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How a religious revival fed the demise of the Midtown kosher deli
(New York Jewish Week) — It happened toward the end of the last theater season, and it didn’t occasion much comment in the media. But the merging of Ben’s Kosher Delicatessen on West 38th Street with the glatt kosher Mr. Broadway around the corner marked the end of an era.
Ben’s, the last kosher deli in the Theater District that was open on Shabbat, made it possible for generations of Jewish New Yorkers — and a good many Jewish tourists as well — to enjoy a bowl of matzah ball soup and a kosher pastrami or corned beef sandwich before heading to a Saturday matinee.
In recent years, as the Orthodox world has become increasingly stringent, fewer and fewer agencies have offered kosher supervision to an eatery that remains open on the Jewish Sabbath. But all sorts of Jews eat in kosher restaurants for all kinds of reasons: nostalgia, a continuing attachment to Jewish culture, a sense of fealty to the Jewish people, a desire to be among other Jews, or even simply force of habit.
The merger of Ben’s and Mr. Broadway may represent a triumph of religiosity, but it also marks the demise of a Midtown kosher culture that was more flexible and more inclusive of the diverse ways people experience their Jewishness.
Kosher delis were, for decades, fixtures of the Garment Center and the Theater District — the twin neighborhoods, both heavily trafficked by Jews, that stand cheek by jowl in Midtown. Hirsch’s Kosher Deli on West 35th Street was immortalized in the early 1940s in a photo by Roman Vishniac of a group of clothing company executives in three-piece suits and fedoras reading Yiddish newspapers and chatting — a far cry from the photographer’s iconic shots from less than a decade earlier of impoverished Eastern European Jews, most of whom were fated to perish in the Holocaust.
In the 1960s, kosher delis in the area included the Melody on Seventh Avenue at 37th Street and Golding’s on Broadway and 48th Street (before it decamped to the Upper West Side, reopening at Broadway and 86th Street). In the 1970s, the Smokehouse on 47th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues featured smoked and spiced beef by Zion Kosher, the main rival in New York to Hebrew National.
Celebrated Theater District delis like Lindy’s and Reuben’s, and later The Stage and The Carnegie, weren’t kosher, and they sold the lion’s share of corned beef and pastrami sandwiches.
But there was no dearth of kosher food in the neighborhood. In addition to the kosher delis, there were popular upscale kosher eateries like Gluckstern’s — which claimed, in the late 1940s, to serve a staggering 15,000 customers a week — Poliacoff’s, Trotsky’s, the Paramount and Lou G. Siegel’s, which billed itself as “America’s Foremost Kosher Restaurant.” Lou G. Siegel’s occupied the same space that Ben’s took over and that Mr. Broadway is in now at 209 West 38th Street. (Mr. Broadway originated as a dairy restaurant in 1922; in 1985, it transitioned to a gourmet glatt kosher restaurant, and over time added sandwiches, sushi, Israeli food and the like.)
In addition to serving steaks and chops, these establishments sold large quantities of deli sandwiches. While these restaurants advertised themselves as “strictly kosher,” they were open on Shabbat, although notices in their menus, printed daily, beseeched patrons not to smoke on the premises on Friday nights and on Saturdays until sundown, since that, of course, would be a flagrant violation of Jewish law.
When a 2018 review in the New York Times referred to the 2nd Avenue Deli as kosher, even though it was open on Shabbat, it prompted a complaint from a reader named Fred Bernstein. Bernstein explained to restaurant critic Frank Bruni that “almost no observant Jew would consider it kosher” and cited two authorities on the subject: actor Sacha Baron Cohen and Leah Adler, Steven Spielberg’s mother and then owner of a kosher dairy restaurant in Los Angeles.
Lou G. Siegel’s billed itself as “America’s Foremost Kosher Restaurant,” while Gluckstern’s claimed, in the late 1940s, to serve a staggering 15,000 customers a week. (Courtesy Ted Merwin)
Bruni responded, quite reasonably, that he has “several friends who adapt and interpret kosher dietary rules in unusual and permissive ways.” He added: “For them ‘kosher’ — and they do use the word itself when explaining their menu choices — isn’t an exact and exacting prescription so much as it is an ideal toward which they take small steps.”
