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Lorraine Hansberry’s second play had a white Jewish protagonist. Oscar Isaac and Rachel Brosnahan are reviving it.
NEW YORK (JTA) — Sidney Brustein, Jewish Hamlet?
Anne Kauffman thinks so. She made the comparison in a phone interview about the play she’s directing — a buzzy production of Lorraine Hansberry’s “The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window” that opened on Monday at the Brooklyn Academy of Music starring Oscar Isaac and Rachel Brosnahan.
“One artistic director who was thinking of doing this [play] was like, ‘You know, it’s not like he’s Hamlet, but…’ And I thought, well, no, actually I think he is like Hamlet!” she said.
She added another take: “I feel like he’s Cary Grant meets Zero Mostel.”
Hansberry saw just two of her works produced on Broadway before her death from cancer at 34 in January 1965. Her first, “A Raisin in the Sun,” which follows a Black family dealing with housing discrimination in Chicago, is widely considered one of the most significant plays of the 20th century. The other, “The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window,” ran for a few months in the fall of 1964 until Hansberry’s death and has only been revived a handful of times since, all outside of New York.
Now, the star power of Isaac and Brosnahan is driving renewed interest in the play, which deals with weighty questions about political activism, self-fulfillment in a capitalist world, and racial and ethnic identity — including mid-century Jewish American identity.
The Brustein character, as Kauffman alluded to, is many things. A resident of Greenwich Village deeply embedded in that historic neighborhood’s 1960s activist and artistic circles, he is somewhat of a creative renaissance man. At the start of the play, his club of sorts (“it was not a nightclub” is a running joke) called “Walden Pond” has just shuttered and he has taken over an alternative newspaper. As the script reads, Brustein is an intellectual “in the truest sense of the word” but “does not wear glasses” — the latter description being a possible jab at his macho tendencies. Formerly an ardent leftist activist, he is now weary of the worth of activism and a bit of a nihilist. He’s in his late 30s and is a musician who often picks up a banjo.
Brustein is also a secular Jew, a fact that he telegraphs at certain key emotional and comedic moments. Others, from friends to his casually antisemitic sister-in-law, frequently reference his identity, too.
At the end of the play’s first half, for example, Brustein brings up the heroes of the Hanukkah story in talking about his existential angst — and his stomach ulcer. He has become belligerent to his wife Iris and to a local politician who wants Brustein’s paper’s endorsement.
“How does one confront the thousand nameless faceless vapors that are the evil of our time? Can a sword pierce it?” Sidney says. “One does not smite evil anymore: one holds one’s gut, thus — and takes a pill. Oh, but to take up the sword of the Maccabees again!”
Hansberry’s decision to center a white Jewish character surprised critics and fans alike in 1964 because many of them expected her to follow “A Raisin in the Sun” with further exploration of issues facing Black Americans, said Joi Gresham, the director of the Lorraine Hansberry Literary Trust.
“The major attack, both critically and on a popular basis, in regards to the play and to its central character was that Lorraine was out of her lane,” Gresham said. “That not only did she not know what she’s talking about, but that she had the nerve to even examine that subject matter.”
Hansberry’s closest collaborator was her former husband Robert Nemiroff, a Jewish New Yorker whom she had divorced in 1962 but maintained an artistic partnership with. Nemiroff was a bit Brustein-like in his pursuits: he edited books, produced and promoted Hansberry’s work, and even wrote songs (one of which made the couple enough money to allow Hansberry to focus on writing “A Raisin in the Sun”). But Gresham — who is Nemiroff’s stepdaughter through his second marriage, to professor Jewell Handy Gresham-Nemiroff — emphasized that his personality was nothing like Brustein’s. While Brustein is brash and mean to Iris, Nemiroff was undyingly supportive of Hansberry and her work, said Gresham, who lived with him and her mother at Nemiroff’s Croton-on-Hudson home — the one he had formerly shared for a time with Hansberry — from age 10 onward.
Instead, Gresham argued, the Brustein character was the result of Hansberry’s deep engagement with Jewish intellectual thought, in part influenced by her relationship with Nemiroff. The pair met at a protest and would bond over their passion for fighting for social justice, which included combating antisemitism. The night before their wedding, they protested the execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, and they would remain highly involved in the wave of activism that blossomed into the Black-Jewish civil rights alliance.
“Bob and Lorraine met and built a life together at a place where there was a very strong Black-Jewish nexus. There was a very strong interplay and interaction,” Gresham said. “I think Lorraine was very influenced by Bob’s family, the Nemiroffs, who were very radical in their politics. And so there was a way in which she was introduced to the base of Jewish intellectualism and Jewish progressive politics, that she took to heart and she was very passionate about.”
