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Meet the real-life sister act behind the two new ’90s Jewish American Girl dolls
(JTA) — As children in upstate New York, twin sisters Julia DeVillers and Jennifer Roy went to Hebrew school three days a week, spent their summers at a JCC summer camp and got to know local Holocaust survivors through their father, who survived the Nazis as a child in Poland. They also celebrated Christmas with their mother’s family.
Aware of their dual religious and cultural backgrounds from a young age, DeVillers and Roy personally sent their public elementary school principal a letter asking to place a menorah next to the school Christmas tree. The girls gathered a couple of the other Jewish students together to present the letter to the principal, to resounding success: A real menorah was added to the school’s holiday display.
It was something straight out of an American Girl story. And as of this week, in a sense, it is one.
On Wednesday, American Girl released its first twin dolls, Isabel and Nicki Hoffman, who are also the first characters from an interfaith family. Their stories take place in the late 1990s and were written by DeVillers and Roy, inspired by the sisters’ own childhood experiences. The twin dolls’ parents are, respectively, Jewish and Christian, and their mother, Robin, is named after the authors’ own mother.
“It’s incredibly special to us that the twins bring this Jewish and interfaith representation that so many kids will relate to,” DeVillers told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Roy added, “People are not necessarily one thing or another these days. And while we are Jewish, we did grow up with both holidays and both cultures in our family. And that’s how we wanted our characters to be and to feel.”
Isabel and Nicki’s stories are loosely based on the childhood experiences of authors and real-life twins Julia DeVillers and Jennifer Roy. (Courtesy of American Girl)
The dolls are a milestone in how the lived experience of many American Jews is reflected in popular culture. Recent surveys of Jewish Americans consistently note high rates of interfaith marriage, and show that a significant portion of those couples raise their children either fully or partly Jewish.
Isabel and Nicki are the second and third historical Jewish American Girl dolls, joining Rebecca Rubin. Rebecca’s story reflected an earlier generation’s perception of normative American Jewish identity: Her family immigrated from Russia and lives in New York’s Lower East Side in 1914, while navigating issues of assimilation and religion.
Stories of joint Hanukkah-Christmas celebrations are not exactly new. A TV episode Isabel and Nicki’s character’s might have watched as teenagers, “The Best Chrismukkah Ever” from the drama “The O.C.,” aired nearly two decades ago. But the dolls and their stories are “super innovative and relevant for 21st-century Jewish interfaith families,” said Keren McGinity, the interfaith specialist for the Conservative movement of Judaism and a professor of American studies at Brandeis University.
“Anytime there’s cultural representation that depicts real life, it’s a good thing,” McGinity said, though she added that some depictions of interfaith families are more robust than others.
“On the one hand, it’s terrific that they’re reflecting contemporary American Jewish life by depicting an interfaith family through these characters and reinforcing the fact that it only takes one Jewish parent to raise Jewish children,” she added. “And it remains to be seen how they are Jewish beyond celebrating the December holidays, and how they’re interfaith beyond celebrating the December holidays, plural.”
The new twin dolls are the latest in American Girl’s iconic series of dolls, which hail from different eras of American history and come with novels about their lives. American Girl has historically aimed to present a diverse set of dolls. Other recent offerings include Evette Peeters, a biracial girl who cares for the environment, and Kavi Sharma, an Indian-American girl who loves Broadway musicals.
The new historical characters, Isabel and Nicki, retail for $115 each. Their stories are written by DeVillers and Roy, respectively, and begin on Dec. 11, 1999, when they receive their journals as a gift for the last night of Hanukkah.
They have their own distinct personalities, which the authors say somewhat resemble what they were like as kids: Isabel has a preppy style and loves dancing, and is advertised wearing a pink cable-knit sleeveless sweater over a pinstripe shirt, with a plaid skirt, platform shoes and a beret. Nicki likes skateboarding and writing song lyrics, and appears on the American Girl website wearing a backwards baseball cap, choker necklace, blue T-shirt dress and sneakers, with a flannel shirt tied around her waist.
Isabel’s book begins with a nod to a late-1990s fad: “Hi, New Journal! You’re my present for the last night of Hanukkah!! I was going to save you for after Christmas and New Year’s, but we also got NEW GEL PENS!”
