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I’m a Jewish historian; my grandparents ran a deli. Maybe we’re in the same business.
(JTA) — Like so many other American Jews from the New York area, I have been eagerly awaiting “I’ll Have What She’s Having,” the new exhibit on the American Jewish deli now on view at the New-York Historical Society. After all, the deli was our family business.
I grew up on Long Island during the baby boom era, when large groups of Jews moved to the suburbs. New synagogues opened in almost every town, and Jewish bakeries, shops and schools proliferated around them.
My family had its pick of half a dozen kosher delis within 20 minutes of our home. We tried them all but came to especially enjoy Brodie’s Kosher Delicatessen, in the Mitchel Manor Shopping Plaza in East Meadow. Like Brodie’s, most of these delis were modest storefronts, with little ambience and a straightforward menu of traditional Eastern European Jewish food and deli meats. Nothing fancy, but it was kosher and delicious and enjoyed by the whole family.
Eating in any of these delis carried special meaning for us because the experience served as a connection to our extended family, who had a long and rich history in the delicatessen world.
After immigrating from Eastern Europe, my grandfather and his brother established themselves in the food business, eventually starting a kosher catering company. In order to continue supporting their growing families, my great-uncle Abe kept the catering business, and in 1929 my grandfather Morris opened Rubin’s Delicatessen. Located in Brookline, Massachusetts, a suburb of Boston, its first location boasted only five tables.
The deli truly was a family business. My grandmother kept the books, my grandfather’s sister Bessie ran the kitchen and my grandfather worked at the deli counter. Bessie made all the home-cooked food, including an unforgettable hearty vegetable soup, meat knishes, russel (fleishig, or meat-based, beet soup), pot roast, roast chicken, eingemacht (a kind of beet candy preserves), taiglach (a dough and honey sweet dessert for Rosh Hashanah), jelly roll and mandlen (soup nuts). During busy times, such as before Passover and Rosh Hashanah, my grandmother and other great aunts came in and worked together to bake 4-pound sponge cakes.
The clientele of Rubin’s was something of a “Who’s Who” of Boston Jewry. As in Jewish delis around the country, businesspeople conducted informal meetings there, rabbis stopped in for lunch during their busy days and customers stopped by to pick up essential provisions or to enjoy a quick bite.
As the years passed and my grandparents got older, discussions about the future of Rubin’s began. Instead of taking over the family business, my father and his brothers pursued career paths outside of the deli, becoming religious leaders and Jewish professionals. My grandparents were proud that their children had pursued white-collar professions. And, in many ways, those children carried on a family business: The spiritual sustenance they provided as rabbis and social workers was an extension of the physical sustenance the deli provided through chicken soup and pastrami sandwiches.
This sense of providing intellectual, emotional and religious nourishment to the Jewish people has continued in various forms through several generations of my family, including my own choices as a Jewish historian, educator and institution builder.
Rabbi Moshe Schwartz, the author’s son, in front of a sign for the deli founded by his great-grandfather in Brookline, Mass., which by the time it closed in 2016 was located down the street from its original location. (Courtesy of Shuly Rubin Schwartz)
When it finally came time for my grandfather to hang up his apron in June 1974, he had one stipulation when selling the business to his great-nephew: “the Seller has for many years conducted the aforesaid business as a kosher delicatessen and restaurant under the supervision of the Vaad of the Associated Synagogues and wishes to maintain the kosher status of said business so long as the business is conducted under the name of ‘Rubin’ on said premises or on any other premises to which it may be moved.”
After all those years, his final wish was to keep the “kosher” in his “kosher deli.”
Rubin’s changed hands a few more times but eventually closed its doors in the summer of 2016, a milestone noted in Boston Magazine.
For many of us, my family especially, the kosher deli experience wasn’t just about the food (although the food of course was delicious and satisfying). Visiting and eating at a Jewish deli became a safe space, a deep link to previous generations, a fun way to comply with Jewish dietary laws, and a place to feel both Jewish and American. Deli meals didn’t simply provide nourishment, they provided comfort — true comfort food — and a way to connect to some of our Jewish traditions.
“’I’ll Have What She’s Having’: The Jewish Deli” tells the story of how Jewish immigrants like my grandparents helped create a new type of American restaurant and an important piece of American food culture. Reflecting on the many stories I heard about the business growing up, the too-numerous-to-count meals I ate when visiting my grandparents, and the memories of family, Jewish culture and delicious food, I know my visit to the New-York Historical Society will be both emotional and stimulating.
