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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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Author R.F. Kuang addresses backlash over Israeli character in newest book
The bestselling author R.F. Kuang has broken her silence over backlash to the inclusion of a minor Israeli character in her newest novel, Taipei Story.
The book, published last week, follows a Chinese-American student, Lily Chen, who studies abroad in Taipei hoping to reconnect with her cultural roots and perfect her Mandarin. But she quickly finds that bridging the gap between her Chinese heritage and American upbringing will be more difficult than she imagined.
In May, before the book was published, an excerpt from Taipei Story which included the unnamed Israeli character was leaked online. In a scene that lasts barely two pages, Lily attends a concert featuring a pianist “from Israel” who is described as “a big deal.” The vignette has little bearing on the plot beyond showing how Lily finds catharsis in the music.
Social media critics accused Kuang — who has previously donated special editions of her books to raise money for humanitarian relief organizations in Gaza — of “normalizing Israel” by depicting an Israeli character in a positive light. The topic trended on BookTok (for the uninitiated, TikToks about books), with some users calling on readers to cancel their preorders of the novel and bombard Taipei Story’s GoodReads page with one-star ratings. (So-called “review-bombing” violates GoodReads guidelines.)
Kuang did not comment on the social media-fueled controversy for months.
But in an interview with USA Today and at a book tour stop last week at Sixth & I, a historic Washington, D.C. synagogue, Kuang pushed back on her critics, saying the backlash reflected a misinterpretation of the passage. Video from the event was posted to TikTok, and the Forward independently confirmed with Kuang’s publisher that the recording accurately captured her remarks.
“I want to read charitably the person who’d seen the words ‘Israeli pianist’ and immediately been so afraid that this book was condoning these practices,” said Kuang, who didn’t specify what “these practices” referred to in the clip. “But the fact of the matter is that’s just not what that scene does. That’s not how it was intended, and that’s not how it reads.”
Kuang seemed to say that the scene, which takes place as Lily is in the midst of a personal cultural identity crisis, was actually commentary on the political dynamics underlying cultural encounters.
“I instead wanted to invite the reader to ask questions about what’s going on in this scene, what is this character noticing based on what we know about where she comes from, in the position of an arrogant American study abroad student,” Kuang said. “This scene raises a lot of questions about who gets to move through the world, who is received in what ways, what are geopolitics that undergird something as innocent as a concert.”
The subtext
Kuang, a PhD student at Yale in East Asian Languages and Literatures, has made a name for herself writing critiques of colonialism, imperialism and racism. She has also engaged politically beyond her written work, participating in the charity auction “Unbound for Gaza” in Sept. 2025. A few months later, she withdrew from a literary festival in the United Arab Emirates, citing her support for the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement’s call to boycott the UAE for allegedly supplying weapons to paramilitary groups in the brutal Sudanese civil war.
Kuang’s historical fantasy novels, Babel, or the Necessity of Violence and The Poppy War trilogy, take on British imperialism and the legacy of the Second Sino-Japanese War. Kuang’s foray into literary fiction, Yellowface, critiques cultural appropriation through a satirical account of a white author who passes off her dead Chinese friend’s manuscript as her own.
Taipei Story is an inner monologue that toggles between the narrator’s mundane problems — boy trouble, mosquito bites, unbearable heat — and her musings on colonialism and geopolitics.
Lily notices the “ghosts of Japan everywhere” — remnants from the Japanese occupation of Taiwan following its defeat in the First Sino-Japanese War.
Yet Lily also acknowledges Taiwan doesn’t fit neatly into the framework she learned in history class that “colonialism was bad,” noting that Taiwan never experienced a “decolonial transition” and remains caught between the influence of China and the U.S.
“Taiwan had only ever been passed from occupier to occupier — indeed, to Taiwan’s indigenous peoples, the Han Chinese themselves were occupiers,” Kuang writes. “So who was I to say any occupier was better than the last?”
Lily is also grappling with her own sense of being an outsider in Taiwan — a country her parents, who are from mainland China, have never visited. She hopes that learning Mandarin will help her reclaim a connection to her family’s past, but her grandfather’s death forces her to confront how much of that past she never really knew.
It’s against this backdrop that, roughly three-quarters of the way through the book, the unnamed Israeli pianist comes on stage. The reader is given only a few details about him: It was “his first time in Taiwan,” and he was “a dour-faced man who did not so much as crack a smile as we applauded.”