In Nicki’s book, her interfaith identity is mentioned two weeks later: “Did I mention my family celebrates Hanukkah AND Christmas? Well, we do.”
The two journals, “Meet Isabel” and “Meet Nicki” are filled with text and sold with the dolls. The stories take place during the same time frame, as the girls celebrate the winter holidays, face their fears, make new friends and worry about Y2K. A longer novel, “Meet Isabel and Nicki” is set for release in August as the first in the Isabel and Nicki historical series. It will take place during the same month as the shorter journals, but will delve further into the time period. Readers will get to spend the last night of Hanukkah with the Hoffmans, lighting the menorah and playing dreidel.
“Meet Isabel and Nicki,” the first novel in the series about the Hoffman twins, will be released in August. (Photo courtesy of American Girl. Design by Jackie Hajdenberg)
McGinity said she would have to wait until the new book comes out to see what the girls’ representation looks like, given that the journals are so short.
“I feel like we don’t have enough intel other than ‘OK, the authors are Jewish, the characters are Jewish, they grew up in an interfaith household,’” she added.
The crowded flagship American Girl store in New York City has already begun promoting Isabel and Nicki by showcasing the twins’ different outfits and bedroom and accessory collections, with dozens of the dolls positioned throughout the store.
“While we’re not able to provide specific sales information, I can say we’ve been happy to see the positive response for the new characters,” a representative for the company said.
Roy and her sister have previously written a series of children’s novels about twins, and Roy also authored “Yellow Star,” a 2006 children’s book about her aunt’s remarkable survival as one of the only children to be liberated from the Lodz Ghetto. Roy said she and her sister are grateful for the chance to tell their family’s story in a new way.
“So we don’t know what cultures, faiths, religions are coming beyond this,” said Roy, referring to future American Girl products. “But what we did know was that if we were writing in the holiday season, we really wanted to include parts of ourselves and that’s what American Girl editors all said: ‘We’d love to have you remember from your childhood.’ And this was our childhood.”
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The post Meet the real-life sister act behind the two new ’90s Jewish American Girl dolls appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Israel deported me for helping West Bank Palestinians. I won’t give up on a peaceful future for the country I love
In the dark, sparsely furnished Israeli Immigration Authority waiting room at Ben Gurion airport, handcuffs around my wrists, I picked up a siddur — a prayerbook. It was 6 a.m. and I began to recite the ancient words of shacharit, morning prayers. Praying was familiar, an attempt to make sense of the baffling circumstances I found myself in: a Jew being deported from the Jewish state.
Thousands, if not millions, of other Jews across Israel would recite those same words that morning. But unlike them, I knew this was the last time — for a long time — that I would be able to say them in the Jewish homeland. I had just learned I would not be allowed to return to Israel for a decade.
All because I was on a bus, as part of an activist excursion organized by a peaceful, solidarity-focused NGO, that entered a recently-declared closed military zone in the West Bank as we tried to reach Palestinian farmers in their olive groves. A closed military zone is determined at will by the Israeli army; it is a designation that gives soldiers legal authority to bar entry or remove anyone—including residents.
I entered the closed military zone unknowingly. The usual consequence for a Jew who does that is a temporary restriction from the West Bank — not a 10-year ban from the country.
I am 18 years old. For me, 10 years feels like a lifetime.
A deep, critical connection
In September I joined a program called Achvat Amim, or “solidarity of nations,” for a gap year before starting at Williams College. The program is organized around learning Jewish texts, considering Israeli and Palestinian history, and volunteering in both Israel and the occupied West Bank.
Achvat Amim felt like the perfect way for me to deepen my connection to a place I both love, and struggle with.
Judaism has been the lens through which I experience the world, and as Jewish values inform my understanding of self, they also inform my understanding of Israel. As I have tried to find my place in an imperfect and deeply unjust state, I have turned again and again to the Jewish concepts of tikkun olam (repairing the world) and b’tselem elohim (a belief that every human being is created in the image of God).
When I lived in Jerusalem during 10th grade, I attended pro-democracy protests every week. On my many trips to Israel since, I’ve joined protests demanding an end to the war in Gaza and the return of the hostages. These mass displays showed me that many Israeli Jews were willing to fight for and honor the Jewish values that drive me. They urged me to believe there was a just future for this country.
