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A new mural in Nolita celebrates a Holocaust rescuer
(New York Jewish Week) — In the heavily trafficked neighborhood of Nolita, a larger-than-life mural has popped up on the corner of Spring St. and Elizabeth St. Bright orange and pink paint spell out the words “Saved 3,000 Jewish Lives” next to a black and white portrait of Holocaust rescuer Tibor Baranski.
The mural, an art piece designed to combat hate and spark conversation, is the brainchild of “Artists 4 Israel,” a non-profit organization that aims to “prevent the spread of antisemitic and anti-Israel bigotry by helping to heal communities that have been affected by hate through art,” according to its CEO and co-founder Craig Dershowitz.
“Our rallying cry is art over hate,” Dershowitz said. Baranski’s portrait, painted by Fernando “SKI” Romero, a renowned graffiti artist based in Queens, is part of the organization’s “Righteous Among the Nations Global Mural Project.” It aims to establish a network of murals painted in cities around the world that feature other “Righteous Among the Nations” members who helped save Jews during the Holocaust.
“His story was beautiful and it really touched me,” Romero, who is Dominican, said of Baranski, who collaborated with Artists 4 Israel on deciding whom to feature in the New York mural. “The want to paint something came very easily with something so selfless.”
The Baranski mural in Nolita is the third installment of the mural project; eventually there will be 10 murals around the world, said Dershowitz. Each subject is given a mural in their home state or country where they aided Jews: In Portugal, a mural of Aristides de Sousa Mendes, a diplomat who helped arrange passports for Jews has become a popular tour bus stop. In Greece, a mural of Mayor Loukas Karrer and Archbishop Dimitrios Chrysostomos led to national media coverage.
Though Baranski was Hungarian, he lived in Buffalo, New York for nearly six decades and felt at home in New York, which is why the Artists 4 Israel chose him for the mural in Manhattan.
In 1944, Baranski was 22 and studying to become a Catholic priest in Slovakia when the Russian Army invaded and he was forced to return to Budapest, where he grew up.
He never returned to the seminary, and abandoned his dream of becoming a priest. Instead, he dedicated the next years of his life to orchestrating the escape of more than 3,000 Hungarian Jews from the Holocaust.
After arriving in Budapest, Baranski headed to the Vatican embassy residence of the Papal Nuncio Angelo Rotta, where a long line of people were requesting help. The Vatican embassies in Switzerland, Sweden, Spain and Portugal were some of the only places where Jews and other refugees were able to secure letters of protection and necessary documents to leave their countries.
Carol Romeo, who said her family survived the Holocaust, pauses to touch the mural of Holocaust rescuer Tibor Baranski created by Fernando “SKI” Romero, a Dominican-American artist born and raised in Queens. “I never knew he existed,” she said of Baranski. “And he lived here in New York. Everyone should know his story.” (CAM and Artists4Israel)
Pretending to be a priest, Baranski managed to arrange a meeting with Rotta, where he secured documents for a Jewish family he knew. As the story goes, Rotta soon recruited Baranski to help organize protection letters, baptismal certificates and immigration certificates for Jews trying to escape Hungary. He also helped coordinate food and housing for the escapees. Over the next two months, Baranski saved 3,000 Jewish lives, according to official records — though his sons have said he believes the number was closer to 15,000.
After the war, Baranski was imprisoned by the Soviet army for five years for his anti-communist beliefs. He became a freedom fighter during the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 before moving to Rome to start a refugee camp with his wife Katalin.
Eventually the couple moved to Canada and then settled in Buffalo, where they were active members of the community and raised their three children, Tibor Jr., Kati and Peter.
Baranski, who died in 2019, was recognized by Yad Vashem as a Righteous Among the Nations in 1979, and was appointed by President Jimmy Carter to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Council.
In an obituary in the New York Jewish Week, writer and close friend of Baranski’s Steve Lipman recalls an anecdote Baranski often repeated: “’Why do you, a Christian, help Jews?’ Uncle Tibor told me the Nazis asked him. ‘You are either silly or an idiot,’ he would answer. ‘It is because I am a Christian that I help the Jews.’”