Later, Lily returns to the concert hall. She remarks that “the audience was not always as well behaved as they had been for the Israeli pianist. That had been a special occasion, it turned out. I rarely saw foreigners in the concert hall after that. Never again did I see a full house.”
Some online have suggested that the scene is “an allegory for the issue of watching Israeli occupation unfold.” Others read it as a commentary on the prestige afforded to foreign artists while Taiwanese artists are overlooked — and, by extension, on which conflicts around the world command our attention. Or perhaps the pianist’s nationality is significant simply because the narrator has a habit throughout the novel of identifying people by where they are from: “an Italian undergraduate,” “a German girl,” a “Hong Kong director.”
If the scene is meant to carry a hidden meaning, Kuang isn’t spelling it out.
Kuang told USA Today she was getting more comfortable moving away from “didactic” modes of storytelling, leaving room for readers to interpret for themselves.
“The risk of that,” she said, “is somebody runs away with the total opposite conclusion of what you’re putting on the page.”
The post Author R.F. Kuang addresses backlash over Israeli character in newest book appeared first on The Forward.
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How can Yiddish fans in Israel benefit from the growing Yiddish scene abroad?
דער הינטערגרונט
די באַציִונגען צווישן ייִדיש-אינסטיטוציעס אין ישׂראל און אין אַמעריקע איז אַ בכּבֿודיקע, אַקטועלע טעמע וואָס דאַרף הײַנט באַהאַנדלט ווערן מיט אַ פֿרישן צוגאַנג. אויף אַלע אַנדערע געביטן ווי זיכערקייט, ווירטשאַפֿט, געזונט און אַקאַדעמיע קאָן מען פֿעסטשטעלן אַז די אָ באַציִונגען זענען ברייט פֿאַרנעמיקע און מ׳קאָן אַפֿילו צוגעבן אַז די שטיצע פֿון אַמעריקאַנער ייִדנטום לטובֿת ישׂראל איז אין אַזאַ מאָס, אַז מ׳וואָלט זיך נישט געקאָנט פֿאָרשטעלן ווי אַ סך פֿון די אינסטיטוציעס וואָלטן פֿונקציאָנירט אָן דעם ריזיקן פֿינאַנציעלן אָנשפּאָר אויפֿן אַמעריקאַנעם ייִדנטום.
און ווי אַזוי זעט עס אויס אויפֿן געביט פֿון ייִדישע קולטור-באַציִונגען? וואָס שייך אַקאַדעמישע אויסטוישן און צוזאַמענאַרבעט אויף וויכטיקע אונטערנעמונגען אין אַמעריקע און אין ישׂראל איז דער מצבֿ אַ נישקשהדיקער. מע קאָן צוגעבן אַז דער תּחום נעמט אַריין אין פֿאַרלויף פֿון די יאָרן אַ פּאָר הונדערטער אַקטיווע אַקאַדעמיקער און אַוואַנסירטע סטודענטן.
ווען מיר טראַכטן זיך אָבער אַרײַן אין דער פֿראַגע, וואָס געשעט מיט דער ברייטערער געזעלשאַפֿט, איז דער מצבֿ אַ גאָר סטאַטישער. דאָס איז אַן אויסדרוק פֿון אַ גאָר באַגרענעצטער, לאָקאַליסטישער באַציִונג צו דעם פֿענאָמען פֿון ייִדישער קולטור אין אירע פֿאַרשידענע אויסדרוקן. אָט די פֿעסטשטעלונג איז גילטיק נישט נאָר לגבי אַמעריקע און ישׂראל, נאָר אויך לגבי אַ סך אַנדערע ייִשובֿים איבער דער וועלט. אין ישׂראל, אויסער דעם אָרטאָדאָקסישן סעקטאָר, זענען מסתּמא כּמעט אַ מיליאָן תּושבֿים אין די לעצטע פּאָר יאָר אַרײַן אינעם קרײַז פֿון ייִדיש-טעטיקייט אַ דאַנק דער אַקטיווער מעדיאַ, פֿייסבוק, פֿילמען און ייִדיש-קרײַזן. אַ ביסל אונטער דעם ראַדאָר, געניסט מען פֿון קונסט, הומאָר, כּלי־זמר-מוזיק. און די צאָל וואַקסט פֿון יאָר צו יאָר. קיין אַנקעטעס האָט מען ביז איצט, צום באַדויערן, נישט געפֿירט — דער עסטאַבלישמענט האָט קיין אינטערעס נישט אין אָט דער דערשײַנונג — און ס׳איז אַ שאָד, ווײַל אויב מ׳וואָלט געקאָנט באַקומען אָביעקטיווע באַווײַזן דערפֿון וואָלט מען געקאָנט נאָכפֿאָלגן די אָ פּראָצעסן און פּרוּוון ווירקן אויף זיי.