In the two months before my deportation, I was introduced to a world of Jewish leftists in Jerusalem who split their time between synagogue, Shabbat meals, political demonstrations, and solidarity actions side-by-side with Palestinians in the West Bank. They showed me a way to be deeply Jewish and connected to Israel, yet unapologetically critical of the injustice I saw.
And I saw injustice. As I spent more time in the South Hebron Hills and Jordan Valley, I saw demolished homes, burned villages, and fields of uprooted olive trees. There was also joy: I held babies, danced with little girls, and drank cup after cup of sage-infused tea. When the olive harvest began, I joined the Israeli organization Rabbis for Human Rights, going twice each week to help protect farmers from harassment or attack by Israeli settlers and soldiers.
Accompanying farmers as Jews made a statement: We would not stand idly as our fellow Jews burned Palestinians’ fields, murdered their sheep, and harmed their bodies.
A forceful rejection
I spent many days high up in olive trees, meeting other Jewish activists as we separated leaves from fruit. The day I was detained began exactly that way. I climbed trees, laid out tarps, and poured multicolored olives into buckets. But walking back to our bus, volunteers were confronted by Israeli soldiers. They asked all 11 of us for identification, then announced that we were being detained. Two soldiers boarded the bus and directed the driver to take us to a police station in the settlement of Ariel.
I was not worried. I knew other visiting Jewish activists who had been detained and released the same day, perhaps banned from returning to the West Bank for a couple of weeks. That is exactly what happened to the volunteers who held Israeli citizenship and long-term visas. I watched as each of them walked out of the station.
But after four hours of interrogation and waiting, I began to understand the vulnerability of my tourist visa, and I became worried. Finally, at 7:00 pm, I was informed that my detention had turned into an arrest, and my deportation hearing would be held at 3 a.m. the following morning.
I was shocked. I am not Greta Thunberg, who was deported three weeks before me after attempting to enter Gaza as part of a protest flotilla of aid ships, I am an 18-year-old Jewish American, the daughter of a rabbi.
I was not wearing a keffiyeh, I was wearing rings etched with the words of the Shema prayer. It did not seem to matter what I had said in my many interviews that day nor did it matter that I kept Shabbat, could speak nearly fluent Hebrew, and knew where to find the best falafel in Jerusalem. All that seemed to matter is that by showing up as a Jew to aid Palestinians, I was the wrong kind of Jew.
Israel was supposed to be a home for all Jews, for me. I never imagined it would reject me so forcefully.
A few minutes after learning that the state where I had always been told I belonged was deporting me, I asked a police officer wearing a kippah if I could borrow a prayerbook. He watched me recite the words with a confused expression. I imagine that my knowledge of the prayers defied his assumptions about Jews like me.
I realized that this binary-defying confusion is our power. It asserts that as Jewish activists, we stand with Palestinians not despite our Judaism, but because of it.
Who defines Judaism — and Israel?
I know what my deportation is supposed to mean.
It’s supposed to tell American Jewish activists doing solidarity work in the West Bank that they are not safe, and Jewish high schoolers that they should make other plans for their gap years. It sends a message that the only Jews whom Israel wants are compliant ones.
But we cannot let ourselves be defined by those who use Judaism in the name of violence.
To not return to Israel for a decade is unfathomable to me. I do not want to forget my way around the streets of the old city, or the secret route I like to take to the Western Wall. I want to eat pomegranates from trees that hang over sidewalks, and figs from community gardens. I wanted to taste the olive oil made from the olives I picked with my own hands.
My deportation felt like a betrayal. Israel was supposed to be for me, for every Jew. But the settler movement and the current government would like to redefine what it means to be Jewish along political lines.
In Hebrew, I was taught to love our neighbors and to commit to repairing a broken world. To me, that means that while I may be angry at Israel and critical of its actions and policies, I cannot serve justice by severing my relationship with this land entirely.
I am not done with Israel, not done with Judaism. I am not giving up, and neither should any leftist American Jew. I believe that if there is hope for Israelis and Palestinians, it’s in the place of struggle. It does not serve us, as those who want a future of shared society, security, and justice in this land, to give up on this land.