Robert Nemiroff and Lorraine Hansberry were married from 1953-62. They are shown here in 1959. (Ben Martin/Getty Images)
Hansberry didn’t hesitate to criticize Jewish writers who said controversial things about Black Americans, either. When Norman Podhoretz wrote “My Negro Problem — And Ours,” an explosive 1963 article in Commentary magazine now widely seen as racist, Hansberry responded with a scathing rebuke. She also sparred with Norman Mailer, who once wrote an essay titled “The White Negro: Superficial Reflections on the Hipster.”
Gresham said Brustein’s nihilism represents what Hansberry saw in a range of Jewish and non-Jewish white writers, whom she hoped could be kickstarted back into activism. But Hansberry also nodded to the reasons why someone like Brustein could feel defeated in the early 1960s, a decade and a half after World War II.
“You mean diddle around with the little things since we can’t do anything about the big ones? Forget about the Holocaust and worry about — reforms in the traffic court or something?” Brustein says at one point in the play to a local politician running as a reformer.
Daniel Pollack-Pelzner, a Jewish scholar of literature who has written on Hansberry, said the resulting Brustein character is a very accurate depiction of a secular Jew at the time — both keenly attuned to prejudice in society and also lacking some understanding of the experience of being Black.
“I was just intoxicated that Hansberry could conjure that world, both so affectionately, but also so clear-sidedly that it seems like she can see the limitations of all of the characters’ perspectives,” he said. “But she also represents them with sympathy and humor.”
Kauffman, who also helmed a revival of the play in Chicago in 2016, is impressed with how “fully fledged” the Brustein character is.
“Who are the cultural icons who have sort of articulated the Jew in our culture in the last 50 years or 60 years, you know?” she said. “Brustein is not a caricature of a Woody Allen character, he’s not even ‘Curb your Enthusiasm’ or a Jerry Seinfeld character. He’s a fully drawn character.”
Isaac, who is of mainly Guatemalan and Cuban heritage, has played Jewish characters before, including a formerly Orthodox man in an Israeli director’s remake of the classic film “Scenes From a Marriage.” In the lead-up to this play, he has largely avoided getting caught in headlines focused on the “Jewface” debate, over whether non-Jewish actors should be allowed to play Jewish characters on stage and screen.
But when asked about the responsibility of playing a Jewish character in a New York Times interview, Isaac referenced the fact that he has some Jewish heritage on his father’s side.
“We could play that game: How Jewish are you?” he said to interviewer Alexis Soloski, who is Jewish. “It is part of my family, part of my life. I feel the responsibility to not feel like a phony. That’s the responsibility, to feel like I can say these things, do these things and feel like I’m doing it honestly and truthfully.”
When Kauffman directed a version of the play at the Goodman Theater in Chicago in 2016, her lead actor had “not a single drop of Jewish heritage…in his blood,” and she said she had to convey “what anger looks like” coming from a Jewish perspective. Working with Isaac has been different — instead of starting at a base of no knowledge, she has been pushing for more of an Ashkenazi sensibility than a Sephardic one.
“I believe that his heritage leans, I’m guessing, more towards Sephardic. And mine is pure Ashkenazi,” she said. “We sort of joke: ‘[The part] is a little bit more Ashkenazi than that, you know what I mean?’ Like, ‘the violence is actually turned towards yourself!’”
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In my Passover memories, the magnolia trees of Brooklyn are always in bloom
It’s inevitable — the beginning of spring and the scent of magnolias always remind me of Passover.
Growing up, I lived with my parents in a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a three-story apartment building in Borough Park, Brooklyn. The living room window faced the street. A beautiful magnolia tree grew in front of that window, partially obscuring the houses across the way. In late March or early April, I’d start to notice the buds on the magnolia’s branches morph into a rich velvety green that would grow and grow, and soon unravel into huge blossoms, the color of pink ballet slippers.
There was a fire escape in front of that window, and when I was a teenager I’d sit on the windowsill and swing my feet onto the rusty rungs. It was a good place to imagine, to think, write and stare at that beautiful tree, coming alive.
I’d often try to extend my arm and reach a flower, but since I was afraid of heights and didn’t look down, I could usually only graze it. Once in a while, though, with heart thumping and some wobbly finesse I could manage to stand and quickly snip off several blossoms. The delirious scent of spring in Brooklyn, its air vacuumed fresh and clean was unbelievable — winter was finally gone and spring was here. The large pink flower felt like my very own special bouquet. Excitedly, I would take one or two of the petals, press them between my fingers, desperately trying to extract its perfume and dab it behind my ears, before I placed the flower in a small vase.
