In Mel Brooks’ ‘History of the World Part II,’ Jewish jokes reign from BCE to the Beatles
(JTA) — In a scene that will soon stream on Hulu, a group of early Christian bishops gathers to set a promotion strategy for their newish religion — to “make the Bible an international blockbuster,” as one puts it.
But the plot is unclear: “Who are the bad guys in this story?” asks one. He and his fellow clerics consider two options: the Jews and the Romans.
“Let’s make them the Jews, for sure,” says a bishop. “They run everything,” says another.
And thus the First Council of Nicaea, a gathering in 325 C.E. that is considered the birth of Christian antisemitism, gets the Mel Brooks treatment in “History of the World Part II,” the long-awaited sequel to the classic Mel Brooks film that revolves around Jewish history — and skewers it. The new four-part series even has a Jewish premiere date — March 6, the eve of the merrymaking holiday of Purim.
As with the 1981 original — written, directed and produced by Brooks, who also stars — the new series is littered with Jewish subject matter, even in the sketches that aren’t about Jews. And although comedy mores have changed in the past four decades, the series aims to retain Brooks’ signature combination of sharp parody, vaudevillian vulgarity and Borscht Belt antics.
“We really tried to embrace what we loved about [Brooks’] work and apply that to the work that we were doing, whether that was the themes of funny character names, or breaking the fourth wall or anachronisms or certain kinds of playful blocking,” director Alice Mathias told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “The kind of comedy work that I was doing up until this point was a touch more restrained and not quite as slapstick in places. So it was really fun to get a little sillier.”
And the creators aren’t concerned about a show with repeated send-ups of Jewish history at a time of rising antisemitism.
“Saying ‘the Jews are the bad guys’ is only funny because you’re making fun of the people saying it,” said showrunner David Stassen. “You’re punching up, you’re making fun of the bishops in power. That was the intent.”
Pictured from left to right: Nick Kroll, Wanda Sykes, Mel Brooks, Ike Barinholtz, and David Stassen at the Los Angeles premiere of History of the World Part II. (Tommaso Boddi via Getty Images)
Part of the series’ Jewishness is thanks to Nick Kroll, the Jewish comedian who had been interested in creating “History of the World Part II” for a very long time and “nudzhed” Brooks to agree, Stassen told JTA, using the Yiddish word for pester. Kroll is the co-creator of the critically acclaimed cartoon “Big Mouth,” which was largely based on his experience attending the Solomon Schechter School of Westchester. He also grew up in a Conservative, kosher-keeping household.
Kroll joins Brooks, 97, Wanda Sykes, Ike Barinholtz and David Stassen as a writer and executive producer, with Mathias of Netflix’s absurdist sketch series “I Think You Should Leave” as director.
“It wasn’t a matter of, is this the right time for this?” Stassen told JTA. “It was just like, how do we honor Mel? How do we do a show that’s different than current sketch shows, that is in Mel’s tone?”
“History of the World Part I” spoofs the epic films of the mid-20th century, with sketches including a musical number take on the Spanish Inquisition; an alternate history of Moses receiving the Ten Commandments; and cavemen discovering music. The new series puts a 21st century spin on that idea, reminiscent of Comedy Central’s “Drunk History” (and featuring many of the same cast members, including Joe Lo Truglio, who plays one of the bishops at Nicaea) with hints of the Netflix series “I Think You Should Leave.”
Audiences will see comedic sendups of historical events including Black congresswoman Shirley Chisholm’s historic run for president; Marco Polo’s arrival at the palace of Kublai Khan in China; the Russian Revolution; and the signing of the Oslo Accords, the 1993 Israeli-Palestinian peace agreement.
Schmuck Mudman (Nick Kroll), Fanny (Pamela Adlon), and Joshy (Charles Melton) discuss leaving the shtetl as the Russian Revolution breaks out. (Courtesy of Hulu)
Just a few of the Jewish jokes: Jason Alexander makes an appearance as a notary-slash-mohel who brings the wrong bag, full of his ritual tools, to the official signing of the Confederate Army’s surrender at the end of the Civil War.
“Useless. Unless somebody wants to take a little off the top,” Alexander’s character says, gesturing to his tools.
