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After I stopped an attack on the subway, the victim and I bonded over Katz’s pastrami sandwiches
(New York Jewish Week) — You definitely don’t want to have what she was having at that moment.
It was December, on a Friday. I was in the tunnel that leads to the subway that runs beneath the American Museum of Natural History on West 81st St. Walking just ahead of me were two women, chatting with each other. I didn’t know them, but I watched as a man, disheveled and bearded, wearing a black knit cap with a sparkly “NYC” on it, came from the other direction. He veered a little too close to the taller of the two. Suddenly, he shifted and grabbed her from behind.
I often wondered what I would do in this situation. Standing only steps away, I no longer had to wonder. After a moment’s hesitation, I sprang into action, grabbing the man and pulling him off her. Then the woman, her friend and I hightailed it through the turnstiles. All in a New York minute.
The woman said she was OK, just worried her attacker would hurt other women. I called 911 but the operator could only speak in subway platforms, not quite grasping it occurred under the museum. How could a visitor be expected to explain the location? And why was there no attendant or police patrol in one of New York’s most visited neighborhoods? I happen to be getting a PhD in tourism studies at Purdue University, but it’s a no-brainer how bad that is for visitors and locals alike.
The 20th Precinct and Transit District 1 responding officers were polite but seemed focused on whether the attack was sexual. Later, the woman would tell me she sensed they thought nothing actually happened, despite a clear crime. “I don’t know,” she said, “one moment I’m walking in the subway and the next someone grabs me from behind. But I wind up OK, so there’s no problem?”
They nabbed the guy, holding him against the tiled wall in the very place the attack occurred. One officer said something like, “He has no ID, no nothing. He’s babbling to himself and doesn’t seem to know where he is.” A sense of pity rose in all of us. The woman did not want to press charges. Even the police were sympathetic, expressing how helping the mentally ill is beyond their capacity. The consensus seemed to be that they would take him somewhere for mental help.
As we waited for the train — mine to Washington Heights, the women’s to Queens — we realized we all had just come from the New-York Historical Society’s “I’ll Have What She’s Having” exhibit on Jewish delis, named for the iconic Katz’s Delicatessen scene in the 1989 film “When Harry Met Sally.” We laughed about what struck us as an ironic way to spend a Friday Shabbat evening days before Hanukkah.
Still perhaps cautious of our surroundings, we shared thoughts about the exhibit. For instance, the surprising amount of Los Angeles material and the signage explaining terms someone Jewish or from New York might take for granted — like mohel or mikvah — and Yiddish words that have long entered the local vernacular, no matter your religion.
The woman who was attacked didn’t want to be identified here, saying “I don’t want people to Google me and this is the first thing they see” — something I understand, having myself been a crime victim in 2014. Later, she texted to say she arrived home safely, adding that, despite the attack, she was “grateful to live in New York, because you restore my faith that people are there for each other.” I don’t think of myself as a mensch or hero. I just did what had to be done. And, like I said, I had a moment’s hesitation.
The situation called for dinner plans. A Jewish deli, of course, considering the circumstances. And it had to be Katz’s.
I arrived at the deli, laden down with a few free Chabad menorahs I picked up along the way after coming from the Union Square Holiday Market. I almost rushed past her standing outside the restaurant, worried about being late. We encountered a chaotic, noisy scene inside, and I realized I had not been there since before the pandemic. A man behind us in the haphazard line, there for the first time, nervously wanted advice. Have what we’re having, I suggested: pastrami on rye with mustard. No cheese, a kosher nod in this place long without such restrictions.
If fate’s bad luck brought us together, serendipity now ruled. Our sandwich maker looked familiar, and I realized he appeared in a video at the deli exhibit. As Esteban pushed our sandwiches over the glass divider, the famous table from the fake orgasm scene in “When Harry Met Sally” suddenly emptied, a family bundling up to leave. I ran to grab it, even mid-sentence talking with Esteban about the exhibit.