Indeed Ronnie Dragoon, who owns the restaurants in the Ben’s Kosher Deli chain — all of which are open on Shabbat — and is now a part-owner in Mr. Broadway, estimated that only about 20 percent of his clientele, across all his restaurants, keep the Jewish dietary laws.
Most of the kosher delis in New York were historically open on Shabbat, from the heyday of the kosher deli in the 1930s, when there were a staggering 1,550 such delis in the five boroughs, to today, when less than one percent of that number remains. Deli owners needed their establishments to be open on the weekends to make a profit — in Manhattan, they did the bulk of their business on Friday and Saturday nights, as opposed to kosher delis in the outer boroughs, which were typically busiest on Sunday nights for both eat-in and takeout.
Some kosher delis, especially in the outer boroughs, did close for the entirety of the Sabbath. As Alfred Kazin writes in his lyrical memoir, “A Walker in the City,” “At Saturday twilight, as soon as the delicatessen store reopened after the Sabbath rest, we raced into it panting for the hot dogs sizzling on the gas plate just inside the window. The look of that blackened empty gas plate had driven us wild all through the wearisome Sabbath day. And now, as the electric sign blazed up again, lighting up the words JEWISH NATIONAL DELICATESSEN, it was as if we had entered into our rightful heritage.”
In Manhattan, many owners of kosher delis got around the strict rules of kashrut by “selling” their restaurants to non-Jews, usually employees, before sundown on Friday and buying them back on Saturday night, so they technically didn’t own them and so weren’t doing business during the Sabbath. (This echoes the practice that many Jews engage in by selling forbidden food items to a non-Jew before Passover.) Many justified staying open on Shabbat because it enabled Jews to remain faithful to Jewish tradition in their food consumption, without regard to other ways in which they were transgressing Jewish law.
Kosher delis nowadays adopt different strategies to deal with this issue. Some, like the 2nd Avenue Deli, do still sell their businesses to a non-Jew. Yuval Dekel, the owner of Liebman’s, the last kosher deli in the Bronx (which is about to debut a second store in Westchester) told me that he just ensures that all his ingredients are kosher and leaves it at that.
Some kosher delis, especially outside the New York area, like Abe’s Kosher Deli in Scranton, Pennsylvania, are owned by non-Jews. While relatively unusual, there is nothing new about this: The Kosher Irishman, a deli in East Orange, New Jersey, was open for more than a half a century.
Staying open on Shabbat in the city, however one did it, could be a problem if a neighborhood became heavily populated by Hasidic Jews. My mother worked in the 1950s in her uncle’s kosher deli in Williamsburg, Brooklyn until the restaurant was forced to close because of opposition from the growing haredi population in the neighborhood, who insisted that keeping an otherwise kosher restaurant open on Shabbat was a chillul haShem (desecration of God’s name).
A view outside the 2nd Avenue Deli in New York in 1985. (Eugene Gordon/The New York Historical Society/Getty Images)
In today’s world, in which most Orthodox Jews will eat only in glatt kosher delis like Mr. Broadway, Jewish food doesn’t play the kind of unifying role it once did, according to Jeffrey Gurock, a professor at Yeshiva University and a historian of Modern Orthodoxy. In the past, Gurock has explained, seeing a neon Hebrew National sign in the window made even Modern Orthodox Jews comfortable eating in a deli, whether it was open on Shabbat or not.
Early one Wednesday afternoon in July, I stopped at Mr. Broadway for a bite. I had a ticket to “Funny Girl,” so I didn’t have too much time to eat. I sat and chatted with Dragoon while I chowed down on a brisket sandwich and a potato knish. Two kippah-wearing businessmen were sitting at a nearby table and we took bets on what they would order, since it was during the Nine Days before Tisha B’Av and observant Jews refrain from eating meat during that time of year.
I glanced at a huge, framed oil painting that was sitting on the floor, leaning up against one of the walls that, when it was still Ben’s, was decorated with the famous deli joke about an immigrant Chinese waiter who speaks Yiddish (and thinks he’s speaking English). In its place, the oil painting showed a tall Orthodox rabbi standing on a plush red carpet before the ark in a synagogue; he was clad in sumptuous blue and white robes and sported a long, flowing white beard. The painting seemed like the perfect symbol of what had happened to the deli as it had acquired a depth of religiosity that neither Lou G. Siegel’s nor Ben’s had ever aspired to.
Ronnie saw me looking at it. “Do you want it?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “No, I really don’t.”
