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Aline Kominsky-Crumb, who transformed comics first as a muse and then as a feminist artist, dies at 74
(JTA) — Robert Crumb put the “x” in comix by setting to paper his basest sexual longings, including strong-legged Jewish women who were cowgirls and who went by the name Honeybunch Kaminski.
So when an actual strong-legged Jewish cowgirl named Aline Kominsky walked into his life, it was love at first sight, and never wavered.
Aline Kominsky-Crumb, who died Wednesday at 74 in France of pancreatic cancer, was late to the revolution her husband launched in comics a few years before they met, with his Zap Comix. The “x” was a signifier of what was then known as “underground” comics and referred to the unfiltered treatment of humanity that censorious publishers, politicians and public figures had all but washed out of the art.
She soon fully embraced the art form and then helped transform it.
Working with her husband and then on her own, Kominsky-Crumb brought to comics raw self-lacerating accountability and subverted crude stereotypes about Jewish women — including those peddled by her husband — by taking possession of them.
She started out as a self-acknowledged sex object reviled by second-wave feminists and became a hero of younger feminists for modeling unfettered sexual expression. She was the brassy Jewish stereotype who became the muse who guided her husband to a deeper consideration of Judaism.
Kominsky-Crumb, born Aline Ricky Goldsmith in 1948 in the Five Towns, a Jewish enclave on Long Island, had a Jewish upbringing that was in many ways conventional, horrifying and both at the same time. She wrote about the warmth of her grandparents’ home and how she sought in it succor and about the pressures her materialistic parents placed on her. She said she was named for a Five Towns clothing store, Aline Ricky, that sold French fashion knockoffs. She resisted her mother’s pressure to get a nose job.
In one autobiographical comic, she recalls seeing one Jewish girl after another coming into school after plastic surgery. “Me ‘n’ my friends developed a ‘big nose pride,’” she writes, and one of the characters says, “I could not stand to look like a carbon copy!”
She told fellow Jewish cartoonist Sarah Lightman about the ordeal. “Like, I kept my nose, but it was really a close call, because my mother had me in Doctor Diamond’s office and he measured my nose. I remember that. They took an instrument and measured your nose. And then he took a piece of paper and he said,’ look, we can make it look like this.’ And I said, ‘Oh my God.’ My mother said, ‘Oh, it’s gorgeous, gorgeous.’”
In her teens, Kominsky-Crumb fled the suburbs for Manhattan. She studied at Cooper Union, an art school, and lived on the Lower East Side, earning plaudits from her instructors for her painting, but getting bored. She had a baby and gave it up for adoption to a Jewish agency, an experience that scarred her, and later led her to become outspoken in advocating for abortion rights.
After she married Carl Kominsky, they moved to Tucson, Arizona, which she called “hippie heaven.” There, she left her husband for a cowboy who lived with two brothers and his father in what she said was “the middle of nowhere” where she helped out on horseback, albeit under the influence of hallucinogens. (She said her beau was killed in a shootout with a romantic rival after she left.)
In Tucson, she met two pioneers of underground comics, Kim Deitch and Spain Rodriguez. They encouraged her to move to San Francisco, which was the scene of the burgeoning movement.
She did and met Crumb at a party in 1971, within three years of his having created “Honeybunch Kaminski, the drug-crazed runaway” (1968) and “Dale Steinberger, the Jewish Cowgirl.” Kominsky-Crumb, who had kept her first husband’s last name because it sounded more “ethnic” than Goldsmith, was so taken with the her husband’s lustful Jewish imaginings, and how closely she physically resembled them, that when she started creating her own, she named her avatar “Bunch,” a shortened version of the character whose name most closely matched her own.
It was kismet, except it wasn’t at first. Crumb and Kominsky-Crumb got together, but maintained open relationships. Crumb endured Kominsky-Crumb’s dalliances with other men for decades, but Kominsky-Crumb was not as able (or willing) to reciprocate. When one of Crumb’s exes arrived at their commune in Mendocino, she told The Comics Journal in 1990, she was furious. “I had a total s— fit,” she said, “I was wearing these giant platform shoes. I ran out the door and I fell and broke my foot in six places.”
