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A Jewish expert on monuments on what Philly’s famous Rocky Balboa statue can teach us about memory
(JTA) — Paul Farber was shocked when he first watched “Rocky” and saw a Star of David on the grave of Rocky Balboa’s coach, Mickey Goldmill.
As a Jew and as the founder of the Philadelphia-based Monument Lab, which has explored collective memory through art installations across the country for over a decade, Farber was well positioned to think about the deeper meaning of that brief shot.
“Anytime I see a Jewish funeral in a film, there’s some kind of call to attention. And I always want to know what that means, especially for a Hollywood production, especially when it may not be branded as a Jewish story,” he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
“We’re not there in a prolonged series of mourning, but in a split second, seeing a Jewish site of a memory is really fascinating,” he added.
That outlook lies behind Farber’s work as the host of the new NPR podcast “The Statue,” a deep dive into Philadelphia’s famed statue of Rocky Balboa, the fictional prizefighter at the center of “Rocky.” The series delves into what sports and society can convey about memory, and in his research, Farber discovered a few Jewish nuggets found in the film series — including the fact that Rocky’s love interest was originally supposed to be Jewish.
“They made an actual gravestone [for her character] and it’s in Philadelphia’s most famous cemetery, Laurel Hill. And you can go there and see this gravestone where a movie character is ‘buried,’” he said. “People leave offerings on the gravestone, including small pebbles as if it’s a Jewish site of memory.”
In an interview with JTA, Farber shared his inspiration for the series, how his Jewish upbringing informed his life’s work and the role statues — such as that of Jewish baseball legend Sandy Koufax — do, and should, play.
This interview was lightly edited for length and clarity.
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: To start off, I’d love to hear about how you first got interested in studying monuments.
Paul Farber: I’m really interested in the ways that, in cities, we innovate toward the future, and also come to terms with our past, and it happens often in the same exact places. That could be a statue, a street, a corner store. And so that’s a big part for me.
What really inspired this project is a conversation I had with my mother, quite a few years ago. My mother is a lifelong Philadelphian. Her parents were Jewish immigrants in South Philadelphia. And when I told her I was teaching a class at the University of Pennsylvania about Philly neighborhoods, she asked me if I was covering Rocky. When I said, “Oh, it’s not on the syllabus” — and I may have said it in a way that felt dismissive — she gave me this look that I think a lot of us know: “How could you.” So for her birthday, we watched “Rocky” and we went to see “Creed.” My grandfather went to South Philly High and was in the boxing club. He shared stories in our family about what it meant to have sport and culture and belonging go together in South Philly. I started to see that across generations, from long before “Rocky” to this moment now, almost 50 years after the release of the film, many people’s family stories could be channeled through this statue, including my own, and that was enough of a prompt to go dive in.
“Rocky” is obviously not a Jewish story, but there are some nuggets. There’s the funeral scene, and you mentioned something about Adrian almost being Jewish. I’m curious what you think about the little Jewish pieces you can pull out of this famous story, and what those mean to you as a Philly sports fan.
It blew me away that Rocky’s coach, Mick, passes away and the character Rocky goes to his funeral, and you see a Star of David. Anytime I see a Jewish funeral in a film, there’s some kind of call to attention. And I always want to know what that means, especially for a Hollywood production, especially when it may not be branded as a Jewish story. And it just opened up a whole set of questions for me that blurred between art and life, between the film series and the city of Philadelphia.
In episode two, we showcase this monumental art book that Sylvester Stallone [who played Rocky] created. There was this passage in it that just blew me away, about the first draft of “Rocky,” where he says, “As for Adrian, she was Jewish in the first draft.” And he got feedback and cut that character. We never hear about Mickey’s Judaism. We never hear about Rocky’s bond across culture. But the fact that the first scene in the “Rocky” series is in a place called Resurrection Gym — that is obvious Christian iconography — and to put Jewish characters in is really fascinating to me.
