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How the Lower East Side has changed since the 1988 rom-com ‘Crossing Delancey’
(New York Jewish Week) — The classic and very Jewish 1988 film “Crossing Delancey” is one of those movies that feels both extremely of its time and also completely timeless.
Director Joan Micklin Silver’s film has all the classic rom-com trappings: A woman who’s torn between two men (and to that end, two worlds); complaints about how hard it is to meet a man in New York City (as true in 1988 as it is in 2022), and a “mother” figure who knows better (here, a Jewish grandmother known as Bubbe, and in this case, she actually does know better). You could pluck all these specifics and drop them into a present-day film — and, if told with the heart and care of “Crossing Delancey,” still have a pretty good movie.
Yet there’s one thing about the “Crossing Delancey” that fully anchors it in the past, and that is its late-1980s Lower East Side setting. While our heroine, Izzy (Amy Irving), lives and works on the Upper West Side, she pays frequent visits to her Bubbe (Yiddish theater actress Reizl Bozyk), her grandmother, downtown. From the moment that Izzy steps off the train at Delancey Street, she’s transported to another world: a bustling Jewish enclave with market-goers shopping for produce, friends and neighbors in the streets kibbitzing and a Hasidic child sitting outside the subway, enjoying a treat from a local bakery.
This dichotomy between the “Old World” of the Lower East Side and the “New World” uptown is the central conflict of the film: Izzy’s inability to reconcile her Jewish roots with her desire to live a secular, intelligentsia lifestyle, as represented by her two love interests (Sam the Pickle Man and Anton, the self-important author).
However, rewatching the film in the present day, I can’t help but wonder: Would Izzy run from the shtetl if she knew that in a few years, it wouldn’t exist anymore? That due to rising rents and a shift in population, many Jewish businesses would meet their end — or, somewhat ironically, be part of the flight to Brooklyn that began in the early-to-mid 2000s? In some ways, 1988 itself was the beginning and the end: It marked the opening of the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, an effort to preserve the neighborhood’s immigrant past, and it was the very same year that Mayor Koch created a new redevelopment proposal for the Seward Park Extension, a canary in the coal mine for the sea change of development the city would see over the next 30 years.
Re-watching the film in 2022, it struck me how the Lower East Side’s bustling Jewish enclave — the same place where my grandparents were born and raised — has since been lost to time, gentrification and re-zoning plans. These days, the neighborhood paints a different picture entirely: giant buildings hog entire city blocks, with construction promising even more sky-high buildings. There’s no specific character to the neighborhood, no story to tell, few places more integral to the city’s fabric than the Delancey-Essex McDonald’s.
Of course, if you’ve lived in the city long enough, you know there’s no getting comfortable. New Yorkers have to, in essence, harden their hearts. We must accept that the local business you love that’s here today very well could be gone tomorrow — even if that business is a Duane Reade. The Lower East Side of today is not the neighborhood of 1988, or 1968 or 1928.
But amongst all of the present-day residential developments, upscale clothing stores and fast food chains, old-school Jewish businesses like The Pickle Guys, Kossar’s Bagels and Bialys and Yonah Schimmel’s Knish Bakery are still thriving. (And, I’d like to think that if you look hard enough, you’ll find some meddling but well-meaning bubbes and yentas, too.)
While we might not be able to fully experience the Lower East Side as the cast and crew of “Crossing Delancey,” here are four places from “Crossing Delancey” that you can still visit, and four that are sadly gone forever.
What Remains Today
Bubbe’s Apartment
154 Broome Street
The interior shots of Bubbe’s apartment, where Izzy fulfills all of her granddaughterly duties, like singing with her grandmother in Yiddish and plucking her chin hairs, were filmed at 154 Broome Street. The 181-unit building sits at the mouth of the Williamsburg Bridge — which is why Bubbe has that spectacular view — and is part of the New York City Housing Authority’s Seward Park Housing Extension. So while you still can visit the exterior of Bubbe’s apartment building today, don’t linger too long — it might weird out the current tenants.
