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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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Polish novel portrays nostalgic image of the Jewish life that once existed there
ס׳איז לעצטנס אַרויס אַן ענגלישע איבערזעצונג פֿונעם ראָמאַן „איך הייס שטראַמער“, וועגן אַ ייִדישער משפּחה אין דער פּױלישער שטאָט טאַרנע (טאַרנאָוו). דאָס בוך האָט אָנגעשריבן דער פּױלישער שרײַבער מיקאָלײַ לאָזינסקי.
אין משך פֿון העכער װי 150 יאָר האָט טאַרנע געהערט צו דער עסטרײַכישער פּראָװינץ גאַליציע. אונטער דער עסטרײַכישער אימפּעריע האָבן ייִדן ניט געליטן פֿון מלוכישן אַנטיסעמיטיזם, און די באַציִונגען צװישן ייִדן און פּאָליאַקן זײַנען געװען רעלאַטיװ רויִקע.
דער מצבֿ האָט זיך געביטן נאָכן אױפֿקום פֿון דער אומאָפּהענגיקער פּױלישער רעפּובליק נאָך דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה. די באַציִונגען זײַנען געװאָרן אַלץ מער געשפּאַנט מיטן צוּװוּקס פֿונעם פּױלישן אַנטיסעמיטיזם אין די 1930ער יאָרן.
די העלדן פֿונעם ראָמאַן זײַנען די משפּחה שטראַמער, װאָס באַשטײט פֿון זעקס מענטשן: דער טאַטע, די מאַמע, פֿיר זין און צװײ טעכטער. זײ זײַנען ייִדן פֿון אַ גאַנץ יאָר. דער טאַטע נתן איז אַ לא־יוצלח, װאָס האָט אַ מאָל עמיגרירט קײן אַמעריקע אָבער האָט ניט געהאַט קײן מזל אין דער „גאָלדענער מדינה“ און זיך אומגעקערט אַהײם צו זײַן פֿרױ און קינדער. זינט דעם פֿעפֿערט ער זײַנע ייִדישע רײד מיט ענגלישע װערטער און האַלט אין אײן חלומען װעגן צוריקפֿאָרן קײן ניו־יאָרק, װוּ ער האָט אַ ברודער אַן אָלרײַטיק.
זײַן פֿרױ רבֿקה איז אַ יוסטע באַלעבאָסטע װאָס האַלט אונטער דאָס גאַנצע געזינד. יעדער אײנער פֿון די קינדער האָט אײגענע דאגות, באַגערן און פּלענער פֿאַר דער צוקונפֿט.
לאָזינסקי שטעלט צונויף דעם סיפּור־המעשׂה אויף אַ קונציקן אופֿן, מישנדיק פּערזענלעכע שטאַנדפּונקטן פֿון פֿאַרשײדענע פּערסאָנאַזשן. אַזױ אַרום שאַפֿט ער אַ פֿילזײַטיקן קאָלעקטיװן פּאָרטרעט פֿון אַ טיפּישער משפּחה מיט אירע טאָגטעגלעכע עסקים.
לכתּחילה איז דער נאַראַטיװער טאָן אַ ביסל איראָניש. עס דאַכט זיך אַז די פּאָליטישע ענדערונגען האָבן ניט קײן סך השפּעה אױף זײער לעבן. דער טאַטע בענקט נאָך די אַלטע גוטע צײַטן פֿונעם אַמאָליקן עסטרײַכישן מלכות: „עס װעט קײן מאָל ניט זײַן אַזױ גוט װי בײַם קייסער פֿראַנץ־יאָזעף“, בעת זײַנע קינדער פּרוּװן זיך צוצופּאַסן צו די נײַע פּױלישע פּאַראָנדקעס.
די קינדער װאַקסן אונטער און די שטימונג פֿונעם ראָמאַן װערט ערנסטער. די האַנדלונג שטײַגט אַריבער די דלתּ־אַמות פֿון דער הײמישער שטאָט טאַרנע. נתן און רבֿקה רעדן נאָך אַלץ ייִדיש, אָבער זײערע קינדער פֿילן זיך הײמיש אין פּױליש. זײ בײַטן זײערע נעמען — הערש־צבֿי למשל װערט העסיאָ – און לערנען זיך אין פּױלישע גימנאַזיעס.
