cohn taught Trump his signature moves: Keep your name in the paper. Never settle. Countersue. Claim victory. Don’t pay the bills.

Cohn also advised Trump on his first major real estate deal in Manhattan — buying the dilapidated Commodore Hotel on East 42nd Street, next to Grand Central Terminal. To get the deal done, Cohn worked his extensive connections to New York’s first Jewish mayor, Abraham Beame, a player in Democratic machine politics and an old friend of Cohn’s father.

For more than a decade, Trump continued to model himself after his mentor, adopting his penchant for personalized license plates and his snarling, scowling demeanor. Bird argues that in the decades since Cohn died, the McCarthyism of the 1950s has morphed into a nativist, America Firster politics that transformed the Republican Party into one of resentments against the old establishment, multiculturalism, globalization and liberal culture — in other words, the MAGA movement of today.

Cohn’s “values, his unethical behavior, and his political mindset have survived and replaced the values of the establishment he so resented,” Bird writes. “Perhaps his life is proof of the ability of one individual to change the arc of history. Certainly, he gave us the narcissistic politics of Donald Trump.”

Ann Levin is a writer and book reviewer who worked for many years at The Associated Press. Read full bio →

This story was originally published on the Forward.

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