Essex Market
108 Essex Street
This one is a little complicated. The original Essex Market, where Bubbe shows off her Korean-language skills, still stands today. (If you get off at the subway at Delancey Street, you can’t really miss it.) But that iteration of the market closed its doors in 2019 — in order to relocate to a building across the street so big and so glassy it would make Michael Bloomberg blush. In addition to apartments, office space and a movie theater (it’s a truly mixed-use building for our modern times!), Essex Market does boast local, independent vendors, such as Essex Olive & Spice, Porto Rico Importing Co. and Puebla Mexicana food. Per the New York Times, only one of the market’s vendors decided to forgo the move, opting instead for retirement. But you might want to pay a visit to the original Essex Market while you still can — even if only to give it one last look. Following the move, Essex Market initially housed some avant-garde art installations, but it has since seemingly closed its doors for good. According to Gothamist, it’s to be razed to create — what else? — more condos.
Seward Park Handball Court
Essex Street between Grand and Hester Streets
From the moment Sam and Izzy meet, he makes no effort to hide his ardor. In fact, I’d say he uses every weapon in his arsenal to demonstrate his interest — even going so far as to try to impress her with his handball skills when she unexpectedly drops by the court. (You might also clock his CUNY sweatshirt, as I most certainly did.) The handball court is still there, should you decide you want to play a pickup game, but sadly the court’s colorful mural depicted in the film has since been painted over.
Bonus: Gray’s Papaya
2090 Broadway
While this article is focused on the film’s Lower East Side locations, and with good reason, we’d be remiss if we didn’t point out that one important New York institution Izzy visits triumphantly remains: The Upper West Side Gray’s Papaya. There, Izzy celebrates her birthday with a friend and a hot dog — the right way to do it, in my opinion — when a woman bursts in singing “Some Enchanted Evening,” for everyone and no one in particular. It’s one of many of the film’s classic New York moments.
What’s Been Replaced
Steinberg’s Dairy
21 Essex Street
When Izzy emerges from that train at Delancey Street, director Silver takes great care to immerse us in this world. The camera stays on Izzy as she walks from the subway to Bubbe’s apartment, passing a host of local businesses along the way. Among them is Steinberg’s Dairy, which once lived at 21 Essex Street. Steinberg’s Dairy, which also had an Upper West Side location, offered staples like herring, egg salad and vegetarian chopped liver for less than a dollar back in 1941. Today, if you’re in the area, you can grab a drink at the punk rock bar Clockwork, which opened in 2013.
Zelig Blumenthal
13 Essex Street
Izzy also takes us by Zelig’s Blumenthal (also known as Z & A Kol Torah), where three older women sit outside, enjoying the sights and sounds around them. Once a popular Judaica store, it unexpectedly closed its Lower East Side doors in 2010 after 60 years in business. At the time, then-owner Mordechai Blumenthal made the decision to relocate the store to Flatbush due to a dwindling Orthodox population and foot traffic in the area, and a landlord who made clear he “wanted him gone.” It’s unclear if the Flatbush location remains open today, but a vintage clothing store called Country Of has taken up its original spot.
Posner’s Pickles (AKA Guss’ Pickles)
35 Essex Street
Posner’s Pickles, as run by Sam the Pickle Man in the film, was never exactly a real place to begin with. Filming took place at the world-famous Guss’ Pickles, which first opened on Hester Street in 1920, before relocating to Essex Street, where there were once over 80 pickle vendors for locals to choose from. After a stint on Orchard Street, Guss’ Pickles followed in the footsteps of so many others by then, leaving Manhattan to open up shop in Brooklyn’s Dekalb Market in 2017. While Guss’ Pickles is today based out of the Bronx, their delicious pickles are available to order no matter where you are in the country, via Goldbelly. Today, 35 Essex Street is home to Delancey Wine — appropriately named, but doesn’t offer possibilities for a slogan like “a joke and a pickle for only a nickel,” as Posner’s Pickles did in the film.