For Dershowitz, who is based in Los Angeles, one of the goals of the murals — and his organization at large — is fighting antisemitism through education about Israel and the Holocaust. By making the art public and accessible, Dershowitz hopes people of all backgrounds will enjoy the art, and learn from it.
“These murals are very much for everyone to enjoy,” he said. “For the most part, they’re not geared towards the Jewish community as much as they’re geared towards a younger demographic, regardless of their religion or cultural heritage.”
Since its foundation in 2009, Artists 4 Israel’s principal mission has been to bring diverse groups of graffiti, street and mural artists to Israel to create projects that “benefit people in a direct, on-the-ground way,” such as painting murals in hospitals, bomb shelters and army bases. The organization has worked with more than 5,000 professional and amateur artists from 32 countries around the world, according to its website.
“When [the artists] come back [from Israel], they’re able to talk about the country and they’re able to speak about the Jewish people and be a window into the reality of Israel in the Middle East to their millions of followers,” Dershowitz explained.
In 2020, when COVID-19 arrived and international travel halted, the organization switched gears and started bringing their advocacy to cities around the world with the “Righteous Among the Nations” project.
For the artist Romero, the work has been especially gratifying. The 44 year-old artist has been involved with Artists 4 Israel since its inception and has visited Israel three times, painting murals for battered women’s shelters, community shelters and army bases.
“I’m creating art with purpose, which is beautiful. I’m also creating a dialogue. There’s a conversation,” Romero said. “This is one of those murals that touches home and it makes you really feel good. It is art that just separates itself from a lot of the noise out there.”
Painted over the course of two days, the mural will remain on the downtown corner for the next nine months.
At the unveiling party last month, which included a performance by singer Neshama Carlebach and blessings led by Rabbi Menachem Creditor, Baranski’s son Tibor Jr. retold his father’s story and emphasized the strong Catholic faith that guided him.
“Tibor Baranski was the merger of intellect and faith,” said his son, who drove from Buffalo for the event. “My father’s deeply held belief in God was uncompromising. It was the core driver in his saving thousands of innocent Jewish lives in 1944 in Nazi-occupied Hungary.”
“I will quote my father since his words captured the essence of our Catholic faith and what this mural that Fernando painted commemorating him represents: ‘Love each other, love each other sincerely. God is love. Love destroys hatred,’” he added.
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The post A new mural in Nolita celebrates a Holocaust rescuer appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Denied arrest power, Mamdani encourages New Yorkers to protest Netanyahu
After conceding that he cannot arrest Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu as a war criminal, Mayor Zohran Mamdani on Tuesday doubled down on assailing the Israeli leader and encouraged New Yorkers to protest his expected visit to the United Nations in September.
“I think one of the bedrocks of our city is protest,” Mamdani said at a press conference in City Hall Wednesday morning. “If anyone feels a level of frustration or opposition, protest is something that we will always respect. I leave it to New Yorkers themselves to make that decision.”
The mayor also faced renewed questions about why it took months to acknowledge that the pledge he made last year to arrest Netanyahu could not legally be carried out, and about his choice to post a formal mayoral address on his official social media accounts to announce the city’s legal conclusion that it has no authority to execute the International Criminal Court arrest warrant against Netanyahu.
“What brings me to my conclusions about Israel and Palestine is a belief in the universality of humanity,” Mamdani said.
Mamdani pointed to a roundtable with faith leaders on Staten Island on Tuesday where he met a young Gaza refugee who had lost an arm, and he recounted stories from Palestinian New Yorkers who shared that their families have been affected by the war.
“I view that as a very serious issue,” Mamdani said. “I think that it is incredibly important that we ensure that we have done all of our due diligence when conducting a review.”
The ICC, based in The Hague, issued arrest warrants in November 2024 for Netanyahu, former Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant and Hamas military commander Mohammed Deif. Hamas confirmed in January 2025 that Deif was killed during an airstrike.
The United States is not a member of the International Criminal Court and the Trump administration imposed sanctions on the ICC months after it issued the warrants.
