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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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Kentucky Gov. Andy Beshear criticizes Gaza ‘genocide’ discourse ‘litmus test’ for Democrats
(JTA) — Kentucky Gov. Andy Beshear declined to label Israel’s actions in Gaza as “genocide” in an interview with Politico published Sunday, instead critiquing the question as a litmus test among Democrats.
“That’s becoming one of those new litmus tests that we said we would never do as a party again,” Beshear told Politico’s Dasha Burns after being asked if he agreed with the label. “It’s trying to throw out a word and, ‘Are you going to raise your hand or are you not going to?’”
Beshear is the Democratic governor of a solidly red state and a potential 2028 presidential contender. His remarks come as Democratic candidates increasingly grapple with their stances on Israel amid record low support for Israel among its base.
While several lawmakers, including Vermont’s Jewish Sen. Bernie Sanders, an independent, have called Israel’s actions in Gaza a “genocide,” the label has not gained mainstream support in the Democratic party. Last October, former Vice President Kamala Harris declined to use the “genocide” label, which Israel had long rejected, but said, “We should all step back and ask this question and be honest about it.”
Some Democrats have embraced the question, with a New York congressional candidate telling the leftist streamer Hasan Piker this week that she is “100%” comfortable with the issue serving as a litmus test in her party.
Others have acted as though the litmus test is already in place. In January, for example, California congressional candidate Scott Wiener announced that he believes Israel’s actions in Gaza constitute a genocide after drawing scrutiny for declining to answer the question during a debate.
While Beshear told Burns that Israel “has the right to exist as a democratic country, as a Jewish country,” he added that he feelings about President Donald Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s conduct during the war in Gaza and ongoing war in Iran were “a different thing.”
“I believe the United States needs a strong Israel, but not one with decisions being made in the way that Netanyahu is making them,” Beshear said.
Beshear also critiqued President Donald Trump’s response to the crisis in Gaza.
“I believe that it could have been done without a lot of the suffering, but I put a lot of that blame also on Donald Trump,” he said. “If he’d said we are coming in and we are bringing food and aid and you are going to make sure that we’re safe, it would’ve happened.”
Last week, a spokesperson for Beshear told Politico that “AIPAC has never contributed to Governor Beshear and they’re never going to — ever,” a response that dovetailed with a host of other potential Democratic presidential candidates, including California Gov. Gavin Newsom, who are increasingly distancing themselves from the pro-Israel lobby.
“I think that’s up to each and every Democrat,” Beshear answered when asked whether he thought his fellow Democrats should take money from AIPAC.
“In the end, I think people need to be clear about their stance on these issues,” Beshear said. “And for me, it’s one where I believe that we need a future with an ally in Israel. But we need decision makers there that are not acting the way that Netanyahu is and we need a president that will push when we are seeing humanitarian crises to actually do something about it.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Kentucky Gov. Andy Beshear criticizes Gaza ‘genocide’ discourse ‘litmus test’ for Democrats appeared first on The Forward.
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Passover’s 4 cups of meaning
What if the answer to the ‘Meaning Crisis’ is sitting right in front of us, around our Passover tables?
The Meaning Crisis is a term coined by philosopher John Vervaeke to discuss the constellation of mental health, political and cultural crises that, in his words, derive from people “feeling very disconnected from themselves, from each other, from the world, and from a viable and foreseeable future.” It is, Vervaeke argues, at the root of such seemingly disparate phenomena as the opioid crisis, the rise of right-wing nationalism, and off-the-charts reports of despair and anxiety, particularly among young people.
There are at least two meanings of ‘Meaning’ in this context.
First, over the last few hundred years — but especially in the last few decades — there has been a rapid erosion of the structures and communities that gave human lives meaning for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Traditional religious values and structures are far less coherent, attractive or attainable. Familial and communal structures have rapidly shifted. Fewer and fewer of us live in the places where we grew up, surrounded by extended family. The civic bonds many of us once took for granted are frayed as we fundamentally disagree about what American democracy even means. And in the last few decades, the atomizing effects of technology have made us more isolated from one another, with less in-person human contact and even less physical intimacy.
This is also a literal crisis of meaning: who we are, how we understand our world, the concepts by which we organize our lives — all of these are rapidly changing, and with the potential of AI to reshape our economic order and wipe out half of white-collar jobs, it’s possible we ain’t seen nothing yet.
Some of these changes are for the best. To take one personal example, the word ‘marriage’ connoted a very specific form of social arrangement for hundreds of years: a man, a woman, a lifelong union blessed by a religious authority, and the raising of children. The parameters of marriage were never as stable as traditionalists like to claim — just look at our biblical ancestors polygamous marriages, or the deeply unequal access and expectations around extramarital sex stretching through the Mad Men 1950s. But with the progress in women’s rights (e.g. not being considered the property of their husbands, being able to have careers) and LGBTQ equality, obviously the nature and rates of marriage have changed significantly. As someone in a same-sex marriage, I’m very grateful for that.
But it is still a change, and, together with other transformations, it has challenged some traditional notions of masculinity, leading to a resurgence of misogynistic, hyper-conservative models in the so-called ‘manosphere.’ And that’s but one example of many.