Meanwhile, inside the house, my very petite mother would busily iron our crisp, white damask tablecloth until it was smooth as paper. With sturdy fingers she would then unfurl it on our dining room table.
Then, my mother would climb a ladder to reshelve all our dairy and meat dishes in the top cupboard, making sure they were out of sight and out of mind for Passover; she’d cover them with a long layer of aluminum foil just to make sure.
Then, out came the blue bubble Depression-era glass dishes, Bakelite knives, forks and spoons with bright red handles, pots, pans and heavy crystal wine glasses.
Like the magnolia tree outside, all these dishes and silverware felt like welcome guests who we hadn’t seen for a year.
Soon, that beautifully ironed tablecloth was layered with all things Passover — the Seder plate; the Maxwell House Haggadah; the treasured well-worn haggadah from The Home of the Sages of Israel on the Lower East Side; Elijah’s cup, not just for Elijah, but for all the relatives, long gone, who couldn’t be present. And, of course, the bottle of Manichewitz grape wine, matzo and matzo balls the size of tennis balls sloshing around in a bowl of chicken soup; hard-boiled eggs; saltwater; a jar of potent horseradish capable of inducing actual tears; velvet and satin yarmulkes, the inside imprinted with someone’s Bar Mitzvah or wedding date. Finally, aunts and uncles on one side of the table, my cousins and I on the other.
On the table, in addition to the wine, there were blue and green seltzer bottles, delivered by the seltzer man. In those days, it was either water from the faucet or seltzer. My cousins and I would press the siphon into the little bit of wine we were allocated and concoct our own, not so good, drinks. Inevitably, someone would accidentally tip over a glass of wine and those beautiful white damask roses would suddenly be transformed into purple ones.
Soon, the magnolia tree would shed all its blossoms and create a beautiful pink blanket on the ground. My mother would take our dairy and meat dishes down from the top shelves in the cupboard, and Passover, like those blossoms, would once again become a memory.
No longer a teenager, I now live in the suburbs, my house surrounded by grass and trees, but not that magical magnolia.
Sometimes, though, while I’m walking, I’ll see one of those trees. I’ll stop and stare at its blossoms scattered on the grass and remember those Passovers past.
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Analysis: NYC synagogue protest protection vote gives Mamdani cover
The New York City Council’s passage of protest restrictions outside synagogues and schools is being closely watched by states and cities grappling with the targeting of Jewish institutions — but the two key bills both leave what happens next an open question.
Those uncertainties let Mayor Zohran Mamdani and the Jewish Council speaker who drove the package, Julie Menin, both declare victory and appeal to their respective sides of the anti-Israel protest divide.
Menin had originally sought to establish a 100-foot buffer zone around synagogues as part of a broader agenda to combat antisemitism — only to revamp it after Mamdani’s police commissioner and civil liberties groups objected. That amended bill now directs the NYPD to craft a plan within 45 days for managing protests around houses of worship. It passed by a 44-5 vote, a veto-proof margin.
But Mamdani could choose to veto the other key measure, which would similarly direct the NYPD to devise a protest response plan to protect access to schools — including institutions of higher education like Columbia University, where Gaza war protests roiled the campus. That bill passed 30-19.
This outcome offers Mamdani a political off-ramp. A strident critic of Israel who rose to power aligned with pro-Palestinian activism, Mamdani faces a different governing reality. The veto-proof synagogue bill allows Mamdani to avoid a direct confrontation with the Jewish community, already concerned about his recent responses to antisemitism and pro-Palestinian protests.
Meanwhile, his power to veto the schools measure gives him room to declare solidarity with the protest movement that helped bring him to power.
Mamdani also has a third option: take no action. Under city law, the bill would automatically take effect after 30 days without his signature or a veto.
The mayor has not indicated he would refuse to sign the bills. However, he cited “serious concerns” expressed by his allies about limiting New Yorkers’ constitutional rights.
Since taking office, Mamdani has walked a tightrope, resisting pressure to take clear positions that could alienate either progressive allies or Jews worried about rising antisemitism.
Menin’s major win
The vote also spotlighted Menin’s role as a counterweight to Mamdani on Jewish issues. The synagogue bill was her first piece of legislation, and her first major win since becoming the first Jewish speaker in city history, at a time when anti-Jewish incidents continue to make up a majority of reported hate crimes in the city. In remarks after the vote, Menin called it a “victory” and a personal milestone.