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The post How a religious revival fed the demise of the Midtown kosher deli appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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A Purim Guide for the Perplexed, 2025
A Hamentashen pastry commonly served during the Jewish holiday of Purim. Photo: Rebecca Siegel via Flickr.
Ahead of this year’s Purim celebrations on Thursday night, here are seven facts you should know about the holiday:
1. Purim is a Jewish national liberation holiday — just like Passover and Hanukkah — which highlights the transition of the Jewish people from subjugation to liberty. It is celebrated seven days following the birth and death date of Moses — a role model of liberty, leadership, and humility.
2. Here is some information on Purim’s historical background:
A Jewish exile to Babylon and Persia was triggered by the 586 BCE destruction of the First Jewish Temple and the expulsion of Jews from Jerusalem, Judea, and Samaria by the Babylonian Emperor, Nebuchadnezzar. Persia then replaced Babylon as the leading regional power.
In 538 BCE, Xerxes the Great, proclaimed his support for the reconstruction of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem, the resurrection of national Jewish life in the Land of Israel, and the recognition of Jerusalem as the exclusive capital of the Jewish people. In 499-449 BCE, King Ahasuerus established a coalition of countries — from India to Ethiopia — which launched the Greco-Persian Wars, aiming to expand the Persian Empire westward. Persia was resoundingly defeated (e.g., the 490 BCE and 480 BCE battles of Marathon and Salamis), and Ahasuerus’ authority in Persia was gravely eroded.
3. “Purimfest 1946” yelled Julius Streicher, the Nazi propaganda chief, as he approached the hanging gallows in Nuremberg. On October 16, 1946, ten convicted Nazi war criminals were hanged, similar to Haman’s ten sons, who were hanged in ancient Persia. An 11th Nazi criminal, Hermann Goering, committed suicide in his cell, similar to Haman’s 11th child, who committed suicide following her father’s demise (according to the Talmud’s Megillah tractate 16a).
Julius Streicher’s ranch served as a camp for young Jewish Holocaust survivors on their way to Israel following World War II.
4. Remembrance is at the core of the Purim holiday. The Scroll of Esther — which narrates the Purim saga — is also named The Book of Remembrance. The pre-Purim Sabbath is called The Sabbath of Remembrance (Zachor in Hebrew), commemorating the deadly threat of the Amalekites (the ancestors of Haman), who aimed to annihilate the Jewish people following their deliverance from Egyptian bondage.
Deuteronomy 25:17-19 commands the remembrance of the Amalekite’s attempt to annihilate the Jewish people following the Exodus from Egypt, on the way to the Land of Israel. These verses are read in synagogues/temples on the Sabbath preceding Purim.
5. Queen Esther is Purim’s heroine. The Scroll of Esther is one of the five Biblical scrolls, which are highlighted on Jewish holidays: Song of Songs (Passover), Scroll of Ruth (Pentecost), Lamentations (the 9th day of Av – destruction of the Jewish Temple), Ecclesiastes (Feast of Tabernacles), and The Scroll of Esther (Purim).
Esther symbolized the centrality of women in Judaism, as did Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah (the Matriarchs), Miriam (Moses’ older sister), Batyah (who saved Moses’ life), Deborah (the Prophetess, Judge and military leader), Hannah (Samuel’s mother) and Yael (who killed Sisera, the Canaanite General).
Esther was one of the seven Biblical Jewish Prophetesses: Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah, and Esther. Sarah lived 127 years and Esther was the Queen of 127 countries. The Hebrew name of Esther was Hadassah, whose root is Hadass, which is the Hebrew word for the myrtle tree. The myrtle tree features prominently during the Feast of Tabernacles. It is known for its pleasant scent and humble features, including leaves in the shape of the human eye. Greek mythology identifies the myrtle tree with Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love.
6. Mordechai, the hero of Purim and one of the deputies of Ezra the Scribe, was a role model of principle-driven optimism in defiance of colossal odds.
The first three Hebrew letters of Mordechai (מרדכי) spell the Hebrew word “rebellion” (מרד). Mordechai did not bow to Haman, when the latter was the second most powerful person in the Persian Empire. Mordechai was a member of the tribe of Benjamin, the only son of Jacob who did not bow to Esau.
