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A new photo book celebrates the very Jewish cafeteria culture of a vanished New York
(New York Jewish Week) – Back in 1975, Marcia Bricker Halperin had just graduated from Brooklyn College with the dream of becoming a professional photographer when she stepped into the Flatbush outpost of Dubrow’s, a cafeteria-style restaurant, for a warm cup of coffee.
It was there that inspiration hit. “I was wonderstruck,” Halperin writes in the introduction to her new book of photographs, “Kibbitz & Nosh: When We All Met at Dubrow’s Cafeteria,” describing the “cavernous” space with mirrored walls and a mosaic fountain. “It was the most idiosyncratic room I had ever seen.”
“I sensed it was a vanishing world on its last legs, and that impelled me to document it,” she continues. “On many visits, the tables were empty, sans a painterly still life of condiment bottles and jars in the morning light. I also perceived cafeterias as places that embodied a secular Jewish culture, something that was of great interest to me.”
“I attended a lecture by Isaac Bashevis Singer, who was billed as an “Outstanding Anglo -Yiddish” author, at the Brooklyn Jewish Center on Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights,” Bricker Halperin writes in the introduction. “I adored his short stories, many of which were set in cafeterias, and I regret never finding the nerve that day to tell him about my own cafeterianiks.” (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
Halperin was prescient: She started photographing these once-ubiquitous eateries one decade before the final Dubrow’s location in the Garment District would close in 1985. The chain’s first location was founded in 1929 on the Lower East Side by Benjamin Dubrow, a Jewish immigrant from Minsk. By the mid-twentieth century, the family-owned company expanded throughout Brooklyn, Manhattan and Miami Beach, with ownership passing to the second generation, and then to the third. In Dubrow’s prime, a stop at one of the cafeterias was practically required for politicians such as John F. Kennedy and Jimmy Carter.
Nearly 50 years after her first visit, Halperin’s new book is a tribute to this now-defunct New York City cafeteria culture and the characters she met during the five years she regularly photographed there. The compelling 152-page book features her original black-and-white photos along with essays from Pulitzer Prize–winning playwright Donald Margulies and Jewish American historian Deborah Dash Moore.
“Although Jews were not the only ones to patronize cafeterias, they preferred them as inexpensive places to hang out to bars, which often attracted an Irish immigrant or working-class clientele,” Moore writes in her essay, titled “See You at Dubrow’s.” “By the 1930s, cafeterias were part of the fabric of Jewish neighborhood life in New York City, a welcome alternative for socializing to cramped apartments, street corners, or candy stores.”
Now living in Park Slope and retired from a career as a special education teacher, Halperin talked with the New York Jewish Week about the city’s lost cafeteria culture and what inspired her to capture it with her camera.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
New York Jewish Week: You took these photos nearly 50 years ago. What made you decide to publish them now?
Marcia Bricker Halperin: In the 1970s, there was such good feedback on the work. I was given a show, I was collected by a few people, I had a photo in The New York Times. People wrote me letters in the mail: “Ms. Bricker, I’m interested in buying one of your photos.” At the time, I was in a project called the CETA artists project, a federally funded arts project in the ’70s where I was paid to be a photographer. It was very much like the [Depression-era] WPA project, but one of the great differences with the CETA project was anything you shot, you owned.
So I continued photographing changing New York during those years — some of it by assignment for nonprofit organizations that I worked with, like the Jewish Museum and an organization in Brighton Beach that was resettling the Soviet Jews that were arriving in the ’70s. They wanted photographs to help both the Soviet Jews understand American life and the old Jewish population in Brighton Beach understand Russian life. What a great opportunity!
I was going to be an artist and I did adjunct teaching and different things to make it work. I kind of fell into teaching high school photography and then, from there, I fell into teaching special education — that took over. Thirty-five years later, I retired from teaching. The day after I retired, I took out my negatives and my photography stuff and bought a scanner and all kinds of printers and things.
So, I was a photographer once upon a time and then taught for many years and, overnight, I became one once again.
A man reads the Forvertz newspaper in Yiddish. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
How did it feel to see these photos again? Had you developed any of them before?
Yes, I printed quite a few of them then. I worked as a darkroom lab technician, so I had an opportunity in the ’70s to do a lot of silver gelatin prints. I would bring in a thick envelope of the imperfect prints to the cafeteria and at that point, everybody knew me. I gave out portraits to people. If I hadn’t shot them, they would gather around me asking: “Do you have my picture? Did you print it?” Especially the staff — there was a very international cohort of people working there and they all wanted pictures to send home to their families.