There is another famous grave that is involved in the series. The character Adrian eventually passes away, and like the statue, which was made as a bronze sculpture, for the “Rocky” film series they made an actual gravestone and it’s in Philadelphia’s most famous cemetery, Laurel Hill. And you can go there and see this gravestone where a movie character is “buried.” People leave offerings on the gravestone, including small pebbles as if it’s a Jewish site of memory.
People talk about representation on screen, and I’m not sure a Jewish funeral necessarily does that, but I would imagine for some people, seeing Rocky Balboa say the “Mourner’s Kaddish“ was maybe their first interaction with Judaism in some way. What do you make of that?
Every shot is deliberate. And it’s actually that kind of attitude and outlook that created the Rocky statue, because Sylvester Stallone was the director of that film, and they could have made a styrofoam version or a temporary one, but they spent over a year making a bronze version so that when the camera faced it, it would make contact. I think very similarly, this is part of the artistry of Stallone that plays out in our podcast series. We’re not with him when he sits shiva. We’re not there in a prolonged series of mourning, but in a split second, seeing a Jewish site of a memory is really fascinating. And to see the coach Mickey, to have his Wikipedia page say he’s Jewish, all that we have is mourning.
I think about how for immigrant Jewish communities, there are gaps in our narratives. Throughout the series, and one of the reasons I wanted to share my perspective as a queer Jewish person who grew up loving sports in Philly, I’ve been informed by my own family’s history, and what we’re able to recall and what gaps there are. And I see that being echoed for so many people in the Rocky story.
It’s clearly a very personal story for you. Why did you think it was important to start the podcast with your own identity, and to include your Jewish mother?
I think it’s important that when we talk about sites of memory, we understand that there are shared and collective ways that we bring the past forward, and there are others that are incredibly personal. My hope was to find, in this case, to spotlight, a significant site of memory in the city, but ask questions about it. And I think it was important to note what position I would take, because I don’t believe there’s one story to the Rocky statue. To tell a biography of a statue, you actually have to tell it of the people who make meaning from it. So in the series, we do a lot of work where we want to know other people’s stories and backgrounds, whether they are refugees from Afghanistan, or community organizers in Kensington [a neighborhood of Philadelphia]. My hope was by positioning this from my perspective, almost as a memoir in a way, that it opened up space for others to have their experiences be valued and made meaning of.
The official artwork for Farber’s podcast. (Courtesy)
Both with the podcast and in your work with the Monument Lab, how do you feel that your Jewish identity informs what you do? Do you see overlap between your Jewish values and the values you work on in your organization?
I absolutely think so. I grew up in a Jewish community in Philadelphia, and tikkun olam was a constant refrain. The work of tikkun olam meant a worldview that necessitated building coalitions and understanding across divides, to not diminish or under-emphasize them, but to appreciate how we work in solidarity, whether that’s around racial justice, gender justice, in various struggles. I am a co-founder and director of an organization that focuses on memory, and that I really get from the stories of growing up in a Jewish household, in a Jewish community, where memory lived in different ways. We were always aware of the stories of trauma and loss, as well as reconciliation and transformation, and how you work with the gaps that you have, and you listen, and you learn and you carry the story with you. Because that is the way to bond generations. Jewish memory really grounds what I do, and I seek to use it as a tool to learn more and to feed connection across divides.
Rocky takes on this almost mythical, godlike status, and his statue in Philadelphia is a bit of a pilgrimage site. Do you see any tension there as a Jew, given the prohibition against idol worship?
I think about the importance of memory, against forces of violence and erasure. I also understand that, in a world that is full of pain and difficulty and loss, we seek places to release that. And so I understand the pull to monuments. What I would like to see, and what we try to do through this series, “The Statue,” and also with the work of Monument Lab, is to look on and off the pedestal, and really think about how history lives with us. As we say in the series and other places, history doesn’t live inside of statues, it lives with people who steward them, who create other kinds of sites of memory, who are vigilant in their modes of commemoration. What I try to do in this work is understand the ambivalence around monuments, the pull to try to remember and be enduring through time, and just that constant reminder that whenever you try to freeze the past, or freeze an image of power, you cut out the potential to find connection and empowerment, and thus forms of survival.