And I think I know what I’ll have for lunch after my visit.
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US Envoys in Israel to Discuss Future of Gaza
FILE PHOTO: US President Donald Trump’s son-in-law, Jared Kushner, and US Special Envoy Steve Witkoff take part in a charter announcement for US President Donald Trump’s Board of Peace initiative aimed at resolving global conflicts, alongside the 56th annual World Economic Forum (WEF), in Davos, Switzerland, January 22, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Denis Balibouse/File Photo
US envoys Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner were in Israel on Saturday to meet with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, mainly to discuss Gaza, two people briefed on the matter said, as local authorities reported further violence in the enclave.
The US on Thursday announced plans for a “New Gaza” rebuilt from scratch, to include residential towers, data centers and seaside resorts.
The project forms part of President Donald Trump’s push to advance an October ceasefire between Israel and Palestinian terrorist group Hamas that has been shaken by repeated violations.
LOCAL AUTHORITIES REPORT MORE DEATHS
The Palestinian Health Ministry in Gaza said on Saturday that Israeli fire had killed three people, including two children, in two separate incidents in the northern Gaza Strip.
A statement from the Israeli military said that its troops operating in the northern Gaza Strip identified several militants “who crossed the Yellow Line, planted an explosive device in the area, and approached the troops, posing an immediate threat to them.”
Under the ceasefire accord, Israeli troops were to retreat to a yellow line marked on military maps that runs nearly the full length of Gaza.
A source in the Israeli military told Reuters that the military was aware of only one incident on Saturday and that those involved were not children.
A spokesperson for the Israeli prime minister’s office confirmed that the meeting was planned but did not provide further details.
Earlier this month, Washington announced that the plan had now moved into the second phase, under which Israel is expected to withdraw troops further from Gaza, and Hamas is due to yield control of the territory’s administration.
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Long before Trump’s second-hand Nobel, a laureate sought to curry favor with Nazis by regifting a prize
Donald Trump is not the first authoritarian to come into possession of a Nobel medal that wasn’t intended for him. In 1943, Norwegian novelist Knut Hamsun sent his Nobel Prize for Literature to Nazi propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels, a gesture meant to secure a private audience with Adolf Hitler.
Although Hamsun was infamous during World War II and its aftermath, most Americans likely know little about the author. It has taken Trump’s lust for the Nobel Peace Prize — something like Gollum’s slobbering obsession with the “precious” gold ring — to cast fresh light on the Norwegian novelist.
Hamsun occupies a place in history similar to Hitler’s filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl: a genuine artistic innovator who fell under the spell of der Führer and paid for it later in life.
Born to a poor rural family in 1859, Hamsun began writing in his teens. Over his long career he produced more than two dozen novels, along with poetry, short stories and nonfiction. His influence was enormous — Isaac Bashevis Singer once called him the father of modern literature, and his psychological style has often been compared to Franz Kafka’s.
Hamsun vaulted to fame at age 30 with the 1890 publication of the semiautobiographical novel Hunger. He won the 1920 Nobel Prize in Literature for Growth of the Soil, which the Nobel Committee said “aroused the liveliest interest in many countries and has found favorable reception with the most diverse groups of readers.” Those readers included fascists.
Hamsun was a passionate admirer of Germany and of the Nazis’ ideas about Teutonic purity. The admiration was mutual. German critics praised Growth of the Soil for its portrayal of a mystical connection between people and the land — a theme the Nazis eagerly embraced.
During Germany’s 1940–45 occupation of Norway, Hamsun supported the Nazi-installed government of Vidkun Quisling. His devotion to Hitler was so great that he parted with his 18-carat gold Nobel medal, sending it to Goebbels in hopes that it would earn him a personal meeting with the Führer.
It did. But the audience did not unfold as Hamsun hoped. Although he supported the occupation, he objected to some of its harsher measures, including executions. He hoped to persuade Hitler to soften the regime’s policies. The meeting — retold in a 2005 New Yorker article titled “In From the Cold” — took place June 26, 1943, at Hitler’s retreat in the Bavarian Alps. According to the article, as the two men took tea in Hitler’s study, the conversation turned tense when Hamsun urged Hitler to fire Josef Terboven, the Reich Commissioner for Norway. Hitler rebuffed him, saying, “The Reich Commissioner is a warrior; he’s only there for war-related duties.”
