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The JTA conversation: Pogrom? Terrorism? What do we call what happened in Huwara?
(JTA) — On Sunday, after a Palestinian gunman shot and killed two Israeli brothers in the West Bank, Jewish settlers rioted in the nearby Palestinian town of Huwara, burning cars and buildings. A Palestinian was killed and dozens were injured.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu condemned the Jewish rioters for “taking the law in their own hands,” but many observers — including the top Israeli general in the West Bank and Abraham Foxman, director emeritus of the the Anti-Defamation League — used stronger language, calling the attacks a “pogrom.”
The use of the word, which most famously refers to a wave of anti-Jewish violence in the Russian empire beginning in the late 19th century, in turn became the subject of debate. Does using “pogrom” co-opt Jewish history unfairly and inaccurately by suggesting Jews are no better than their historical persecutors? Does avoiding the term mean Israel and its supporters are not taking sufficient responsibility for the actions of its Jewish citizens?
The debate is not just about language, but about controlling the narrative. Political speech can minimize or exaggerate events, put them in their proper context or distort them in ways that, per George Orwell, can “corrupt thought.”
We asked historians, linguists and activists to consider the word pogrom, and asked them what politicians, journalists and everyday people should call what happened at Huwara. Their responses are below.
Sidestepping the real issue
Dr. Jeffrey Shandler
Distinguished Professor, Department of Jewish Studies, Rutgers University
The meanings of the word “pogrom” in different languages are key here. In Russian, it means a massacre or raid, as it does in Yiddish; in neither language is it understood as specifically about violence against Jews. The Oxford English Dictionary concurs that pogrom means an “organized massacre… of any body or class,” but notes that, in the English-language press, it was first used mostly to refer to anti-Jewish attacks in Russia, citing examples from 1905-1906.
Therefore, though the association of pogrom with violence targeting Jews is widely familiar, its meaning is broader.
That said, because of English speakers’ widely familiar association of the term with Jews as victims, to use pogrom to describe violence perpetrated by Jews is provocative. As to whether it is appropriate to refer to recent attacks by Jewish settlers on Palestinians, it seems to me that this question sidesteps the more important question of whether the actions being called pogroms are appropriate.
Call it what it is: “settler terrorism”
Sara Yael Hirschhorn
’22-’23 Research Fellow at the Center for Antisemitism Research at the ADL, and author, “City on a Hilltop: American Jews and the Israeli Settler Movement”
Let me say first with a loud and clear conscience: What happened in Huwara was abhorrent, immoral, and unconscionable and certainly was not committed in my name.
But to paraphrase Raymond Carver’s famous formulation: How do we talk about it when we talk about Huwara? What kind of descriptive and analytical framework can adequately and contextually interpret that horrific event?
The shorthand of choice seems to be “pogrom” — but it isn’t clear that all who deploy the term are signifying the same thing. For some, pogrom is a synonym for pillage, rampage, fire, property damage and violence in the streets — a one-word general summary of brutal acts. For others, pogrom refers to vigilante justice, an abbreviated story of the non-state or non-institutional actors and their motivations.
More specifically, however, pogrom is seemingly being mobilized as a metaphor to Jewish history, juxtaposing the Jewish victims of yesterday to the Jewish-Israeli perpetrators of today, an implicit analogy to the prelude to the Shoah, recasting Zionists as organized bands of genocidaires (with or without regime sponsorship) like the Cossacks, the Nationalist Fronts or even the Einsatzgruppen. Some would use the word to incorporate all three meanings (and more).
As a historian, I am troubled by the haphazard and harmful use of terms that are attached to a specific time and place — such as the thousand-year history of Jews in the Rhinelands and Eastern Europe, with many layers of imperial, national, local, economic and religious forces that precipitated these events — in such an ahistorical manner. Nor do I find the parallels between Zionists and Nazis to be historically careful (if deliberately offensive) — the State of Israel is committing crimes in the West Bank, but not a genocide. The equivalence also all too easily and incorrectly grafts tropes of racism and white supremacy drawn from American history into the West Bank’s soil.