In this context — the meaning crisis and the reactionary responses to it — I find the observance of Passover, and the Passover Seder in particular, to be a much-needed antidote to disorientation on one hand, and oppressive traditionalism on the other.
Fittingly, for a holiday obsessed with the number four, I want to explore this in four ways — if you like, the Four Cups of Meaning that can be part of the Passover Seder.
1) Community
For many people, gathering with families of origin can be extremely stressful in our politically polarized time. It was bad enough when it was just the proverbial ‘racist uncle’ we had to endure at Seders. He might’ve been annoying, but he could also be ignored. Now, however, even well-meaning, sincere and committed Jews passionately disagree over a number of subjects, especially a certain country (or two) in the Middle East.
Yet there is a profound value gathering as a family — even as a tribe — and feeling a sense of kinship and belonging to it. Despite real and painful differences, Jews congregating together are connecting to a heritage and an ancestry that cannot be taken away by those who seek to put us outside the tent. That is something very old and very rich. You are not an atomized, isolated individual, separate from a history and a people and a tradition — a tradition which specifically includes the value of disagreement, argumentation and wrestling with the divine.
2) Centering our core values
Within the Jewish family, there are radically different iterations of core values. For me, the meaning of the Exodus is that oppression, slavery and injustice are morally wrong in the highest possible sense. As Exodus 23:9 teaches, “Do not oppress the stranger, for you know the heart of a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” From our experience of oppression — real, imagined or historically projected — we extrapolate the emotional and ethical value that it is wrong to oppress those who are different from us.
I know others have different views — for example, that the story of the Exodus is centrally about something that happened to our tribe, and that our group must never allow to happen to us again. But in terms of the meaning crisis, the debate is part of the solution. We are called at the Passover Seder to discuss the meanings of freedom, to reenact in our lived ritual experience the passage from servitude to liberation.
And not only that. We are invited to cultivate gratitude — in the Dayenu song and elsewhere — for all the blessings around us. We are invited, over and over again, to value questioning, curiosity, even challenging the texts of the Haggadah that for many are the very foundation of the Seder. These values are placed at the center of the Passover symposium. And while we disagree about how these questions are to be answered, just asking them is a retort to the emptiness and nihilism of so much of online culture and political cynicism. Values matter.
3) The power of myth
Human beings are creatures of story. Some linguists believe that it is in the telling of stories that human language itself — and thus human consciousness — evolved. Personally, I don’t regard the biblical narrative as a historical document; I see it as a shared myth of national self-creation, one which we can embody in ritual — in what the scholar of religion Clifford Geertz called “deep play.”
Sometimes the play is quite literal. Last year, my friend Shoshana Jedwab, a marvelous Jewish educator, led a bibliodrama performance in which, drawing from Sephardic traditions, we whipped one another with scallions to mock the servitude of Egyptian slavery. It’s fun (and worked really well with my eight-year-old) but it’s also a way of making myth into embodied, living experience. The myths, and their reenactment, bring us into intimacy with the past.
But ritual play may take many forms. Why do we dip our vegetables twice? Why the charoset? Why the orange on the seder plate? Why this? Why that? The inquisitiveness of the Four Questions is modeled by the youngest participant of the seder, but is invited on behalf of all of us. These often inscrutable, embodied, crunchy, weird rituals connect to the myth of the Passover story and make it alive in a way that mere retelling could never do.
As you prepare for your own seders, I invite you to create your own questions based on the themes embedded in the order of the Seder. And to lean into the weird. Which brings me to the final cup of meaning:
4) The non-rational
Passover, like many Jewish holidays, has multiple layers — seasonal, agricultural, mythic — and they all mash together in an often strange, and often charoset-like, mixture.
Particularly this year, the non-rational, emotional, and spiritual content of the Seder feels resonant for me. I cannot sequester the grief I feel at the crumbling of the American experiment in multicultural democracy, or at the ascendant far right in Israel. I feel perhaps a little closer to that pre-redeemed consciousness of my mythic ancestors in the land of Egypt. I am certainly not enslaved, but I do feel the sense of precarity that the Seder invites us to cultivate.
And so I find myself yearning for a miraculous deliverance — maybe not one involving frogs, lice, and boils, but from some unknown, mysterious, sacred source. Perhaps salvation will come from what we do not know. Perhaps there is room for a desperate hope, despite ample reasons not to hope.
As the Hasidic masters noted (and for a wonderful presentation of this, consider downloading the ‘Four Cups of Consciousness’ Haggadah supplement created by the Jewish psychedelic organization, Shefa), the Passover Seder is in large part about consciousness change: using the four cups of wine, the emotional arc of the seder, and the long night of singing, arguing and talking over a festive meal that stretches to midnight to shift our consciousness and open us to the possibility of internal freedom, even when external circumstances are antithetical to it.
