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As ‘The Marvelous Mrs Maisel’ ends, will its Jewish legacy be more than a punchline?
(JTA) — After five seasons, 20 Emmy awards and plenty of Jewish jokes, “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” airs its final episode on Friday.
The lauded Amazon Prime show from Amy Sherman-Palladino has enveloped viewers in a shimmering, candy-colored version of New York during the late 1950s and early 1960s — a world in which “humor” has meant Jewish humor and “culture” has meant Jewish culture.
But as it comes to an end, the show’s Jewish legacy is still up for debate: Did its representation of Jews on mainstream TV make it a pioneer of the 2010s? Or did it do more harm than good in the battle for better representation, by reinforcing decades-old comedic tropes about Jews?
The comedy-drama followed the vivacious Midge Maisel (Rachel Brosnahan) on a journey from prim Upper West Side housewife — left in the lurch after her husband has an affair with his secretary — to ambitious, foul-mouthed comic fighting her way through the male-dominated standup comedy industry. Her New York Jewishness colored her jokes, her accent, her mannerisms and much of her daily life.
That’s because the whole landscape of the show was Jewish, from the well-to-do, acculturated intelligentsia (such as Midge’s parents) to the self-made garment factory owners (such as her in-laws). Even the radical Jewish comic Lenny Bruce, a countercultural icon of the midcentury, appeared as a recurring character who propels Midge’s success.
Henry Bial, a professor specializing in performance theory and Jewish popular culture at the University of Kansas, said the emergence of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” in 2017 exemplified a shift to more overt portrayals of Jews on TV — especially on streaming services. Although Jewish characters featured in TV shows throughout the 20th century, such as “The Goldbergs” in the 1950s, “Rhoda” in the 1970s and “Seinfeld” in the 1990s, their Jewishness was often more coded than explicit. Network television, seeking to attract the majority of Americans coveted by advertisers, feared alienating audiences who couldn’t “relate” to ethnic and racial minorities.
“If there are only three things you can put on television at 8 o’clock on Tuesday night, then there’s a lot more incentive for networks and advertisers to stay close to the herd, because you’re competing for the same eyeballs,” said Bial. “But when people can watch whatever they want whenever they want, then it opens up for a much wider range of stories.”
Other shows such as “Transparent,” “Broad City” and “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” which debuted in 2014 and 2015, are often cited alongside “Mrs. Maisel” as part of a new wave of Jewish representation.
Riv-Ellen Prell, a professor emerita of American studies at the University of Minnesota, argued that Midge subverts the stereotype of the “Jewish American princess.” At the start of the show, she appears to embrace that image: She is financially dependent on her father and husband and obsessive about her appearance, measuring her body every day to ensure that she doesn’t gain weight. Despite living with her husband for years, she always curls her hair, does her makeup and spritzes herself with perfume before he wakes up.
“She looks for all the world like the fantasy of a Jewish American princess,” said Prell. “And yet she is more ambitious than imaginable, she is a brilliant comic who draws on her own life. You have Amy Sherman-Palladino inventing the anti-Jewish princess.”
Bial said that Midge’s relationship with her Jewishness defies another stereotype: That identity is not a source of neurosis or self-loathing, as it often appears to be in the male archetypes of Woody Allen and Larry David, or in Rachel Bloom’s “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.” Through the spirited banter, the pointed exclamations of “oy,” the titillation over a rabbi coming for Yom Kippur break fast — Midge’s Jewishness is a source of comforting ritual, joy and celebration.
“She has anxieties and issues, but none of them are because she’s Jewish,” said Bial.
Some critics argue the show’s depiction of Jewish culture relies on shallow tropes. In a 2019 review, TV critic Paul Brownfield said “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” repurposed stereotypes to appear “retro chic.” He pointed to a consistent contrast between the Weissmans (the assimilated, cultured Jews of the Upper West Side) and the Maisels (the boorish, money-focused Jews of the Garment District), arguing that these superficial types replace an exploration of what the period was actually like for American Jews.
“However ‘Jewish’ Sherman-Palladino wants the show to be, ‘Maisel’ fails to grapple with the realities of the moment in Jewish American history it portrays,” Brownfield wrote. “Which is ultimately what leaves me queasy about its tone — the shtick, the stereotypes, the comforting self-parody.”
Meanwhile, Andy Samberg took a jab while co-hosting the 2019 Golden Globes with Sandra Oh. “It’s the show that makes audiences sit up and say, ‘Wait, is this antisemitic?’” he joked.