“We passed a historic package of bills that protects every single faith and allows every single person in New York City to go to their house of worship without fear of intimidation and harassment,” Menin said at the start of an Interfaith Passover seder she co-hosted with the Jewish Community Relations Council. “This is a very personal bill to me. This matters so much.” The event was held at Tsion Cafe, an Ethiopian Jewish restaurant in Harlem that closed earlier this year, citing security concerns after harassment and vandalism following Oct. 7.
Menin is expected to celebrate the bill’s passage with Jewish leaders Friday morning at Park East Synagogue, which was the site of a November protest that included antisemitic slogans and helped spur this action.
Jewish communal and pro-Israel organizations praised Menin for her leadership in statements after the bill’s passage.
Divisions within the Jewish Caucus
The divide around the schools measure, introduced by Councilmember Eric Dinowitz, co-chair of the Jewish Caucus, could prove less politically fraught for Mamdani. The bill drew opposition from 19 members, including two Jewish colleagues.
Dinowitz told the Forward that if Mamdani vetoes the measure, it would undermine police transparency and accountability, “and make students less safe.” He added that he would continue pushing the issue regardless of the mayor’s decision. “I look forward to the conversation the mayor may want to have about how we protect our students’ safe access to schools,” Dinowitz said.
His co-chair, Councilmember Lynn Schulman, said at the Seder event that she is prepared to whip the votes needed to override a veto. “We only need four votes,” she said.
Councilmember Lincoln Restler, who is Jewish, said in the council chambers that he opposed the measure over concerns it could restrict protests on college campuses. Dinowitz pushed back, saying the bill applies only to educational facilities on public property and does not target campus demonstrations.
A watered-down approach
The synagogue bill’s passage comes as similar protection proposals are surfacing elsewhere. Last week, a California state lawmaker proposed a 100-foot buffer around synagogues, and New York is weighing a 25-foot zone statewide.
The bills were revised multiple times from their original proposal following pushback from Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch, some progressive Jewish groups and free speech advocates, under threat of legal challenges. What began as a plan to establish buffer zones of up to 100 feet outside synagogues and other houses of worship was scaled back to giving the police department broad authority to design and implement enforcement guidelines. The final version does not explicitly ban protests or set a fixed distance requirement.
Menin said that in her early conversations with the mayor, Mamdani did not “indicate particular concerns.” Mamdani said in January that he ordered his law department and police leadership to review the proposal’s legality. Menin said those officials “had input on the bill,” and that input is reflected in the current language of the bill.
Outside City Hall, a group of Mamdani allies gathered during the vote to protest the measures.
Donna Lieberman, the executive director of the New York Civil Liberties Union, told the Forward that even the modified version of the bill gives the NYPD “free rein” in how the rules are enforced and risks signaling that protest activity is problematic.
“What it’s going to do is make it hard to protest in New York City,” Lieberman said. That runs counter to efforts to reduce over-policing, she added.
Audrey Sasson, executive director of Jews For Racial & Economic Justice, called on Mamdani to veto both pieces of legislation.
“We’re extremely disappointed that the City Council voted to pass Intros 001 and 175, bills that serve to generate headlines and convey concern, but not to materially make our city safer for all New Yorkers, including Jews,” Sasson said in a statement. “At best, the legislation changes little. At worst, it restricts New Yorkers’ free speech rights and empowers the NYPD to engage in discriminatory policing of protest outside houses of worship and educational facilities.”
Lieberman said the NYCLU will hold off on further action until the NYPD releases its implementation plan.
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Israel’s best-case scenario in Iran may also be its worst
If the war in Iran ends with every objective achieved — and it won’t — Israel may still come to regret its victory. The warnings of an ancient Athenian writer, an early right-wing Zionist and an Orthodox Jewish professor of biochemistry illustrate why.
Since the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023, Israel has dismantled nearly every adversary that once threatened it. Hamas can no longer effectively launch rockets. Hezbollah is degraded. The fall of Bashar al-Assad’s regime gave Israel an opportunity to destroy Syria’s weapons stockpiles. And now Iran: Ayatollah Ali Khamenei is dead, other key leaders have been assassinated, and the country’s ballistic missile and nuclear capabilities appear to be in tatters.
None of this is likely permanent. Hamas is regrouping, Hezbollah is launching rockets, Syria may yet radicalize, and Iranian regime change is a fantasy. But even if Israel really does defeat its foes, history teaches a painful lesson: it is victory, rather than defeat, that can set the stage for a country’s collapse.
An ancient analog for modern Israel
When the historian Thucydides documented the rise and decline of Athens some 2,500 years ago, he told a story that feels eerily applicable to Israel in 2026: that of a vibrant state poisoned by its own power.