So what to say about Huwara? Israel — for reasons both political and lexiconographical — has failed to consistently adopt a term for such attacks. (Often the euphemism of “errant weeds” who are “taking matters into their own hands” is the choice of Knesset politicians.) To my mind, the best term is “settler terrorism,” which puts Jewish-Israeli acts on par with Palestinian terrorism. It should also mean that these actions merit the same consequences under the occupation like trial, imprisonment, home demolition and other deterrents enforced against all those who choose the path of violence.
Last but not least, a pogrom was historically an unpunished crime against humanity that led only to war and annihilation. Don’t we aspire for more in Israel/Palestine?
Palestinians call it “ethnic cleansing”
Ibrahim Eid Dalalsha
Director, Horizon Center for Political Studies and Media Outreach, Ramallah, and member of Israel Policy Forum’s Critical Neighbors task force
Palestinians generally view and describe what happened during Sunday’s Huwara attacks as “racist hate crimes seeking to destroy and dispossess the Palestinian people of their homes and properties.” While no specific term has been used to describe these attacks, it was likened to the barbaric and savage invasion of Baghdad by Hulagu, the 13th-century Mongol commander.
Palestinian intellectuals tend to use “ethnic cleansing,” savage and barbaric ethnically motivated violence against innocent civilians, as another way of referring to these attacks. When such events include killing, Palestinian politicians and intellectuals tend to use the term massacre, or “majzara,” to underline the irrational and indiscriminate violence against defenseless civilians. I don’t think the term “pogrom” and its historic connotation are widely known to most people here. From a Palestinian perspective, using such terms, including “Holocaust,” is not considered a mistake. In fact, even using “Holocaust“ to describe violence against Palestinian civilians in and around 1948 was not considered a mistake until very recently when it caused such a saga for Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas in Germany.
View of cars burned by Jewish settlers during riots in Huwara, in the West Bank, near Nablus, Feb. 27, 2023. (Nasser Ishtayeh/Flash90)
In the name of historical accuracy
Rukhl Schaechter
Yiddish Editor, The Forward
The recent attacks by Israeli settlers on Palestinians in Huwara are abhorrent. I commend those in Israel calling them peulot teror, “actions of terror,” and I trust that the perpetrators will be brought to justice. But these riots were not pogroms.
The word pogrom refers to one of the many violent riots and subsequent massacres of Jews in Eastern Europe between the 17th and 20th centuries. These attacks were committed by local non-Jewish, often peasant populations. They were instigated by rabble-rousers like Bogdan Chmielnicki, who led a Cossack and peasant uprising against Polish rule in Ukraine in 1648 and ended up destroying hundreds of Jewish communities. According to eyewitnesses, the attackers also committed atrocities on pregnant women.
Note that the massacres of Jews carried out by the Nazis, and the murders of Armenians by the Turkish government at the turn of the 20th century — as horrific as they were — were never called pogroms because in both cases, there was a government behind it. In the name of historic accuracy, let’s continue to use the word pogrom solely for mob attacks on and massacres of Jews.
When the Poles banned “pogrom”
Samuel D. Kassow
Professor of History, Trinity College, Hartford, Connecticut
In Poland in the late 1930s, altercations between a Jew and a Pole sometimes ended with either the Jew or the Pole getting badly hurt or even killed. When the victim was a Pole, mobs of Poles rampaged through Jewish neighborhoods smashing windows, looting shops and often beating or even killing Jews. Poles often held Jews collectively responsible for the death of one of their own. This happened in Przytyk, Minsk-Mazowieck, Grodno and other places. Jews called these riots “pogroms,” which they were. But the Polish government banned use of the term in the press. After all, “pogrom” was a Russian word, and “pogroms” happened only in a place characterized by barbarism and ignorance. Since Poland was not Russia, and since Poles were eminently civilized, logically speaking, pogroms simply did not take place in Poland. What happened in these towns were to be called “excesses” (zajscia). But certainly not pogroms!
I take it that since we Jews are so civilized, we too are incapable of pogroms. So should we label what these settlers did “‘excesses”? Or perhaps we should take a deep breath and call them pogroms?
A Jewish, but not exclusive, history
Henry Abramson
Historian
The word “pogrom” is rooted in time and place, although the type of violence it describes is as old as human history. It is a Russian word, but it entered the English language in the late 19th century through the medium of Yiddish-speakers, outraged at the wave of antisemitic disturbances that surged under rule of the last tsar of the Russian Empire, Nicholas II. Russians themselves used a variety of words for the ugly phenomenon, with translations like “riot” or “persecution,” but the term “pogrom” proved the most evocative: the Slavic prefix “po” suggests a directed attack, and the root “grom” is the word for “thunder.” A pogrom, therefore, meant a focused point where a great deal of energy was dissipated in a single dramatic act of violence.
