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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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The post Aline Kominsky-Crumb, who transformed comics first as a muse and then as a feminist artist, dies at 74 appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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It’s time to talk about Purim’s unsettling message about conversion
Purim is meant to be loud: a holiday for drinking, dressing up, yelling and retelling a story of miraculous survival.
Which means it’s easy to miss a brief but significant verse near the end of the Book of Esther — one that deserves to be lingered over:
“And many of the people of the land professed to be Jews, for the fear of the Jews had fallen upon them.”
That line doesn’t lend itself to celebration. It does not describe people drawn to Judaism by teaching or conviction. Instead, it chronicles a far more troubling choice: people becoming Jews because they are afraid of Jews.
Whether the Book of Esther records events that literally occurred is beside the point. What matters is that Jews read this line aloud every year, carrying its language forward across generations. For a tradition that often insists Judaism does not seek converts and rejects religious coercion, this verse preserves an unsettling possibility: that joining the Jewish people can be driven by fear as much as conviction.
By the end of the narrative, Jews wield power, and the dread that once haunted them shifts outward.
Yes, some read the verse as referring to political alignment rather than religious change. Others treat Esther as satire, its excesses not meant for emulation. Still others point to the absence of God in the book, and dismiss the line as non-theological.
Even with those readings, the line still does something difficult. It places an unresolved moral question inside a festival we otherwise frame as joyful: How does holding power change the face of Judaism?
When conversion was possible — or required
The common claim that Judaism has always discouraged conversion is historically inaccurate. Jewish attitudes toward converts have shifted with political conditions, not because theology changed, but because power dynamics did.
The truth is that for much of Jewish history, conversion was dangerous. After the destruction of the Temple in 70 C.E. and the failure of later revolts against Rome, much of Jewish life developed under sustained imperial pressure. Welcoming people raised outside the community became, practically, risky.
This is why the familiar line “Judaism doesn’t seek converts” is more of a survival posture than an eternal principle. After all, the Hebrew Bible repeatedly reminds readers that Israel’s calling was never meant to be entirely inward. A “mixed multitude” leaves Egypt. Gerim, resident outsiders, are repeatedly considered in biblical law. Isaiah imagines God’s house as a house of prayer for all peoples.
In the late Hellenistic and early Roman periods, Jewish communities were widely visible across the diaspora. An inscription from Aphrodisias in Asia Minor in modern-day Turkey lists not only Jews but also “proselytes” and “God-fearers” among synagogue donors, suggesting gentiles were sometimes attached to synagogue life. Similar “God-fearer” inscriptions survive from other cities in Roman Asia Minor, where gentiles were known to attend synagogues, admire Jewish ethics, and sometimes decide to join the Jewish people.
Even polemical texts preserve traces of this world. Matthew 23:15 mocks those who “travel across sea and land” to make a proselyte — meaning to convert to Judaism. Whatever one makes of the polemic, the line treats the basic fact as unremarkable: that conversion to Judaism was a regular part of the religious landscape in the first-century Mediterranean.
Other ancient sources, including the first-century historian Josephus, describe moments when Jewish rulers used conversion as a tool of rule. One of the starkest examples comes from the Hasmoneans, the priestly family behind the Maccabean revolt who ruled Judea from roughly 140 to 37 B.C.E. Under John Hyrcanus, who reigned from 134 to 104 B.C.E., the kingdom of Judea expanded through conquest. Hyrcanus governed as many ancient rulers did, through coercion.
Among the territories absorbed was Idumea, homeland of the Edomites. According to Josephus, Hyrcanus offered the Idumeans a choice: adopt Jewish law or leave the land. They chose conversion.
This is not an obscure episode. It sits in the shadow of Hanukkah, one of Judaism’s most widely celebrated holidays.
Centuries later, Jewish sovereignty appeared again in the Himyarite kingdom of southern Arabia, where a ruling elite adopted Judaism in the fourth century CE. Eventually, persecution of non-Jews followed. The kingdom’s final ruler, Dhu Nuwas, who reigned from 522 to 530 C.E., oppressed local Christian populations, provoking retaliation from the neighboring Kingdom of Aksum. After more than a century, the Jewish kingdom fell.
Not a powerless minority faith
The reigns of Hyrcanus and Nuwas complicate the familiar story of Judaism as only a powerless minority faith, always deterring conversion. They suggest that Jewish sovereignty could carry the same temptations that haunt sovereignty everywhere, including the temptation to force compliance on those of different beliefs.
The Book of Esther verse about conversion offers a warning about that dynamic, and an imperative to learn from it. The lesson is not to condemn Judaism. It is to refuse a simplified story in which Judaism’s posture toward conversion has been static and untouched by the realities of power.
Across many faiths, when political power disappears, priorities often shift. Teachings turn inward. When power reappears, however briefly, older questions have a habit of returning. Who belongs? Who chooses? And under what conditions are those choices made?
Purim does not allow us to keep those questions at a safe distance. We are meant to hear this troubling verse amid the laughter and noise of our celebrations, not as an endorsement of coercion, but as a warning.
Esther’s story insists that two things can be true: Jews can be vulnerable, and Jews can hold power. And if we can be afraid, it warns, we can also inspire fear, with consequences not only for the societies in which we live, but also for the kind of Jewish life we make possible.