After that, the pictures lay fallow for all these years. I protected them and stored them very carefully. When I had the opportunity to come back and put together a sample book, I started looking through the negatives and I said, “Oh, my God, I don’t remember that picture.” It was a time warp to see some of these photos taken in the 1970s. In Manhattan, the ’60s had happened, but Flatbush in Brooklyn was the “Old Country.” It hung onto the past for a while and some women dressed like they were still in the 1950s.
Dubrow’s Cafeteria, Kings’s Highway 1975. The photographer appears in the top left corner. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
Dubrow’s closed just ten years after you started shooting there. Could you feel at the time that cafeteria culture was ending?
I kept a journal at the time. When I went back 42 years later to look at it, I had written: “One day I’m going to show up here and this is going to be closed.”
There were other cafeterias in Manhattan and the Bronx and they had all closed. I’ve collected like every article ever written about cafeterias, and there’s one from 1973: “Are cafeterias going to be gone?” So it was fairly well known that this was a vanishing kind of establishment in New York. The automats ceased having the little boxes, Burger King bought them out, they tried to modernize and it got pretty sad. Sometimes during the day, the huge cafeteria would be empty and people would say, “This business can’t survive.” So I knew I was photographing in the vein of needing to document the things that are there and will be gone. It was one of the things that propelled me to get out there and photograph.
Today, things are different. There’s food courts and wonderful little coffee places. There are many businesses, especially here in Brooklyn, trying to perpetuate “grandmother foods” and there are restaurants that are serving “reinvented Jewish-style foods.” So there are some continuations, but in terms of the huge, opulent cafeteria spaces — grand professional murals, intricate woodworking, food with a crazy amount of preparation, 300 items, 30 different cakes — no restaurant could possibly survive like that. The only thing that still exists are my photos of them.
Men and women converse around empty tables at Dubrow’s on Kings Highway. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
What was the Jewish culture of Dubrow’s and Flatbush like at the time?
Growing up, we went to a little old “Conservadox” synagogue. We were the kind of family where my mother kept a kosher kitchen at home, but on Sunday nights we’d go out to the Chinese restaurant. Dubrow’s menu was “Jewish-style” but it was also a place you could go out and have your first shrimp salad sandwich, which became their most popular food. They were famous for shrimp salad!
These cafeterias were all started by Jewish immigrants. But they were democratic for everyone — there was ham on the menu, shrimp. You could choose whether to have just meat or have a meat meal and then have a cream pie for dessert. That was your choice. With cafeteria-style, like religion, you pick and choose what you want and what you want to observe.
When I would go there, all the older people would ask: “Are you Jewish? You don’t look Jewish.” I’d say,“I’m Jewish. I know a few words of Yiddish, my parents speak Yiddish at home.” They would be satisfied with that. There was this sense that it was a club a little bit, it was a Jewish establishment. Not that everybody wasn’t welcome, and everybody socialized with everyone else.
Socializing was a big thing there, not necessarily eating. Many of my pictures are people sitting around — sometimes it’s a coffee cup on the table, most of the time the table is empty. They were there to meet their friends and talk. Some people said it replaced the synagogues. The old men would go to Dubrow’s and have a cup of coffee with their friends in the morning and gossip and talk.
“Kibbitz & Nosh: When We All Met at Dubrow’s Cafeteria” will be published on May 15, 2023. The photos are on exhibit at the Edward Hopper House in Nyack, New York through June 25.
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The post A new photo book celebrates the very Jewish cafeteria culture of a vanished New York appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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‘The most Australian name’: Matilda, the youngest victim of the Bondi Beach attack, embodies a nation’s grief
(JTA) — The youngest victim of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah massacre is known by just one name — but it’s all that’s needed to make her a symbol for her fellow Australians.
“I named her Matilda because she was our firstborn in Australia. And I thought that Matilda was the most Australian name that could ever exist,” her father Michael, a Jewish immigrant from Ukraine, said at a vigil earlier in the week. “So just remember – remember her name.”
The poem and song “Waltzing Matilda,” written in 1895, is considered an unofficial anthem in Australia, which has been rocked by the terror attack on Bondi Beach that killed 15 people attending a Hanukkah celebration.
At a vigil on Thursday night at Bondi Pavilion — a public space now transformed into a memorial flooded with flowers and displays of solidarity — hundreds of mourners gathered and sang the song to memorialize Matilda, who at 10 was the youngest among the dead.