Schapiro’s Kosher Wines
124 Rivington Street
For 100 years, Schapiro’s Kosher Wines proudly served the Jewish community as the only kosher winery in New York City. It’s where Bubbe chides Izzy for her lack of interest in Sam, and while today the pair couldn’t have this conversation outside Schapiro’s, they could grab brunch at the restaurant Essex. Home to New York City’s “longest-running Brunch Party,” Essex salutes its Lower East Side roots with dishes like potato pancakes and Israeli couscous.
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The post How the Lower East Side has changed since the 1988 rom-com ‘Crossing Delancey’ appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Cantorial music movingly sung by women, at this event in Indiana
אויף איין טאָג איז דאָס שטעטל בלומינגטאָן — אַן אוניווערסיטעט־שטאָט אין ווײַטער אינדיאַנע — געוואָרן אַ צענטער פֿון נײַער און טראַדיציאָנעלער ייִדישער מוזיק.
דעם 11טן אָקטאָבער איז פֿאָרגעקומען אַ גאַנצע ריי פּראָגראַמען געווידמעט דער מיזרח־אייראָפּעיִשער ייִדישער קולטור. די פּראָגראַם, „זכּרון פֿאַרוואַנדלט“ (Memory Transformed), האָט אַרײַנגענומען אַן אַקאַדעמישן סימפּאָזיום, אַ קונסט־אויסשטעלונג און אַ קאָנצערט פֿון הײַנטצײַטיקער ייִדישער מוזיק. ס׳איז געקומען אַ גרויסער עולם: סײַ סטודענטן און פּראָפֿעסאָרן פֿון אוניווערסיטעט, סײַ ייִדן און נישט־ייִדן פֿון דער געגנט.
די רײַכע פּראָגראַם איז פֿאָרגעקומען אין בלומינגטאָן, דער עיקר, אַ דאַנק ירמיהו לאָקוווּד, דעם באַקאַנטן מוזיקער, היסטאָריקער און מוזיקאָלאָג, וואָס איז אויך אַ גאַסט־פּראָפֿעסאָר פֿון ייִדישע לימודים אין אינדיאַנער אוניווערסיטעט. לאָקוווּד האָט זיך באַטייליקט סײַ אינעם סימפּאָזיום סײַ אין דעם קאָנצערט. ער איז אויפֿגעטראָטן מיט זײַן קאַפּעליע, The Sway Machinery, מיט וועמען ער שפּילט שוין די לעצטע צוואָנציק יאָר.
כאָטש לאָקוווּדס אייגענע מוזיק איז מאָדערן, פֿאָרשט ער דווקא אַ מער טראַדיציאָנעלן ייִדישן זשאַנער: דאָס חזנות. בעת אַ שמועס מיט מיר האָט ער געזאָגט, אַז ער האַלט דאָס חזנות פֿאַרן עיקר און נשמה פֿון דער ייִדישער מוזיק. זײַן ערשט בוך, „גאָלדענע עפּאָכעס“ (2024) באַהאַנדלט די הײַנטיקע חסידישע זינגער, וואָס באַנײַען דעם סטיל חזנות פֿון אַלטע צײַטן. איצט אַרבעט ער אויף אַ צווייט בוך, וואָס זאָל דערציילן די געשיכטע פֿון חזנות ביזן הײַנטיקן טאָג.
לאָקוווּד פֿאָרשט ספּעציעל די אַלטע פּלאַטעס פֿון אָנהייב 20סטן יאָרהונדערט. חזנות איז אַ מאָל געווען געוואַלדיק פּאָפּולער, ווײַל דער פֿאָנאָגראַף האָט אַרײַנגעברענגט די הייליקע מוזיק אַפֿילו אין וועלטלעכע ייִדישע היימען.