Mordechai was a descendant of King Saul, who defied a clear commandment to eradicate the Amalekites, sparing the life of Agag, the Amalekite king, thus precipitating further calamities upon the Jewish People. Mordechai learned from Saul’s crucial error and eliminated Haman, a descendant of Agag the Amalekite, thus sparing the Jewish people from a major disaster.
7. Purim’s (פורים) Hebrew root is “fate” as well as “casting lots” (פור), commemorating Haman’s lottery, which determined a designated day for the annihilation of the Jewish People. It also means “to frustrate,” “to annul” (הפר), “to crumble,” and “to shutter” (פורר), reflecting the demise of Haman.
The author is a commentator and former Israeli ambassador.
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Palestinian Authority Used International Women’s Day to Celebrate Terrorists and Their Mothers
Students at the Dalal Mughrabi Elementary Mixed School, which was built with funds from the Belgian government. (Photo: Facebook)
As in previous years, the Palestinian Authority (PA) used International Women’s Day to glorify the memory of female terrorists and the value of mothers who knowingly send their sons to die as “Martyrs.”
Senior Fatah leader Abbas Zaki sang the praises of the mothers who publicly celebrate their sons’ deaths. He also lauded the mothers who give their sons the stones to throw at Israelis with the full knowledge that their children will die.
However, sending their sons to their death is not in vain, according to Zaki: “She [the mother] begins to feel that she has gained respect and high status in society when her son dies as a Martyr.”
Fatah Central Committee member Abbas Zaki: “Allah is witness to the fact that there is no woman in the world like the Palestinian woman. The woman who makes sounds of joy for the Martyr and sings songs of the revolution for the groom [i.e., a Martyr’s funeral is considered his wedding to the 72 Virgins in Paradise in Islam].
This woman is the one who gives up her son as he goes to fight with a rock, and she gives him the rock while knowing what her son’s fate will be. However, this woman is placed on a pedestal because she gave oxygen to this homeland, and she begins to feel that she has gained respect and high status in society when her son dies as a Martyr.”
[Fatah Central Committee member Abbas Zaki, Facebook page, March 10, 2025]
The PA also chose International Women’s Day to specifically glorify mass murderer Dalal Mughrabi, who led the Coastal Road Massacre, which was the most lethal attack in Israel’s history prior to October 7, 2023. Mughrabi, along with other Fatah terrorists, hijacked a bus, murdered 37 people, of which 12 were children, and wounded 70.
PA Ramallah Governor Laila Ghannam wrote on Facebook that “on this day … we pray for our female Martyrs and leaders whose blood paved the path of freedom, from Dalal Mughrabi to … the rest of the icons of the struggle.”
In the PA’s official daily, the Ramallah governor continued to extol the role of all Palestinian women as terrorists — the “Martyr, prisoner, and wounded” — and terrorist supporters — “the Martyr’s mother, the prisoner’s mother, his wife, his sister, and his daughter” [Official PA daily Al-Hayat Al-Jadida, March 9, 2025].
When someone is referred to as a “Martyr,” or Shahid in Arabic, it means that the person died while carrying out an idyllic act for Allah, such as the way Dalal Mughrabi murdered children in cold blood.
In yet another article, the official PA daily honored other female terrorists as “icons”: Zakiya Shammout — who planted a bomb in the Afula market in 1969, murdering one and injuring dozens; Shadia Abu Ghazaleh — who prepared bombs for many attacks as a member of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP); and Intisar Al-Wazir — the wife of Abu Jihad. Abu Jihad planned numerous lethal terror attacks from the 1960s to the 1980s, in which a total of 125 Israelis were murdered:
In addition to regularly broadcasting that dying for the sake of Allah is the greatest of acts, the PA exploits International Women’s Day year in and year out to focus on women linked to terror. It does this in order to reiterate that the highest form of feminine hero is the terrorist Martyr, or the mother of the terrorist Martyr.
Ephraim D. Tepler is a contributor to Palestinian Media Watch (PMW). Itamar Marcus is PMW’s Founder and Director. A version of this article originally appeared at PMW.
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A Fascinating Look Into the Rise of Campus Hatred and Antisemitism
Pro-Hamas protesters at Columbia University on April 19, 2024. Photo: Melissa Bender via Reuters Connect
The latest offering from Jewish Quarterly provides a timely and thorough exploration of the state of antisemitism in contemporary universities. It particularly focuses on the rise of campus activism and its implications for academic freedom.