Crumb sent the ex on her way and entertained the recovering Kominsky with a pastime he and his brother worked out as children: They would co-create a comic.
That process drew the couple closer, and also became a decades-long unflinching chronicle of a relationship. A culmination, “Drawn Together,” was critically acclaimed when it came out in 2012.
In one passage in the 2012 book, she gently chides her husband for resorting to antisemitic tropes — although it was tropes about loud, slightly unhinged, sexually voracious Jewish women that drew them together.
One page depicts the couple in bed. Crumb is stung by an accusation of antisemitism from Art Spiegelman. (Spiegelman joined with Crumb to launch the underground comics scene in the 1960s, but they grew apart as Spiegelman, who would author the Holocaust chronicle “Maus,” sought to attach an overarching philosophy to the genre, while Crumb continued to crave crude authenticity.)
Crumb says that Spiegelman “seems to be taking my ruminations about the Jews as antisemitism … I certainly didn’t mean it as such.” Kominsky-Crumb draws herself into the panel, listening to her husband, as a little girl wearing tefillin, a T-shirt with “kosher” in Hebrew and a Star of David pendant. In the next panel, once again appearing as a grown woman in a negligee, she makes clear to Crumb why she feels vulnerable as a Jew in the marriage.
“Dahling, you do call the Jewish religion ‘Brand X’,” she says.. “Now I might even think that’s true in some ways … and I’m one o’ them … I’m allowed to say that!”
Crumb draws himself as wounded but also awakened. “Oh, I see … ulp.” Crumb dedicated his masterwork, “The Book of Genesis,” a searing illustrated narrative of the Bible’s first book, to Aline.
The Crumbs’ collaborative work was celebrated among aficionados, but it wasn’t until 1994’s “Crumb,” a documentary directed by Crumb’s close Jewish friend, Terry Zwigoff, that she emerged into the broader culture. A vibrant, peripatetic Kominsky-Crumb cares for their daughter, Sophie, and revels in their life in a small French village, where they had moved a few years earlier, while Crumb continues to hold back, playing the wounded, misunderstood artist.
It was an arrival of sorts for Kominsky-Crumb. She had for a time been marginalized even on the underground scene, her deceptively simple art derided as sloppy. She helped found the Wimmen’s Comix collective in 1972, and wrote about her Jewish upbringing in the first issue, a piece entitled “Goldie: A Neurotic Woman.” But she was soon frozen out because some of her colleagues thought her musings about longing to be dominated (and her tendency to dress that way to please Crumb) were denigrating to women. “The Yoko Ono of Comics,” is how the New York Times described her early years.
She left the collective and joined another Jewish woman artist, Diane Noomin, in launching “Twisted Sisters” in 1976. Its cover depicts hers seated on a toilet wondering “How many calories in a cheese enchilada.” The message to her erstwhile colleagues, who depicted women heroically, was clear: Kominsky-Crumb would indulge her full unvarnished self.
It would take decades, but a later generation of feminists would come to understand her autobiographical “Bunch” not as a self-loathing caricature but as a means of understanding ones whole self. In 2020, Lightman launched an interview with Kominsky-Crumb by reviewing a 1975 cartoon, “Bunch plays with herself” that shocked even the underground scene at the time with its graphic depictions of a woman exploring every corner of her body.
“I didn’t do it to be disgusting but it’s, like, about every horrible and fun thing you can do with your body,” Kominsky-Crumb told Lightman. “I think it’s an amazing piece of feminist art,” Lightman said in the interview, “because women are drawn to be gazed at, and [here we see] their bodily juices, and everything. … The last panel is the best. ‘My body is an endless source of entertainment’.”
In 2007, she and Crumb created a cover for the Jewish counterculture magazine Heeb, where she is cradling him in her arms. “”I feel so safe in the arms of this powerful Jewish woman!” Crumb says.
By 2018, she was scrolling through her phone to show a New York Times reporter pictures of Crumb cavorting with the grandkids. (Daughter Sophie in adulthood also is a comics artist.) The photos then transition to photos of women’s behinds, taken in Miami.
“I’m enabling his big butt fixation,” she said. “Well I don’t have a big butt anymore so I have to offer him something.”