אויפֿן סימפּאָזיום האָט אויך גערעדט אַן אַנדער מומחה פֿון חזנות, ד״ר יהודית בערקסאָן, אַ פֿאָרשערין און פּראָפֿעסיאָנעלע חזנטע אין לאָס־אַנדזשעלעס. זי האָט גערעדט וועגן דעם אימפּראָוויזירטן אַספּעקט פֿון חזנות, וואָס איז אַ מאָל געווען גאָר וויכטיק. הײַנט זינגען חזנים געוויינטלעך לויט די נאָטן, ווײַל זיי זענען גוט טרענירט אין דער קלאַסישער מערבֿדיקער מוזיק־טראַדיציע. אָבער דאָס אַמאָליקע חזנות איז געווען אַ געמיש פֿון מערבֿדיק און מיזרחדיק, מיט אַ סך אימפּראָוויזאַציע — אַ ביסל ווי דזשעז־מוזיק. דער חזן האָט קיין מאָל נישט געזונגען דאָס זעלבע שטיקל אויף פּונקט דעם זעלביקן אופֿן. יעדע זאַך איז געווען אָריגינעל.
בערקסאָן האָט אויך גערעדט וועגן די פּריוואַטע, קאָנטראַבאַנדישע רעקאָרדירונגען, וואָס געוויסע ליבהאָבערס פֿון חזנות פֿלעגן מאַכן בסוד. זיי האָבן אַרײַנגעשמוגלט אַ רעקאָרדיר־אַפּאַראַט אין אַ תּלית־בײַטל אָדער אונטערן מאַנטל און רעקאָרדירט דעם חזן, אַפֿילו ווען מע טאָר נישט, שבת אָדער יום־טובֿ. די אָ ייִדן זענען געווען גרייט צו ריזיקירן מיט דער אייגענער נשמה, אַבי צו פֿאַרמאָגן דאָס געזאַנג פֿון זייער באַליבטן חזן. אויף אַזעלכע רעקאָרדירונגען הערט מען אָפֿט אַ סך אימפּראָוויזאַציעס.
אויפֿן סימפּאָזיום האָט אויך גערעדט דער היגער ייִדיש־פּראָפֿעסאָר, דובֿ־בער קערלער. ער האָט דערציילט וועגן ייִדישע לידער, וואָס דער עולם האַלט זיי אָפֿט פֿאַר אַלטע פֿאָלקסלידער, כאָטש אין דער אמתן זענען די מחברים גוט באַקאַנט. למשל, „דער רבי אלימלך“ האָט געשריבן און קאָמפּאָנירט דער פּאָעט משה נאַדיר (יצחק רײַז), וואָס האָט געוווינט אין ניו־יאָרק. אַ סך פֿון די פּאָפּולערסטע לידער אונדזערע שטאַמען באמת פֿון אַמעריקע, נישט פֿון מיזרח־אייראָפּע.
לאָקוווּדס מוזיק מיט זײַן קאַפּעליע איז אַ יחיד־במינו, אַ געמיש פֿון עטלעכע מוזיקאַלישע זשאַנערס און סטילן: חזנות, ראָק, פֿאָנק, בלוז. באמת זענען זיי אַ מאָדערנע „אינדי“־ראָק־קאַפּעליע, וואָס זינגט תּפֿילות אויף לשון־קודש. עס איז טשיקאַווע צו הערן פֿאַרכאַפּנדיקע לידער מיט אַזאַ ריטעם און קלאַנג, אַז עס ווילט זיך טאַנצן, און זען, אַז די ווערטער האָבן אָנגעשריבן רבנים מיט הונדערטער יאָרן צוריק. אויפֿן קאָנצערט, למשל, האָבן זיי געשפּילט „אָדם יסודו“, אַ טייל פֿונעם פּיוט „ונתנה תּוקף“, וואָס ייִדן זאָגן ראָש־השנה. דאָס שטאַמט לויט דער מסורה פֿון הרבֿ אַמנון פֿון מײַנץ אין 11טן י״ה.
נאָך דעם איז אויפֿגעטראָטן אַ צווייטע גרופּע: „די אומשטאַרביקע חזנטעס“, וואָס באַשטייט פֿון עטלעכע פֿון די בעסטע חזנטעס פֿון אונדזער דור: יהודית בערקסאָן אַליין, רחל וועסטאָן, שאַהאַנאַ מעקיני־באַלדאָן און ריקי רויז. זיי האָבן געזונגען קלאַסישע תּפֿילות פֿונעם אַלטן רעפּערטואַר פֿון די גרויסע חזנים און חזנטעס פֿון אַ מאָל: „אַחינו“, „רצה במנוחתינו“, און „שׂים שלום“. די ווירטואָזקייט פֿון די חזנטעס האָט געמאַכט אַ געוואַלדיקן רושם אויף מיר און איך בין זיכער אויך אויף די אַנדערע.