Mindless: What Happened to Universities? features an in-depth essay by Professor Cary Nelson, a respected scholar and former president of the American Association of University Professors. Nelson’s analysis is well-researched and candid, illuminating the ideological shifts within higher education and their consequences for open discourse.
Nelson’s essay is a critical reflection on how academic institutions have evolved in recent years, particularly in response to anti-Zionist activism, antisemitism, and the broader politicization of campus spaces. He examines how university environments, which should be spaces for debate and critical thinking, have increasingly become arenas for dogmatic activism, often at the expense of intellectual diversity. He argues that the Gaza Solidarity encampments that spread across Western campuses in 2024 were symptomatic of deeper issues in academia — specifically, the growing resistance to debate and the framing of complex geopolitical conflicts in binary terms.
Nelson does not claim that student activism itself is problematic. Rather, he critiques the extent to which some protests have crossed the line into intimidation and exclusion for Jewish students. The essay provides extensive and unsettling evidence of antisemitic rhetoric emerging in protests, alongside surveys indicating that over half of Jewish students in the US felt unsafe on campus in 2024. His argument is not that all activism is inherently harmful, but that in many cases, the principle of free inquiry has been overshadowed by ideological conformity and naked political activism in place of scholarship.
One of the strengths of Nelson’s essay is that it does not rely on alarmism; rather, he builds the case methodically. He traces the historical trajectory of academic institutions, illustrating how certain disciplines have gradually shifted toward ideological uniformity, especially in their framing of Israel and Zionism. He also emphasizes how some faculty members have actively promoted activism that extends beyond protest to include calls for exclusion and censorship.
Nelson’s essay is an important contribution for readers looking for a balanced critique. While he clearly finds much of the current campus climate troubling, he avoids sweeping generalizations. Instead, he focuses on specific examples of how anti-Zionist activism has, in some cases, led to exclusionary practices and threats to the psychological safety essential for learning. The result is an essay that invites reflection rather than simply reinforcing entrenched positions.
A particularly valuable aspect of this work is its examination of the role that faculty and administrators play in shaping campus climates. Nelson provides examples of professors who have actively celebrated extremist rhetoric, as well as administrators who have been hesitant to confront antisemitism under the guise of protecting free speech. He contrasts this with past university responses to other forms of discrimination, questioning why antisemitism is often treated differently, especially within the context of a polarizing broader debate over DEI and identity politics.
At the same time, the issue does not present a one-sided view of faculty involvement. There is an acknowledgment that many academics oppose the radicalization of campus discourse but feel unable to speak out due to professional risks. Whilst highlighting increasingly politicized humanities and social sciences departments, his nuanced approach strengthens the essay’s credibility, as it avoids portraying all faculty as complicit or all students as antagonistic.
The past year has witnessed intense debates over free speech, antisemitism, and academic freedom. Nelson’s essay provides an important perspective on how these discussions are unfolding in higher education. Although it does not purport to offer all the answers to antisemitism, it presents a well-argued assessment of the challenges facing universities and offers possible solutions.
Furthermore, the issue underscores how the internationalization of campus activism has influenced these trends. With protests erupting across North America, Europe, and Australia, Nelson places these developments within a global framework, showing that these issues are not limited to any one country or institution. Nelson’s writing is clear and persuasive, and helps frame the discussion within a broader historical and intellectual tradition.
Mindless is an important read for anyone concerned about the future of academic institutions and the principles of free inquiry. While some readers may disagree with Nelson’s conclusions, his work’s strength lies in its commitment to reasoned debate. It does not demand agreement but encourages deeper reflection, which is increasingly rare in today’s polarized discourse.
This issue is well worth reading for those who follow developments in higher education or are concerned about the growing tensions around academic freedom and antisemitism. Jewish Quarterly continues to demonstrate why it is a respected voice in Jewish intellectual and cultural discussions, and Mindless is a testament to its enduring relevance.
Andrew Fox served for 16 years in the British Army (2005-21). He was a senior lecturer at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, and is currently a research fellow at the Henry Jackson Society. Andrew provides regular commentary on defense and foreign policy across the media including articles in the New York Post, The Telegraph, The Spectator, and Spiked. He has amassed a large following across his digital platforms, including X (formerly Twitter) and Substack, where he writes on disinformation, defense and security.
Mindless is available at www.jewishquarterly.com
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