This is the freedom of which Viktor Frankl wrote. And while we are a long way from what Frankl endured, I would submit that part of the invitation of the Seder is to imagine the consciousness of freedom even when that freedom is threatened — to be in solidarity with those being oppressed as we gather for our lavish meal, reclining on real or metaphorical cushions and drinking cups of wine, and to hold those two sides together. To know that, as the Haggadah relates, there have always been threats to our physical and spiritual safety. And while our physical freedom can indeed be restricted — and has been — we retain the capacity for ethical and spiritual freedom even in circumstances far worse than our own.
This is the ultimate meaningfulness: that in a time when the structures and language that give our lives meaning are threatened, we can resist the slide to nihilism and despair. And the Seder is a celebration of doing so.
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Tensions flare at Passover Seder over Mamdani’s inclusion
(JTA) — New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani was briefly interrupted by a heckler during an appearance at a Passover Seder in Manhattan Monday night, marking a tense moment that highlighted ongoing strains between the mayor and segments of the Jewish community.
“The rising tide of antisemitism has caused enormous pain for so many Jewish New Yorkers. Doors are locked that used to be open, routine subway journeys felt fraught, synagogues that once felt like sanctuaries now require armed protection,” Mamdani said before he was interrupted by an individual in the back of the room who stood and shouted, “Every Jewish organization is a target.”
Attendees responded with a blend of shushes and a single voice shouting, “Stop the xenophobia, let him speak.”
“This is New York City, and we love to be here,” Mamdani said as the audience erupted in cheers. “I say it because we know that if there was complete decorum anywhere that we were, then we would have to ask ourselves if we had left the city that we love, and it is important to be here and to acknowledge that this is what it means to love and to lead the place that we call home.”
The episode, which took place at Jewish entrepreneur Michael Dorf’s annual seder at City Winery in the Meatpacking District, comes as Mamdani has faced scrutiny from segments of New York’s Jewish community over his responses to antisemitic incidents and continued alignment with pro-Palestinian activists.
“I have to say I didn’t vote for him,” one male attendee, who asked to remain anonymous for his privacy, said following the seder. “I have certain feelings about him that I think a lot of other people have, but that’s neither here nor there. But that was kind of surprising that a couple of people kind of went out of their way to heckle.”
While the mayor has previously marked Jewish holidays with Jewish leaders and organizations aligned with him on his criticisms of Israel, the event at City Winery involved a lineup of speakers and attendees with differing views.
“Mamdani was here, which is great, yeah, I guess, because he knows at the seder, you lean to the left,” joked comedian Olga Namer later in the evening. “A little bit about me, I’m a Syrian Jew, yes, so that’s good, because I know, at least I’m confident, that Mamdani likes half of me.”
Ahead of the evening, which also featured addresses by former CNN anchor Don Lemon, Israeli musician David Broza and Rabbi Amichai Lau-Lavie of the non-denominational Lab/Shul, observant Jewish comedian Modi Rosenfeld announced that he had cancelled his appearance, claiming that he had been unaware of the mayor’s inclusion.
“We were not told Mamdani was participating in this event until today,” Rosenfeld’s team said in a statement on Instagram following criticism from pro-Israel activist Shai Davidai. “Modi will no longer be participating.”
Davidai, the former Israeli business school professor at Columbia University, took aim at the Israeli participants in the seder, writing in a post on Instagram, “This is why we’re losing.”
“I have nothing against any of these individuals, but I do have a problem with giving Mamdani a kosher stamp of approval while so many of us are out in the streets fighting against is anti-Jewish and anti-Israeli policies, actions, and rhetoric,” Davidai wrote in an updated caption announcing Modi’s cancellation.
City Council Speaker Julie Menin, who has been seen as a counterweight on Mamdani, used part of her remarks to highlight the passage of her “buffer zone” legislation for religious institutions, which were introduced after a pro-Palestinian demonstration outside of Park East Synagogue in November.
“We all should be able to worship or not worship as we see fit,” Menin said. “We all should be able to go into, whether it’s a synagogue, a church, a mosque or any house of worship, freely without intimidation and harassment, so I’m very proud that we were able to pass this bill.”
Mamdani has not confirmed whether he will sign the legislation, with a spokesperson telling the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that he “wants to ensure both the right to prayer and the right to protest are protected here in New York City.”
Former Comptroller Brad Lander, who is currently running for Congress in New York’s 10th Congressional District, joked during his remarks late in the evening that he “did not tell the mayor that we were doing a live reenactment of the four sons during his speech,” making a tongue-in-cheek reference to a core element of the Passover haggadah.
“He gets heckled and, you know, and it kind of goes along with the territory, I thought he dealt with it very gracefully,” Lander told JTA. “As a lot of people said in here tonight, not everyone in that room agrees with each other.”
Indeed, at the conclusion of the seder, several attendees said that they were not aware that the mayor was slated to appear — and questioned his understanding of the holiday’s core narrative.
“If City Winery did not inform people of the politicians in particular, because he’s very polarizing, to have him up there really upset people,” said one attendee, who requested anonymity because she had participated as a private individual. “It feels inauthentic to have him speak about matzah or Judaism, when the whole holiday is about Jews that were enslaved by Pharaoh and then went back to the homeland of Israel.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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