The focused point, in the context of that dark history, was the civilian Jewish population in the tiny shtetls that dotted the Pale of Settlement. In this regard the word could be used to encompass attacks on Jewish populations from as long ago as the year 38 in Alexandria, Egypt. It does not, however, have any specific designation to indicate that Jews are the victims.
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Mamdani once vowed to arrest Netanyahu. Now he won’t join protests against him.
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani said Wednesday that he will not join protests against Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu when he arrives in the city to address the United Nations annual gathering next week and pushed back on the suggestion that he ever encouraged New Yorkers to protest the Israeli leader.
“I do not have any plans to attend any protest at the U.N. General Assembly,” Mamdani told reporters. “To New Yorkers, I have never encouraged them to protest. What I have always told them is that they have the right to do so in the city.”
But two months ago, when Mamdani was asked what New Yorkers frustrated with Netanyahu should do when the Israeli leader came to the city for the annual fall U.N. event, the mayor repeatedly pointed to protest as an option. “I think one of the bedrocks of our city is protest,” Mamdani said at a July 22 press conference. “It is something that has been a part of what makes our city so special: that New Yorkers can express themselves, whether they are in support or in opposition, no matter the topic.”
Mamdani’s July remarks came after a legal review the mayor ordered concluded that he lacks the power to order the arrest of Netanyahu, a pledge he made during his mayoral election campaign.
In July, when a reporter followed up directly, “Are you urging them to protest?” Mamdani stopped short of saying yes. But he again pointed to protests as a way for New Yorkers who oppose Netanyahu to make their voices heard. “I’m simply saying that this is a city where — if anyone feels a level of frustration or opposition, protest is something that we will always respect,” Mamdani said. “I leave it to New Yorkers themselves to make that decision,” he added.
From arrest pledge to protest rights
Mamdani had campaigned on ordering Netanyahu’s arrest based on a warrant issued by the International Criminal Court in November 2024, which accused the Israeli prime minister, former Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant and Hamas military commander Mohammed Deif of war crimes and crimes against humanity. Netanyahu has rejected the charges. The United States is not a member of the International Criminal Court and the Trump administration imposed sanctions on the ICC months after it issued the warrants.
After taking office, Mamdani ordered a legal review and acknowledged in July that New York City does not have the authority to execute the ICC warrant.
He made that announcement in an unusual video address describing Netanyahu as “a war criminal, the architect of a horrific genocide against the Palestinian people” and declared that the Israeli leader would not be welcome in New York, home to the largest concentration of Jews in the United States.
The address drew criticism from Jewish leaders who questioned why the mayor was devoting so much attention to an arrest he acknowledged he could not legally carry out. The criticism came amid growing tension between Mamdani and parts of New York’s Jewish community over his rhetoric about Israel. Jewish organizations have also raised concerns about it contributing to a hostile climate for Jews across the city.
It was against that backdrop that Mamdani was pressed at the July press conference about what he would tell Palestinian supporters who had welcomed his promise to arrest Netanyahu, and were disappointed that he could not fulfill it. That is when he turned to protest as a remaining option. “I want to make it very clear that that welcome ends with me,” Mamdani said. “ I will not be welcoming Benjamin Netanyahu or any other war criminals when they come to this city.”
Netanyahu is expected to arrive in New York City next Wednesday under heavy security measures and address the U.N. General Assembly on Thursday before returning to Israel. One Israeli media outlet reported that the official plane carrying the Israeli leader, known as “Wings of Zion,” will land at Newark International Airport in New Jersey instead of John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York due to concerns that Mamdani could try to prevent the aircraft from remaining parked at JFK during Netanyahu’s visit.
Protests against Netanyahu are planned outside his hotel and near the United Nations during his address. Jewish groups are also planning a mass rally against antisemitism on Wednesday.
At Wednesday’s press conference, Mamdani drew a sharper distinction between encouraging protests and defending the right to hold them. “We respect that right,” he said. “And this is a city that is proud of the Constitution, proud of the First Amendment; we’ll continue to do so.”