The story of Jesus Christ gets parodied via multiple genres and is arguably one of the most Jewish recurring sketches of the whole series. In a “Curb Your Enthusiasm”-inspired sketch in the second episode, Judas (Kroll) and Luke (JB Smoove) realize that Jesus (Jay Ellis) has abandoned keeping kosher when they catch him publicly eating a bacon cheeseburger. A subsequent sketch spoofs the documentary “The Beatles: Get Back,” in which fans of the apostles eat matzah on sticks outside of the Apples & Honey recording studio.
A fan of the apostles (Quinta Brunson) stands outside of Apples and Honey Studios. (Courtesy of Hulu)
And a recurring sketch focusing on the Russian Revolution and parodying parts of “Fiddler on the Roof” features a literal mud pie salesman named “Schmuck Mudman” who lives in an Eastern European shtetl. Mudman sells his wares via Putz Mates, a Yiddish play on the food delivery app PostMates. After moving from the village to Moscow, Mudman, played by Kroll, is surprised to find a meeting of the Mensheviks, the opposition to the Communist Bolshevik party, in his apartment.
“Your misery looks familiar to me. Are we from the same shtetl?” Mudman asks one of the Mensheviks in a depressing round of early 20th century Jewish geography.
“No. I get this all the time,” the man responds. “But I’m a miserable city Jew.”
A little‑remembered Gilded Age millionaire helped make milk safe for American kids through his ‘retail giving’
The 1844 edition of the widely used schoolbook written by William H. McGuffey, “Newly Revised Eclectic Fourth Reader,” includes a dialogue about the difference between “true and false philanthropy”:
Mr. Fantom: I despise a narrow field. O for the reign of universal benevolence! I want to make all mankind good and happy.
Mr. Goodman: Dear me! Sure, that must be a wholesale sort of a job: had you not better try your hand at a town or neighborhood first?
As the discussion continues, the lesson becomes clear. Mr. Fantom’s approach is too ambitious to accomplish much, while Mr. Goodman’s, if narrower in scope, was likely to be more useful in practice.
Nathan Straus made his mark in philanthropy after a successful career running the Macy’s department store. Library of Congress Image by
Many of Straus’ contemporary philanthropists were setting lofty goals for their giving. In oil magnate John D. Rockefeller’s case, it was promoting “the welfare of humanity throughout the world.” For steel tycoon Andrew Carnegie, it was “to promote the advancement and diffusion of knowledge and understanding.”
Straus pursued more mundane objectives that included championing milk pasteurization. Although his efforts are not as well known today as those of his more ambitious – and wealthier – counterparts, they accomplished a lot and showed that what might be called “retail giving” can have far-reaching effects.
Successful immigration story
The Straus family came to the United States from Germany in the 1850s during the first big wave of Jewish immigration. Lazarus Straus, Nathan’s father, followed a familiar path for Jewish immigrants at the time, beginning as a peddler and eventually establishing his own store in the small town of Talbotton, Georgia, where the members of his family were the only Jews.
He prospered, became a respected citizen and saw that his children received good educations, including in their religion.
Then the Civil War upended the family’s life, first by reviving antisemitic prejudices and then, eventually, by destroying the family’s business.
Starting anew in New York City, Lazarus and his older sons, Isidor and Nathan, began to sell imported china, glassware and other crockery to retailers in the Northeast and South. One was Rowland H. Macy, who had founded an eponymous store that was on the cutting edge of what Fisher calls a “retailing revolution.”
Macy’s innovations included stocking large inventories of many kinds of merchandise, competitive pricing, extensive advertising and providing a variety of services like public restrooms and a cafeteria to make shoppers’ experiences more pleasurable.
Aided by the rapid urban and economic growth of the late 19th century, the model flourished. Department stores displaced smaller, specialty shops. Other retail powerhouses, such as Bloomingdale’s and Lord & Taylor, soon competed with Macy’s.
The Straus family sold their wares at Macy’s. After Rowland H. Macy died, the Straus family became partners with its new owners. By 1896, the Strauses owned the store outright. And Macy’s was expanding: It bought another department store in Brooklyn and created a flagship building on Manhattan’s Herald Square, which Macy’s still occupies.
The landmark Macy’s department store in New York’s Herald Square opened in 1902 while Nathan and Isidor Straus ran the retailer. Library of Congress Image by
His philanthropy journey begins
While Isidor Straus oversaw the store’s internal operations, Nathan focused on the company’s external activities, such as purchasing, marketing and dealing with government and business leaders.