שפּעטער קלײַבן זײ אױס פֿאַרשײדענע דרכים: דער עלטסטער זון שטודירט לאַטײַן און גריכיש אינעם יאַגעלאָנער אוניװערסיטעט אין קראָקע אָבער קלײַבט אױס אַ קאַריערע װי אַ געשעפֿטסמאַן. זײַן ייִנגערער ברודער װערט פֿאַרטאָן אין דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ, ער פֿאַרברענגט אַ פּאָר יאָר אין תּפֿיסה און דערנאָך פֿאָרט ער קײן שפּאַניע צו קעמפֿן אינעם בירגערקריג.
מיט דער צײַט װערט דער דערצײלערישער טאָן אַלץ מער דראַמאַטיש. דאָס שפּיגלט אָפּ די אַלגעמײנע פֿינצטערע אַטמאָספֿער אין פּױלן אין די 1930ער יאָרן, װען דער אַנטיסעמיטיזם װערט אַלץ מער בולט, און די עקאָנאָמישע לאַגע פֿון ייִדן ווערט אַלץ ערגער.
„עס האָט זיך אָנגעהױבן מיט ׳יעדער אײנער פֿאַר זײַנע אײגענע און מיט זײַנע אײגענע׳ און ׳קױף ניט בײַ די ייִדן׳ [די פּאָפּולערע אַנטיסעמיטישע לאָזונגען], און ענדיקט זיך מיט צעבראָכענע פֿענצטער אין ייִדישע קראָמען און לאָזונגען ׳ייִדן קיין מאַדאַגאַסקאַר!׳.“
אַזױ טראַכט דער ייִנגערער זון נוסעק, װאָס האַלט זיך װײַט פֿון פּאָליטיק. אָבער אַפֿילו ער װערט געװױר, אַז פּױלן גליטשט זיך אַרײַן אין אַ פֿאַשיסטישן רעזשים װי אין דײַטשלאַנד און איטאַליע.
פֿון דעסט װעגן קומט דער חורבן אומגעריכט פֿאַר די שטראַמערס. אַפֿילו װען היטלער און סטאַלין צעטײלן פּױלן, האַלטן זײ נאָך אַלץ בײַ אַ האָפֿענונג, אַז אַלץ װעט זיך װי ניט איז אױססדרן און דאָס לעבן װעט זײַן װידער נאָרמאַל.
„איך הייס שטראַמער“ געהערט צו אַ נײַער כװאַליע אין דער פּױלישער ליטעראַטור, װאָס פּרוּװט צו באַטראַכטן דעם פּױלישן עבֿר דורך אַ ייִדישן שפּאַקטיװ. פֿאַרן חורבן זײַנען בערך צען פּראָצענט פֿון דער פּױלישער באַפֿעלקערונג, דאָס הײסט, בערך דרײַ מיליאָן נפֿשות, געװען ייִדן. ערשט ניט לאַנג צוריק האָט מען אָנגעהױבן צו באַטראַכטן ייִדן װי אַ װיכטיקער באַשטאַנדטײל פֿון דער פּױלישער געשיכטע.
עס איז ניט קײן חידוש, װאָס דער פֿאָקוס איז דאָ אױף די באַציִונגען צװישן ייִדן און פּאָליאַקן און ניט אױף די אינעװײניקע פּראָבלעמען פֿונעם ייִדישן ציבור. דער דאָזיקער חילוק צװישן דעם פּױלישן און ייִדישן קוקװינקל איז בולט װען מען פֿאַרגלײַכט „ איך הייס שטראַמער“ מיט די ייִדישע ראָמאַנען פֿון יענער תּקופֿה, װי למשל מיכל בורשטינס „איבער די חורבֿות פֿון פּלױנע“, לײב ראַשקינס „די מענטשן פֿון גאָדלבאָזשיץ“ אָדער אַלטער קאַציזנעס „שטאַרקע און שװאַכע“.
די פּערסאָנאַזשן אין אָט די ייִדישע ראָמאַנען זײַנען געװען טיף פֿאַרטאָן אין ייִדישע סאָציאַלע, רעליגיעזע, קולטורעלע און פּאָליטישע פּראָבלעמען, בעת די קריסטלעכע פּאָליאַקן זײַנען געװען זײַטיקע און לרובֿ פֿײַנטלעכע פֿיגורן.