Matilda had been filmed shortly before the attack admiring as her father put on tefillin, the phylacteries used in prayer that emissaries of Chabad, the group that organized the Hanukkah celebration, routinely help Jewish men put on to fulfill a religious commandment. She was shot while standing with her mother Valentyna and 6-year-old sister.
Seeking to protect their privacy, the family has asked that their last name not be published in the media. Instead, Matilda has become associated her middle name, Bee.
At the somber memorial, all of the attendees were given stickers with Matilda’s name alongside a smiling bumblebee clutching a menorah, a symbol that has become a quiet emblem of remembrance in the days since her death.
At her funeral on Thursday, held at the Chevra Kadisha Memorial Hall, mourners clutched bee balloons and placed bee posters on the exterior of their cars.
A giant plush bumblebee was placed on Matilda’s small white casket at the funeral, one similar to the many that now adorn the Bondi Pavilion flower memorial alongside illustrations of bumblebees.
On social media, parents and schools around the world have posted children’s illustrations and photos of bees at the request of Matilda’s parents, a tribute that has spread widely as a way of remembering her. On Facebook, Matilda’s father, Michael, has reposted many of the online memorials.
Build a Bear Workshop Australia also announced the production of a limited-edition plush bee in memory of Matilda, with all proceeds going to her family. A GoFundMe page set up by her language teacher has also drawn over $550,000 in donations.
“She loved the outdoors, animals, she went to school, she had friends, everybody loved her,” Rabbi Yehoram Ulman, whose son-in-law, Rabbi Eli Schlanger, was also killed in the attack, said during his eulogy for Matilda. “The tragic, so totally cruel, an unfathomable murder of young Matilda is something that’s painful to all of us as if our own daughter was taken from us.”
Valentyna said at the vigil that until Sunday, she had been happy that her family had moved from Ukraine, which has been at war with Russia since Russia invaded in 2022.
“I came from Ukraine. I brought from Ukraine my oldest son, with him, and I was so happy that he’s not there right now. He’s not fighting for his land, and he’s safe here,” she said as she broke down in sobs. “I couldn’t imagine I would lose my daughter here.”
Chris Minns, the premier of New South Wales, the Australian state that includes Sydney, quoted from “Waltzing Matilda” at Matilda’s funeral.
“She bore the name Matilda to honor this great land, Australia’s heart and spirit forever hand in hand,” said Minns, who wore the bumblebee sticker on his lapel, according to ABC. “Her spirit like a swagman’s will never fade away. She’s waltzing with the angels, where love will always stay.”
The post ‘The most Australian name’: Matilda, the youngest victim of the Bondi Beach attack, embodies a nation’s grief appeared first on The Forward.
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A Wider Bridge, a pro-Israel advocate in LGBTQ spaces, is shutting down
(JTA) — A Wider Bridge, a pro-Israel LGBTQ organization that became a flashpoint in debates over Israel, antisemitism and “pinkwashing” inside the American queer community, announced Friday that it will shut down at the end of the year.
The San Francisco–based nonprofit said it will wind down operations as of Dec. 31, 2025, citing financial strain, according to a statement from board chair Daniel Hernandez that was shared with supporters Friday.
“After 15 years, A Wider Bridge has made the difficult decision to wind down our operations,” Hernandez wrote. “The organization has been weathering difficult financial realities despite efforts to secure sustainable funding.”
The group’s closure also follows a period of internal turmoil. In late 2024, its executive director, Ethan Felson, was charged with sexual misconduct; he pleaded not guilty, and the organization installed interim leadership. Asked whether the case played any role in the decision to shut down, the group responded that the closure was driven by financial realities.
Founded in 2010 by activist Arthur Slepian, A Wider Bridge set out to connect LGBTQ communities in North America with their counterparts in Israel, promoting Israel’s record on LGBTQ rights while pushing back against antisemitism and anti-Zionist exclusion in queer spaces. The group organized trips to Israel, partnered with Israeli LGBTQ organizations, and launched initiatives such as PrideSafe and Queers Against Antisemitism.
Over time, however, A Wider Bridge became one of the most polarizing Jewish organizations in progressive LGBTQ circles, frequently clashing with activists who viewed any pro-Israel presence at Pride as political propaganda.
Critics accused the group of “pinkwashing” — using Israel’s comparatively strong legal protections for LGBTQ people to deflect attention from Israel’s treatment of Palestinians. A Wider Bridge rejected the charge, arguing that LGBTQ rights in Israel were substantive and that efforts to bar Zionist organizations from queer spaces amounted to discrimination against Jews.