In his video posted Tuesday night, Mamdani accused Netanyahu of orchestrating a “horrific genocide against the Palestinian people” in the Gaza Strip. He cited reported Palestinian death tolls, wounded children, the destruction of hospitals and clinics and the killing of aid workers and journalists. He did not mention the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attack on Israel, which sparked the war. He instead called on the federal government to join the ICC and execute the warrant.
Jewish organizations sharply condemned the mayor’s Tuesday remarks, accusing him of presenting a one-sided narrative of the war.
“Shame on you,” the UJA-Federation of New York said in a statement. “Your video is rife with distortions and disinformation. At a time of rising antisemitism, repeatedly singling out and vilifying the world’s only Jewish state for perceived political benefit is repugnant and puts Jews at greater risk.”
The Orthodox Union said the video “endangers Jewish New Yorkers” and “is a betrayal of his oath of office and his own commitment to protect all New Yorkers.”
Mamdani rejected the criticism.
“We cannot pick and choose which crimes against humanity we oppose,” he said. “We must be in opposition to all of them.” Asked whether he considers the Hamas massacre a genocide, he stopped short of using that term, instead calling the Oct. 7 attacks “a horrific war crime” that should be opposed “with every single fiber of our being.”
Mamdani used the moment to bring his long-held pro-Palestinian advocacy into City Hall, framing Netanyahu’s expected visit as both a moral and political issue. While acknowledging the city lacks legal authority to arrest the Israeli leader, Mamdani shifted the conversation toward the role of the federal government.
In a Truth Social post, President Donald Trump reassured Netanyahu that he “will not be arrested, in any way, shape, or form, while in the United States of America.”
Mamdani also encouraged New Yorkers to take it to the streets to protest Netanyahu during his visit. “That welcome ends with me,” he said. “I will not be welcoming Benjamin Netanyahu or any other war criminals when they come to this city.”
Mamdani’s remarks could resonate well beyond New York as rejection of Israel is increasingly part of national Democratic Party politics. By arguing that Washington should join the International Criminal Court and enforce its warrants, Mamdani is helping define the expectations that progressive activists may place on the 2028 presidential candidates as the party continues to debate its approach to Israel and Gaza.
Despite the backlash, Mamdani insisted his position would not affect how he governs for Jewish New Yorkers.
“I know that there are Jewish New Yorkers who agree with my analysis; there are those who disagree with my analysis,” Mamdani told the Forward. “ And my responsibility to them is to ensure that they are cherished, they are celebrated, and they are safe in their city.”
The post Denied arrest power, Mamdani encourages New Yorkers to protest Netanyahu appeared first on The Forward.
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Innovative Yiddish actor-director Raphael Goldwasser has died
פֿון שׂרה־רחל שעכטער
דער ייִדישער אַקטיאָר, רעזשיסאָר, פּאַנטאָמימיקער און לערער פֿון ייִדישן טעאַטער, רפֿאל גאָלדוואַסער, איז דינסטיק געשטאָרבן אין נאַרבאָן, פֿראַנקרײַך, צוליב קאָמפּליקאַציעס פֿון אַ האַרץ־פֿעלער. ער איז געווען 79 יאָר אַלט.
די לוויה וועט פֿאָרקומען פֿרײַטיק דעם 24סטן יולי, 15.00 אַ זייגער, אויפן ייִדישן חלק פון בית-עולם אין מערבֿ-נאַרבאָן.
גאָלדוואַסער האָט נישט סתּם אינסצענירט פּיעסעס, נאָר זיך באַמיט איבערצוצײַגן דעם צוקוקער זיך אַרײַנצוטראַכטן אינעם אינהאַלט. מע זעט דאָס קלאָר אין זײַן ייִדישער איבערזעצונג פֿון דני האָראָוויצעס העברעיִשער פּיעסע „פֿעטער אַרטור“ (2020ֶ), וואָס מע קען זען אויף יוטוב. דאָ רעדט זיך וועגן אַ דראַמאַטורג, פּיטער סטאָון — אַ לעבן געבליבענער פֿון חורבן — וואָס שרײַבט אַ פּיעסע ווי אַ נקמה זײַן פֿעטער אַרטור, וואָס פֿלעג זאָגן, זיצנדיק אין ניו־יאָרק: „ווי קענען מענטשן זיך לאָזן פֿירן אין קרעמעטאָריע ווי שאָף צו דער שחיטה?“ סטאָון באַמיט זיך שטאַרק צו געפֿינען אַ ישׂראלדיקן טעאַטער וואָס זאָל פּראָדוצירן די פּיעסע, אָבער קיין איין טעאַטער וויל זיך דאָס נישט אונטערנעמען. אין סטאָונס פֿרוסטרירונג קען מען דערפֿילן אויך גאָלדוואַסערס עגמת־נפֿש.