Tony Shalhoub and Marin Hinkle, shown in a synagogue scene, are two of the show’s non-Jewish actors. (Nicole Rivelli/Amazon Studios)
Others have criticized the show’s casting: Its titular heroine, her parents Abe and Rose Weissman (Tony Shalhoub and Marin Hinkle) and Lenny Bruce (Luke Kirby) are all played by non-Jews. A debate over the casting of non-Jewish actors in Jewish roles has heated up in recent years, taking aim not only at Brosnahan as Midge Maisel, but also at Felicity Jones as Ruth Bader Ginsberg in “On The Basis of Sex,” Helen Mirren as Golda Meir in “Golda” and Gaby Hoffmann and Jay Duplass as the Pfefferman siblings in “Transparent.” Comedian Sarah Silverman popularized the term “Jewface” to critique the trend.
“Watching a gentile actor portraying, like, a Jew-y Jew is just — agh — feels, like, embarrassing and cringey,” Silverman said on her podcast in 2021.
Midge’s rise as a comedian is interlocked with her ally and one-time fling, the fictionalized Lenny Bruce. His character has a softened glow in the show, but in reality, Bruce was branded a “sick comic” for his scathing satire that railed against conservatism, racism and moral hypocrisy. Between 1961 and 1964, he was charged with violating obscenity laws in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Chicago and New York, and he was deported from England. At his Los Angeles trial in 1963, Bruce was accused of using the Yiddish word “shmuck,” taken as an obscenity to mean “penis.” He incorporated the charge into his standup, explaining that the colloquial Jewish meaning of “schmuck” was “fool.”
Driven to pennilessness by relentless prosecution, police harassment and blacklisting from most clubs across the country, he died of a morphine overdose in 1966 at 40 years old. The real Lenny Bruce’s tragedy lends a shadow to the fictional Midge Maisel’s triumphs.
The United States that he struggled with until his death also looks comparatively rosy through the lens of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel,” whose protagonist battles misogyny but takes little interest in other societal evils — including still-rampant antisemitism. Some critics have noted that she is oblivious to segregated facilities when she tours with Black singer Shy Baldwin, then nearly outs him as gay during her set.
“‘Mrs. Maisel’ takes place in a supersaturated fantasy 1958 New York, one where antisemitism, racism, homophobia and even sexism are barely a whisper,” Rokhl Kafrissen wrote in 2018.
Reflecting on the criticism that had piled up by 2020, Sherman-Palladino and her husband Daniel Palladino, also an executive producer and a lead writer for the show, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that trying to appease every Jewish viewer was a futile exercise.
“We knew that if we show a Jewish family at temple — if we show them and talk about Yom Kippur and all those kinds of things — there are going to be people who are going to nitpick at specifics that maybe we didn’t get exactly right,” said Palladino, who is not Jewish. “But a lot of the feedback that we’ve gotten has been ‘Thank you. Thank you for leaning into it and showing Jews being Jewish, as opposed to just name checking them as Jewish.’”
Sherman-Palladino added: “[T]here are many different kinds of Jews! To say, ‘oh, Jewish stereotypes,’ well, what are you talking about? Because we have an educated Jew, we have a woman who was happy to be a mother, we have another woman striking out as a stand up comic, and, you know, Susie Myerson’s [Alex Borstein’s character] a Jew! We’ve got a broad range of Jews in there.”
However “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” is assessed in the future, it will remain significant for thrusting a new kind of Jewish heroine into the mainstream consciousness, said Bial.
“Because of its popularity, its longevity and frankly its quality, it’s going to be the example,” Bial said. “In the history of Jews and TV, this is going to be the chapter for the late 2010s and early 2020s — you have to mention ‘Mrs. Maisel.’ It is very clearly a landmark in Jewish representation, particularly for Jewish women.”
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After outrage, Coast Guard says it will continue to define swastikas as hate symbols
(JTA) — The Coast Guard says it will continue to bar the display of swastikas and nooses after drawing fierce criticism following the revelation of new rules that would redefine the symbols as “potentially divisive” rather than icons of hate.
The regulations, first reported Thursday by the Washington Post, permitted the symbols to be displayed in Coast Guard members’ private quarters and said the would be barred from public spaces only if they undermined “good order and discipline, unit cohesion, command climate, morale or mission effectiveness.”
Following the Washington Post report, the Coast Guard’s top official said the regulations had been mischaracterized and that promotion of the symbols “will be thoroughly investigated and severely punished.” Soon, new regulations were issued that said swastikas, nooses and other symbols of hate would be prohibited in all Coast Guard “workplaces, facilities, and assets.” It did not address members’ private quarters.
The Washington Post’s report about the new regulations — which also include the removal of gender identity as a protected characteristic and a higher bar to prove harassment — had elicited wide concern from Jewish groups.
“The swastika and the noose aren’t ‘potentially divisive.’ They are explicit symbols of antisemitism and hate,” tweeted Jonathan Greenblatt, the CEO of the Anti-Defamation League. “Treating them as anything less than hate symbols is a dangerous mistake.”
Rabbi Jonah Dov Pesner, who heads the Reform movement’s political arm, the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, wrote to the Coast Guard’s acting commandant, Admiral Kevin Lunday, to offer “the strongest objection” and call for a reversal.