In sports, there are so many ways to honor people, especially different ways that, like a statue, take on the idea of permanence. When Bill Russell died, the NBA retired his number 6 across the league. On Jackie Robinson Day, every April 15, the whole MLB honors Jackie Robinson by wearing his uniform number. But statues just have a different level of oomph. Sandy Koufax has a new statue in Los Angeles that was unveiled last year; Hank Greenberg has one. What do you think it should take for an athlete to reach that status?
The pinnacle in sports is to have a statue dedicated to you outside of the stadium. And I do believe the cultures of social media have amplified that, because we grew up with the story of Sandy Koufax not pitching in the World Series during the High Holy Days, and that wasn’t because we learned it from a statue or a plaque. We learned it because it was carried forward and put into different forms of remembering and recalling its importance. I went to several Maccabi Games in the U.S. — I used to be a sprinter. And the culture of memory and sport, they were one in the same.
In professional sports, the pinnacle is the statue, but I think you brought up other really important ways of remembering that operate in non-statue forms that feel like they are living memorials. The idea of retiring someone’s number, and keeping their number up, is a way to acknowledge, in this really public of all public spaces, an intimacy and a care, and especially when an athlete passes away, how that transcends the lines of city geography. Jackie Robinson Day is something that did not occur immediately after Jackie Robinson was the first Black player to play in the major leagues, but was a product of a later moment when people around Major League Baseball sought to activate his memory. So yes, a statue outside of a stadium is like a particular kind of professional accolade. But the other forms are really meaningful.
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Can Jewish tradition help you stay sane when all your bosses are ‘idiots’?
Dear Bintel,
My work colleagues and I need your help. Does Jewish tradition have anything to say about how not to lose your mind when all your bosses are idiots?
Signed,
Losing It
Dear Losing It,
Proverbs 29:2 sums up the impact of bad leadership on morale better than I can: “When a wicked man rules, the people groan.” Believe me, I can hear you and your colleagues groaning in response to every ridiculous email and edict from your inept employers.
The Bible is also full of stories about individuals saddled with work they neither want nor enjoy. Jeremiah is a reluctant prophet ordered to deliver messages nobody wants to hear. Jonah also pointed out the futility of his assignment, saying, essentially, “Why should I tell everyone they’re evil when they won’t listen?” Meanwhile, Moses tries to talk God out of giving him the task of leading the Jews out of Egypt.
And what does the Talmud have to say about all this? The sages portray pushback not as insubordination, but as part of the fundamental relationship between Jews and God: We have a responsibility to demand justice and challenge authority.
But how do you do it without getting fired? Speaking truth to power is an art. Nathan the prophet did it with panache: He got King David to see the error of his ways by relating a parable. When David noticed that the man in Nathan’s tale had transgressed, Nathan said to David, “You are the man!”
Now, I’m not saying your work life will improve if you tell your terrible bosses a story in which the villains are thinly veiled versions of themselves. Nor am I suggesting that you must endure 20 years of servitude, like Jacob did, in order to get some sheep and the woman of your dreams, or that you should argue about every single thing you’re asked to do, as did Moses.
But here’s an oft-quoted Talmudic saying that expresses one of Judaism’s guiding principles, and I think it’s relevant to your work-life quandary: “It is not up to you to complete the task, but neither are you free to avoid it.”
In other words, you aren’t responsible for fixing everything that’s wrong with your job. But you are required to make an effort.
What might that look like? How about cheerfully encouraging adherence to best practices by offering evidence-based recommendations? Or matter-of-factly questioning a pointless policy — without pointing fingers — by simply showing that it’s hurting the bottom line or creating delays?
Now I wouldn’t want you to get on the bosses’ bad side or put yourself in the firing line in the course of offering criticism veiled as new ideas. To help your cause, enlist trusted colleagues to backread that email before you send it, or ask others to jointly request a meeting to propose a new approach to something you’re aching to improve.
What if your suggestions and complaints go unheeded? The Talmud tells of a rabbi who predicts that those on the receiving end of his protests “will not accept the rebuke from me.”