“It was her energy that transformed the American Crumb family into a Southern French one, with her daughter Sophie living, marrying and having three French children there,” the official Crumb website said in announcing her death. “She will be dearly missed within that family, by the international cartooning community, but especially by Robert, who shared the last 50 years of his life with her.”
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Hanukkah After Bondi Beach: We Must Not Retreat
Police officers stand guard following the attack on a Jewish holiday celebration at Sydney’s Bondi Beach, in Sydney, Australia, Dec. 15, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Flavio Brancaleone
The attack at Sydney’s Bondi Beach took place at a public Hanukkah celebration — an openly Jewish gathering marking a holiday meant to symbolize continuity, restraint, and survival. Candles were lit. Families had gathered. Jewish life was visible and unhidden. Violence arrived anyway. That fact matters. This was not random disorder that happened to occur near Jews. It was an assault on Jews gathered publicly as Jews.
For Jewish communities around the world, the message was immediate and chilling: a basic assumption — that peaceful religious celebration in a public space is protected — no longer feels secure.
Bondi Beach was not an aberration. It was a signal that even the most ordinary expressions of Jewish life now take place against a backdrop of heightened risk and weakened moral confidence.
Since October 7, 2023, Jewish communities have been forced to absorb a series of shocks that, taken together, reveal something deeper than a temporary spike in antisemitic incidents.
Jews have watched crowds chant “death to Jews” in major Western cities. We have seen synagogues, schools, and community centers require armed security as a baseline condition of existence. We have watched public officials hesitate, equivocate, or retreat into procedural language when confronted with explicit calls for Jewish death.
In that context, even violence that is not explicitly ideological is experienced differently. Bondi Beach occurred in a world where rage, intimidation, and public disorder have been steadily normalized — and where antisemitism is too often treated as a contextualized grievance rather than a moral emergency. It is no coincidence that Hanukkah celebrations across Europe, North America, and Australia this year are being guarded as potential targets rather than assumed civic fixtures.
For Jews, these are not abstract concerns. They shape daily life in quiet but consequential ways. This Hanukkah, many Jews will decide whether to light publicly or privately, whether to post photos or remain discreet, whether to wear a kippah or tuck it into a pocket, whether to gather openly or behind security checkpoints.
These are not acts of panic. They are acts of realism — born of a recognition that the social consensus protecting Jewish life is weaker than it once was. I have felt this calculation myself, not as fear but as prudence — an awareness that Jewish visibility now requires forethought in ways it did not a decade ago.
Hanukkah is often softened into a generic story about “light in dark times.” But that framing misses its harder truth.
Hanukkah commemorates a moment when Jews confronted a society that had lost its sense of limits — when desecration was tolerated, when power displaced law, and when public authority proved unwilling or unable to defend moral boundaries. The Maccabees did not revolt because they rejected pluralism. They revolted because pluralism had collapsed into coercion.
That distinction matters now.
Across Western democracies, restraint is increasingly treated with suspicion. Rampage violence is explained as inevitable. Public disorder is described as expressive. Antisemitic chants are reframed as political speech. Leaders and institutions speak fluently about process and context, but struggle to say plainly that some acts are beyond the pale.
The result is a dangerous permission structure. Not a conspiracy. Not a single ideology. But a cultural habit of hedging when clarity is required — of explaining rather than condemning, of balancing rather than drawing lines. Violence thrives in that space. So does antisemitism.
Sociologist Émile Durkheim warned that societies depend on shared moral frameworks to restrain individual impulses. When those frameworks weaken, violence becomes expressive rather than exceptional. Rampages become signals — not just of individual breakdown, but of collective uncertainty about what can and should be enforced.
Jews recognize this pattern because history has trained us to. Antisemitism rarely begins with laws or decrees. It begins with atmospheres. With what is tolerated. With what is explained away. With what authorities are reluctant to name because naming it might require action.
The Bondi Beach attack belongs to this broader moment. It targeted a Jewish holiday gathering, but it also reflected a wider failure to defend basic moral boundaries in public life. Violence does not emerge in a vacuum. It feeds on ambiguity — on the sense that enforcement is conditional and outrage selective.