Yes, it was touristy! But considering what we had encountered only days before, it was a relief to feel like a tourist in a crowd of tourists. There were locals too, of course, like a diminutive old couple, smiling and saying hello to select tables. We asked a gorgeous Greek tourist we at first thought was an influencer — her dress a one-of-a-kind, hair in flowing, pop queen curls — to snap our picture.
We talked for hours about jobs, travel, family, the men in our lives and how there is no city like New York, with its museums and culture and its ethnic and religious diversity. The ultimate way to say “to life,” l’chaim.
Crime impacts everyone differently, especially when it happens to you. Yet I also know the city is vastly safer than when I was young. At 54, I remember the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s, when murders peaked at something like six a day.
If I learned anything from the subway experience, it is that our time on earth is a gift more precious than anything we might unwrap on Hanukkah or Christmas. And if anyone saw us sitting at that famous Katz’s table wondering why we laughed so much, they should ask to have what we were having: a profound appreciation that, like the sandwiches in front of us, life is delicious and should be enjoyed in big portions, despite what fate throws at us.
—
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‘Antisemitism Crisis in America’: Swastika Graffiti Again Appears Across New York City Boro
Swastikas graffitied in Forest Park in Queens, New York City over the weekend. Photo: Screenshot.
Antisemitic vandals in Queens, New York City are painting the town Nazi red, having added over the weekend two new incidents of swastika graffiti to a spree of hate crimes targeting Jewish institutions and homes across the borough.
As seen in photographs shared on social media, the unknown suspects graffitied some eleven swastikas at Highland Park and Forest Park for locals to discover on Monday — just one week after perpetrating the same crime at four Jewish owned properties in Rego Park and Forest Hills.
“This is yet another hateful incident meant to intimidate Jewish New Yorkers and divide our city,” New York City Council speaker of the house Julie Menin said in a statement posted on the X social media platform. “We want to be clear: we cannot and will not accept this as normal.”
The vandalism wave came just as the New York City Police Department (NYPD) announced that an ongoing surge in antisemitic hate crimes in the metropolis, which is home to the largest Jewish population outside of Israel, continues unabated.
According to newly released data the agency published on Monday, Jews were targeted in 60 percent of all confirmed hate crimes last month, despite making up just 10 percent of the city’s population.
In April, the police confirmed 30 antisemitic incidents out of 50 total hate crimes in the city. As for all reported/suspected hate crimes, 38 out of the total of 65 targeted Jews.
The NYPD had previously reported suspected, but unconfirmed, hate crime incidents. In February, the police began reporting confirmed incidents instead. And then after receiving scrutiny, the department began reporting both suspected and confirmed hate crimes in March.
Regardless of the methodology, the majority of all hate crimes in New York City this year have targeted Jews, especially the Orthodox community, continuing a surge in antisemitism that has swept the city after the start of the Israel-Hamas war in Gaza in October 2023.
In just eight days between the end of October and the beginning of November 2024, for example, three Hasidim, including children, were brutally assaulted in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn. In one instance, an Orthodox man was accosted by two assailants, one masked, who “chased and beat him” after he refused to surrender his cellphone in compliance with what appeared to have been an attempted robbery. In another incident, an African American male smacked a 13-year-old Jewish boy who was commuting to school on his bike in the heavily Jewish neighborhood. Less than a week earlier, an assailant slashed a visibly Jewish man in the face as he was walking in Brooklyn.
In November, just days after the election of Zohran Mamdani as mayor of New York City, hundreds of people amassed outside a prominent synagogue and clamored for violence against Jews.
The change in New York City’s climate since Mamdani’s election is palpable, Jewish advocacy groups have said. On his first day in office in January, Mamdani voided the city government’s adoption of the IHRA definition, lifted the ban on contracts with companies boycotting Israel, and modified key provisions of an executive order directing law enforcement to monitor anti-Israel protests held near synagogues.
“Mayor Mamdani pledged to build an inclusive New York and combat all forms of hate, including antisemitism,” a coalition of leading Jewish groups said in a statement addressing the changes enacted by the new administration. “But when the new administration hit reset on many of Mayor Adams’ executive orders, it reversed … significant protections against antisemitism.”