דער ברייטער, שוואַך אָרגאַניזירטער ציבור וואָס איז גענייגט צו ייִדיש, ווייסט אַפֿילו נישט, אַז אין 1996 איז אין לאַנד אָנגענומען געוואָרן דאָס געזעץ אויפֿצושטעלן „די נאַציאָנאַלע אינסטאַנץ פֿאַר ייִדישער קולטור“ וואָס איז גאָר טעטיק הײַנטצוטאָג, כאָטש, צום באַדויערן, מיט אַ מינימאַלן בודזשעט. דער דאָזיקער ציבור איז גלײַכגילטיק און כּמעט אין גאַנצן אומבאַוווּסטזיניק פֿון וואָס עס קומט פֿאָר אויפֿן געביט פֿון ייִדיש אין אַמעריקע און אַנדערע לענדער. ספּאָראַדיש, ווען די מעדיאַ גיט איבער וועגן אַ פֿעסטיוואַל, אָדער וועגן אַ קינסטלער וואָס האָט אַרויסגעגעבן אַ קאָמפּאַקטל, הערט מען עפּעס. אָבער דאָס איז אַ טראָפּן אין ים און מען ווייסט גאָרנישט פֿון דער וואַקסנדיקער, קוואַליטאַטיווער ייִדיש-טעטיקייט אין אויסלאַנד. ס׳איז לײַכט זיך פֿאָרשטעלן אַז אַזוינס געשעט אויך אין אַמעריקע און איבער אַנדערע קהילות. גאָר אַנדער איז דער מצבֿ לגבי דער טעמע פֿון חורבן, אָבער דאָס דאַרף נישט גערעכנט ווערן, ווײַל מיטן לערנען די געשיכטע פֿונעם חורבן באַנוצט מען זיך מיט אַ צאָל שפּראַכן ווי ענגליש, רוסיש, שפּאַניש, דײַטש וכדומה אָן זיך אָפּשצוטעלן און אַרײַנקלערן אין דער ראָלע פֿון ייִדיש, ייִדישער קולטור און אַשכּנזישן באַוווּסטזיין.
וואָס טוט מען כּדי צו פֿאַרבעסערן די לאַגע?
היות ווי כ׳בין אַ תּל-אָבֿיבער איז מיר לײַכטער אָנצוהייבן פֿון מײַנע אייגענע קאַנטן און פֿאָרלייגן אַן אַרבעטס-פּלאַן כּדי משפּיע זײַן אויפֿן ענגן, היגן לאָקאַליסטישן ייִדישיזם און פּרוּוון עס אויפֿלעבן. און די לייזונג איז אַ פּשוטע. וואָס מער די אינסטיטוציעס אין וועלכע כ׳בין טעטיק וועלן פֿאַרשפּרייטן ידיעות פֿון וואָס ס׳קומט פֿאָר אין דער ייִדיש-וועלט אין אַמעריקע און אַנדערע לענדער דורך אַלע קאָמוניקיר-מיטלען וואָס מיר האָבן, וועט דער עולם אין ישׂראל, דווקא דער טייל וואָס איז שוין נאָענט צו ייִדיש, אַנטפּלעקן פּלוצעם אַז מיר זענען אַ טייל פֿון אַ ברייטער און רײַכער ווירקלעכקייט. עס וועט אָפּשאַפֿן ס׳געפֿיל פֿון איזאָלאַציע און פֿאַרשטאַרקן ס׳געפֿיל פֿון אָנגעהעריקייט צו אַנדערע קהילות מיט טיפֿע אַשכּנזישע וואָרצלען (נישט נאָר דורכן חורבן.) תּכלית הייסט עס, מיר זאָלן אין ישׂראל פֿאַרשפּרייטן דעם פֿאָרווערטס, ווי אויך די פֿילצאָליקע פּראָגראַמען פֿון ייִוואָ, אַרבעטער-רינג, ייִדיש-בוך-צענטער אאַז״וו, נישט ווי עפּעס וואָס איז ערגעץ-וווּ ווײַט פֿון אונדז, נאָר ווי אַ ווירקלעכקייט וואָס געהערט צו אונדז. מיר נעמען אויף אַלע ייִדישע איבערלעבונגען פֿון אויסלאַנד און מיר ווילן אַז דער ישׂראלדיקער ציבור זאָל אויך געניסן דערפֿון.