The post It’s time to talk about Purim’s unsettling message about conversion appeared first on The Forward.
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US Presses Syria to Shift From Chinese Telecom Systems
Syrian President Ahmed al-Sharaa attends the Ministry of Awqaf conference titled “Unity of Islamic Discourse” at the Conference Palace in Damascus, Syria, Feb. 16, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Khalil Ashawi
The United States has warned Syria against relying on Chinese technology in its telecommunications sector, arguing it conflicts with US interests and threatens US national security, according to three sources familiar with the matter.
The message was conveyed during an unreported meeting between a US State Department team and Syrian Communications Minister Abdulsalam Haykal in San Francisco on Tuesday.
Washington has been coordinating closely with Damascus since 2024, when Syria‘s now President Ahmed al-Sharaa ousted longtime leader Bashar al-Assad, who had a strategic partnership with China.
Syria is exploring the possibility of procuring Chinese technology to support its telecommunications towers and the infrastructure of local internet service providers, according to a Syrian businessman involved in the procurement talks.
“The US side asked for clarity on the ministry’s plans regarding Chinese telecom equipment,” said another source briefed on the talks.
But Syrian officials said infrastructure development projects were time-critical and that Damascus was seeking greater vendor diversity, the source added.
SYRIAN OFFICIALS CITE US EXPORT CONTROLS AS TELECOMS BARRIER
Syria is open to partnering with US firms but the matter was urgent and export controls and “over-compliance” remained an issue, according to person familiar with the meeting in San Francisco.
A US diplomat familiar with the discussions told Reuters that the US State Department “clearly urged Syrians to use American technology or technology from allied countries in the telecoms sector.”
It was unclear whether the United States pledged financial or logistical support to Syria to do so.
Responding to Reuters questions, a US State Department spokesperson said: “We urge countries to prioritize national security and privacy over lower-priced equipment and services in all critical infrastructure procurement. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.”
The spokesperson added that Chinese intelligence and security services “can legally compel Chinese citizens and companies to share sensitive data or grant unauthorized access to their customers’ systems” and promises by Chinese companies to protect customers’ privacy were “entirely inconsistent with China’s own laws and well-established practices.”
China has repeatedly rejected allegations of it using technology for spying purposes.
The Syrian Ministry of telecommunications told Reuters any decisions related to equipment and infrastructure are made “in accordance with national technical and security standards, ensuring data protection and service continuity.”
The ministry said it is also prioritizing the diversification of partnerships and technology sources to serve the national interest.
Syria‘s telecom infrastructure has relied heavily on Chinese technology due to US sanctions imposed on successive Assad governments over the civil war that grew from a crackdown on anti-government protests in 2011.
Huawei technology accounts for more than 50% of the infrastructure of Syriatel and MTN, the country’s only telecom operators, according to a senior source at one of the companies and documents reviewed by Reuters. Huawei did not immediately respond to a request for comment.
Syria is seeking to develop its private telecommunications sector, devastated by 14 years of war, by attracting foreign investment.
In early February, Saudi Arabia’s largest telecom operator, STC, announced it would invest $800 million to “strengthen telecommunications infrastructure and connect Syria regionally and internationally through a fiber-optic network extending over 4,500 kilometers.”
The ministry of telecommunications says that US restrictions “hinder the availability of many American technologies and services in the Syrian market,” emphasizing that it welcomes expanding cooperation with US companies when these restrictions are lifted.
Syria has inadequate telecommunications infrastructure, with network coverage weak outside city centers and connection speeds in many areas barely exceeding a few kilobits per second.
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Israeli Cybersecurity Startup Wiz Hosts $3 Million ABBA-Themed Purim Party Ahead of Google Acquisition
In this photo illustration, a Google logo is seen displayed on a smartphone with a WIZ logo in the background. Photo: Avishek Das / SOPA Images via Reuters Connect
The Israeli-founded cybersecurity startup Wiz was set to host a Purim party on Thursday night in Tel Aviv inspired by the famous pop group ABBA at the cost of $3.2 million, according to Israeli media reports,
Wiz hosts a Purim celebration every year, but this year’s gathering at Pavilion 2 at Expo Tel Aviv might be its last as an independent company, since it is on the verge of completing a $32 billion all-cash deal with Google. The cloud security platform headquartered in New York announced in March of last year that it signed a deal to be acquired by Google, and Wiz will join Google Cloud after closing. The agreement marks Google’s biggest deal ever, and approvals have already been secured in the United States and the European Union. The deal is expected to close this year, pending regulatory approvals in Australia, South Africa, Turkey, and Israel.
More than 20 Israeli artists were expected to perform a cover of an ABBA classic at Wiz’s Purim party this year, CTech reported. Sources familiar with the event told the Israeli publication that the lineup of performers would include Osher Cohen, Eden Golan, Sarit Hadad, Odeya, Ivri Lider, Eden Ben Zaken, Dana International, Shiri Maimon, Ninet, Harel Skaat, and Harel Moyal. The celebration is reportedly the most expensive party in Israel’s high-tech sector.
Wiz’s Purim celebration last year paid tribute to Madonna and featured a lineup of some of Israel’s biggest singers – including Rita, Omer Adam, Noa Kirel, Static, and Noga Erez — as well as more than 100 dancers and performers.