Athens’ emergence as a military hegemon also marked the onset of its corruption and decline. Initial victories over strong enemies set the stage for later follies, arrogance, and cruelty. Flush with confidence, the Athenians embarked on the Sicilian Expedition and overextended catastrophically. Before that, even, they articulated a credo that almost perfectly encapsulates Israel’s current approach to the Palestinians: “the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.”
This isn’t to say that any country should forego military power. But even right-wing architects of Zionism recognized that such power must eventually become a conduit to sustainable peace.
‘The iron wall’
In 1923, Ze’ev Jabotinsky, the ideological founder of the Zionist right, wrote a famous essay arguing that Palestinians would never voluntarily agree to convert what was then mandatory Palestine “from an Arab country into a country with a Jewish majority.”
Therefore, he wrote, a Jewish state “can proceed and develop only under the protection of a power that is independent of the native population — behind an iron wall.”
But while that part of Jabotinsky’s philosophy clearly aligns with that employed by today’s Israeli right, there are two crucial differences between the two.
The first is that Jabotinsky affirmed that it is “utterly impossible to eject the Arabs from Palestine” and that “there will always be two nations in Palestine” — a far cry from Israeli messianists’ current dreams of wholesale ethnic cleansing.
The second is that Jabotinsky saw the “iron wall” he envisioned as the first step to eventual agreement in which both sides “agree to mutual concessions.” Power was a precondition for safety, but eventually diplomacy would reap the fruits of long-term peace.
Yet in recent years, Israel has largely eschewed the second part of Jabotinsky’s vision in favor of a “strong do what they can” attitude towards the Palestinians — and the rest of the world.
A ‘secret-police state’
Which brings us to Yeshayahu Leibowitz, a brilliant and influential Orthodox Jewish philosopher and biochemist who foresaw the danger that a “might makes right” ideology would incur for Israel.
Leibowitz dared to challenge the euphoria of victory following the 1967 Six-Day War, in which Israel defeated a coalition of Arab armies and drastically increased its territory. Writing the following year, he warned that “a state ruling a hostile population of 1.5 to 2 million foreigners” — the Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank — “would necessarily become a secret-police state, with all that this implies for education, free speech, and democratic institutions.”
Leibowitz was not naive: he firmly recognized the need to “continue to fortify ourselves in our Jewish state and defend it.” But he understood that the military victory of permanent occupation would erode Israeli democracy from within. Nearly 60 years later, Leibowitz is, sadly, vindicated: Settlers are on the rampage, public media and the judiciary are under attack, and some experts have suggested Israel can no longer be considered a true liberal democracy.
A deal in the works
Leibowitz warned that, under the wrong conditions, victory can corrode democracy. The question: Can the gains earned through military success ever justify that risk?
Some might argue that a potential Iran deal in the works would validate Israel’s strategy, because it shows that successful negotiation sometimes depends on military action. That is partially true. Israel has effectively negotiated with countries like Egypt after conflict. Long-term peace with Arab states has emerged precisely from the diplomacy that occurred after victory.
But we should be extraordinarily skeptical that Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu is the man to manage that process. Prime Minister Menachem Begin, who returned the Sinai to Egypt to secure peace, had to muster extreme political courage to go against settler elements within his Likud party. Netanyahu, on the other hand, has folded over and over again to the radical demands of his ultra-right wing coalition.
The man who at this very moment is allowing Hamas to regroup in Gaza because he is avoiding a postwar plan should not be trusted to manage any kind of victory with Iran.
The paradox of victory
What’s even more worrying is that the more successful the campaign in Iran is, the more the Israeli right will likely weaponize victory as proof that force is the only strategy that works for Israel, and that all external critics can be safely ignored.
They will be wrong. And we know that, because that’s exactly the same argument that the right offered during and after the Second Intifada: unilateral security, achieved through Israeli might.
The Oct. 7 attack showed the folly of that promise.
Israeli military strength has perhaps never been greater, and its regional foes have never been less powerful. And yet the country’s international standing is at historic lows, and its people are being harassed, injured and killed by Iranian ballistic missile launches that persist despite the country’s best defensive efforts.
No, Israel should not lay down its arms. No, peace with the ayatollahs was never possible. And yes, sometimes force is the only option.
But long-term security, like the kind we’ve seen Israel successfully build with some Arab states like Egypt, comes from resisting the temptations of radicalization that military success brings.
Israel’s current government lacks the wisdom to take advantage of those successes. It will, in fact, warp a win into a reason to double down on isolationist thinking that will push the country further away from liberal democracy.
In other words: victory in Iran — a best-case scenario for Israeli security in the short run — may turn out to be the worst-case scenario for Israeli democracy long-term.
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