שטעלט זיך די פֿראַגע, אין וועלכער מאָס וועט אָט דער צוגאַנג נישט זײַן אויפֿן חשבון פֿון אונדזערע אייגענע טעטיקייטן און ידיעות וואָס מיר מוזן כּסדר פֿאַרשפּרייטן כּדי צוציִען אַן עולם? מע דאַרף געפֿינען דעם גלײַכגעוויכט און לייזונגען כּדי דעם ים פֿון ידיעות זאָל זײַן אויסגעסדרט און דינען די אינטערעסן פֿון יעדן איינעם. צומאָל דאַרף מען זײַן אויסקלײַבעריש און געפֿינען די ריכטיקע מאָס און דעם ריכטיקן ווינקל פֿאַר יעדן תּוכן. דער פּועל-יוצא פֿון אַזאַ שפּאָגל־נײַער סטראַטעגיע וועט העכערן די נײַגעריקייט, די בילדונג און אַקטיוויזם פֿון אונדזערע אָרטיקע מענטשן. זיי וועלן וואַקסן אין צאָל און זיך אַנטוויקלען אויף אַ מער שעפֿערישן אופֿן. ס׳איז אַ סך עפֿעקטיוועער ווי זאָגן „ישׂראלים, זײַט נישט קיין פּראָווינציעלע ייִדישיסטן. ווערט גלאָבאַלע ייִדישיסטן.“ נאָר דאָס קאָן נישט זײַן. ס’קאָן נישט זײַן געצוווּנגען. מען דאַרף ברענגען אין מויל אַרײַן פֿון פּובליקום די אַלע צוציִענדיקע דערשײַנונגען וואָס קומען פֿאָר אין אַמעריקע און איבעראַל. אַזוי אַרום וועלן די ישׂראלים ביסלעכווײַז לאַנדן אויפֿן באָדן פֿון רעאַלן, לעבעדיקן ייִדישיזם פֿון אונדזערע טעג.
פֿון אַ שלל ידיעות ביז אַ בשותּפֿותדיקן הויפּט-באַגריף
אינפֿאָרמאַציעס און פּראָגראַמען זײַנען נישט גענוג. מע מוז אײַנפֿירן פֿרישע באַגריפֿן וועלכע סדרן אויס די אַלע דערשײַנונגען און גיבן זיי אַ ווערט פֿאַרן יחיד. ווען די אָפּנעמערס פֿון אַזוי פֿיל אינפֿאָרמאַציעס אין אייגן לאַנד און אויך פֿון אויסלאַנד וועלן באַגרײַפֿן די ברייטע דימענסיע אין וועלכער זיי טרעטן אַרײַן, וועלן די באַגריפֿן אַשכּנז, איר געשיכטע און ווערטן, פֿאַרוואַנדלט ווערן אין אַ ממשותדיקן יש וואָס יעדער איינער, וווּ נאָר ער געפֿינט זיך, קאָן פֿאַרקערפּערן אין דער טאָג־טעגלעכקייט. ס׳דאַרף פֿאָרקומען אַן אידענטיטעט-מעטאַמאָרפֿאָזע; אַנדערש וועט דער רעזולטאַט בלײַבן גאַנץ כאַאָטיש, אַפֿילו קאַרנאַוואַליש.
למשל, ס׳איז שיין וואָס דער ייִוואָ און אפֿשר אַ געוויסער אוניווערסיטעט לייגן פֿאָר דעם סטודענט און דעם אַלגעמיינעם ציבור פּרטימדיקע פּראָגראַמען וועגן דער אַשכּנזישער ציוויליזאַציע. פּרעכטיק! נאָר וואָס? די אָ פּראָגראַמען באַנוגעגען זיך דערמיט און ציִען נישט צו צו דער עיקר־פֿראַגע, וואָס טוט מען הײַנט מיט אָט דער ציוויליזאַציע? וואָס איז די אַחריות פֿונעם יחיד, פֿון דער משפּחה? ווי אַזוי גיט מען איבער דעם ייִדישן לשון צוזאַמען מיט אַ ברייט-פֿאַרנעמיקן געדאַנק וואָס ענטפֿערט אויף אַ סך פֿראַגעס, גיט אַ געפֿיל פֿון אָנגעהעריקייט און אינספּירירט צו נײַע, שעפֿערישע מעשׂים.