„רפֿי האָט ניט געקאָנט פֿאַרטראָגן מלחמה, ער האָט געמוזט אַנטרינען פֿון איר,“ האָט גלאַי געזאָגט. אַ פּנים דערפֿאַר האָט ער זיך טאַקע אַריבערגעצויגן פֿון ישׂראל קיין פֿראַנקרײַך. „דער מצבֿ אין ישׂראל, אַפֿילו פֿון דער ווײַטנס, האָט אים זיכער אָפּגעשוואַכט.“
אין 2013 האָט גאָלדוואַסער געמאַכט אַ טיפֿן אײַנדרוק שפּילנדיק די ראָלע פֿון לאָקי אין סעמיועל בעקעטס „וואַרטן אויף גאָדאָ“. דער ייִדישער קולטור־טוער דזשאָרדין קוציק זאָגט אַז גאָלדוואַסער האָט אַרײַנגעבראַכט אין דער פּראָדוקציע אַ „סטאַבילן פּסיכאָז“: „דער ריטעם פֿון זײַן מאָנאָלאָג בײַט זיך אין גאַנצן נישט און די עמאָציאָנעלע קוואַליטעט פֿון זײַן פּסעוודאָ־וויסנשאַפֿטלעכע פּלאַפּלערײַ בלײַבט אויך די זעלבע.“
שיין בייקער, דער אַקטיאָר און דירעקטאָר פֿונעם ייִדישן קולטור קאָנגרעס, האָט געזאָגט אַז נאָך גאָלדוואַסערס פּטירה האָט משה יאַסור, דער רעזשיסאָר פֿונעם ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקן „וואַרטן אויף גאָדאָ“, אים געזאָגט פֿאַר וואָס ער האָט אויסגעקליבן גאָלדוואַסערן פֿאַר דער ראָלע. „רפֿי איז געווען דער בעסטער אויסטײַטשער פֿון לאָקי ווײַך ער האָט ממש פֿאַרקערפּערט די ראָלע. זײַן פֿעיִקייט בײַם אויסדריקן זיך איז געווען פֿאַרוואָרצלט אין דער פֿיזישער קונסט פֿון מאַנטאָמימע — סובטיל אָבער בולט.“
קוציק האָט געזאָגט אַז גאָלדוואַסער האָט זיך אַנטקעגנגעשטעלט ווען עמעצער האָט, נאָכן זען די פּיעסע, באַמערקט אַז „לאָקי איז געווען אַ מין קאָמישע אָפּשפּאַנונג (comic relief בלע״ז) אין דער פּיעסע“: „מײַן ראָלע איז נישט געווען קיין קאָמישע אָפּשפּאַנונג, נאָר פֿאַרקערט: איך בין דווקא געווען די טראַגעדיע, און די אַנדערע פּערסאָנאַזשן האָבן געשילדערט די אַבסורדיסטישע קאָמעדיע,“ האָט גאָלדוואַסער געזאָגט.