Do it anyway, is the response: “Even though they will not accept it, the Master should rebuke them.”
Consider, too, this beautiful precept from the great philosopher Maimonides: “Each of us should see ourselves as if our next act could change the fate of the world.” Meaning that every small choice you make as you carry out your duties — rendering a compliment to an overwhelmed work friend, making a correction without judgment, sharing a shortcut with the team or listening to a colleague’s frustration — matters.
I truly believe that part of how we maintain our sanity in the face of incompetence or evil is by standing up for our own values, even when it seems pointless. If you subscribe to the notion that every righteous act we perform, no matter how small, contributes to repairing our broken world, and if you can truly believe in the power of individual good deeds, it will go a long way toward restoring your peace of mind.
Peace of mind can also come from the time-honored Jewish tradition of kibbitzing. If you don’t already have an online group on WhatsApp or Discord where you and your coworkers can kvetch as well as support each other away from the bosses’ gaze, start one. If your work is in-person, in the office, rather than remote, invite a couple of colleagues out for a beer or coffee or a meetup in the park.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t also serve up this oft-quoted Talmudic nugget: “A person should love work and not hate it.” The ancient rabbis believed work not only supports one’s material needs, but also provides dignity and self-worth — or so it should. If it’s impossible for you to love your work given your current situation; if you can’t bear the thought of sticking it out the way Jacob did; and if you don’t feel motivated enough to push back one small act at a time, as Maimonides advised, well then, you could always go all out and confront those idiotic bosses head on.
Of course, if you do that, they might hand you your walking papers. Then again, maybe being forced to look for a new job isn’t the worst thing that could happen given your disdain for your situation. Maybe you’re thinking of quitting anyway — and maybe that’s not a bad idea. As a more contemporary Jewish sage, Bob Dylan, once said, “All you can do is do what you must.”
Signed,
Bintel
What do you think? Send your comments to bintel@forward.com or send in a question of your own.
This is Beth Harpaz’s final column for Bintel Brief. She managed and wrote for the column from 2022 to 2025.
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Anti-Hamas Militias Vow to Continue Fight in Gaza as Israel Stands Firm on Disarmament, Turkey’s Post-War Role
The head of an anti-Hamas faction, Hussam Alastal, fires a weapon in the air as he is surrounded by masked gunmen, in an Israeli-held area in Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip, in this screenshot taken from a video released Nov. 21, 2025. Photo: Hussam Alastal/via REUTERS
Anti-Hamas groups in Gaza have vowed to continue fighting the ruling Palestinian terrorist group despite the recent killing of their most prominent commander, reporting new recruits as Hamas continues to resist mounting international pressure to disarm.
Ghassan al-Dahini, successor to Yasser Abu Shabaab in Gaza’s Popular Forces, pledged to continue Abu Shabaab’s project and resist Hamas by establishing an alternative to the group’s rule, after his predecessor and confidant died last week while mediating an internal dispute within the group.
Dahini described Abu Shabab’s death as a “grave loss,” saying his followers would “continue on this path and move with the same strength and even more strength.”
“I assure all who support the goals of the Popular Forces that our position is strong and that, God willing, we will become the most powerful force,” he told Israel’s Channel 14.
Abu Shabab, a Bedouin tribal leader based in Israeli-held Rafah in southern Gaza, had led one of the most prominent of several small anti-Hamas groups that emerged in the enclave during the war that began more than two years ago.
Following his death, Hamas said in a statement that the fate of anyone who “betrayed their people and homeland and agreed to be an instrument in the hands of the occupation [Israel]” was inevitable, accusing Abu Shabab of “criminal acts” that amounted to a “flagrant deviation from national and social consensus.”
In an attempt to exploit the situation, the terrorist group gave militants a 10-day ultimatum to surrender in exchange for promises of amnesty, according to Israel’s Channel 12 and reports on social media.
Abu Shabab’s death would appear to be a boost for Hamas, which had branded him a collaborator and ordered its fighters to kill or capture him.