נאָך אַ ביישפּיל. דער אַרבעטער-רינג אין ניו-יאָרק, מיט אַלע זײַנע פֿיליעס אין פֿאַרשידענע שטעט, פֿירט דורך ערנסטע פּראָגראַמען זיך צו לערנען מאַמע-לשון, פֿײַערן יום-טובֿים און אויך, לויט זייער וועלט-אָנשויונג, אַנטוויקלט אַ געזעלשאַפֿטלעכן אַקטיוויזם וואָס שפּיגלט אָפּ די ווערטן און בירגערלעכע התחייבֿות כּלפּי דעם לאַנד וווּ ייִדן געפֿינען זיך. די דאָזיקע שטעלונג ווערט ליידער נישט דערגאַנצט מיט אַן ערנסטן אַקטיוויזם לטובֿת דער אייגענער ייִדיש-אַשכּנזישער אידענטיטעט. דעריבער איז זײַן השפּעה אויפֿן אַלגעמיינעם אַמעריקאַנער ייִדנטום זייער אַ באַשיידענער. אויך דער פֿאָרווערטס, וואָס שפּילט אַ צענטראַלע שליחות אין צונויפֿברענגען ענגלישע און ייִדישע לייענערס פֿון אומעטום, טוט עס אָן דעם ציל צו אַקטיווירן די רײַכע קוואַלן פֿון דער אַשכּנזישער אידענטיטעט. עס באַקומט זיך, ווי אַ האַלבע אַרבעט און מען מוז טראַכטן וואָס דאַרף דרינגענדיק געטאָן ווערן כּדי איר השפּעה זאָל וואַקסן און ווערן מער רעלעוואַנט.
אַ לעצטער בײַשפּיל. וואָס קאָן זײַן שלעכט, אויב דער YBC אין אַמהערסט וועט זיך פֿון צײַט צו צײַט דערלויבן איבערזעצן אויף ענגליש אויסגעקליבענע ווערק פֿון הײַנטיקע ייִדישע פּּאָעטן און שרײַבער פֿוֿן פֿאַרשידענע לענדער? פֿאַראַן אַ חשש צוליב די האָנאָראַרן וואָס מ׳וועט די מחברים דאַרפן צאָלן? כ’מיין אַז דער YBC איז שוין גובֿר געווען אויף מער ערנסטע, פֿינאַניעלע פֿאַרמעסטן. ס׳וועט אויך זײַן יושרדיק כּלפּי די מחברים וואָס זייערע ווערק ן זענען נישט זוכה צו קיין סטימול אָדער וועלכע-עס-איז סטיפּענדיע.
אויסווירקונג אויפֿן אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישיזם
אין מאָמענט ווען ייִדיש-אינסטיטוציעס אין אַמעריקע וועלן עפֿענען אַ פֿענצטער צו דאָס וואָס געשעט אויפֿן געביט פֿון ייִדיש אין ישׂראל און אין אַנדערע לענדער, וועט עס בהדרגהדיק פֿאַרבעסערן דעם מצבֿ און באַרײַכערן זייער אייגענע טעטיקייט. ס׳רעדט זיך נישט וועגן פֿאַרקלענערן איין פֿאָקוס אויפֿן חשבון פֿון צווייטן, נאָר גיכער וועגן שאַפֿן אַ נײַעם פֿאָקוס וואָס וועט נערן דעם נײַגער פֿון די אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישיסטן. דאָס וועט עפֿענען אַ ריזיקן פּראָצעס פֿון קעגנזייטיקייט. אַנדערש באַקומט זיך, אַז די הײַנטיקע ייִדיש-טעטיקייט באַקומט אַן עליטיסטישן פּראָפֿיל, און ווען מ׳ווענדט זיך שוין יאָ צו ברייטערע קרייזן פֿון דער באַפֿעלקערונג איז עס על-פּי-רובֿ מיטן פּנים צו דער פֿאַרגאַנגענהייט. הײַנט רעדט מען אָפֿט אין אַלגעמיינע, כּוללדיקע באַגריפֿן, נאָר ס׳איז נישט פֿאַראַן אַ קלאָרער אַדרעסאַנט, דאָס הייסט די אַשכּנזישע-אַמעריקאַנער ייִדן און וואָס דערוואַרט מען פֿון זיי.