The post Israel deported me for helping West Bank Palestinians. I won’t give up on a peaceful future for the country I love appeared first on The Forward.
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A chat in Yiddish with filmmaker Pearl Gluck
וואָס געשעט ווען אַ יונגע פֿרוי פֿאָרט זוכן אַ פֿאַרלוירענע געבענטשטע חסידישע סאָפֿע אין אונגערן, און געפֿינט דווקא אַ נײַעם קונסטוועג וואָס ברענגט ייִדיש אין קינאָ אַרײַן און דערבײַ הייבט זי אָן אַ הצלחהדיקע פֿילם־קאַריערע?
באַקענט זיך אויף אַ זומישן שמועס אויף ייִדיש מיט פּראָפֿ׳ פּערל גליק — אַ פֿילמאָגראַפֿקע וואָס איז דערצויגן געוואָרן בײַ אַ חסידישער משפּחה — זונטיק, דעם 23סטן נאָוועמבער, 1:30 נאָך מיטאָג ניו־יאָרקער צײַט.
הײַנט איז גליק אַ פּראָפֿעסאָרין פֿון פֿילם־פּראָדוקציע בײַ פּען־סטייט־אוניווערסיטעט, און די גרינדערין פֿון Palinka Pictures. זי שאַפֿט דאָקומענטאַלע און נאַראַטיווע פֿילמען, אין וועלכע זי וועבט צונויף ייִדיש־לשון מיט די טעמעס זכּרון, משפּחה און דאָס דערציילן פּערזענלעכע געשיכטעס.
דער אינטערוויו, וואָס וועט געפֿירט ווערן דורך אלי בענעדיקט, ווערט געשטיצט פֿון דער ייִדיש־ליגע.
גליקס פֿילמען האָט מען שוין געוויזן אינעם Film Forum און אויף PBS, ווי אויך אין פּראָגראַמען פֿאַרבונדן מיט דעם „קאַן־קינאָ־פֿעסטיוואַל“. צווישן אירע באַקאַנטסטע פֿילמען זענען: „דיוואַן“, Where is Joel Baum און „שלעסער אינעם הימל“.
בענעדיקט וועט שמועסן מיט איר וועגן איר שאַפֿערישן פּראָצעס, ווי ייִדיש שפּילט אַ ראָלע אין אירע פֿילמען, און די געשיכטע הינטער געוויסע סצענעס. מע וועט אויך ווײַזן קורצע אויסצוגן צו פֿאַרטיפֿן דעם שמועס.
כּדי זיך צו פֿאַרשרײַבן אויף דער פּראָגראַם, גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ.
The post A chat in Yiddish with filmmaker Pearl Gluck appeared first on The Forward.
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UN Says Israeli Wall Crosses Lebanon Border
The United Nations headquarters building is pictured though a window with the UN logo in the foreground in the Manhattan borough of New York, Aug. 15, 2014. Photo: REUTERS/Carlo Allegri
A survey conducted by the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon last month found that a wall built by the Israeli military crosses the Blue Line, the de facto border, a U.N. spokesperson said on Friday
The Blue Line is a U.N.-mapped line separating Lebanon from Israel and the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights.
Stephane Dujarric, the spokesperson for the U.N. secretary-general, said the concrete T-wall erected by the IDF has made more than 4,000 square meters (nearly an acre) of Lebanese territory inaccessible to the local population.
A section of an additional wall, which has also crossed the Blue Line, is being erected southeast of Yaroun, he said, citing the peacekeepers.
Dujarric said UNIFIL informed the Israeli military of its findings and requested that the wall be removed.
“Israeli presence and construction in Lebanese territory are violations of Security Council resolution 1701 and of Lebanon’s sovereignty and territorial integrity,” UNIFIL said in a separate statement.
An Israeli military spokesperson denied the wall crossed the Blue Line.
“The wall is part of a broader IDF plan whose construction began in 2022. Since the start of the war, and as part of lessons learned from it, the IDF has been advancing a series of measures, including reinforcing the physical barrier along the northern border,” the spokesperson said.
UNIFIL, established in 1978, operates between the Litani River in the north and the Blue Line in the south. The mission has more than 10,000 troops from 50 countries and about 800 civilian staff, according to its website.