Mamdani cited the same First Amendment right when asked about students from Ramaz and SAR, two prominent Modern Orthodox schools, who are planning a prayer vigil outside the mayor’s residence on Friday morning in support of Israel. “They can have a vigil, or I’ve heard some describe it even as a ‘protest,’” he said. “Whatever it is intended to be, they have the room and space to do so outside of Gracie Mansion. Though, he added, he would “probably be somewhere else across the city” when they gather.
The post Mamdani once vowed to arrest Netanyahu. Now he won’t join protests against him. appeared first on The Forward.
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Renoir’s paintings have been stolen again. Their history may never be found.
The timing was as swift as Auguste Renoir’s brushstrokes. In the pre-dawn darkness of Sept. 8, thieves in camouflage and helmets took less than three minutes to saw through a wire-mesh fence and carry off four paintings from the neo-Provençal villa in the south of France where the artist spent the final years of his life.
Perhaps spooked by the city’s newly acquired police dog, the looters dropped two works as they fled from the Musée Renoir across the hillside above Cagnes-sur-Mer, through ancient olive groves, orange trees and figs. Two Renoir works remain missing — a reminder of the peculiar power these paintings exert, not only on those who love them, but on those who covet them and yearn to possess them at almost any cost.
Three of the four stolen works were MNRs — Musées Nationaux Récupération, the French designation for “orphan” works recovered after World War II but never restituted because their rightful owners could not be identified or located. French museums hold them provisionally, a limbo that for some has lasted more than 70 years.
For one of the missing Renoirs, the latest theft amounts to a double tragedy: wartime spoliation followed by modern looting.
German property records show that, during World War II “Jeune femme au puits” was “confiscated by SS man Brandl,” an apparent reference to Hermann Brandl, a Nazi officer and black marketeer who went by the pseudonym “Otto,” and led an organization that bought goods and artworks outside normal channels. Recovered in Bavaria, the painting passed through the Munich Central Collecting Point and was returned to France.
The painting is small and unfinished, oil on wood. A woman in a blue apron stands at a well, drawing water. We do not know her name, but Renoir preserved her gesture and her face. History did not preserve who she was.
I find that omission difficult to leave alone.
I felt something similar in Paris in 2019, when I first stood before another Renoir, “La Petite Irène,” in an exhibition at the Musée Maillol. The portrait had not been publicly exhibited in Paris for 73 years. Yet there was little to explain the tragic history of the girl in blue — or the fact that her portrait itself had been looted during the German Occupation.
In 1946, a French critic had encountered the portrait in a Paris exhibition of artworks recovered from Germany. He wrote that the painting brought him to his knees and asked: “Who was Mlle. Irène Cahen d’Anvers?”
Seventy-three years later, I was asking essentially the same question.
The question became a search. The search became an investigation. The investigation became a book.
Irène Cahen d’Anvers was eight when Renoir painted her, with cascading ginger hair, a distant gaze and lips pressed red as if bitten. She was born into a family of art collectors who were also part of one of Belle Époque France’s great Jewish banking dynasties. She survived the German Occupation. Her sister Élisabeth, her daughter Béatrice de Camondo and her two grandchildren did not. All were victims of the Holocaust.
Before the arrests, Irène’s son-in-law Léon Reinach entrusted her Renoir portrait to the Louvre for safekeeping in 1939. The museum evacuated it with treasures including the Mona Lisa and the French crown jewels to the Château de Chambord in the Loire Valley.
But it was not safe there. In 1941, a Nazi looting unit arrived with a list of works belonging to private Jewish collectors and seized Irène’s portrait along with other paintings. Reinach boldly demanded its return, enlisting senior French museum officials in an unsuccessful campaign. Instead, the portrait eventually passed through Hermann Göring’s art-looting network.
After the war, Monuments Men investigators traced it to a Bavarian farmhouse owned by a murky art merchant near Neuschwanstein castle, a repository for looted art. In 1946, the portrait was returned to Irène, who later described it as “a remembrance of my youth and of all.”
Yet three years later, she sold it to Emil Bührle in a choice that seems almost incomprehensible. Bührle was a German-born Swiss arms manufacturer whose wartime fortune was built in significant part on weapons sales to Nazi Germany. He had also bought looted paintings during the war and, afterwards, was forced to restitute them — only, in several cases, to buy them back because he could not bear to part with them.