A third brother, Oscar, pursued a career as a politician and diplomat, eventually becoming secretary of commerce and labor under President Theodore Roosevelt and the first Jewish member of a presidential cabinet. Perhaps inevitably, this led to a series of public appointments for Nathan Straus.
However, as they became wealthier, Nathan and his wife, Lina, increasingly devoted their attention to a series of philanthropic projects.
In 1893, the U.S. entered a four-year economic depression, its worst until the 1930s. As unemployment in New York City rose, Nathan Straus used his merchandising skills to address the needs of the jobless and poor.
He created a number of “depots” near tenements and boarding houses that sold coal, food and fuel at discount prices. Fisher, Straus’ biographer, rightly calls these early examples of what is now known as “social entrepreneurship”: the application of business principles to solving social problems.
Making milk less deadly
As these efforts were getting away, Straus also launched what would become his major preoccupation: promoting pasteurized milk.
In New York City in the early 1890s, Fisher writes, “the annual mortality rate among children under five was about 15 percent,” or 18,000 infants and toddlers per year. A main cause was consuming raw milk, which, unless certified by inspectors, was likely not only to contain a variety of pathogens, such as tuberculosis bacteria, but spoil easily going from farm to table.
Although scientists had long known that heating could make milk safer, doctors and public health officials worried that sterilizing milk might also destroy its valuable nutrients.
Straus, who had lost one of his own children to what he believed was a milk-borne infection, built on his projects for the unemployed by working with New York social service agencies to develop pasteurization plants and infant-milk stations near low-income neighborhoods.
They sold sterilized and refrigerated milk at below-wholesale prices, or donated it to those who could not afford to pay. Businesslike efficiency kept costs low, as did donations. Multilingual ads publicized the product’s availability, doctors and nurses advised parents on child-rearing, and careful recordkeeping aimed at assessing the program’s health benefits.
Straus and his wife devoted much of their time and money to this work. In addition to establishing 297 milk stations in 36 cities, they also spoke and wrote widely about the merits of pasteurization.
By 1908, their efforts paid off when the U.S. Public Health Service endorsed pasteurization and state and local governments began requiring that milk sold in their jurisdictions be pasteurized. Raw milk remained available in many states, and debates over its safety continue to this day.
As a result of this and other Progressive Era measures, New York City’s health commissioner estimated that infant deaths dropped by two-thirds
during the first two decades of the 20th century, with similar declines elsewhere in the country.
The coastal Israeli city of Netanya was named after philanthropist Nathan Straus. Jack Guez/AFP via Getty Images Image by
Other causes
While most of Nathan Straus’ efforts occurred in the U.S., he used his trips to Europe for Macy’s to promote pasteurization on the continent.
During a 1904 visit, he toured the Mediterranean and stopped in Palestine, then part of the Ottoman Empire. Impressed by the early Jewish settlements and holy sites he saw, Straus became an ardent advocate for creating a Jewish homeland in the Middle East, an unusual position for a Jewish businessman of that era, according to Fisher.
On a subsequent trip, a broken leg kept Straus from returning to New York on the maiden voyage of the Titanic; his brother Isidor and sister-in-law Ida were not so fortunate.
In the U.S., Nathan Straus led Zionist organizations, while in Palestine, his chief contributions involved supporting a variety of health care and economic development activities, including Hadassah, the women’s health and community development organization founded by Henrietta Szold.
Nathan Straus’ achievements as a philanthropist are not widely known today because he did not create a grantmaking foundation that outlasted him, as Rockefeller and Carnegie did.
Instead, by the time of his death in 1931, Straus had donated much of his fortune. Fisher writes that Straus used to invoke an old Hebrew proverb: “Money given in health is gold. Money given in sickness is silver. Money given after death is lead.”
He also didn’t donate heavily to the burgeoning network of communal organizations set up to assist the growing population of Jewish immigrants, as did the financiers Jacob Schiff and Felix Warburg, who were also affluent Jewish immigrants from Germany.
As Fisher notes, this pattern of philanthropy resembles that of Straus’ friend – and pallbearer – Julius Rosenwald, the longtime head of Sears, Roebuck and Co. Both supported Jewish causes as well as major initiatives aimed at helping others: In Rosenwald’s case, it was schools for African American children in the South, while for Straus, it was milk pasteurization in New York City and beyond.
During and after World War I, they worked together to assist Jewish refugees in Europe. Fisher might have added that neither Straus nor Rosenwald sought much recognition for their work.
