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Tradition! Young adults on the Upper West Side flock to a new, independent Shabbat service
(New York Jewish Week) — It was a mild Friday afternoon in mid-December and Avital Katz and Ilana Sandberg didn’t know what to expect once Shabbat began.
The pair had texted, emailed and posted on Instagram to invite as many people as possible to an egalitarian Shabbat service that they were hosting in the living room of a friend’s townhouse apartment on West 75th Street. Katz and Sandberg were craving a younger, fresher Friday night experience on the Upper West Side, but while they knew others felt the same, they weren’t sure how many people would show up.
In the end, Katz said, the final tally was “shocking”: 55 people crowded into the room for that first service, bringing their own prayer books and traveling significant distances to join a Shabbat community they’d only just heard about.
“We knew people wanted it,” said Katz, 29, who teaches at a Jewish day school in the neighborhood. “But we were just so excited and so grateful that this was something that actually excited people and we weren’t just making it up in our heads.”
Over the next four months, Katz and Sandberg, a rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary, held four additional Kabbalat Shabbat services, with a tentative schedule stretching out into the summer. Their informal prayer community, known as a minyan, has no name — yet — but it does have a third organizer, growing buzz among young adults on the Upper West Side and the support of a slew of synagogues in the neighborhood and beyond.
This Kabbalat Shabbat minyan’s arrival marks something of a return-to-nature on the Upper West Side, a pulsing heart of Jewish life in New York City. Over the years, other minyans had sprouted up in the neighborhood, which is popular among young Jewish professionals because of its density of synagogues and kosher restaurants, the vibrancy of its dating scene and the networks of camp and college friends who are committed to maintaining Jewish community in their lives.
Some of these minyans faded away as members moved away, while others evolved into more established communities with dues, leases and programs for families. But the informal, lay-led minyans that were drawing young adults just before the pandemic — such as the Wandering Minyan, Shira B’Dira (Hebrew for “Songs in an Apartment”) and one sponsored by Camp Ramah, the Conservative movement’s summer camp network — have been slow to reemerge.
Katz and Sandberg are members of a congregation, Kehilat Hadar, that itself grew out of an informal minyan launched back in 2001. But Kehilat Hadar doesn’t regularly hold Friday-night services, which tend to be challenging for people with young children to attend. Plus, Katz and Sandberg thought that an independent minyan with less established roots might be more appealing for many people who hadn’t yet found a Jewish community of their own.
Of course, there are numerous synagogues in the neighborhood, but none seemed quite right: Congregations such as B’nai Jeshurun and Romemu use musical instruments — something considered taboo on Shabbat by many observant Jews — and Orthodox congregations tend not to appeal to people who are committed to egalitarianism. Plus, Katz, Sandberg and the third organizer, Bradley Goldman, were looking for a service led by people who aren’t rabbis, so the participants could feel more ownership over the experience.
“Obviously, there are some choices,” Katz said. “But there wasn’t anything that kind of fit with a more traditional Friday night davening [praying] that really focuses on young people who might end up moving away from the Upper West Side after a few years.”
She had heard others expressing the same longing as the world reemerged from Covid limitations. “All of these Shabbat meals that we were going to, everyone — whether or not they go to shul constantly or have rarely gone when they’ve moved to the Upper West Side — was talking about how there’s really not a lot of options for Friday night davening that are appealing to the 20s and 30s crowd, either religiously or age-wise,” she said.
The crowd at their services are all young people, many of whom know each other already, most who live on the Upper West Side — but anyone is welcome. In fact, Katz stays at the door to welcome anyone and everyone who walks by, which she said has been her favorite part of the experience.
A large contingent of attendees also have a background either attending or working for one of the camps in the Ramah network, and many prayers use Ramah tunes, creating a sense of nostalgia for those who attended the camps.