Shortly after the US-backed ceasefire to halt fighting in Gaza took effect in October, Hamas moved to reassert control over the war-torn enclave and consolidate its weakened position by targeting Palestinians who it labeled as “lawbreakers and collaborators with Israel.”
Since then, Hamas’s brutal crackdown has escalated dramatically, sparking widespread clashes and violence as the group moves to seize weapons and eliminate any opposition.
Social media videos widely circulated online show Hamas members brutally beating Palestinians and carrying out public executions of alleged collaborators and rival militia members.
Following Abu Shabab’s death, Hossam al-Astal, commander of the Counter Terrorism Strike Force, another anti-Hamas faction in Khan Younis, said his group would join forces with the Popular Forces, adding that both leaders had “agreed the war on terror will continue.”
“Our project, new Gaza … will move ahead,” al-Astal told Reuters.
The militia commander had previously told The Algemeiner in late October that his group and three allied militias, including Abu Shaba’s group, had coordinated in recent weeks to secure areas vacated by Hamas. He explained that the four Israel-backed militias fighting Hamas were moving to fill the power vacuum, pledging to cooperate with most international forces involved in rebuilding the enclave but vowing to resist any presence from Qatar, Turkey, or Iran, all of which have supported Hamas for years.
For its part, Hamas vowed to keep pursuing collaborators “until this phenomenon is eradicated.”
They “are protected by the occupation army in the areas where these forces are present, which makes it difficult for the security apparatuses,” Hamas spokesperson Hazem Qassem told Reuters.
Meanwhile, as Hamas tries to avoid disarmament and rejects international calls to surrender its weapons, Israel continues to maintain a firm stance, vowing that the Islamist group “will be disarmed” under US President Donald Trump’s peace plan.
Senior Hamas leader Khaled Mashal said the group is open to a temporary weapons “freeze” but rejects the demand for full disarmament outlined in the US-backed ceasefire deal.
“The idea of total disarmament is unacceptable to the resistance,” the terrorist leader said in an interview with Qatari media outlet Al Jazeera on Wednesday.
“What is being proposed is a freeze, or storage [of weapons] … to provide guarantees against any military escalation from Gaza with the Israeli occupation,” he continued.
Instead of immediately surrendering its weapons, as stipulated in the ceasefire deal, Hamas is proposing a long-term ceasefire of up to ten years and a freeze on its arsenal, provided that Israel fully withdraws from Gaza “and ends its campaign of extermination.”
According to a Hamas official cited by Palestinian media, the group will prevent any attacks on Israel during the proposed extended truce, which also calls for significant reconstruction efforts and expanded humanitarian aid in the war-torn enclave.
However, Israel has upheld its hardline position, rejecting Hamas’s proposals and declaring that “there will be no future for Hamas” under Trump’s 20-point peace plan.
“The terror group will be disarmed, and Gaza will be demilitarized,” an Israeli government official told AFP on Thursday.
Under phase one of Trump’s peace plan, Hamas was required to release all remaining hostages, both living and deceased, who were kidnapped by Hamas-led Palestinian terrorists during the group’s invasion of and massacre across southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.
In exchange, Israel freed thousands of Palestinian prisoners, including many serving life sentences, and partially withdrew its military forces in Gaza to a newly drawn “Yellow Line,” roughly dividing the enclave between east and west. The Israeli military controls 53 percent of Gazan territory, while Hamas is cracking down on the remaining 47 percent, where the vast majority of the population is located.
The second stage of the peace plan is supposed to establish an interim administrative authority, a so-called “technocratic government,” deploy an International Stabilization Force (ISF) to oversee security in Gaza, and begin the demilitarization of Hamas.
As the international community moves to implement phase two of the ceasefire deal, Turkey has continued to push to join the multinational task force and play a role in postwar Gaza, as Ankara seeks to expand its influence in the region — a move experts warn could potentially bolster Hamas’s terrorist infrastructure.
However, Israel has consistently opposed any role for Turkish security forces in postwar Gaza, reportedly creating a point of tension with Washington, which appears receptive to Ankara’s request.