His thorough account should help give Straus the credit he deserves for his philanthropy. It should also show that donors do not have to aspire to “make all mankind good and happy” to make an important difference.
In many ways, Nathan Straus was an old-fashioned do-gooder, responding to the needs he saw with innovative solutions. As a result, he wound up accomplishing a lot of good.
“Emma,” a young Jewish woman who we met in 2019, didn’t belong to a synagogue. She didn’t have a Jewish partner. She didn’t observe Jewish rituals regularly. On most surveys about religion, she would not seem very engaged with Judaism.
But as Emma talked about what she did in her free time, a very different picture began to emerge. She visited Jewish websites and enjoyed listening to Jewish music. She read books about Jewish topics and had recently attended a retreat for young Jewish adults to learn Torah while also doing yoga.
She was highly invested in learning about Judaism, but she explored her identity without joining traditional institutions.
Most major surveys about religion ask whether someone belongs to a congregation, how often they attend services, whether they pray regularly and whether belief is important in their lives. Those measures help identify broad shifts, like the growing percentage of Americans who are religiously unaffiliated: the “nones.”
But many Americans’ religious lives, like Emma’s, are not disappearing; they are moving away from membership of traditional institutions. To understand what religion looks like in 21st-century America, researchers may need to ask different questions.
Learning through art
As scholars of Judaismand education, we have been exploring how people learn about religion beyond traditional places like synagogues, Jewish schools and summer camps. Between 2019 and early 2023, we spoke with hundreds of people and explored different leisure time activities to discover what people learn about Judaism and Jewishness through cultural arts.
We interviewed dozens of audience members at Jewish-themed shows on Broadway, such as “Leopoldstadt”and “Parade.” We attended Jewish concerts and asked attendees what they learned. We explored how social media communities offer spaces to talk about different Jewish topics, like what fans learned about ultra-Orthodox Judaism from watching the television show “Shtisel.”
‘Shtisel,’ an Israeli series about an ultra-Orthodox family in Jerusalem, ran for three seasons.
Our research revealed that there is a vibrant ecosystem of people learning about religion in their leisure time. Through the arts, both Jews and non-Jews encounter Jewish history, Jewish religious practices and representations of Jewish communities.
Screen and stage
Most people we spoke with told us that they felt meaningful connections to Judaism during activities that would rarely appear on a standard religion survey.
“Joan,” an unmarried woman in her 50s from Connecticut, told us that she was deeply invested in Judaism, but felt that synagogues and Jewish community centers were not welcoming to single people without families. Instead of joining a Jewish institution, she watched Jewish-themed TV shows and movies on Netflix, and joined social media communities to chat with other fans.
“Luis,” who lived in Boston but was born in Argentina, was a Sephardic Jew, a group that traces their ancestry and traditions to Jewish communities who once lived in Spain and Portugal. His wife was Ashkenazi, meaning her ancestors came from Central and Eastern Europe. She considered herself secular, and so the couple joined the Worker’s Circle, a nonreligious Ashkenazi institution rather than a synagogue.
Yet Luis loved deepening his knowledge of Sephardic culture, and he often attended concerts of music in Ladino, a Sephardic language related to Spanish, with other Sephardic immigrants.
American singer Sarah Aroeste writes and performs in Ladino.
For Joan and Luis, these activities were not peripheral to their Jewish lives. Rather, they were central avenues for learning and community. We interviewed hundreds of Jews who told us that cultural experiences were opportunities to reflect on Jewish practices, explore questions of belonging, connect with family histories and find friends with common interests.
New questions
Some aspects of these patterns were distinctive to Judaism. Historically, many Jews have understood Judaism to be a cultural world, and not only a theological tradition. Learning about cultural dimensions of Judaism has long been part of Jewish education.
The broader phenomenon of informal learning, though, extended far beyond a single tradition. Across America, increasing numbers of people learn about religion through media, cultural productions and digital networks. Christians may study biblical themes through podcasts, online discussion groups or religious influencers. Muslims may participate in online learning communities that connect believers across the world.
The challenge for religion researchers, then, is not simply to determine whether engagement with religion is rising or falling. Rather, it is to develop more nuanced ways of understanding how people explore religious themes and practices, beyond traditional institutions. Only then can we more fully understand how contemporary Americans actually live their religious lives.