“We create such a powerful Shabbat experience at camp and I wanted to be able to capture that here with the same people,” said Adina Scheinberg, a Ramah alum who led a recent service that took place at Schechter Manhattan, the Conservative day school located on West 100th Street, that drew around 60 people.
After the service, which includes traditional Kabbalat Shabbat liturgy and maariv, or the evening service, attendees have the opportunity to schmooze with each other, snack and have a drink. “We want to be as inclusive as possible,” Katz said. “If you just want to come for the snacks, we love that too.”
The setting at Schechter was familiar to anyone who has attended Kehilat Hadar services in recent years: Kehilat Hadar has partnered with Congregation Shaare Zedek since 2019 and they meet together every Saturday morning at Schechter while Shaare Zedek’s permanent space is undergoing a major redevelopment. For Kehilat Hadar, the new minyan is not competition but an exciting addition to the fabric of Jewish life in the neighborhood.
“Friday night davening has always gotten a different crowd from Shabbat morning davening,” said Emily Scharfman, president of Kehilat Hadar’s board. She said Kehilat Hadar has held monthly Friday night services but lacked the volunteer capacity to hold weekly ones, particularly as community members have grown their families over the past 20 years.
“We are happy to be supportive of something that was mission-aligned, from a traditional, egalitarian perspective, especially coming from two people within our community,” Scharfman said, adding that Kehilat Hadar and Shaare Zedek would likely not have sponsored a minyan with a mechitzah separating men and women, or one that brought in music.
Kehilat Hadar has sponsored at least one of the Shabbat services, paying to rent the space at Schechter Manhattan for the evening and providing the snacks. And they’re not the only ones: The Conservative Synagogue Adath Israel of Riverdale helped rent space at SAJ, a Reconstructionist synagogue, for a future Shabbat, while Ramah plans to sponsor a service on May 5.
Though the presence of JTS, the flagship Conservative seminary, has always meant that there are ample young adults on the Upper West Side committed to innovative prayer experiences, Sandberg said she’s especially pleased that her growing new minyan draws from beyond that community.
“It’s logical that I as a rabbinical student was looking for something like this and that I felt like there was a gap in the community that I was hoping to find on the Upper West Side,” Sandberg said. “But it is really gratifying that this sentiment is shared by so many people and that this minyan can be something that young Jews on varying levels of being involved and engaged and observant are looking for.”
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The post Tradition! Young adults on the Upper West Side flock to a new, independent Shabbat service appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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The Gaza hostage crisis could forever change how American Jews relate to Israel — but it’s not too late to fix that
In the aftermath of the deadly terror attack at a Hanukkah party on Australia’s Bondi Beach, Jews who have watched the global surge in antisemitism with growing dread are once again considering the need to seek refuge in the Jewish state.
It’s a conclusion many native Israelis find bewildering. Oct. 7 and everything that followed has left them feeling deeply abandoned by a government they no longer trust to protect – or rescue – them. In the past two years, they are quick to note, more Jewish lives have been lost in Israel than anywhere else in the world. This disconnect over Jewish safety was shaped in no small part by the 251 men, women, and children taken hostage on Oct. 7 — and, perhaps even more profoundly, by the long, agonizing struggle to bring them back.
What began as a unified call to “Bring Them Home” soon split into two very different narratives. In Israel, public consensus collapsed as families increasingly blamed the government for sacrificing their loved ones on the altar of political survival, creating rifts that would eventually splinter not only the hostage movement but Israeli society itself.
In the United States, that dynamic played out very differently. Amidst rising hostilities coming from outside the Jewish community and deepening divisions forming within, the hostage rallies remained a source of solidarity, a respite from conflict rather than the source. But it also left many with a distorted view of events, further widening the already-existing gap between how American Jews relate to Israel and how Israelis understand themselves.