“The decision to weaken these standards is an indelible stain on the Coast Guard and a violation of the good that our nation stands for,” he wrote. “I urge you in the strongest terms to immediately rescind this policy and return these symbols of hate to the forbidden category in which they belong.”
The Coast Guard is a branch of the U.S. armed forces. Lunday took his role in January after President Donald Trump fired his predecessor, the first woman to helm the Coast Guard, on his second day in office.
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Yiddishkayt LA and New Lehrhaus merge — but is this good for Yiddish?
For most Jewish institutions, “partnership” might mean a shared event or a guest lecture. But for Yiddishkayt LA and the Bay Area’s New Lehrhaus — two organizations separated by 370 miles and decades of distinct histories — this merger represents something far bolder. They are fusing identities, communities and visions of what West Coast Jewish culture can become.
Rob Adler Peckerar, formerly a key figure at Yiddishkayt LA, has now been appointed director of New Lehrhaus. In an interview he said that the merger strengthens both institutions rather than diluting either one.
Aaron Paley, the founder of Yiddishkayt LA, agrees. “We’re not amplifying one approach at the expense of the other; we’re amplifying both,” he said, adding that he first encountered the Lehrhaus tradition as a UC Berkeley student in the 1970s. The merger, he added, “immediately felt like a homecoming.”
Officially launched November 1, the merger wasn’t born of crisis. It grew from two organizations with parallel instincts: Yiddishkayt LA’s eclectic cultural programming and New Lehrhaus’s commitment to text, dialogue, and community learning.
A celebration — but not without concerns
But some Yiddish fans are concerned about the merger. “We’re 114 neighborhoods in a trench coat pretending to be a cohesive city,” said Aaron Castillo-White, director of the Yiddish culture organization Kultur Mercado and a former member of the Forward’s development staff.
“Yiddishkayt LA was one of the few forces stitching its Yiddish community together.” Now that it will no longer be a separate institution, he’s worried that the “already fragile cohesion” might suffer even more.
The question is: If Yiddishkayt LA becomes absorbed into New Lehrhaus’s broader educational framework, what will happen to LA’s uniquely local Yiddish culture — the concerts, neighborhood pop-ups, cross-art collaborations, and street-level programming? They may not easily transplant into a text-centered institution.
But Adler Peckerar isn’t worried, noting that, in recent years, newer groups like Der Nister and Kultur Mercado have already begun organizing on-the-ground Yiddish programming. Yiddishkayt LA, on the other hand, had moved away from local, place-based events toward livestreamed programs, online archives, virtual learning and broader national audiences who would never attend in-person Los Angeles events.
To understand the stakes, it’s important to understand who these two merging organizations are.
Two genealogies, one experiment
Yiddishkayt LA, founded by Paley in the 1990s, helped define a distinct West Coast model of Yiddish culture: contemporary, experimental and rooted in doikayt — “being present” in one’s milieu. Its Helix Fellowship shaped young artists who saw Jewish culture not as nostalgia, but as creative raw material.
New Lehrhaus, launched in 2021 by Rachel and David Biale, has different roots: In the early 20th century, the Jewish philosopher Franz Rosenzweig founded an informal educational institution in Frankfurt, Germany, called Lehrhaus, that brought assimilated German Jews into engaging Judaic study without demanding any background knowledge or religious observance.
In the new incarnation, based in the Bay Area, the New Lehrhaus became a home for Jews seeking text and dialogue across denominations and backgrounds.
Last year, after Rachel Biale stepped down as director of the New Lehrhaus, the incoming director, Adler Peckerar, saw the joining of forces as a natural evolution. “Merging two strong organizations isn’t about defeat or one absorbing the other,” he said. “It’s strategic thinking about how to build something that can weather today’s volatile nonprofit landscape.”
But that innovation also sharpens Castillo-White’s concern: What disappears when two distinct ecosystems become one?
Diverging visions of the merger’s impact
Castillo-White described Yiddishkayt as “one of the only cultural bridges” in Los Angeles. He worries that a merger, even one made in good faith, could dilute that hyper-local energy.
Adler Peckerar disagrees. Unlike Castillo-White, he argued the merger will expand — not shrink — opportunities for Yiddish. “We’re broadening the ecosystem,” he said.
Biale framed the merger around a larger question facing Jewish institutions: How do they stay relevant without losing depth? She believes that the merger could bring Yiddishkayt LA fans into a much larger orbit of learning, featuring sessions with scholars like the University of Toronto professor Naomi Seidman who writes about the relationship between Judaism, literature, gender studies, translation studies and sexuality.
The new organization plans to dive into an eclectic range of fields in contemporary culture — physics, poetry, Leonard Cohen — as a doorway into Jewish texts. Adler Peckerar believes this approach could make Jewish learning feel relevant for Jews who may otherwise have little or no connection to Jewish learning.