Hanukkah offers a counterpoint to that ambiguity.
The story of the oil is not a story about optimism. It is a story about responsibility. Someone chose to protect what was sacred when it would have been easier to surrender it. Someone insisted that desecration was not normal, that collapse did not deserve accommodation, and that continuity required effort.
That insistence feels increasingly countercultural.
In recent years, Western elites have grown uncomfortable making firm moral judgments. Everything must be contextualized. Everything must be balanced. Everything must be filtered through the language of grievance. But pluralism does not survive without boundaries. And minorities suffer first when those boundaries dissolve.
For Jews, the post-October 7 world has made something painfully clear: condemnation of antisemitism has become conditional. Calls for Jewish death are weighed against political narratives. Jewish fear is treated as inconvenient. Jewish safety is discussed as a variable rather than a nonnegotiable.
Hanukkah rejects that logic entirely.
The holiday is not only about light. It is about continuity — the refusal to disappear quietly when the world becomes less hospitable. It is about maintaining Jewish presence, practice, and confidence even when public space feels uncertain.
Lighting the menorah is not an act of provocation. It is an assertion that Jewish life does not require permission to endure.
Bondi Beach will be remembered as one more moment when Jews understood something before others were ready to say it plainly: a society unwilling to enforce moral limits cannot protect its most vulnerable members. Rampage violence and chants of “death to Jews” are not separate phenomena. They are different expressions of the same failure.
A society that cannot say, without hesitation, that calling for Jewish death is beyond the pale is not morally neutral. It has already chosen sides.
The menorah burns not because darkness recedes on its own, but because someone insists — again and again — that darkness does not get the final word.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
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Australia’s ‘Hanukkah Massacre’ Is Worse Than You Think
Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese speaks during a press conference at the Parliament House in Canberra, Australia, June 17, 2024. Photo: Lukas Coch/Pool via REUTERS
Chabad’s “Hanukkah by the Sea” event near Bondi Beach in Sydney, Australia, turned into a bloody massacre on Sunday: 15 murdered and dozens more injured, as of the latest update.
Far from being an isolated incident, this nightmarish display of terror is only the latest symptom of a dangerous and systematic attack by the Australian government against its own Jewish population.
According to news sources, the terrorists were Sajid and Naveed Akram: a father and son of Pakistani origin who had pledged allegiance to ISIS shortly before carrying out their antisemitic bloodbath.
In one rare bright spot, Ahmed Al Ahmed, an immigrant from Syria, heroically risked his life to disarm one of the terrorists, likely saving many innocent lives in the process. Al Ahmed survived several gunshots and is recovering in hospital.
In the aftermath of this modern day pogrom, Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese issued a statement in which he made no mention whatsoever of Jews, antisemitism, Hanukkah, Islamic extremism,terrorism, or ISIS.
Albanese referred to the massacre merely as “shocking” and “distressing,” and said that his thoughts were with “every person affected.”
Within hours, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu utterly excoriated Albanese, accusing him of “pouring fuel on this antisemitic fire,” and noting that he had sent Albanese a letter last August, warning of the very conditions that had brought about this attack, a warning that had gone unheeded.
In tandem with the Israeli Prime Minister’s vigorous public scolding, Albanese held a press conference, in which he finally condemned the Bondi attack as antisemitic.
However, Albanese continued to avoid any mention of Islamic extremism, despite Australian law enforcement having already publicly confirmed that the terrorists had pledged allegiance to the Islamic State terror organization (ISIS), and that they were carrying an ISIS flag in their vehicle.
According to reports, the Mossad had been warning Australia regularly for months about terror plots against the local Jewish community. Local police deny there were specific warnings about this particular attack, but Israeli leaders from all sides of the political spectrum countered that Australia had ignored “countless warning signs.”
Australia’s national failures are reminiscent of the Dutch pogrom of November 2024, in which local Muslim attackers violently hunted Israeli soccer fans through the streets of Amsterdam — after Dutch police ignored urgent warnings from Israeli intelligence.
The conditions for a similar massacre are currently shaping up in New York City, where the incoming mayor responded to a highly threatening antisemitic protest by accusing the local Jewish community of “violations of international law.” (I previously addressed both topics in depth at The Algemeiner).