די וואָרצלען פֿון אָט דער פּראָבלעמאַטיק ליגן אין דער טראַדיציאָנעלער אידעאָלאָגיע פֿון ייִדישיזם. היסטאָריש האָט זיך די אָ אידעאָלאָגיע אַנטוויקלט צוזאַמען מיטן באַגריף פֿון וועלטלעכקייט. די פֿירנדיקע כּוחות פֿון ייִדישיזם — בכלל, נישט נאָר אין אַמעריקע — האָבן זיך דערווײַטערט פֿון דער אָרטאָדאָקסיע און אויסקריסטאַליזירט אַן אידעאָלאָגיע וואָס שפּיגלט אָפּ ס׳ייִדישע לעבן זינט דער השׂכּלה ביזן סעקולערן ייִדישיזם וואָס הערשט הײַנט. און דאָס איז זײַן שוואַכקייט. דער כּוח פֿון דער אַשכּנזישער וויזיע שטעקט אין דעם, וואָס עס ברענגט צוזאַמען רעליגיע און וועלטלעכקייט, און שטיצט זיך נישט נאָר אויף מאָדערנאַ. דאָ ליגט דער הויפּט-מכשול וואָס באַשווערט די ייִדישיסטן זיך באַוועגן אויף די גאָר ברייטע שליאַכן פֿון אַשכּנז. אמת איז, אַז עס הערשט נישט הײַנט צווישן די ייִדישיסטן די אַקטיווע אַנטי-רעליגיעזקייט ווי אַ מאָל. אָבער דאָס מיינט נאָך נישט אַז ער האָט דערגרייכט די רײַפֿקייט צו אַקצעפּטירן אַלע טיילן פֿון ייִדישן קיום ווי זייער אייגענע קולטור־ירושה. אַ ייִד קאָן דערקלערן אַז ער איז אַ סעקולערער און דערצו אויך אונטערשטרײַכן די וואָגיקייט פֿון רעליגיע אין דער ייִדישער געשיכטע און אין זײַן הײַנטיקן באַוווּסטזיין.
דער ייִדישיזם אין אַמעריקע פֿאַרמאָגט שטאַרק אײַנגעפֿונדעוועטע אינסטיטוציעס. דאָך פֿעלט אים אַ ברייטער געוועב מיט פֿעדערלעך וואָס זאָל אים פֿאַרבינדן מיט ברייטע ייִדישע קהילות, סײַ אין אַמעריקע און סײַ איבער דער וועלט. ווען דער ייִוואָ איז אין ווילנע געשאַפֿן געוואָרן אין 1925 האָט ער פֿאַרמאָגט די העכסטע אינטעלעקטועלע כּוחות פֿון ייִדישיזם און גלײַכצײַטיק איז ער געווען געקניפּט און פֿאַרבונדן מיט הונדערטער קהילות איבער אייראָפּע. כּדי עפּעס ענלעכס זאָל איצט אויפֿקומען, מוז דער ניו-יאָרקער ייִוואָ אָנהייבן באַטראַכטן דעם מצבֿ אַנדערש, און צו דעם וואָס ווערט שוין געטאָן אויף די געביטן פֿון פֿאָרשונג, לימוד, השׂכּלה און קונסט, אַנטוויקלען אויך אַ סענסיטיווקייט צו אַלע געזעלשאַפֿטלעכע- און קולטור-דערשײַנונגען וואָס קומען פֿאָר אויפֿן געביט פֿון ייִדיש אין ישׂראל און איבעראַל.
לאָמיר האָפֿן אַז אַ נײַע דינאַמיק וועט זיך אין דער נאָענטער צוקונפֿט אַנטוויקלען און פֿון אַלע מעגלעכע ריכטונגען וועלן מיר זײַן עדות צו אַ גרויסן צונויפֿגאָס פֿון שטרעמונגען, און אַ מער אָנזעעוודיקער שעפֿערישקייט פֿון דער ייִדיש-קולטור אין אַ וועלט-מאָסשטאַב.
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The cancellation of Macklemore: A Yom Kippur reflection
In the Jewish calendar, this week is dedicated to reflection, introspection, and review of one’s thoughts and actions. The shofar has been sounded on Rosh Hashanah; Yom Kippur is on its way. Whether in traditional, theistic forms or less traditional, psychological ones, the Jewish tradition invites us to look inward.
It is in that spirit that I am reflecting on the latest tempest in the American Jewish teapot: the decision of billionaire Robert Kraft to ban the rapper Macklemore from performing at his stadium because of a statement he made onstage in support of Palestine — a decision echoed by other politically conservative stadium owners, which in turn caused superstar Ed Sheeran to boot Macklemore from his latest tour.