איין ליד איו געווען טיילווײַז אויף ייִדיש: „איך בענק אַהיים“, געזונגען פֿון רחל וועסטאָן, וואָס איז באַקאַנט פֿון אַן אַלטער רעקאָרדירונג פֿון דער משפּחה מאַלאַווסקי, מיט דער באַקאַנטער חזנטע גאָלדי מאַלאַווסקי. הערנדיק דאָס ליד האָט דער עולם מסתּמא דערפֿילט, ווי איך אַליין, אַ בענקשאַפֿט נאָך דער אַלטער היים אין מיזרח־אייראָפּע, און נאָך דער אַמאָליקער ניו־יאָרק, וווּ חזנות און ייִדיש האָבן געלעבט אויף אַ ברייטן פֿאַרנעם.
The post Cantorial music movingly sung by women, at this event in Indiana appeared first on The Forward.
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Why this Zionist Israeli is running with an Islamist party
(JTA) — KIBBUTZ EIN HAHORESH, Israel – He’s been called a “terror supporter” and a “traitor,” and even accused of devious steps to enable Islamists to “infiltrate” Israel’s next government. But Yoav Segalovitz, the Jewish parliamentarian who recently broke strict taboos by teaming up with an Arab Islamist party, is unperturbed.
“There are always crazy people, and it doesn’t matter what they say on television; I think when you’ve chosen your path, you just have to ignore it all,” he said in a recent interview with the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
It has been just over a month since Segalovitz, 67, a veteran member of Israel’s parliament, the Knesset, made his unprecedented decision to leave the centrist Yesh Atid party for Ra’am, an Arab-Israeli party with roots in the Muslim Brotherhood, in the hopes of bridging the gap between Jews and Arabs in Israel.
“Are all the old patterns going to change in the coming month? Absolutely not,” Segalovitz, a former deputy minister for public security and a former police investigator, said. “But I’m thinking long term, not just about these particular elections. From my perspective, this is a long-term story. It’s not about the here and now.”
At a recent campaign event in the well-worn communal dining room of Kibbutz Ein Hahoresh, an agricultural community in the Emek Hefer region of central Israel, Segalovitz explained to a group of around 80 Jewish voters why he made the radical decision as a self-declared Zionist to team up with an Islamist party.
“I wanted to have an impact,” he said, describing how he knew it would somehow be related to the Arab community in Israel that makes up around 21% of the total population.
“I knew I wanted to break down the paradigms that exist; I wanted to cross the bridge; the only question was how I could do this,” Segalovitz said, speaking to the small crowd of kibbutz members and residents of the surrounding communities.
Microphone in hand, the neatly dressed former police officer described how, when tensions were high and societal divisions deeper than ever during the final days of the previous Knesset, he asked himself how he could make a meaningful difference in Israeli society.
Segalovitz said that at first he considered creating a brand new joint Israeli-Arab party. But he quickly realized that he could make greater change by joining forces with Ra’am, an Arab party whose leader, Mansour Abbas, is already known for his own paradigm-breaking political moves.
Abbas, a deeply religious conservative Muslim who, in his own words, identifies as a Palestinian citizen of Israel, was the first Arab party leader to join an Israeli government, breaking deep-rooted taboos in his own community. In 2021, his bold move to join former prime ministers Naftali Bennett and Yair Lapid in a ruling coalition helped to briefly oust Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu from power.
While the move signaled an unprecedented shift in Israeli politics, it was also fraught with tension and ultimately proved to be deeply unpopular with much of the Israeli public and some in the Arab community. Ultimately, Ra’am’s inclusion in the Bennett-Lapid government was one of the factors that led to its rapid downfall.