Those tensions burst into public view in 2016 at the National LGBTQ Task Force’s Creating Change conference in Chicago, when an event involving A Wider Bridge and an Israeli LGBTQ organization was canceled after activist pressure, reinstated and ultimately disrupted by protesters.
The following year, the group drew national attention after Jewish marchers carrying rainbow flags with Stars of David were asked to leave the Chicago Dyke March. Organizers said the march was anti-Zionist and that the flags made some participants feel unsafe. A Wider Bridge and its allies countered that Jewish identity was being treated as inherently political, and therefore unwelcome, in queer spaces.
The dispute became a template for similar conflicts at Pride events in other cities, as debates over Zionism, antisemitism and Palestinian solidarity intensified inside progressive movements.
In recent years, A Wider Bridge increasingly framed its mission around combating antisemitism within LGBTQ communities, particularly after Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel and the ensuing war in Gaza deepened fractures within left-leaning coalitions. It came to the aid of Aguda, Israel’s leading LGBTQ advocacy group, after it was dropped as a member of the International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual Trans and Intersex Association during the war.
The group spent more than it brought in in 2023, according to its federal tax filing from that year. Last year, the group’s budget was more balanced, but it also raised less from supporters, bringing in just $1.1 million, compared to more than $1.6 million in each of the previous two years.
In an email to supporters, A Wider Bridge emphasized what it described as its legacy, pointing to advocacy for LGBTQ rights in Israel, support for Israeli LGBTQ organizations, and efforts to push back against antisemitism and anti-Zionism in queer spaces.
“Though we are winding down, this is not a time to back down,” Hernandez wrote, adding that board members and supporters would continue the work in their individual capacities.
The post A Wider Bridge, a pro-Israel advocate in LGBTQ spaces, is shutting down appeared first on The Forward.
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Why aren’t we hearing about the dramatic growth of the Israeli stock market?
דאָס איז אַן איבערזעצונג פֿונעם ענגלישן אַרטיקל, וואָס איר קענט לייענען דאָ
דעם פֿאַרגאַנגענעם שבת האָב איך געלייענט וועגן דעם אויסערגעוויינטלעכן וווּקס פֿון דער ישׂראלדיקער בערזע זינט דעם 7טן אָקטאָבער — היפּש בעסער ווי דער אויפֿשטײַג פֿון דער אַמעריקאַנער בערזע.
די 35 ישׂראלדיקע אַקציעס מיטן גרעסטן ווערט זענען זינט דעם 7טן אָקטאָבער געוואַקסן מיט נישט ווייניקער ווי 90 פּראָצענט. במשך פֿון דער זעלבער צײַט איז די אַמעריקאַנער בערזע געשטיגן מיט 60 פּראָצענט.
ס׳איז מיר געווען אַ חידוש פֿאַר וואָס איך האָב פֿריִער נישט געהערט וועגן דעם. דערנאָך האָב איך געלייענט וואָס דער פֿאָרזיצער פֿון דער תּל־אָבֿיבֿער בערזע, יודזשין קאַנדעל, האָט געזאָגט בעת אַן אינטערוויו מיט דער אינוועסטאָרן־צײַטונג Investors Business Daily.
„ישׂראל איז באַפֿאַלן געוואָרן, און ווערט נאָך אַלץ באַפֿאַלן פֿון אידעאָלאָגן, וואָס פֿינאַנצירן ריזיקע קאַמפּאַניעס קעגן אונדז,“ האָט קאַנדעל געזאָגט. „אָבער אַפֿילו במשך פֿון די פֿאַרגאַנגענע צוויי יאָר, האָט זיך נישט אָפּגעשטעלט ישׂראלס צוזאַמענאַרבעט מיט אַזוי פֿיל אָרגאַניזאַציעס, פֿירמעס, רעגירונגען און אינוועסטאָרן, נישט געקוקט אויף די דראָונגען און פּראָטעסטן קעגן איר.“
פֿאַר וואָס הערן מיר נישט וועגן אָט די קאָלאַבאָראַציעס?
כ׳האָב גענומען זוכן מער אינפֿאָרמאַציע וועגן דעם אָבער פּלוצלינג האָב איך זיך דערוווּסט וועגן דעם שיסערײַ אויף דער חנוכּה־מסיבה אין באָנדי־ביטש, אויסטראַליע. מיט אַ מאָל איז בײַ מיר פֿאַרשוווּנדן געוואָרן די שבת־מנוחה, ווי אויך מײַן גריבלען זיך אין די פּרטים וועגן ישׂראלס עקאָנאָמישער צוזאַמענאַרבעט.