Hitler did not bother to say goodbye when Hamsun left and later snapped at his aides: “I don’t want to see that sort of person here anymore.”
The unpleasant encounter did little to dampen Hamsun’s admiration for the Nazi leader. On May 7, 1945, a collaborationist newspaper published Hamsun’s obituary for Hitler, in which he wrote: “He was a warrior, a warrior for mankind, and a prophet of the gospel of justice for all nations.”
After the war, thousands of Norwegian collaborators were arrested and put on trial — including Hamsun. By then he was 86, and his age, along with his stature as Norway’s most celebrated novelist, worked in his favor. While 40 collaborators were executed, including Quisling, Hamsun received a fine of 325,000 kroner, reduced from 575,000.
Hamsun died on Feb. 19, 1952, at age 92.
As for the Nobel medal he sent to Goebbels — it vanished. No one knows what became of it.
Which brings us to Donald Trump and his pre-owned Nobel.
Hitler had no shame in accepting lavish gifts from industrialists, world leaders, and others who arrived in Berlin seeking favor. But Hitler might well be impressed with Donald Trump’s collection during his second term — a glittering haul accumulated on trips to the Middle East and during visits to the White House by foreign dignitaries and sycophantic American business executives.
Size-wise, nothing comes close to the 747 provided by Qatar. And knowing the way to Trump’s heart, Benjamin Netanyahu personally presented him with a letter that the Israeli leader had sent nominating him for the Nobel Peace Prize. FIFA, the world soccer federation, went so far as to create its own peace prize for the American president.
Trump kept pressing his case that he deserved the Nobel prize, sometimes aided by foreign allies who publicly insisted that he, more than anyone else, merited the honor. But the Nobel Committee never budged.
A workaround presented itself in the person of María Corina Machado, the Venezuelan opposition leader who had been awarded the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize for her role in resisting Nicolás Maduro’s dictatorship. Machado, desperate for Trump’s backing as Venezuela enters a volatile transition, made a calculation as stark as Hamsun’s in 1943. She handed Trump her Nobel medal in the hope that the gesture would secure her political survival.
Still smoldering over being snubbed by the Nobel Committee for a Peace Prize of his own, Trump lashed out in familiar ways — threatening to use military force to take control of Greenland and to slap heavy new tariffs on European allies. Those threats eventually fizzled after Europe dug in its heels, but the resentment never did.
It’s unlikely America’s Gollum will abandon the quest for his own golden “precious,” one with his name engraved on it. With the inauguration of Trump’s new “Board of Peace,” he may have convinced himself he’s found a fresh path to Oslo. The board — made up of foreign governments invited by Trump — is billed as a vehicle for resolving global conflicts. Permanent membership is offered to those that contribute more than $1 billion. As chairman, Trump would be in a position to steer the board however he wishes.
If the “Board of Peace” doesn’t help him finally secure a gold Nobel medallion, it may still serve another purpose: expanding his already considerable wealth.
Luxury condos on the Gaza waterfront, anyone?
The post Long before Trump’s second-hand Nobel, a laureate sought to curry favor with Nazis by regifting a prize appeared first on The Forward.
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Oct. 7 spurred this secular private school in Manhattan to start holding an annual Shabbat gathering
(New York Jewish Week) — A new Jewish tradition has taken hold at a private, non-Jewish school in Manhattan.
On a recent Friday, about 240 students, parents and educators from the Town School, located on the Upper East Side, stayed late to eat matzah ball soup, recite blessings over challah and candles, and sing Hebrew songs.
It was the third time in as many years that the school had held a Shabbat celebration, and more than half of the students and parents in attendance weren’t Jewish.
“I think there is a real enthusiasm and excitement for families who are not Jewish to come into their first Shabbat or learn more about it again,” said Pierangelo Rossi, the Town School’s director of equity and community action.
Originally from Peru, Rossi is not Jewish. His first Shabbat experience ever was at the Town School in 2024, after Jewish parents organized a gathering in the wake of the Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel.
For years, the school had special “affinity groups” and spaces for students and parents of color, for “white anti-racist” students, and for queer students and their allies. The attack, and the surge of antisemitism that followed, spurred Jewish students and parents to work with the school to create their own.