רפֿאל גאָלדוואַסער איז געבוירן געוואָרן אין אַרגענטינע אין 1947. זײַן טאַטע איז געווען דער אָנגעזעענער אַקטיאָר זישע גאָלדוואַסער, אַ מיטגליד פֿונעם ייִדישן פֿאָלקס־טעאַטער אין בוענאָס־אײַרעס. די מאַמע, לאה (לאָלאַ אויף שפּאַניש), האָט געגעבן אירע דרײַ זין עכטע ייִדישע נעמען — ראובֿן, דניאל און רפֿאל, האָט געזאָגט רפֿאלס עלטערער ברודער דניאל גלאַי — דער פֿאָרזיצער פֿון „בית לייוויק“ אין תּל־אָבֿיבֿ. „די מאַמע איז געווען באַצויבערט פֿון איר מאַנס טאַלאַנט, און איך געדענק נישט אַז מײַנע עלטערן האָבן זיך אַ מאָל געקריגט צווישן זיך.“
ווען רפֿי איז געווען פֿינף יאָר אַלט האָט מען אים שוין געזען אויף דער בינע אין בוענאָס־אײַרעס — אין שלום־עליכמס איינאַקטער, „אַגענטן“. ווען די אַקטיאָרן האָבן געזען ווי שטאַרק דאָס קינד וויל שפּילן טעאַטער האָט מען אים געגעבן אַן איין־שורהדיקע ראָלע: „טאַטע, כ׳וויל עסן!“ כּדי ער זאָל זיך פֿילן גלײַך מיט די אַנדערע אַקטיאָרן.
„כ’בין זיכער אַז שלום עליכם האָט הנאה געהאַט דערפֿון,“ האָט גלאַי געזאָגט.
נאָך דעם ווי די משפּחה האָט עולה געווען קיין ישׂראל האָט רפֿאל שטודירט טעאַטער און געשיכטע בײַם תּל־אָבֿיבֿער אוניווערסיטעט, און שפּעטער באַקומען אַ מאַגיסטער פֿון טעאַטער־געשיכטע בײַם פּאַריזער אוניווערסיטעט.
במשך פֿון זײַן קאַריערע האָט ער זיך קונה־שם געווען ווי אַ נאָוואַטאָרישער אַרטיסט, וואָס האָט צונויפֿגעפֿלאָכטן די טראַדיציעס פֿון ייִדישן טעאַטער, פֿראַנצייזישער פּאַנטאָמימע און דער נײַער אוידיאָ־וויזועלע מעדיאַ, האָט געזאָגט דער פֿאָרזיצער פֿונעם אַרגענטינער ייִוואָ, אַבֿרהם ליכטענבוים. ער האָט אויפֿגעטראָטן איבער דער וועלט, געשאַפֿן טעאַטראַלישע אונטערנעמונגען, אַנסאַמבלען, אינטערנאַציאָנאַלע פֿעסטיוואַלן און, דער עיקר, פֿאַרלייגט און אָנגעפֿירט מיטן „לופֿט־טעאַטער“ אין סטראַסבורג, פֿראַנקרײַך.
ער איז אויך געווען אַן אָנגעזעענער פּעדאַגאָג, געלערנט אין דער ייִדישער טעאַטער־אַקאַדעמיע און געפֿירט אינטערנאַציאָנאַלע סעמינאַרן איבער אייראָפּע. במשך פֿון די לעצטע יאָרן האָט ער, בשותּפֿות מיטן בוענאָס־אײַרעסער ייִוואָ, געהאַלטן בײַם אַנטוויקלען אַ „נײַע פּעדאַגאָגיע פֿאַרן ייִדישן טעאַטער“.
רפֿאל גאָלדוואַסער האָט פֿאַראָבֿלט זײַן ברודער, דניאל גלאַי; זײַן לעבנס־באַגלייטערין דזשוטיט בוכהאַלטער; זײַנע קינדער יאָרדאַן, מאַרין און מאַעל, און דרײַ אייניקלעך.
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What a West Bank visit taught me about the past and present tragedies of Tisha B’Av
As we chant Lamentations on the floor, in the dark, on Wednesday night for Tisha B’Av, we will open with the word “eikha” — “how.”
That same word became the refrain of a recent eight day visit I made to Israel and the West Bank.
I traveled to Jerusalem for a week of immersive learning with 150 rabbis and cantors at the Shalom Hartman Institute’s annual Rabbinic Torah Seminar. But my learning wasn’t restricted to the beit midrash. I spent time with cousins finishing combat service; friends working late into the night in the Knesset before its dissolution; people working to build shared society in Haifa; and families grieving the loss of loved ones. And at every turn, I found myself asking “eikha.”