For the past two years since the October 7 massacre, not only has Australia seen a massive rise in violent antisemitic attacks, but local Jewish leaders have consistently objected to the government’s permissive atmosphere toward attacking Jews, such as failing to apply appropriate penalties and needed protections.
Examples include frequent and enormous marches calling to “Globalize the Intifada” (a phrase that the United States Congress officially recognizes as a call for violence against the Jewish people), public calls to “gas the Jews,” as well as Australia’s recognition of a Palestinian state last September, a move widely regarded in the Arab world as a reward for the October 7 massacre.
Like most countries with free speech protections, Australia also has numerous federal and local laws against incitement, which authorities have routinely failed and refused to enforce in protection of Australia’s Jewish communities.
Prime Minister Albanese has promised to respond to the massacre by tightening Australia’s gun laws. Ironically, Australia already has among the strictest gun control regimes in the entire world. Apparently, gun laws are not enough when a country permits and ignores massive hatred, incitement, antisemitism, ongoing violence, and affiliations with international terror organizations.
Who knew?
Given Australia’s ongoing commitment to a failing “strategy,” its continued protection of Islamist extremists, and its continuing systematic neglect of Jewish safety, it is safe to assume that this is only the beginning of more attacks to come.
Daniel Pomerantz is the CEO of RealityCheck, an organization dedicated to deepening public conversation through robust research studies and public speaking.
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Are We at a Tipping Point? Will Larger Numbers of Jewish Americans Make Aliyah?
New immigrants arrive in Israel in 2019, many coming alone to serve in the nation’s military. Photo: courtesy of Nefesh B’Nefesh.
In The Arc of a Covenant (2022), a comprehensive book about the history of the relationship between the US and Israel, Walter Russell Mead points out that, if not for the persecution and expulsion of Jews from Arab lands to Israel after the 1948 war, Israel might not exist.
At best, it would be a smaller, demographically weaker country, with about one-half the Jewish population that it has today.
Recent attacks and hate marches across the world (from chanting “gas the Jews” in Sydney, which led directly to Bondi, and so many other incidents) have had me wondering if history was going to repeat itself. Will these events result in a new wave of immigration of Jews to the Jewish State, particularly from the US, where the largest number of Jews outside of Israel live?
One particularly notable event was an anti-Israel protest at a New York City synagogue (the Park East Synagogue), which included violent antisemitic threats, like “we need to make them scared.” That the protesters targeted an event by Nefesh B’Nefesh, a non-profit organization that has helped thousands of North American Jews immigrate to Israel, makes it clear that demographics are crucial in the struggle between Israelis and Palestinians.
Statistics indicate that 3.5 million Jews have made Aliyah since 1948, when the Jewish State was established. The vast majority were Jewish survivors of the Holocaust and Soviet pogroms, and those from the Arab/Muslim world, as previously mentioned. Yet, despite the large number of Jews in the US, the number that have immigrated to Israel is quite small — approximately 135,000, less than four percent of the total.
The question is: will the unsettling events targeting Jews across the world be enough to reach a critical threshold, so that large numbers of American Jews decide that enough is enough?
American Jews have done very well in all respects, perhaps better than any other diaspora in the history of the Jewish people. Yet, when it comes to personal safety for Jews, it seems that even America is not an exception.
The new mayor of New York City, Zohran Mamdani, was disappointingly equivocal in his comments about the protests that took place at the Park East Synagogue, saying a house of worship should not promote Nefesh B’Nefesh events. Clearly, he has his own ideas about where Jews should and should not live.
This is not new. In the 1930s, the German antisemitic board game Juden Raus! told Jews to go to Palestine. Today, they are told to go back to Europe.
Israel is the ancestral home of the Jewish people, a home they never abandoned, spiritually or physically. Those Jews who reside in Israel are there by right, not on sufferance. Many made Aliyah for various reasons: religious, ideological, and economic. But the single most important driving force has been antisemitism. Those who seek Israel’s destruction should reflect on the fact that their own hatred has been the catalyst for Israel’s remarkable rebirth.
Jacob Sivak, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, is a retired professor, University of Waterloo.