French archival records show that museum officials fiercely opposed the sale of “La Petite Irène.” Bührle’s own broker acknowledged that the Louvre had been interested in acquiring it, and a French commission voted to deny the export license needed to remove the Renoir from France.
Yet somehow those objections fell away. The broker’s correspondence showed that he bargained over the price and currency exchange rates with Irène and her banker. Bührle ultimately paid 240,000 Swiss francs — roughly $1.5 million in today’s dollars.
To understand Irène’s decision, I had to understand what the war had done to her.
During the Occupation, Irène left her grand Paris residence for a smaller apartment on Rue de la Tour in the 16th arrondissement and lived under the Italian surname of her former second husband. She survived by hiding in plain sight in occupied Paris, moving within a world of older Jewish women who survived by rotating among friends and discreet addresses. Helped by political connections and by a Catholic conversion decades earlier, she had obtained a coveted certificate declaring that she was not Jewish..
After the war, survivors returning from Auschwitz wrote to that Rue de la Tour apartment. Their painful letters told Irène what had happened to her missing family.
Her daughter Béatrice had survived arrest, Drancy and deportation to Auschwitz, where she was put to work in an ammunition factory. Newly uncovered records of letters from survivors indicate that she was murdered on Jan. 3, 1945, with more than 800 other prisoners, only weeks before Soviet troops liberated Auschwitz on Jan. 27, which is now known as International Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Béatrice died knowing that her two adult children were already dead, according to former prisoners who later wrote to Irène. Léon Reinach — the son-in-law who had fought to recover Irène’s portrait — also died at Auschwitz. Irène’s sister Élisabeth, painted beside her younger sister Alice in Renoir’s “Pink and Blue,” was murdered after deportation as well.
What, then, did Irène see when she looked at Renoir’s image of the eight-year-old girl she had once been?
A family relic? A remnant of a vanished world? A Jewish identity she had spent a lifetime navigating? Or simply losses too great to absorb?
The correspondence surrounding the 1949 sale offers one practical explanation. Bührle’s intermediary wrote that Irène, then 77, wanted to prevent the portrait from being sold at auction after her death because, given its value, it was unlikely any single heir could keep it.
It is an almost mundane explanation for a painting burdened with so much history: She wanted to avoid the public spectacle of an auction and Bührle had the fortune to pay for it quickly.
After the sale, “La Petite Irène” largely disappeared into Bührle’s private collection in Zürich. Only in recent years, now that the Bührle archives have been opened to greater scrutiny and much of the collection has gone on long-term loan to the Kunsthaus Zürich, has the history behind the painting received sustained public attention.
Today “La Petite Irène” hangs alone against an expanse of green in an austere reflection room at the Kunsthaus. Recently, the museum created the gallery around the portrait, inviting visitors to contemplate Irène’s story, record their reactions on a digital screen or draw responses to a history that is finally being confronted.
When I first saw the painting in Paris in 2019, I was struck not only by the girl but by the silence surrounding her. Now that silence is beginning to recede. The history has become part of the portrait’s biography — and part of the mystery of her gaze.
And now another Renoir has disappeared.
The woman in “Jeune femme au puits” still has no name. We know more about the travels of her painting than we know about her: taken during the war, recovered in Bavaria, returned to France, stolen again.
Paintings outlive the people who make them, own them, covet them, steal them and fight to recover them. Perhaps that is part of their strange power.
They carry what we remember — and what we fail to remember.
The post Renoir’s paintings have been stolen again. Their history may never be found. appeared first on The Forward.
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Translation series connects English readers to prewar Eastern European Jewish life
דאָס איז איינער פֿון אַ סעריע קורצע אַרטיקלען אָנגעשריבן אױף אַ רעלאַטיװ גרינגן ייִדיש און געצילעװעט אױף סטודענטן. די מחברטע איז אַלײן אַ ייִדיש־סטודענטקע. דאָ קען מען לײענען די פֿריִערדיקע אַרטיקלען אין דער סעריע.
אַ דאַנק אַ סעריע נײַע ענגלישע איבערזעצונגען פֿון מיזרח־אײראָפּעיִשע ייִדישע ווערק, האָבן ענגליש־לייענערס הײַנט אַ געלעגנהײט זיך צו באַקענען מיטן ייִדישן לעבן־שטייגער פֿאַרן חורבן.