“Eikha” is more than a question. It is the sound made when the distance between what should be and what is becomes almost impossible to bear. Naming that distance is at the heart of Tisha B’Av — and, for me, at the heart of thinking honestly about Israel today. How will Israel move from this moment of profound moral and political fracture toward the future our prophets imagined?
On a visit to the West Bank with Rabbis for Human Rights, I connected with Israelis from across the country who had come to be a protective presence for Palestinians in Jenata, near the settler outpost of Havat Eitam. The Palestinians there face violence and intimidation in an area formally under Palestinian civil authority. We heard from a man whose brother had recently been killed by settlers, and we learned that their imam was jailed just that morning to prevent Friday prayers from moving forward as planned.
Then we were told to leave. The corner of the village we were visiting was declared a 24-hour closed military zone.
Next we traveled to Umm al-Khair, a Palestinian herding community where the Hathaleen family buried their son Awdah almost a year ago, after he was shot and killed by an Israeli settler who still walks free. Since his death, settlers have built caravans encroaching into the village, with some only a few meters from homes. This encroachment has triggered the declaration of another “closed military zone,” cutting the family off from their own bathroom and animals. They must use a neighbor’s bathroom and can only feed their animals when a soldier comes to allow it.
I asked a soldier standing guard that day whether any of it troubled him.
“Doesn’t Oct. 7 trouble you?” he replied.
I don’t know what that soldier has seen, or what he has lost. But I know his response took two griefs and set them against each other, as though one atrocity could justify another. “Eikha”: How do we nurse our deepest wounds without allowing them to justify our wounding others? How do we stay safe and moral?
This past Shabbat was Shabbat Hazon — the “Sabbath of Vision” — so named for the opening word of the Haftara, which describes Isaiah’s vision of a devastated but ultimately redeemed Jerusalem. That reading, in our current context, must push us — and, God willing, Israel’s next political leaders — to articulate compelling responses to the questions bearing down on Israeli society and on Judaism itself. To ask how we came to a point of such dire trouble, and realize a vision for redemption from it.
I keep thinking about the way slain hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin would remind his fellow captives, citing Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl’s words, that if they could hold onto a “why,” they could endure any “how.”
Israel and the Jewish people have profound whys. We are meant to be, in the words of “Hatikvah,” “a free people in our own land.” And to be, in the words of the Torah, “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”
This Tisha B’Av, as we mourn the destruction that shattered Jewish sovereignty in the land of Israel 2,000 years ago, we must also reckon honestly with the forms of inhumanity that threaten its moral future and physical safety today.
We must understand that our freedom, our holiness and our humanity are bound up in that of the Hathaleen family, and the besieged villagers of Jenata. During my visit, an Israeli cousin of mine acknowledged that everything I had seen in the West Bank was real and terrible — and that he didn’t want Palestinians living so close to Israel, out of fear of an Oct. 7 attack from the West Bank. What I wish all of us could better understand: If Jewish freedom depends upon denying Palestinian freedom, then it is neither the freedom of “Hatikvah” nor the holiness the Torah demands. I also don’t think it will make us safe.
This is, I think, the particular question facing rabbis and Jewish communal leaders like me right now: how do we hold onto our right — our obligation — to name Israel’s failures honestly, as people bound to this place and this story, without having our words weaponized to delegitimize and demonize the entire project? My criticism of what I saw in Jenata and Umm al-Khair comes from love — the same love that makes looking away impossible. Learning how to hold both at once, unflinching criticism and unwavering commitment, may be the most urgent “eikha” of this particular moment.
After Tisha B’Av comes the Shivah d’Nehemta — the Seven Weeks of Consolation that carry us into Rosh Hashanah.
In those weeks, the questions of “eikha” don’t disappear. They deepen. These weeks lead us into Elul, a time of intense heshbon hanefesh — accounting of the soul. The pairing of consolation with accounting suggests that renewal comes not through answering our questions, but through finding the courage to keep asking them.
How do we protect ourselves without surrendering our humanity? How do we acknowledge our own suffering without turning it into permission to inflict suffering on others?
Those are Israel’s questions as they move toward their October elections. They are ours as well, as we navigate being Jews in this moment.
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