Mayor Mamdani has denounced the swastika graffiti as a “deliberate act of antisemitic hatred” and said that he has assigned the NYPD’s Hate Crimes Task Force to investigate it.
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.
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‘Time Zone’ — poetry by Jake Schneider
צײַטזאָנע (אַטלאַס)
פֿאַר די ייִדיש־שרײַבערס פֿון יאָר 2100
אַן עסײ־פּאָעמע געשריבן אין יאַנואַר 2026
12:00
טײל פּאַסאַזשירן דרײען צוריק די זײגערלעך
בײַם אָפּפֿלי, אַנדערע בײַ דער לאַנדונג.
רובֿ פּאַסאַזשירן אָבער טראָגן מער נישט
קײן זײגערלעך און װאַרטן ביז די מאָבילקעס
פֿאַרבינדן זיך מיט דער נײַער צײַט.
די צײַט באַשטײט פֿון פֿאַרבינדונגען.
אױף די עקראַנען: מאַפּעס מיט גרענעצן.
אונטער די פֿענצטער: אַנאָנימע פּײזאַזשן.
אײן עראָפּלאַן מיט דרײַ צײַטזאָנעס:
אָפּשטאַם, צילאָרט און פֿלימאָדוס.
1:00
פֿעטער אַרטשיבאַלד דער אַװאָקאַט
גלײבט נישט אין זומער־זײגער.
אָפֿט קומט ער אָן אַ שעה פֿריִער
פֿאַר אַ זיצונג מיטן ריכטער.
זײַנע שפּעטע װעטשערע־געסט, װידער,
קריגן בלױז אַ שטיקל פּעקאַן־פּײַ.
לױט דער באָבען לײענט ער באַריכטן
הין און קריק, אױף זײַן הױדע־בענקל.
2:00
אין ברוקלין האָט די מאַמע ע״ה בדעה
צו שענקען מײַן זומער־לאַגער אַ זונזײגער,
גיט זי אַ קלונג רבֿ קונדא ז״ל,
דעם דירעקטאָר און דערצײלער.
צו קאַלקולירן אַן אַקוראַטן װײַזער־שאָטן
דאַרף מען קודם די פּינקטלעכע פּאָזיציע.
אפֿשר לעבן דער הײַזקע װוּ ער דערצײלט
יעדן שבת זײַנע אַלטע משפּחה־מעשׂיות?
דװקא דאָרט װוּ מיר קינדער פֿאַרלירן
נאָך מנחה דעם חשבֿון פֿון די שעהען?
3:45
כינע־צײַט װערט טראַנסמיטירט
פֿון צײַט־צענטער אױף באַרג לישאַן
פֿאַר אַ ראַדיאָ־עולם פֿון װיגורסטאַן
אַזש ביז כּמעט ביראָבידזשאַן.
צענטראַל־מערבֿ־אױסטראַליע־צײַט
¾8 שעה נאָך לאָנדאָן־װעלטצײַט
פֿירט זיך אין פֿינף אָפּרו־סטאַנציעס
אױפֿן שאָסײ פֿון קײַגונע קײן גרענעצדאָרף.
אַן אַטלאַנטישער קאָנטײנער־שיף
פֿאַרמאָגט מער נישט קײן שיפֿגלאָק.
דאָס באַשליסט בלױז הער קאַפּיטאַן
װען אַ נײַע צײַטזאָנע הײבט זיך אָן.
די אַװיאָנען פֿון „פּאַװע לופֿט“ טיקען
צום טאַקט פֿון די סטואַרד/קעס הערצער:
אָט פֿאַרלעשן זײ די קאַבינע־ליכט;
איצט פֿירן זײ דאָס שפּײַזװעגעלע.
4:00
אין „גאַלעריע צײַטזאָנע“ געדױערט
אַ מינוט כאָטש הונדערט סעקונדעס.
אַ באַזוכערין פֿון אױסלאַנד װערט אומזיכער:
אין װאָסער יאָרהונדערט איז זי אַרײַנגעפֿלױגן?