די סעריע, „ייִדישע שטימען“ — אַ בשותּפֿותדיקער איניציאַטיוו פֿון ייִװאָ און דעם פֿאַרלאַג בלומסבערי — איז שוין צו ניץ געקומען סײַ לערערס פֿון קורסן, וווּ די סטודענטן פֿאַרשטייען ניט קיין ייִדיש, סײַ לייענערס מיט אַן אינטערעס צו דער ייִדישער געשיכטע.
„ייִדישע שטימען“ באַשטייט פֿון ביכער װאָס זענען קײן מאָל פֿריִער ניט איבערגעזעצט געװאָרן אױף ענגליש. זיי נעמען אַרײַן אַ ברײטע גאַמע אידעעס און פּערספּעקטיװן װאָס האָבן צוגעטראָגן צו דער מאָדערנער ייִדישער קולטור אין (און מחוץ) מיזרח־אײראָפּע.
זינט 2023, װען די סעריע איז לאַנצירט געװאָרן, זענען אַרױס פֿינעף בענד, װאָס צװײ פֿון זײ — „מיסיסיפּי“ און „די חסידישע װאַרשע“ — זענען ערשט דערשינען מיט אַ פּאָר װאָכן צוריק. ביז איצט האָט מען איבערגעזעצט בלויז ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע װערק אָבער מיט דער צײַט װעט מען איבערזעצן טעקסטן פֿון אַנדערע לשונות, אַזױ װי פּױליש און העברעיִש, וואָס מע האָט ביז איצט ניט איבערגעזעצט אויף ענגליש.
די סעריע, סובסידירט פֿון דער משפּחה פֿון האַריעט יאַסקי, װערט רעדאַקטירט פֿון אַליסאַ קװינט און עליסאַ בן-פּורת. (איך אַלײן אַרבעט מיט זײ װי אַן אַסיסטענטקע). קװינט איז אַ היסטאָריקערין פֿונעם ייִדישן טעאַטער, און בן-פּורת איז אַ היסטאָריקערין פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן אין רוסלאַנד און אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. ס׳איז דערפֿאַר נישט קײן חידוש אַז דער סעריעס קוקװינקל איז אַ היסטאָרישער. כאָטש די איבערגעזעצטע װערק רעפּרעזענטירן פֿאַרשײדענע קאַטעגאָריעס — למשל פּיעסעס, זכרונות און דערצײלונגען — איז דער עיקר זײער היסטאָרישע רײַכקײט.
„מיר קלײַבן אױס טעקסטן װאָס װאַרפֿן אַ שײַן סײַ אױף ברײטע טענדענצן, סײַ אױף ספּעציפֿישע פֿראַגעס װעגן ייִדיש לעבן אין מיזרח־אייראָפּע, און אין אַנדערע לענדער װוּ מיזרח־אייראָפּעיִשע ייִדן האָבן געװױנט װי אימיגראַנטן אָדער פּליטים. אַפֿילו די ׳ליטעראַרישע׳ װערק װי דערצײלוגען און פּיעסעס פֿאָרשן מיר פֿון אַ היסטאָרישן שטאַנדפּונקט“, האָט מיר קװינט געזאָגט.
צוליב דעם דאָזיקן שליחות שפּילט אַ װיכטיקע ראָלע דער אַרײַנפֿיר צו יעדן באַנד, װאָס איז תּמיד געשריבן פֿון אַ היסטאָריקער. אַ מאָל איז דער מחבר פֿון דער הקדמה אױך דער איבערזעצער, און אַ מאָל נעמען אונטער באַזונדערע מענטשן די צװײ אױפֿגאַבעס. „דעם היסטאָריקערס אַרבעט אינעם אַרײַנפֿיר איז אַרױסצוציִען און צוצובינדן די ביאָגראַפֿישע, גײַסטיקע און געזעלשאַפֿטלעכע אַספּעקטן פֿונעם װערק, אױף אַן אופֿן װאָס איז גלײַכצײַטיק װיסנשאַפֿטלעך און צוטריטלעך צו אַלע לײענערס, אַרײַננעמענדיק די װאָס האָבן פֿריִער ניט געװוּסט קײן סך װעגן דער טעמע,“ האָט בן-פּורת געזאָגט.