איך האָב שוין פֿריִער געקלערט וועגן דעם וואָס טעראָריסטן איבער דער וועלט ווייסן גענוי די דאַטעס פֿון אַלע ייִדישע יום־טובֿים. דאָס וואָס די לעצטע שחיטה איז דורכגעפֿירט געוואָרן חנוכּה איז נישט געווען קיין צופֿאַל, און ייִדן איבער דער וועלט ווייסן דאָס גוט.
מיר לעבן איצט איבער אַ לאַנגע קאַמפּאַניע צו ווירקן אויף ייִדן, זיי זאָלן מורא האָבן זיך אויסצולעבן ווי ייִדן. די אַטאַקן אויף ייִדישע יום־טובֿים זענען אַ מיטל אָפּצומעקן ייִדישע פֿרייד, אָפּצומוטיקן ייִדן פֿון היטן ייִדישע טראַדיציעס און אינעם פֿאַל פֿון חנוכּה — אָפּצוּווישן די ייִדישע געשיכטע.
און אפֿשר איז דאָס אויך אַ קאַמפּאַניע צו מינימיזירן די אויפֿטוען פֿון דער ייִדישער מדינה.
עטלעכע פּאָליטיקער האָבן דאָס שוין באַמערקט
עטלעכע פּאָליטיקער האָבן שוין אָנגעהויבן זיך פֿאַרנעמען מיט דעם ענין. ברײַען מאַסט, אַ רעפּרעזענטאַנט אינעם אַמעריקאַנער קאָנגרעס, דער פֿאָרזיצער פֿונעם קאָמיטעט פֿון אויסלענדישע ענינים בײַם רעפּרעזענטאַנטן־הויז און אַ פֿלאָרידער רעפּובליקאַנער, האָט געזאָגט אַז ער זעט „אַ ספּעציפֿישע נעץ פֿון גרופּעס, וואָס קאָלאַבאָרירן צו פֿאַרזייען אַנטיסעמיטיזם איבער דער מעדיאַ, סײַ בײַם לינקן לאַגער סײַ בײַם רעכטן, כּדי צו שטערן די באַציִונגען.“
מיט „באַציִונגען“ מיינט ער די צוזאַמענאַרבעט צווישן די פֿאַראייניקטע שטאַטן און ישׂראל.
רעדנדיק אויף אַ קאָנפֿערענץ וועגן אַנטיסעמיטיזם געשטיצט פֿונעם „האָדסאָן־אינסטיטוט“, האָט מאַסט באַצייכנט די נעץ ווי „זייער אַן ערנסטע גלאָבאַלע סכּנה, וואָס פֿאַרשפּרייט זיך איבער פֿיל־לענדיקע אָרגאַניזאַציעס, דער גלאָבאַלער מעדיאַ, אונדזערע קעגנערס און טעראָריסטישע אָרגאַניזאַציעס.“
ווען ער האָט דערמאָנט דאָס וואָרט „מעדיאַ“, האָב איך גלײַך געטראַכט וועגן דעם וואָס כּמעט קיינער האָט נישט געשריבן וועגן דעם אוגעריכטן וווּקס פֿון דער ישׂראלדיקער בערזע און דעם כּוח פֿון די ישׂראלדיקע אַקציעס.
אַ שטיין אַראָפּ פֿון האַרצן
ס׳קלינגט אפֿשר מאָדנע אָבער לייענענדיק מאַסטס באַמערקונגען איז מיר אַראָפּ אַ שטיין פֿון האַרצן. איך האָב אָפּגעאָטעמט, הערנדיק ווי עמעצער באַשטעטיקט אָט דעם פֿענאָמען, כאָטש איך בין נישט זיכער אַז דאָס וואָרט „נעץ“ איז נישט אַקוראַט.
די וואָך בין איך בײַגעווען אויף אַן אומסעקטאַנטישער מסיבה לכּבֿוד די סוף־יאָריקע פֿײַערונגען, און קיינער האָט גאָרנישט דערמאָנט וועגן דעם שיסערײַ אין אויסטראַליע. ס׳איז מיר געווען אַ חידוש. צי וואָלט דער שמועס אויף דער מסיבה געווען אַנדערש, ווען מע וואָלט באַשאָסן אַ גרופּע מענטשן וואָס צינדן אָן אַ קאָמונאַלן ניטלבוים? וואָס וואָלט געווען דער שמועס אויב דער ציל פֿון די טעראָריסטן וואָלט געווען אַן אַנדער גרופּע, נישט די ייִדן?