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This Hanukkah, my synagogue is illuminating our walls with relics of our Jewish immigrant stories
(JTA) — Outside of the social hall on the second floor of my synagogue, the historic Society for the Advancement of Judaism on West 86th Street in Manhattan, a modest yet elegant new exhibition adorns the wall. Fitted within vintage frames are the figures and faces of people from long-ago and far-away places; each portrait a story, brimming with unique details.
But these are no generic photos in the public domain, this is no faux vintage display. Instead, the photos are family portraits belonging to members of my congregation, the result of our year-long project, “How We Got Here: Honoring Our Immigrant Forebears.” The gathering of these photos — only a small fraction of which were collected and will be published in a beautiful limited edition volume — was an ambitious undertaking, a project that took over a year and required the involvement of a professional staff and curator.
As I prepare for the grand opening of this exhibition on the fourth night of Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Lights, I have a message for New York’s clergy and houses of worship: If you want to truly illuminate your sanctuaries, making them vibrant, alive and meaningful, begin by honoring your congregation’s immigrant past with a tangible photo and story project. What better way is there to remind our congregations, the people of our city, to be there for today’s next generation of immigrants?
St. Patrick’s Cathedral did just this in a colorful and glorious manner, commissioning its largest-ever artwork that pays homage to New York City’s immigrant past. The vivid panels of the work by Adam Cvijanovic focus on the arrival of Irish immigrants in the 19th century and the contributions they have made to this city, juxtaposing their stories with those of more contemporary and diverse immigrant groups. Every day of the week, visitors to the cathedral come face to face with this very human aspect of its history, previously uncelebrated. Cvijanovic’s murals enhance the meaning of a house of worship.
For our synagogue’s project, we hired Rachael Cerrotti, an award-winning author, podcaster, educator, and curator who works with family history, inherited memory and personal archives. She was able to guide us in our quest for material objects and stories. She and her husband, T.J. Kirkpatrick, designed our exhibition and our commemorative book.
Rachael elevated our pursuit from the provincial to the global, inspiring us to see that our best path forward begins by stepping into our recent past. As we remember and celebrate how we got here we become more empathic to those making similar journeys today.
To celebrate, we will be hosting a party with traditional Hanukkah treats and live music and inviting guests to share their own family immigrant stories with us.
But why undertake such a project in a house of worship? Why not a school, a community center or simply in the privacy of one’s home?
Because houses of worship are places that have staff with community-building skills; it is in the DNA of churches, mosques, synagogues and temples to welcome worshippers, making them feel like they are part of a whole. This study of our backgrounds, of the stories we share as immigrants to New York, is part of our creating those bonds.
What better place to encourage people to learn and share their own immigrant history, digging out the details of who came when, from where and why? While being “in the moment” is a value we cherish, it is also important to remember that we all come from somewhere, that we did not spring forward from Amsterdam Avenue, Orchard Street or East 72nd Street; that our ancestors are part of our story and inform who we are today.
We know that the surest way to cultivate security in children is to make sure they have solid roots. So too with a house of worship. When everyone in a congregation undertakes their own “roots” research, then the community itself becomes firmly planted, with stories blossoming like ripe and delicious fruit.
There is more: knowing our own stories and the stories of our worship community reminds us of immigrant struggle and helps us understand that the people arriving today have similar stories and the same needs. Regardless of propaganda, they are not immigrants of lesser worthiness. Our ancestors likely faced similar prejudices, bias and suspicion.
Making the decision to help today’s immigrants is a blessing precisely because they are our grandmothers and grandfathers. They are our parents. They are us.
In a political social climate that is hostile to newly-arrived Americans, it is critical for us to do this work publicly, to share it on our walls and tell our stories to the next generations.
Finally, knowing where we came from, meeting our parents, grandparents and far-distant relatives who arrived on the shores of this country yearning to breathe free infuses us with pride and with true patriotism.
It restores us to the authentic meaning of what it means to love our country, a nation built on the promise of being a place of refuge for all peoples.
Shira Dicker contributed to this essay.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
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