If including an Arab party in the government was controversial before Hamas’ attacks on Oct. 7, 2023, today it is close to unthinkable. In the run-up to the Oct. 27 election, most predominantly Jewish parties have avoided saying publicly that they would consider including Ra’am, or any other Arab party, in a future coalition. And, beyond Ra’am, the other Arab party – the Joint List – remains emphatically against any such alliance.
But recent polls suggest that bringing Arab parties into a governing alliance could be the only way to secure the parliamentary majority needed to form a new government. With Segalovitz now running on Ra’am’s list, such a prospect may be slightly more realistic.
However, the challenges of reaching such an arrangement were evident at the recent Kibbutz Ein Hahoresh meeting.
An aging audience of casually dressed kibbutzniks sauntered into the sparse hall curious to hear Segalovitz’s story. They gave him a warm and polite reception, and grilled him with questions after listening to him speak. But most said they were not swayed to vote for him.
“He’s very brave for doing what he did,” said Elie Aloni, 80, a resident of nearby Beit Herut. But she continued to say that she would not vote for Ra’am because she’s already committed to the left-wing Democrats Party.
Aloni said her party’s leader, Yair Golan, had already stated that he wanted to see Ra’am join the government, and she hoped that would happen. She was also hopeful that having an Israeli Jew on Ra’am’s list would make it easier for the party to be included in the next coalition.
But she acknowledged that, after Oct. 7, including Arab parties in a government could prove difficult.
“I’m a peace activist, but even I have become disillusioned,” she said. “After Oct. 7, it has become more difficult to trust the Arabs. But they are not going to disappear, and neither are we.”
Segalovitz knows that his support is unlikely to come from Jewish voters. Instead, he has been focusing on reaching the Arab community and encouraging them to exercise their democratic rights.
Since joining Ra’am in early September, he has traveled around the country to address Arabic-speaking audiences – Muslims, Christians and Druze – about why he joined the party and what he hopes to achieve. The meetings are conducted in Hebrew because, as he admits, he does not speak a word of Arabic.
Segalovitz told JTA that despite the cold reception, including some outright attacks, from Israeli Jews, the Arab community has overwhelmingly embraced him – even though there is some skepticism.
Michael Milshtein, head of the Palestinian Studies Forum at the Moshe Dayan Center at Tel Aviv University, who has researched political trends in Israel’s Arab community for years, called Segalovitz’s decision to join Ra’am “pioneering.”
However, he noted that the Jewish MK has also faced attacks from within the Arab community from those who struggle to accept an openly Zionist Israeli joining their political ranks.
Although there are some Jewish Israeli members of Arab parties, namely the communist-leaning Hadash, they often identify as anti-Zionist. Segalovitz’s arrangement with Abbas is slightly different. He has not formally joined the Islamist party but rather forged an agreement whereby he will retain the freedom to vote independently on issues including religion and state, national security and LGBTQ rights.
“His move is revolutionary; he is not a post-Zionist or an anti-Zionist like some Jewish members of Hadash,” Milshtein said. “He [Segalovitz] is creating connections with a traditional religious party and it’s just bizarre.”
Segalovitz’s presence in Ra’am, which emerged from the southern branch of the Islamic Movement in Israel, historically linked to the Muslim Brotherhood, has also prompted questions across the Arab world about how Abbas can continue to be associated with the movement that also includes more extreme groups such as Hamas, Milshtein said.
But Milshtein said the two men were “pioneering” in much the same way.
“It’s kind of a mirror: Mansour breaks all kinds of taboos, and so does Segalovitz,” he said, adding that many Jews respected Segalovitz, and even supported his decision, “even if they won’t end up voting for him.”
Ra’am’s changes started in the 1990s when Israel’s Islamic Movement split into two, enabling the southern branch, the political home of Ra’am, to seek political engagement with state institutions as a way to make changes within the community. Abbas’s ascent to the leadership brought Ra’am’s current goals into even sharper focus.