To be sure, this is hardly the most important chapter of the Israel/Palestine story. Just this week, bombs are still falling on Gaza, B’Tzelem released a must-read new report on Israel’s eliminationist policies in the West Bank, and an actual neo-Nazi is likely to win a seat in the Florida house of representatives. If anything, Macklemore’s cancellation will probably have a net-positive ‘Streisand Effect’ on his well-past-its-prime career.
But this relatively small controversy is nonetheless a fascinating prism on how we see differently, hear differently, and talk past one another on moral, political and ultimately spiritual matters of importance. And that has much to do with the themes of the Days of Awe.
My focus is not on who was right. Ultimately, I think Macklemore’s comments were lacking in depth and sophistication, but clearly not “hate speech,” which is how Kraft — the self-appointed macher of the widely-mocked ‘Blue Square’ anti-antisemitism campaign — described it. And I will explain why I believe that to be the case.
But I also don’t believe Kraft’s actions to be in bad faith. It is possible that he is simply using his wealth and power to ban political speech that he doesn’t agree with. And in practice, that is what he has done. But reviewing his comments, and those of friends of mine on social media, I am inclined to take Kraft and my friends at their word: that they experience Macklemore’s words as hateful. And because I disagree with that, I’m interested in why.
The rapper’s entire statement took two minutes. I encourage you to watch it now, since the tone and context are important, and since it’s faster to watch than to read:
A full transcript is here.
Two other bits of context, not present in the vieven if no such threat was present in that moment, video are relevant: First, images from the Gaza war were projected on a screen behind him, and second, back in 2014, Macklemore once wore a costume that looked, to many of us, like an antisemitic caricature, though he issued a persuasive (to me) and detailed apology, saying that this was not intentional.
In response, Kraft issued a (longer) statement saying that his venue, Gillette Stadium,
has a longstanding commitment to providing a welcoming environment for all guests and ensuring that events held at our venue do not provide a platform for hate speech. Based on Macklemore’s recent actions, material shared from the stage during Ed Sheeran’s shows in New Jersey, and a broader history of antisemitic rhetoric and imagery that we believe has been deeply offensive and hurtful to the Jewish community, we determined that his participation in the September 25th and 26th concerts at Gillette Stadium would cross that line.
Kraft added that his decision “is not about diminishing the suffering of innocent Palestinians or denying anyone the right to advocate on their behalf… but only sharing selective information and ignoring the actions of Hamas is not honest and only advances more divisiveness and hate… I would welcome the opportunity to sit down with Macklemore and discuss the facts, because ultimately our goal is the same — peace for all people, an end to suffering, and an end to all hate.”
I admit, my first response was amazement that any reasonable person could find what Macklemore said to be antisemitic. He spoke only about Israel’s actions, not its existence. He didn’t attack Zionism. He specifically distinguished between Israel and Jewish people. What more could he do?
Sure, the statement had its shortcomings. It didn’t mention Oct. 7 or condemn Hamas. It didn’t forcefully condemn antisemitism, or emphasize that strong criticism of Israel should not be taken out on Jews. The guy is a rapper, not a politician — even when he says nice things (e.g. the 2012 song “Same Love”), he’s often been clunky about it.
But hate speech?
Kraft didn’t really elaborate into what, exactly, ‘crossed the line’ for him. The best I can find in his statement is “only sharing selective information and ignoring the actions of Hamas is not honest and only advances more divisiveness and hate.” That seems preposterous to me. Maybe Macklemore’s statement was incomplete, but that doesn’t make it hate speech.
Others, in my own social media feed, have been more articulate. Echoing the statements of several prominent rabbis, some said that Macklemore’s uses of ‘apartheid’ and ‘genocide’ are themselves so inaccurate, extreme and vitriolic as to themselves be antisemitic. Others referred to the 2014 incident. Some even argued that saying ‘Free Palestine’ is equivalent to saying ‘Destroy Israel.’
To me, the most trenchant criticisms focused on context. Imagine, one person said, what it would be like to be a Jewish person in the stands, suddenly confronted with political speech that has been used to incite violence against Jews; even if no such threat was present in that moment, it’s easy to imagine being scared by it. One friend of mine pointed out that this wasn’t even Macklemore’s show; it was an opening act for Ed Sheeran, who is relentlessly apolitical. The comments would’ve been a surprise, even a shock.
These comments point to the real issue here, which is American Jewish pain and fear. And there are many sides to this experience.