די װענט באַמאָלענע מיט אַלטנײַע אותיות,
אױסגעפּוצטע מיט חוצפּהדיקע אַנאַכראָניזמען.
אַ מאָל פֿאַרבעט מען געסט פֿון דער װײַטנס
אױפֿצוטרעטן װירטועל אױף דער לײַװנט,
נאָר ס׳איז שטענדיק שװער זיך צו אײניקן
אױף אַ סינכראָנישער שעה פֿאַרן זום־קלונג
װײַל טײל האַלטן די גאַלעריע פֿאַר פֿאַרבײַ,
אַנדערע דװקא פֿאַר דער צוקונפֿט.
5:00
צײַטזאָנעס, אַזױ װי לשונות, קענען זיך
טוליען, איבערשנײַדן, אײַננעסטיקן:
צען שפּראַכן אין אײן צען־דירהדיקן הױז;
צען שפּרפּאַכן אין אײן מוח. פֿון דרױסן
באַמערקט אַ פֿאַרבײַגײער די פֿענצטער,
סײַ די ליכטיק װאַכע און סײַ די פֿינצטער
פֿאַרחלומטע. װאָסערע לשונות הערן זיך
דערינען? װיפֿל איז דאָרט דער זײגער?
איבער די הײַזער פֿליט אַן אַװיאָן
מיט פֿאַרמאַכטע פֿענצטער־רולעטן,
פֿאַרלאָשענע מאַפּעס און קאַבינע־ליכט—
נאָר עטלעכע פֿון אױבן באַלײַכטענע ביכער.
6:00
אױף דער אונטערבאַן־ליניע אַכט
מאָנטיק זעקס אַ זײגער אין דער פֿרי
– צענטראַל־אײראָפּע־צײַט, פֿאַרשטײט זיך –
פֿאָרט אײנער אַ מידער
אַהײם פֿון קיטקאַט־קלוב
לעבן אַ צװײטער אַ מידער
װאָס זי פֿאָרט צו דער אַרבעט.
7:00
די צװישן־צײַטזאָנעס שטרעקן זיך אױס
פֿון דרעמל־קנעפּל ביזן צװײטן װעקער
פֿון ליפֿט־קנעפּל ביז דער אָפֿענער טיר
פֿון שלום־עליכם ביזן ערשטן קוש
פֿון זײַ־געזונט ביז דער קאַלטער גאַס
8:00
„פּאַװע לופֿט“ באָט אָן פֿאַרבינדונגען
צו אַלע צײַטזאָנעלעך פֿון ייִדישלאַנד.
כאָטש געװיסע פֿליִען הײבן זיך אָן
אין שװער צו דערגרײכן יאָרן.
אַבי עס בלײַבט אונדז עפּעס
אַ פֿאַרבינדונג צװישן די דורות.
9:00
די געשיכטע פֿון כּלל־צײַטזאָנעס
איז אַ מעכטיקע משפּחה־מעשׂה
פֿון סינכראָניזירטע אימפּעריעס
מיט כּלערלײ קונציקע זײגערס:
60 מינוט אין אַ שעה לױט די בבֿלים
12 שעה אין אַ נאַכט לױט די מצרים
24 שעה אין אַ מעת־לעת לױט די גריכן
7 טעג אין אַ װאָך לױטן רױמישן קײסער
12 חדשים מיט קײסערלעך רױמישע נעמען
דער בריטישער פֿלאָט האָט באַזיגט
דעם זונפֿאַרגאַנג און יעדן מערידיאַן
מיט זײַנע כּסדרדיקע כראָנאָמעטערס
װאָס טראָגן לאָנדאָן־צײַט װײַט און ברײט
נאָר די טראַנסקאָנטינענטאַלע אײַזנבאַן
האָט געדאַרפֿט שאַפֿן צײַט־פֿאַרבינדונגען
צװישן די שיפֿן און די רעלסן און די פּײסאַזשן.
4 זאָנעס איבער אַלע באַזיגטע געביטן.