די ייִדישע מחברים האָבן באַטאָנט די אָפּזונדערונג פֿון ייִדן אין פּױלן, בעת בײַ לאָזינסקין זײַנען ייִדן מיטגלידער פֿון דער ברײטער פּױלישער געזעלשאַפֿט, כאָטש זײער אינטעגראַציע איז װײַט ניט קײן פֿולע.
אַזאַ צוגאַנג איז היסטאָריש אַקוראַט, װײַל אַ היפּשע צאָל ייִדן, בפֿרט אין די שטעט, האָבן טאַקע זיך געװאָלט אַסימילירן אין דער פּױלישער געזעלשאַפֿט. לאָזינסקי װײַזט די דאָזיקע טענדענץ גאַנץ גוט, אָבער װען עס קומט צו ייִדישקײט, זײַנען דאָ פֿעלערס װי למשל װען נתן, און ניט רבֿקה און די טעכטער, צינדט אָן די שבת־ליכט און דערצו נאָך, שרײַבט ער, „אײן ליכט פֿאַר יעדן משפּחה־מיטגליד“.
צום סוף פֿונעם ראָמאַן גיט לאָזינסקי צו אַ רשימה ביכער, װאָס ער האָט גענוצט װי היסטאָרישע מאַטעריאַלן. דאָס רובֿ זײַנען דאָס סאָלידע פּױלישע היסטאָרישע שטודיעס און זכרונות, אָבער עס איז ניטאָ קײן אײן מקור איבערגעזעצט פֿון ייִדיש אָדער העברעיִש. עס פֿעלט דאָ אַפֿילו דאָס יזכּור־בוך „טאַרנע: קיום און אומקום פֿון אַ ייִדישער שטאָט“ װאָס איז פֿאַראַן אין אַן ענגלישער איבערזעצונג. אין דער הײַנטיקער פּױלישער ליטעראַטור װעגן ייִדן פֿאַרבלײַבט ייִדיש בלױז אַ סימן פֿון ייִדישקײט, און ניט קײן שליסל צום רײַכן קולטורעלן אוצר.
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There Are No ‘Moderates’: Most of the Democratic Party Is Turning Against Israel
Former Wayne County Health Director Abdul El-Sayed, a Democrat now running for US Senate in Michigan, speaks at a “Hands Off” protest at the state Capitol in Lansing, Michigan, on April 5, 2025. Photo: Andrew Roth/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
Americans are bracing for a politically charged summer as momentum builds for radical Democrats in key races across the country.
In what is emerging as a clarifying moment for just how far the Democratic Party is willing to swing, current polls depict a competitive race among the three candidates running for US Senate in Michigan’s August Democratic primary.
Some of the latest numbers show Abdul El-Sayed, the Bernie Sanders-endorsed physician, holding a slight lead over the other two Democratic challengers, Michigan State Senator Mallory McMorrow and Congresswoman Haley Stevens.
In a page pulled out of New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s playbook, El-Sayed, who blamed Israel for the attempted terrorist attack in March that targeted preschoolers at Temple Israel in Detroit, often cloaks his radicalism in rhetoric that focuses on affordability and universal healthcare.
He displays open contempt for Israel, and has called the Jewish State “just as evil” as the genocidal terrorist group Hamas.
El-Sayed campaigns with people who justified the 9/11 attacks, and refused to take a position on the death of former Supreme Leader Khamenei for fear of offending the Islamist sensibilities of Michigan’s Dearborn residents.
For many Jewish Americans, the ascendance of El-Sayed, Mamdani, and Graham Platner, the Democratic Senate Candidate from Maine who has praised Hamas’ military tactics (and had an SS symbol tattooed on his body), reflects a new moment — a shifting of the Overton window that not only propels dangerous candidates to prominence, but paves a paradigm in which politicians whose views would have been disqualifying just a decade ago are rebranded as moderates.
Campaigning as a suburban mom trying to capture the votes of centrists and peel off some left-wing voters from El-Sayed’s camp, the present political landscape is planting the 39-year-old Mallory McMorrow firmly in the center of the Democrats’ electoral path in Michigan, with El-Sayed to her left, and the Congresswoman Haley Stevens, who has pro-Israel views, to her right.
Yet when it comes to the state senator’s platform regarding Israel, McMorrow engages with many of the same anti-Zionist ideas espoused by her challenger, El-Sayed.