Few people are better positioned to explain that gap than one of the people who helped create it. Israeli-born Shany Granot-Lubaton is a longtime pro-democracy activist. After moving to New York City three years ago, she led protests there against the Israeli government’s 2023 judicial overhaul. On Oct. 7, Granot-Lubaton pivoted abruptly to hostage advocacy, eventually co-founding the American version of Israel’s Hostages and Missing Families Forum.
“Right away, I understood we would need a different approach from the way we spoke during the judicial overhaul protests,” Granot-Lubaton told the Forward. Her first priority, she said, was honoring the wishes of the families themselves. While far from a monolith, the majority believed messaging outside Israel should avoid overt confrontation with the government, even as some of those same family members were among its fiercest critics at home.
One of them was Udi Goren, whose cousin Tal Haimi was killed defending Kibbutz Nir Yitzhak on Oct. 7, his body abducted to Gaza. In Israel, Goren became one of the most active figures in the struggle, managing the Forum’s Knesset operations and confronting lawmakers directly. However, he fully supported taking a more restrained approach abroad.
“An effective public campaign is about leverage,” Goren said, in an interview with the Forward. “I didn’t see how attacking the Israeli government in the U.S. would motivate anyone with power to secure a deal to do it faster.”
With American politics becoming more polarized and the prospect of a second Trump term looming, the goal was to keep the tent wide and bipartisan — without completely absolving Netanyahu of responsibility.
“It was a fine line,” Granot-Lubaton recalled. “At every rally, we made sure to say — from the stage — that the Israeli government must do everything they can to bring them home. But we didn’t want to delve too deeply into accusations.”
There were other challenges as well. An open-tent structure inevitably included voices whose priorities did not fully align with the organizers’ carefully calibrated messaging. This included a new crop of influencers who positioned themselves as champions of the hostage cause, filling their feeds with “on-the-ground reporting” from rallies, vigils, and reunions. But their content also reflected personal worldviews and financial interests, dictating which parts of the story were amplified and which were left out. While some managed to remain politically neutral, others co-opted the cause to advance their own agendas.
For Goren, those tensions mattered less than the mission. Anyone advocating for the hostages was an ally — with one red line. “If you’re using this to spread Islamophobia or hatred against Arabs, you’re damaging the cause,” he said. “But beyond that, even if you were very conservative or right-wing — as long as your priority was bringing the hostages home — then for this campaign, you and I were in the same camp.”
The approach appeared to have worked. In the United States and across much of the diaspora, the hostage campaign remained unified.
But when Granot-Lubaton moved back to Israel with her family in 2024, she came face to face with a very different reality. Unlike the apolitical movement she and others had carefully cultivated back in the States, here the hostage struggle had become deeply politicized. Netanyahu and his allies, aided by sympathetic media outlets and an ideologically entrenched base, managed to paint the Bring Them Home campaign as a “leftist” project.
Families were forcibly removed from Knesset meetings, publicly attacked and delegitimized by ministers, harassed online and confronted in the streets; some were manhandled by police or even arrested. Conspiracy theories proliferated — including claims that some families were paid agents of the anti-government movement. In one particularly bizarre case, rumors circulated that hostage Matan Zangauker was not in captivity, but hiding out in Egypt.
On Oct. 13, 2025, the infighting briefly gave way to collective joy, as Israel welcomed home the last 20 living hostages. But the unity did not last. Before the hostages had even been released from the hospital, they and their families came under renewed vitriol — criticized for speaking against Netanyahu, for failing to sufficiently praise the IDF, and for asking the public for financial assistance.
It was a bitter twist of irony. The same acts that had come to symbolize anti-Israel extremism abroad — tearing down hostage posters, accusing hostages of lying — were now being carried out by Israelis themselves. And yet, so much of that derision has remained largely unacknowledged outside of Israel.
While Hamas is still holding the body of Master Sgt. Ran Gvili, the official campaign is over. Hostage Square has been dismantled. The Forum has shuttered its Tel Aviv headquarters and ended the weekly rallies. Goren, finally able to bury his beloved cousin, and Granot-Lubaton, now resettled in Israel, have begun new chapters in their lives.