24 זאָנעס פֿאַראײניקטע מיט טעלעגראַפֿן.
אין װאַשינגטאָן האָט מען באַשטימט
אַז דער טאָג הײבט זיך אָן אין לאָנדאָן;
אין זשענעװע האָט מען פּראָקלאַמירט
די „װעלטצײַט“ לױט אַ גענױער סעקונדע
אַן אַטאָמיש געמאָסטענע אין פּאַריז
10:00
דער טאָג
לױט סװאַטש־
הײבט זיך אָן
האַלבע נאַכט
לױט דער כּלל־צײַט
פֿון ביל, שװײץ
און צעטײלט זיך
אױף טױזנט „טאַקטן“
װעלכע גלײַכן
זיך פּינקטלעך
צו פֿראַנצײזיש־
רעװאָלוציאָנערע
דעצימאַלע מינוטן
די רעװאָלוציאָנערע
צײַט האָט טױזנטער
צײַטזאָנעס לױט דער זון
איבער יעדן דאָרף און שטעטל
סװאַטש־צײַט
פֿונדעסטװעגן
איז סינכראָניזירט
צװישן יעדן דופֿקדיקן געלענק
11:00
אין װאָרמס
טראָגט אַ ייִנגל אַ בוך.
זאָל „פּיפּער־
נאָטער לופֿט“
אים טראָגן בשלום
קײן מאָליעװ
און פֿון דאָרטן בשלום
קײן בערלין.
זאָל ער זיך אַראָפּ־
לאָזן װי אַ ראָזשינקע
אױף טעמפּלהאָפֿער פֿליפֿעלד
און װײַטער לײענען דאָס בוך
אױף טראַמװײַ נײַנאונײַנציק
אַזש ביז צײַטזאָנע —
11:59
דאָס בוך גופֿא
איז אַ פֿליפֿאַרבינד
איבער לשון־צײַט,
אַ צײַטזאָנעלע
פֿון אױגן־
ציטערנישן
צװישן
אָט און
איצט.
אָט—
נאַט אײַך
די בילעטן.
מיר װינטשן אײַך
אַן אײַנגענעמע
רײַזע.
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Abe Foxman built the Jewish establishment. He died troubled by what it had become
Abe Foxman never texted me Shabbat Shalom, and he didn’t always answer my calls. I couldn’t blame him, because I was often looking for something more from Foxman than his comment on current events.
Foxman, who died on Sunday, was a consummate insider who had become troubled by what he viewed as the cowardice of the very Jewish establishment he helped create during his five decades at the Anti-Defamation League. This dynamic fascinated me, and I sometimes pressed him articulate these concerns more candidly. But Foxman didn’t want to become a gadfly following his retirement in 2015 and picked his words carefully.
Occasionally, though, his frustration slipped through.
When I asked him a few years ago about the boom in new organizations created to fight antisemitism — more than 75 nonprofits with that mission have been created since he left the ADL in 2015— he lamented that it had become much more difficult for legacy organizations to say no to donors with political agendas because they could now take their dollars elsewhere.
“I had rules,” Foxman said. “Maybe that’s why they’re able to raise more money than I could.”
The erosion of rules that had once governed American society alarmed Foxman because he recognized that it was those norms — political correctness, trust in the mainstream media, bipartisanship — that had protected Jews.
“Antisemitism has always been here,” Foxman said on Israel’s Army Radio in 2018, during Donald Trump’s first term as president and after the Charlottesville “Unite the Right” rally had opened the nation’s eyes to an emboldened antisemitic movement. “What has changed is a new permissiveness, a new legitimacy, a new emboldenment, as if it’s OK — or more OK — today to be an antisemite.”
Unlike many of the leaders who succeeded him atop the country’s most powerful Jewish organizations, Foxman drew a direct line between the rise of Trump and skyrocketing hostility toward Jews.