On the one hand, I get it. I have personally experienced this sense of unsafety and exclusion in queer spaces where I have been confronted with much farther-left statements than Macklemore’s. I’ve heard calls for Zionists (whatever that word means) to be banned from my queer community, even expelled from queer spaces. I’ve heard (and written about) the most incendiary possible rhetoric directed at Israel, full of self-righteousness, certitude and rage. And I’ve seen a lack of accountability for the stochastic terrorism that language represents, including from the mayor of New York City.
On the other hand, I also know that the censure is one-sided. At the recent ‘Jewish American Summit,’ a speaker made wildly bigoted, anti-Muslim comments and was applauded by the crowd; no condemnation followed, even from the ADL, which cosponsored the event. Pro-genocide minister Itamar Ben Gvir shared an AI video of Palestinians being marched, concentration-camp-style, into an Israeli jail, where they emerge starved an emaciated; mission accomplished, Ben Gvir crowed. Crickets from the Jewish Establishment.
Mayor Mamdani was criticized for not marching in the Israel Day Parade, and then Bezalel Smotrich, who has unambiguously called for genocide against the Palestinian people, was welcomed by it. A relatively anodyne pro-Palestinian statement by a rapper is grounds for national cancellation, but calls for mass expulsion (or murder) by people without actual power are part of the ‘big tent.’
Some in the community have been clear on this: They are going to support the Jewish state because that is what good Jews do. So, yes, there’s a double-standard, they might reply, because one person is attacking us and the other is not.
Admittedly, there is ample Jewish textual support for this position. But there are plenty of proof-texts I can bring for the opposing point of view: that we must judge people fairly, that all humans are created in the image of the Divine, that being biased toward our own group is a shortcoming, not a virtue. And that when injustices are committed, even by those who are in our community, it is our duty to oppose them.
The Torah doesn’t say “justice, justice shall you pursue — except when it comes to Jews versus Palestinians.”
Most importantly, just because words can make us feel scared, angry, attacked, or unsafe does not mean that they constitute hate speech. This is what Kraft and others like him seem unwilling to see: that we can feel attacked without actually being attacked. That words can be painful but not hateful.
Admittedly, the ‘wokeness’ of the early 2020s has played a role in this confusion. At the peak of that period, we were told that impact mattered more than intent — that even if a comment were made innocently, if it caused someone to feel unsafe, it was deserving of censure. And then, in 2023, many Jews picked up the same thread. Sure, “From the River to the Sea” could be interpreted in a benign way (e.g. as wanting freedom for all people in the area) but if I hear it as a call for annihilating Israel and/or the Jews, then the phrase is hate speech.
But this principle was always misguided. People can say difficult, disagreeable, and wrong things without those things being actual hate speech. People may perceive threats without there being actual threats.
This is not unique to Israel/Palestine, or to politics. Fear and anger can block the better angels of our nature. I struggle with this every day; if there is one theme that recurs every Yom Kippur, it is working with anger and reactivity in my own life. Might that not apply to our public as well as our private lives? Is what seems like ‘righteous indignation’ sometimes just… indignation?
In fact, maybe some of the reason I feel unsafe is that I know that Israel has behaved in appalling and immoral ways, and I feel implicated by it. I grew up loving Israel, and it has been painful to watch its decline into vulgar, jingoistic and often racist ethno-nationalism. But that pain might not be a bad thing. On the contrary, it merits some reflection on the Day of Atonement.
As Yom Kippur insists, we can do better than reacting, half-unconsciously, to our emotional perceptions. As Viktor Frankl famously said,
Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.
Teshuvah, the Jewish practice of ‘repentance’ and return, is designed to enlarge that space, to grow our capacity for freedom. We can do better, teshuvah insists.
I believe Robert Kraft, and many of my own friends, sincerely feel threatened by statements like Macklemore’s. I have felt similarly, at times, myself. But without more evidence (and one idiotic act in 2014 is not that), we owe it to one another and to the hope of a civil society to pause in that space between stimulus and response, and reflect on what is really being said.
What I see is a celebrity championing the cause of an oppressed population. He is misguided in various ways, but he is coming from a place of genuine concern, not bigotry. Would not the better response have been for Kraft to invite him into a conversation first, rather than campaign to have him banned across the country? Had Kraft done better here, might Macklemore also have done better in the future, even if the two continue to disagree?
This incident will likely not be remembered much in the future. It is less important than a single life lost in Gaza or Israel. But it is a window into how our human capacities and failings perpetuate cycles of conflict and miscommunication. On Yom Kippur this year, I’ll be reflecting on how I am part of those cycles myself, and how I can do better. I invite you to join me.
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