ס׳איז שווער צו גלייבן אַז יעדער וואָלט געשוויגן; אַז קיינער וואָלט עס נישט אָנערקענט; אַז אין אַ צימער געפּאַקט מיט מענטשן וואָס אַרבעטן טאָג־טעגלעך מיט ווערטער זאָל קיינער נישט אַרויסרעדן קיין וואָרט וועגן דעם.
די דראָונג איז נישט בלויז די דראָונג וואָס דער רעפּרעזענטאַנט מאַסט האָט באַשריבן, אָדער די דראָונג וואָס קאַנדעל האָט באַשריבן. פּונקט אַזאַ סכּנה אויך דאָס שווײַגן — אַ שווײַגן וואָס איז אַזוי בולט אַז מע קען עס זען ווי אַ ליכטל אין דער פֿינצטער.
ווי אַזוי מע דאַרף רעאַגירן אויף דעם שווײַגן
איך ווייס אַליין נישט ווי מע דאַרף רעאַגירן אויף אַזאַ שווײַגעניש אָבער אפֿשר ווייסן קליגערע מענטשן פֿון מיר, וואָס מע דאַרף טאָן.
נעכטן שפּעט בײַ נאַכט האָב איך דערזען ווי עס פֿאָרט פֿאַרבײַ אויפֿן „ניו־יאָרק סטייט טרוּוויי“ (אַ באַקאַנטן ניו־יאָרקער שאָסיי) אַ לאַנגע ריי אויטאָס מיט חנוכּה־לעמפּ אויף די דעכער. די ריי אויטאָס האָט זיך געצויגן און געצויגן. דער שטילער באַטײַט איז געווען: „האָט נישט קיין מורא.“ בײַ מיר איז דאָס קלאָר געווען אַן אָפּרוף אויף „באָנדי־ביטש“.
איך האָף אַז מע צינדט איצט מער חנוכּה־לעמפּ, נישט ווייניקער, ווי פֿריִער. איך האָף אויך אַז מיר קענען אין דער ליכטיקייט אַנטפּלעקן די כּלערליי שיכטן פֿון אמת. אַ מאָל קענען אָט די שיכטן רעפּרעזענטירן סײַ אַ געזונטע דאָזע רעאַליטעט, סײַ אַן אַנטימיטל קעגן ייִאוש.
יאָ, אַ טאַטע און אַ זון זענען באַפֿאַלן די ייִדן אין אַ ייִדישן יום־טובֿ. ס׳איז אָבער אויך וויכטיק און אמת, אַז אַ נישט־באַוואָפֿנטער מוסולמענישער טאַטע און פֿרוכט־פֿאַרקויפֿער מיטן נאָמען אַכמעד אַל אַכמעד האָט געשפּרונגען אויף איינעם פֿון די טעראָריסטן און אַ דאַנק דעם אָן שום ספֿק געראַטעוועט דאָס לעבן פֿון אַ סך מענטשן.
דער ווידעאָ פֿון זײַן העלדישן אַקט דאַרף יעדער איינער זען. עס דערמאָנט אונדז אַז אפֿשר איז אויך דאָ אַן אַנדער „נעץ“ פֿון מענטשן וואָס שטעלן זיך אַנטקעגן אַזאַ שׂינאה. אַכמעד אַל אַכמעד האָט אונדז באַוויזן דעם כּוח פֿון אַ יחיד, און דעם כּוח פֿון איין שיכט פֿונעם אמת.
וואָס שייך דעם שווײַגן וועגן די ישׂראלדיקע פֿירמעס וואָס האָבן מצליח געווען, נישט געקוקט אויף דער מלחמה און די בויקאָטן; וואָס האָבן געהאָלפֿן פֿאַרהעכערן דעם אינדעקס מיט 90 פּראָצענט זינט דעם ערגסטן טאָג אין דער געשיכטע פֿון מדינת־ישׂראל; וואָס האָבן נישט אויפֿגעהערט זייער מיטאַרבעט מיט שותּפֿים איבער דער וועלט, נישט געקוקט אויף דער קאַמפּאַניע זי אויסצושליסן — אַפֿילו אין דער פֿינצטערניש, אַפֿילו דורכן שווײַגעניש, זײַ וויסן, ישׂראל: מיר זעען דיך.
אַבֿיה קושנער איז די שפּראַך־קאָלומניסטקע פֿונעם „פֿאָרוואַרד“
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