“Trump’s presidency — in spirit and in deed — has given succor to bigots, supremacists, and those seeking to divide our society,” Foxman wrote in his endorsement of Joe Biden. “He and his administration dehumanize immigrants, demonize the most vulnerable, and undermine the civility and enlightened political culture that have allowed Jews to achieve what no diaspora community outside Israel can claim in two millennia.”
Foxman slammed Jonathan Greenblatt, his successor at the ADL, and other Jewish leaders for failing to follow his lead during the campaign.
But Foxman had, in some respects, paved the way for the state of affairs that he later bemoaned.
Take his relationship with Fox News owner Rupert Murdoch, who he met in the shvitz during one of Foxman’s biannual visits to a spa for billionaires, where each week-long stay cost nearly $9,000, paid for by an ADL donor. “I have come to know the man, not his image,” Foxman said after presenting Murdoch with a leadership award in 2010.
When I asked Foxman whether he regretted feting the founder of Fox News, which had almost certainly contributed to the erosion of political correctness and trust in the media that he later lamented, he cryptically brushed aside the concern: “Fox wasn’t Fox back then.”
And Foxman could claim impunity when it came to countering antisemitism in the way that he saw fit.
After the ADL found itself embroiled in a scandal over its close monitoring of political activists in the early 1990s, including activists against South African apartheid who were also critical of Israel, a Washington Post reporter wrote that Foxman “testily argued” to him that the ADL “has a right to do whatever it must within the law to combat antisemitism,” including receiving files the police said were stolen from the FBI.
Foxman also lobbied Congress not to recognize the Armenian genocide, worried that doing so would endanger Turkey’s Jewish community and damage the country’s relationship with Israel, before eventually reversing course. And, in what became the central allegation in longstanding complaints from the left that Foxman had stoked Islamophobia, he insisted that it was offensive to build a proposed mosque near Ground Zero in Manhattan.
Foxman also deeply believed that Israel’s security was connected to the safety of Jews in the United States, and that animus toward Israel was often a veiled expression of animosity toward Jews, something he remained concerned about until the very end.
This willingness to play ball with billionaires and stake out controversial political positions intended to protect Jews or Israel — often blurring the line between the two — would help shape how the Jewish community evolved in the decades after Foxman became ADL director in 1987.
Foxman achieved his towering status partly through his gravitas and charisma, what Nicole Mutchnik, chair of the ADL board, referred to as his ability to be a “warm friend, advisor, spirited antagonist and hugger — all over lunch.”
But I suspect it also had to do with his ability to maintain what has become an untenable political stance: a deep belief that Jews must fight for civil rights without giving up particular Jewish concerns around Israel and antisemitism.
This meant investing in the ADL’s civil rights portfolio — voting rights, immigration, racial justice, LGBTQ equality — even as he defended Israel in ways that rankled many liberals inside and outside of the organization.
And it meant becoming a forceful voice against both Trump and Israel’s far-right turn in recent years, even as he complained about what he viewed as unfair criticism of AIPAC by progressives and Democratic politicians drifting away from support for Israel in recent interviews.
Foxman shared this commitment to both liberalism, and a connection to Israel that at least sometimes conflicts with that liberalism, with a plurality of American Jews giving the ADL arguably the strongest claim of any legacy organization that it actually represented the American Jews it claimed to speak for.
But despite Foxman’s success — praise for his legacy came from wildly diverse corners of the Jewish community — the current crop of Jewish leaders have not adopted his politics.
The largest establishment organizations, including the current iteration of the Anti-Defamation League, seem to have determined that a wider-ranging commitment to civil rights advocacy and vocal opposition to Trump is a nonstarter if they intend to continue advocating for Israel, at a time when much of the Democratic Party has turned actively hostile to the Jewish state.
Meanwhile, the progressive Jewish groups who remain most committed to civil rights work have largely abandoned Zionism as part of their missions.
This may be a more honest form of Jewish politics than what came before. But it has also left many Jews feeling politically homeless and played into the erasure of a political center that Foxman, and no shortage of Jewish historians, have insisted is integral to Jewish safety.
“We do well when we’re in the center,” Foxman told me shortly after I started this job. “And there is no center today.”
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