She traffics in similar language falsely accusing Israel of committing genocide in Gaza with a deft talent for fashioning her far-left views in a palatable package: a Christian wife and relatable mother, whose husband also happens to be Jewish.
McMorrow satisfies the Democrats’ defined virtuous, big-tent philosophy with competing statements insisting that she would not meet with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu but also believes that Democrats’ affinity for Hasan Piker is a step too far into the realm of radicalism.
Should McMorrow be elected to the US Senate, would she vote any differently than El-Sayed when it comes to supporting the US-Israel alliance and providing Israel with the critical weapons it needs for its self-defense? It seems highly unlikely.
Much of the public discourse surrounds the surge of left-wing Democrats such as El-Sayed, Platner, and Mamdani, but the larger story to consider lies with politicians like McMorrow, who are using the atmospheric conditions to claim the mantle of moderation, but adopting the exact far-left positions of the candidates who hate Israel, and spread libels about Israel committing “genocide” and practicing “apartheid.”
If McMorrow is victorious in Michigan’s Democratic primary, her win would certainly be used by the Democratic establishment and its media allies to uphold a false narrative that the election was a defeat for the far left.
Yet there is perhaps no better example that illustrates just how successful leftists have been in dragging the center down than last month’s vote in the United States Senate, when nearly 80 percent of Democrats voted in favor of two anti-Israel measures introduced by Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders (I-VT) that, if passed, would have blocked approximately $450 million in weapons transfers to Israel.
The retreat from previously held pro-Israel leanings is reverberating beyond Congress, as “moderates” like Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro (D) and Rahm Emanuel showcase their willingness to create daylight between the US and Israel.
For its part, AIPAC has been historically quick to praise and bolster the candidacies of politicians like New Jersey Senator Cory Booker, only to have the lawmaker court his state’s growing Muslim and Arab constituencies by announcing that he will no longer accept money from AIPAC. Senator Booker also backed both Senate resolutions halting military aid to Israel.
If there are legitimate debates about AIPAC’s policies to be had, Democrats aren’t engaging in it. They’re instead using AIPAC as a bogeyman to jump on the “Israel is evil bandwagon,” and perpetuate the libel that Jews control American politics with money.
Progressive populists and Muslim Socialists may differ in their ideological appeal, but both brands of candidates use their gaining leverage as a vehicle to inject their morally blind politics into the American ecosystem and generate a new standard of what constitutes a moderate in today’s Democratic Party.
There’s very little that separates El-Sayed and McMorrow’s foreign policy vision, just as there would be scant differences in how a Shapiro or a Kamala Harris White House would approach America’s relationship with Israel.
When it comes to supporting Israel’s right to exist and defend itself, the party appears nearly united in intensifying its hostility and moving the Democratic coalition onward — and firmly against Israel.
Irit Tratt is a writer residing in New York. Follow her on X @Irit_Tratt.
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Abraham Foxman, Former ADL Head and Advocate for American Jews, Dies at 86
Abraham Foxman, a Holocaust survivor and member of the US Holocaust Memorial Council, speaks at the US Holocaust Memorial Museum’s Annual Days of Remembrance Commemoration in the Emancipation Hall of the US Capitol on April 23, 2025. Photo: Mattie Neretin/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
Abraham H. Foxman, who was the national director of the Anti-Defamation League for nearly three decades, has died at the age of 86, the ADL announced in a statement on Sunday.
The organization said it “deeply mourns the loss of our longtime national director,” but did not provide details about where, when, and how Foxman died. He is survived by his wife Golda, children Michelle and Ariel, son-in-law Brandon Cardet-Hernandez, and grandchildren, Cielo, Leila, Gideon, and Amirit.
Foxman retired in 2015 after spending his entire 50-year career with the ADL. He was “one of the world’s foremost voices against antisemitism and hate,” as well as an “outspoken, passionate, and tireless advocate for the Jewish people and Israel,” according to the advocacy organization.
Foxman graduated from City College of New York and NYU School of Law. He joined the ADL immediately after graduating from law school and served in various roles in the organization, including assistant director of legal affairs, before being becoming its national director in 1987. When Foxman announced his retirement from the ADL, then-US President Barack Obama said the long-time civil rights activist was “irreplaceable.”
Jonathan Greenblatt, the current CEO of the ADL, described Foxman as “an iconic Jewish leader who embraced the ideal of an America free from antisemitism and hate and who strongly believed that these scourges could be defeated if good people opposed it.”