While the Town School does not collect information about students’ religion, officials estimate that at least a quarter of the student body is Jewish.
“After Oct. 7, we knew — and it became clear to all of us — that our Jewish community was looking for that sense of affirmation in a way they hadn’t before,” said Head of School Doug Brophy.
Brophy, who has led the Town School since 2018, understood how they felt. He is also vice president of the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue on the Upper West Side.
Affinity groups have emerged as a hot-button issue in the debate over DEI, or diversity, equity and inclusion. While their proponents say the groups give minority and marginalized populations desperately needed spaces of their own, critics of DEI say the groups can reinforce divisions and inappropriately inject progressive ideologies into schools and other institutions.
Jewish “anti-woke” advocates have particularly criticized the affinity group framework for too often forcing Jewish students into a binary framework about race and privilege that does not recognize the complexity of Jewish identity.
At the same time, tensions amid the aftermath of Oct. 7 roiled some New York City private schools. The head of one elite private school stepped down last summer after members of the school community clashed over identity, antisemitism, Islamophobia and the Gaza war.
At the Town School, officials and parents say, those tensions have been absent. Instead, the entire school community has embraced the Shabbat celebrations alongside the other special events held to honor students’ traditions, such as a lion parade on the school’s block to mark Lunar New Year and a Persian New Year observance led by parents.
“Whether it’s coming from a vulnerability or a difference, it’s [about] wanting to be part of something bigger than yourself, and not just our Jewish families and colleagues feeling a sense of identity, but everyone else developing a greater sense of empathy,” Brophy said.
The Town School is not the only non-Jewish private school in the city to hold Shabbat celebrations in recent years: Riverdale Country Day School in the Bronx says 700 people attended its November 2024 gathering. But it has committed to annual gatherings, which are growing in attendance.
That first Shabbat in 2024 was led by Rabbi Bradley Solmsen from the Conservative Park Avenue Synagogue; in 2025, by Rabbi Rena Rifkin from Stephen Wise; and this year, by Ana Turkienicz, an educator from the Upper West Side’s Rodeph Sholom School and the Pelham Jewish Center.
“For me, it was really a very different context where you have non-Jews that are interested in learning about what is it that Jews do and are open,” Turkienicz said. “And it was beautiful.”
To create an educational plan that was still engaging for children of all ages, she narrowed the focus of the event to two words: “Shabbat” and “shalom,” meaning “Sabbath” and “peace.”
“I need to use vocabulary, and I need to work with the room only, with those with concepts that are universal,” Turkienicz added. “And there is a lot. There’s a lot in ‘Shabbat’ and ‘shalom’ that are universal.”
She taught the guests the songs “Bim Bam” and “Salaam” — the latter being the Arabic word for “shalom” — and recited the blessings over the candles and challah, and the younger children decorated placemats, while the older children hung out with their classmates.
14-year-old Daniel Rybak stuck around near the school after his last class of the day got out so he could attend the after-school Shabbat service for his second time.
Rybak, whose mother is Catholic and whose father is Jewish, has attended the Town School for nine years.
“Just talking about the greater world at this point, with all the troubles in the Levant, with Israel and Gaza, as well as just the general sense, I suppose, that things are getting a little more violent around the world — it’s just a nice thing that brings people back to that sense of, ‘Hey, we’re here, we’re family, we’re OK, we’re getting through this,’” Rybak said. “It just shows that even throughout all that that’s happened everywhere, there’s still pockets of community and of real hope.”
This year, the Shabbat gathering took on added meaning for some attendees as some of New York’s Jews feel increasingly alienated or afraid following the election of Zohran Mamdani, a longtime and staunch critic of Israel, to the mayor’s office.
“The whole time I was thinking: 20 blocks north from here, there is a new mayor that we don’t know what [he’s] going to be for the Jewish community in New York,” Turkienicz said. “Twenty blocks south of his mansion, we have a private, non-Jewish school doing a Kabbalat Shabbat.”
Katy Williamson, a Jewish parent who helped organize the last two Town School Shabbats and attended this year’s, said she was “really blown away by the sense of community” and surprised by how many people attended.
“I read the news. Obviously, we live in New York City. I’m very aware of what’s going on outside of this, just in the world right now,” she said. “There was just this really warm feeling. … So many people from the school community joined and wanted to be a part of it.”
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