Abbas, 52, a dentist by training, succeeded in breaking the party’s organizational ties with the religious leadership, allowing it to work even more harmoniously with institutions in Israel and focus on improving life for the country’s Arab citizens.
At this point in Ra’am’s history, Segalovitz’s arrival could be a significant political asset. The party’s focus is on improving life for Israel’s Arab community, and Segalovitz brings experience tackling violent and organized crime, one of the sector’s most pressing concerns.
As head of the Israel Police’s Investigations Unit from 2009 to 2013, and as deputy public security minister from 2021 to 2022, Segalovitz focused on violent crime. As deputy minister, he headed a government program aimed at addressing violent crime, successfully reducing homicides in the Arab sector by some 16%, the lowest level since 2014.
After Netanyahu’s return to office in 2022, Segalovitz’s program was scrapped. Since then, the murder rate has soared, with organized crime reaching beyond the Arab community. According to statistics compiled by the Abraham Initiatives, the number of murders in the Arab sector more than doubled between 2022 and 2025, rising from 116 to 252.
“Today, Israel has similar crime rates to those in South American countries,” said Segalovitz, referring to the organized crime that has been surging in the Arab community. He pointed the finger at Netanyahu and his government for failing to address deeper social and economic problems in Arab society.
Segalovitz is also a firm believer in some type of national community service for the Arab sector, akin to the mandatory military service most Jewish Israelis must undertake.
“Arabs make up 21% of Israel’s population,” Segalovitz said. “They are involved in every area of daily life in Israel, in medicine, economics, education and more. We live together with one another, and we need to decide how to manage a future partnership.”
“Our future does not allow us not to work in partnership with each other,” he said. “We have partnerships in all areas of life, except in politics.”
While running with Ra’am is his way of trying to change that, Segalovitz is under no illusion that his efforts will translate into votes. Instead, he sees his candidacy as a small first step toward a longer-term shift in Israeli politics.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Why this Zionist Israeli is running with an Islamist party appeared first on The Forward.
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From Holocaust survivor to Nazi hunter to Entebbe hero
(JTA) — When Boaz Dvir flew from the United States to Israel in late September to screen his new film, “To Kill a Nazi,” he didn’t expect its story to become newly relevant. But just as Dvir arrived, the thwarting of an apparent hijacking of a flydubai flight bound for Israel offered an uncanny echo of the history his film recounts.
The film tells the largely overlooked story of Michel Cojot, a French Jewish Holocaust survivor and Nazi hunter who helped fellow hostages during the Entebbe hostage crisis and later provided intelligence that aided the Israeli rescue mission. For Dvir, the timing was striking.
“As I’m driving around, what do I hear?” he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “Somebody tried to hijack a plane from Dubai to Israel and do a 9/11 type of terrorist attack? And the passengers saved the day? Ordinary guys?
“And of course, people brought it up everywhere I went, because the parallels are uncanny.”
Michel Goldberg was born in Paris in 1938. After the Nazis invaded, his father Joseph Goldberg was captured and sent to Auschwitz, where he was killed. According to his 1982 memoir “Namesake,” Michel was raised in France’s so-called “free zone,” which the Nazis would also occupy starting in 1942, and took his last name from his stepfather after his mother remarried.
Growing up to become a successful banker, Michel teamed with the famed Nazi-hunting couple Beate and Serge Klarsfeld and in 1975, while working in South America, embarked on a plot to find and kill Klaus Barbie, the Gestapo commander who had signed the arrest papers for Cojot’s father, and who was at that point hiding out in Bolivia.
Posing as a journalist, an armed Cojot met the “Butcher of Lyon,” but given the opportunity, Cojot failed to pull the trigger. In his memoir he writes that Barbie instead deserved to live in constant fear of reprisal, and that murder was a “Nazi” solution.
The year after his mission to Bolivia, Cojot and his son were on the fateful Air France flight that, bound from Tel Aviv to France, was hijacked by Palestinian terrorists and West German far-left radicals, with 102 Israelis on board. It led to the standoff at Entebbe International Airport in Uganda and the heroic rescue by Israeli commandos.