ביז אַהער באַשטײט די סעריע פֿון די דאָזיקע בענד, װאָס זענען אַלע בראָשירטע ביכלעך גרינג אַרומצוטראָגן אין אַ רוקזאַק און צו לײענען אַבי װוּ:
— „דרײַ ייִדישע פּיעסעס פֿון פֿרױען׃ װײַבערשע ייִדישע פּערספּעקטיװן“, איבערגעזעצט פֿון אַלען לויִס ריקמאַן, מיראָ מניעװסקי און אליע פּיאַצאַ, מיט אַ הקדמה פֿון אַליסאַ קװינט. דאָס בוך נעמט אַרײַן דרײַ פּיעסעס אָנגעשריבן פֿון דראַמאַטורגינס אין דער רוסישער אימפּעריע, אין פּױלן און אין ברוקלין, ניו־יאָרק, צװישן 1880 און 1920. אַלע דרײַ באַהאַנדלען קאָנטראָװערסיעלע „װײַבערשע“ טעמעס אַזױ װי חתונה און גט, שװאַנגערשאַפֿט, קינדל־קאָנטראָל און פּראָסטיטוציע. דראַמעס װאָס באַטראַכטן איבערלעבונגען דורך װײַבערשע אױגן זענען אַ זעלטנקײט אין דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור.
— „חורבן דובאָװע׃ אַ פּינקס פֿון אַ טױטער שטאָט“, פֿון רחל פֿײַגנבערג (1926), איבערגעזעצט פֿון סינטיע און אַלבערט מאַדאַנסקי, מיט אַן אַרײַנפֿיר פֿון עליסאַ בן-פּורת (לײענט װײַטער דאָ). פֿײַגנבערג באַשרײַבט דאָס לעבן און דעם טראַגישן אוקמום פֿונעם שטעטל דובאָװע אין אוקראַיִנע, װוּ כּמעט אַלע ייִדן זענען בעת דער רוסישער בירגערקריג אין 1919 אָדער פֿאַרטיליקט אָדער פֿאַרטריבן געװאָרן. װען נישט פֿײַגנבערגס רירנדיקע דערצײלונג װאָלט דאָס ייִדישע לעבן אין דובאָװע אין גאַנצן פֿאַרגעסן געװאָרן. איר נאַראַטיװ האָט געדינט פֿאַר אַ גבֿית־עדות אינעם מישפּט פֿון שלום שװאַרצבאָרד אין 1927.
— „די מוטער פֿונעם ייִדישן טעאַטער׃ זכרונות פֿון אסתּר־רחל קאַמינסקאַ“ (1927-1926), איבערגעזעצט און מיט אַ הקדמה פֿון מיכל יאַשינסקי (לײענט װײַטער דאָ). קאַמינסקאַ איז געװען די באַרימטסטע ייִדישע אַקטריסע פֿון איר דור — טאַקע אַ „סופּערשטערן“ סײַ אױף דער בינע, סײַ אין ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע פֿילמען. זי איז געװען ספּעציעל באַקאַנט פֿאַר אירע מאַמע־ראָלעס: דער טיטל פֿון דער איבערזעצונג פֿאַררופֿט זיך סײַ אױף דעם, סײַ אױף איר השפּעה אױף דער אַנטװיקלונג פֿון ייִדישן טעאַטער. קאַמינסקאַס זכרונות זײַנען פֿול מיט אומפֿאַרגעסלעכע געשיכטעס װעגן די פֿריילעכע מאָמענטן און די שװעריקײטן פֿונעם טעאַטער־לעבן, און מיט באַמערקונגען װעגן דער טעאַטער־קונסט װאָס זי האָט געהאָלפֿן אױספֿורעמען.