They’re also planning intimate reading circles on radical Jewish thinkers such as Isaac Deutscher, Rosa Luxemburg and Gustav Landauer; classes on endangered Jewish languages and Hasidic history and experimental Yiddish theater and new one-act plays.
What remains to be seen is how the new Lehrhaus-Yiddishkayt will balance its broadened reach with the local energies that shaped each institution. Many in the community will be watching to see which parts of the old ecosystems endure, and what new forms of Yiddish culture might emerge.
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At long last, a TV show captures the experience of multi-racial Jewish families like mine
The new CBS television series Boston Blue has achieved what I long thought impossible — something close to an accurate portrayal of a multi-racial Jewish-American family.
The show, which quietly debuted last month as a spinoff of the hit series Blue Bloods, centers around the Silver family — a clan of police officers and elected officials helping to maintain safety and order across Beantown. They include siblings Lena, who is Black, Sarah, who is white, and Jonah, who is bi-racial.
“We’re just one big happy kinda confusing family,” Lena declares in the pilot episode, as she explains that her mother married Sarah’s father — with Jonah arriving shortly thereafter. And by establishing the Silver family tree so early on, Boston Blue softens the audience up for its real wild-card: The Silvers are all loudly, proudly and unapologetically Jewish.
Their family reminds me of my own. And I think the show got just about everything about our experience right.
In the pilot episode, Detective Danny Reagan (Blue Bloods veteran Donny Wahlberg) arrives in Boston to care for his injured son — who happens to be Jonah Silver’s partner — and is invited by family matriarch, District Attorney Mae Silver, to the type of “family dinner” made famous by Reagan’s own family on Blue Bloods.
Which is how Reagan unexpectedly finds himself at a Shabbat dinner.
When Mae married Sarah’s father — District Judge Ben Silver — she and Lena converted to Judaism, Reagan learns. Jonah was raised in the faith. But Judge Silver was killed a year earlier, leaving Mae’s father, Rev. Edwin Peters, as the de-factor paterfamilias — a Black pastor at one of Boston’s oldest Black churches, kippah-clad and leading a family of Jews as they light Shabbat candles and recite traditional prayers.
It might all seem a bit far-fetched. Unless you know my own family.
We have white Jews, Black pastors, Asian uncles, Latino ex-husbands and mixed-race Jewish twins — that would be my sister and I. Separated on both coasts, it’s been awhile since we all came together for Shabbat like the Silvers. But if we did, our gathering would look a lot like theirs — minus the mansion on Beacon Hill.
This is what makes Boston Blue so refreshing and unexpected. The Silvers’ Jewishness never feels confrontational or contrived.
There are close to 1 million “Jews-of-color” in the United States today, but Boston Blue accurately understands that the family would still be an enigma to most American viewers. But rather than dwell on this potential narrative hiccup, the show’s writers cannily deployed it as a narrative device instead. These are folks who understand they must often explain their unique family dynamics, but ultimately have nothing to prove. They are both confident and casual in their faith.
As a Jew whom many other Jews often fail to recognize as one of their own, I’ve too often felt I’m not allowed to just be Jewish. So it thrills me to see the Silvers so matter-of-fact and well-adjusted in their Judaism — even if it’s only onscreen.
Two years after the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023, and Israel’s subsequent war with Hamas in Gaza, I went into Boston Blue worried about how Israel, antisemitism, Zionism and anti-Zionism might unfold within the show. Owing to the burdens of identity politics and intersectionality, Jews of color are often tasked with bridge-building amid these fractious and conflicted arenas.
Would they be forced to do the same on TV?
Former Law and Order star Ari’el Stachel — whose Israeli father is of Yemenite heritage — speaks of this duty in his new one-man show Other, now playing in New York. Stachel’s parents are both Jewish. But owing to his darker skin, he possesses a fluency in the optics of ethnicity that often sees him forced to field questions about cross-cultural discourse — even when, like me, he so often wishes the askers would just leave him alone.
I think Stachel would be satisfied by Boston Blue, whose showrunners aptly decided to keep war and hate away from the Shabbat table. Rather than try to shoe-horn the current political climate into the narrative, they avoided it all together. I, for one, was relieved: it’s a gift to see a family like mine onscreen, just being together, without being forced to try and solve all our myriad cultural problems at the same time.
I’ve always been leery of the entire concept of “Jews of color”; I worry it can impede us from understanding that all Jews are equally Jewish. So I was nervous heading into Boston Blue. For so long, so many in Hollywood have gotten our stories wrong at best, and been downright offensive at worst. They’ve tokenized and politicized and fetishized our experiences, while failing to actually humanize families like the Silvers and my own. But Boston Blue got it right — and it’s a step, long overdue, in the right direction.
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