“America and the Jewish people have lost a moral voice, a passionate advocate for the Jewish people and the state of Israel, and a remarkable leader,” Greenblatt said in a released statement. “In his storied career, Abe transformed ADL while confronting antisemitism and hate (from both left and right), opposing the global rise in antisemitism, holding world leaders accountable and working to ensure that Israel was Jewish, secure and democratic. Abe’s voice was heard – and listened to – by popes, presidents, and prime ministers, a voice he used wherever Jews were at risk. Abe Foxman spoke on the global stage with moral authority and clarity and was relentlessly dedicated to his pursuit of a world without hate.”
“Abe Foxman helped build the modern liberal era of America,” ADL Board Chair Nicole Munchnik added in a separate statement. “He was recognized across the globe as a great leader and passionate advocate for tolerance, a voice of the generation rebuilding in the shadow of the Shoah, and longtime advisor to American presidents and world leaders. To those of us who knew him, Abe was a warm friend, advisor, spirited antagonist and hugger – all over lunch.”
The American Jewish Committee praised Foxman as a “towering figure in the fight against antisemitism and hatred” and someone who “brought moral clarity, courage, and unwavering conviction to generations of advocacy and leadership.” The AJC said his advocacy “helped shape the American Jewish experience and strengthened the global fight against bigotry in all its forms.”
Born in 1940 to Polish Jews in what is now Belarus, Foxman survived the Holocaust under the care of his Polish Catholic nanny Bronislawa Kurpi, who baptized him and raised him as a Catholic to hide his Jewish identity. He lost 14 family members in the Holocaust but was reunited with his parents after the war. Together they immigrated to the United States, where Foxman attended the Yeshiva of Flatbush as a teenager. He later served as vice chairman of the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York City and was a member of the United States Holocaust Memorial Council, to which he was appointed by President Ronald Reagan in 1987 and reappointed by Presidents George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and Joe Biden.
The Auschwitz Jewish Center Foundation (AJCF) called Foxman “one of the most consequential Jewish leaders of the postwar era” and a Holocaust survivor who “devoted his life to confronting antisemitism and defending the Jewish people.”
“Abe Foxman belonged to a generation that carried the weight of history personally and transformed it into public service,” said AJCF Chairman Simon Bergson in a statement. “He dedicated his life to ensuring that the lessons of the Holocaust were applied to the defense of democratic values, human dignity, and the Jewish people. His legacy will endure for generations.”
Following the news of Foxman’s death, Israeli President Isaac Herzog praised him as a “legendary leader of the Jewish people, a champion of justice and equality, and a longtime, dear friend of mine.”
“Coming into a world at war, the Holocaust shaped Abe’s character and defined his mission: Combating antisemitism and hypocrisy, calling out racism and bias, speaking up for the Jewish people and the Jewish democratic Israel,” Herzog shared in a post on X. “His story, of rising from the ashes, is our story, the story of our people.”
Israel’s president also described Foxman as “a prominent, distinguished force in the American Jewish community, and a bridge between Israel and the Diaspora” as well as a “passionate Zionist, a humanist, and an outspoken, wise friend.”
“The affection and the respect we had for one another enabled us to openly discuss every challenge and every obstacle,” added Herzog. “I am so grateful for the profound conversations we shared over the years, and for the brave leadership he exemplified. I will miss Abe’s counsel and voice, and I know that his legacy and his message will live on.”
Foxman was a board member of the Met Council on Jewish Poverty, America’s largest organization combating Jewish poverty. Its CEO and Executive Director David G. Greenfield said he was “heartbroken” by the passing of his “dear friend and mentor.”
“At Met Council, we were privileged to have Abe as a board member, adviser, and friend,” Greenfield explained. “He brought wisdom, compassion, and deep commitment to everything he did. Even near the end of his life, Abe continued showing up for the community. Just a few weeks ago, he joined us with his granddaughters at Met Council’s Passover Day of Service at the Spitzer Fulfillment Center, helping ensure that New Yorkers in need could celebrate Pesach with dignity.”
“Public leaders do not always match their public reputations in private,” Greenfield added. “Abe was the rare person whose private kindness, humility, and generosity were even greater than his public stature. All who knew him loved him … His voice, his courage, his friendship, and his leadership will be deeply missed.”
Foxman also served as vice chairman of the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York City.