— „מיסיסיפּי׃ אַ ייִדישע פּיעסע װעגן דעם סקאָטסבאָראָ־ענין“ (1935), פֿון לײב מלאך, איבערגעזעצט פֿון עלען פּערעצמאַן, מיט אַן אַרײַנפֿיר פֿון אַליסאַ קװינט (לײענט װײַטער דאָ). מלאך האָט אָנגעשריבן די פּיעסע בתּשובֿה אױפֿן טרויעריק באַרימטן סקאָטסבאָראָ־ענין אין די דרום־שטאַטן, װען נײַן אַפֿריקאַנער־אַמעריקער זענען פֿאַלש באַשולדיקט געװאָרן אין פֿאַרגװאַלדיקן צװײ װײַסע פֿרױען אין אַ באַן. די װאַרשעװער טרופּע „יונג טעאַטער“, רעזשיסירט פֿון מיכל װײַכערט, האָט געשפּילט „מיסיסיפּי“ איבער 100 מאָל. דער ייִדישער עולם האָט מיטגעפֿילט מיט די שװאַרצע פּערסאָנאַזשן, סײַ פֿון אַ הומאַניסטישן שטאַנדפּונקט, סײַ צולוב די אײגענע איבערלעבונגען מיט אַנטיסעמיטיזם אין פּױלן.
— „די חסידישע װאַרשע׃ ר׳ זלמן און דאָס אַלעקסאַנדער־שטיבל“ (1960), פֿון יחיאל האָפֿער, איבערגעזעצט און מיט אַ הקדמה פֿון יונתּן בױאַרין (לײענט װײַטער דאָ). די מעשׂיות דערצײלן די אָפֿט־הומאָריסטישע טווּנגען פֿון ר׳ זלמן, אַן עקסצענטרישער לופֿטמענטש און אַ חסיד פֿונעם אַלעקסאַנדער־רבין. דורך זלמנס אַוואַנטורעס שילדערט האָפֿער דאָס לעבן פֿון אַ װאַרשעװער שטיבל, װוּ מענער האָבן געדאַװנט, געלערנט תּורה, געגעסן און זיך אויסגעטענהט. די דערצײלונגען מאָלן אױס אַ לעבעדיק בילד פֿון פֿאַר־מלחמהדיקן חסידות אין װאַרשע, װאָס איז געבליבן פֿעסט, נישט־געקוקט אױף דער ייִדישער מאָדערניזירונג ביזן חורבן.
אין 2027 און 2028 װעט „ייִדישע שטימען“ אַרױסגעבן:
— די דראַמאַטישע זכרונות פֿון שמעון דזשיגאַן, פֿונעם גאָר באַרימטן קאָמעדיע־פּאָר, דזשיגאַן און שומאַכער (איבערגעזעצט פֿון מרים אייזיקס, מיט אַן אַרײַנפֿיר פֿון דיעגאָ ראָטמאַן).
— חיים גראַדעס נישט־פּובליקירט מײַסטערװערק, „די פֿרױען פֿון דער געטאָ“, װעגן אַ גרופּע פֿרױען װאָס האָבן איבערגעלעבט די װילנער געטאָ (איבערגעזעצט און מיט אַ הקדמה פֿון דוד פֿישמאַן).
— די פּױליש־שפּראַכיקע זכרונות פֿון יולאַ װאַלד, די טאָכטער פֿון אַ חסידישן קרעטשמער אין דער צײַט פֿון דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה (איבערגעזעצט פֿון מאַרטאַ דודזיק־רודקאָװסקאַ, מיט אַן אַרײַנפֿיר פֿון גלען דײַנער).
— אױטאָביאָגראַפֿישע מעשׂיות װעגן די רײַזעס פֿון יוסף יצחק שניאורסון (דעם ריי״ץ), דער זעקסטער ליובאַוויטשער רבי (איבערגעזעצט און מיט אַן אַרײַנפֿיר פֿון אלי רובין).
„מיר האָבן כּמעט ניט קײן צײַט אָפּצוכאַפּן דעם אָטעם“, האָט אַליסאַ קװינט געזאָגט. „יעדער פּראָיעקט איז אַן אוצר, מיטן אײגענעם קוקװינקל אױף די דערפֿאַרונגען און געדאַנקען פֿון מיזרח־אײראָפּעיִשע ייִדן. ס׳איז אַ פּריװילעגיע זיך צו טײלן מיט אַזעלכע באַטײַטיקע טעקסטן מיט ענגליש־רעדנדיקע לײענערס.“
קױפֿט דאָ אַלע פֿינעף בענד פֿון דער סעריע ( כּדי צו פֿאַרשפּאָרן 20%, ניצט דעם קאָד YIDDISHVOICES בעתן באַצאָלן).
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