During the seven-day crisis, Cojot acted as a translator and go-between among the hijackers and passengers. When the Ugandan dictator Idi Amin spoke to the hostages, Cojot translated his English into French. He was even credited with persuading the lead hijacker, Wilfried Böse, to release the non-Israeli hostages. After his release, Cojot provided information to Mossad, including the layout of where the hostages were being held, which greatly assisted the Operation Thunderbolt rescue mission.
Cojot went on to write a book about Barbie’s crimes, and then testified in Barbie’s war crimes trial in the late 1980s. Barbie was sentenced to life in prison; he died of cancer in 1991. Cojot himself passed away in 1999. While the story of Entebbe is very well-known, Cojot’s role in it has often been left out of such tellings. None of the feature films about the rescue, most recently 2018’s “7 Days in Entebbe,” include him as a major character.
Divir hopes to give the forgotten hero the recognition he deserves. The grandson of Holocaust survivors who was born in Petah Tikva a few weeks after the Six-Day War in 1967, the filmmaker remembers the weeklong Entebbe crisis. He was nine years old then.
“I was like most Israeli kids at the time, outside most of the day and playing,” Dvir said. “But my brother and I, who was a year younger, decided that in solidarity with the hostages, we’re gonna ground ourselves, and so we did for that whole week.”
At the end of the week, he remembers his father waking him up and telling him, “The IDF did it.”
“We knew immediately what he meant, and of course we were thrilled for everybody, the released hostages, the military, but we’re also happy to be able to go outside again,” said Dvir.
While histories of the Entebbe affair omitted the actions of Michel Cojot, another Frenchman, pilot Michel Bacos, has often been recognized as a hero of the affair for having refused to be freed in the first release of the hostages. Most obituaries of Bacos, who died in 2019 at age 95, included this.
In fact, Dvir originally planned to make a documentary about Bacos. However, his research, including an interview with Bacos himself, led Dvir, a journalist and journalism professor at Penn State, to doubt Bacos’ version of the events.
But those former hostages kept mentioning another Michel, a genuine hero. “The story that I knew so well, Operation Thunderbolt, that I grew up with, now suddenly took on a whole new meaning,” Dvir said.
The film includes interviews with all four of Cojot’s children, including his son Olivier, who was with him in Entebbe, along with hostages and experts; Cojot himself appears in archival footage.
Dvir also composed the film’s music, which Penn State musicians perform on the soundtrack.
Dvir worked on the project for nearly a decade, even presenting it publicly as a work in progress as early as 2018.
“This project took a lot longer than most of my projects,” the director said.
A familiar voice narrates the film: Jason Alexander, the Jewish actor best known for “Seinfeld.” Dvir’s manager and business partner is a friend of Alexander’s, who agreed to narrate after viewing a rough cut.
“To Kill a Nazi” premiered at the Dances With Films festival in June. It has also screened at the Nashville Jewish Film Festival and the Croatian International Film Festival, and premiered in New York City on Oct. 16 at Regal Battery Park as part of the Chelsea Film Festival.
It’s also set to play the Austin Film Festival at the Boulder Jewish Film Festival, and the Silicon Valley Jewish Film Festival on Oct. 29; at the Galaxy Theatre in Austin, Texas on Oct. 31; and at the Harrisburg Jewish Film Festival on Nov. 12. Dvir hopes it will be picked up by a streaming service.
Some Jewish and Israeli filmmakers, especially since Oct. 7, have complained that they’ve had difficulty getting their films into festivals.
Dvir said that while “To Kill a Nazi” is “doing very, very well” and has been accepted to film festivals both Jewish and non-Jewish, “it’s been a little more of an effort than I’m used to putting in.”
“I don’t have any proof for it, but my sense is that there are some film festivals to which we submitted that may not have even really watched it or given it a fair shot,” said Dvir, who denounced the apparent boycotts of other films and artists. “At the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter. Because we can only do so many film festivals anyway. I’m very happy with what we got.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post From Holocaust survivor to Nazi hunter to Entebbe hero appeared first on The Forward.