Both stand by the strategy that shaped the movement abroad — but agree that what comes next must look different. The version of Israel that proved effective in mobilizing support overseas during the crisis now risks reinforcing a status quo many inside the country are fighting to change. And they are asking the same communities that rallied so powerfully for the hostages to engage just as seriously with the struggle over Israel’s future.
For Goren, that means pushing progressive Jews past their long-standing reluctance to “get their hands dirty” with Israeli politics. “Conservative and right-wing American Jews don’t hesitate for a second to get involved,” he asserted. “They get close to the government and the people in power. And they put their money where their mouth is.” He points to the Kohelet Policy Forum, whose American donors helped drive the judicial overhaul in Israel. “These are people that never lived in Israel a day in their lives, pushing the country towards a judicial coup,” he said. “We cannot afford to have Jews who care about Israeli democracy sit this one out.”
Granot-Lubaton shares the urgency, albeit with added empathy. “I don’t judge anyone who is uncomfortable speaking out loudly right now,” she noted. “You don’t need to be protesting in the streets. But you have to educate yourself. You have to talk to one another. Reach out to people who understand what’s happening here, invite them to speak in your synagogues.”
Responsibility, she added, cuts both ways. Israel’s pro-democracy movement must do more to meet American Jews where they are. “It’s not just translating content into English,” she said. “It’s understanding what Jewish communities are experiencing — and why challenging Israel feels so risky.”
But she categorically rejects the idea that Zionism and criticism are at odds. “I chose to come back and raise my children here,” she said. “Clearly I believe in this place. But the only way we can truly flourish is if we’re honest about what we’ve done and what we’re doing. I hope American Jews will join that movement. Unconditional love and support are no longer enough.”
The post The Gaza hostage crisis could forever change how American Jews relate to Israel — but it’s not too late to fix that appeared first on The Forward.
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VIDEO: Historian Vivi Laks tells history of the London Yiddish Press
די ייִדיש־ליגע האָט לעצטנס אַרויפֿגעשטעלט אַ ווידעאָ, וווּ די היסטאָריקערין וויווי לאַקס דערציילט וועגן דער אַמאָליקער ייִדישער פּרעסע אין לאָנדאָן.
צווישן 1884 און 1954 האָט די לאָנדאָנער פּרעסע אַרויסגעגעבן הונדערטער פֿעליעטאָנען פֿון אָרטיקע שרײַבערס וועגן אָרטיקן ייִדישן לעבן.
די קורצע דערציילונגען זענען סאַטיריש, קאָמיש און רירנדיק, אויף טשיקאַווע טעמעס ווי למשל קאַמפֿן אין דער היים צווישן די מינים; פּאָליטיק אין די קאַפֿעען, און ספֿרי־תּורה אויף די גאַסן. די דערציילונגען האָבן געשריבן סײַ גוט באַקאַנטע שרײַבער (למשל, מאָריס ווינטשעווסקי, יוסף־חיים ברענער און אסתּר קרייטמאַן), סײַ היפּש ווייניקער באַקאַנטע.
שבֿע צוקער, די ייִדיש־לערערין און מחבר פֿון אַ ייִדישן לערנבוך, פֿירט דעם שמועס מיט וויווי לאַקס. זיי וועלן פֿאָרלייענען אַ טייל פֿון די פֿעליעטאָנען אויף ענגליש און ייִדיש, און אַרומרעדן די טעמעס וואָס די פּרעסע האָט אַרויסגעהויבן.
וויווי לאַקס איז אַ היסטאָריקערין פֿון לאָנדאָנס ייִדישן „איסט־ענד“, ווי אויך אַן איבערזעצער און זינגערין. זי איז די מחברטע פֿון Whitechapel Noise און London Yiddishtown, ווי אויך אַקאַדעמישע און פּאָפּולערע אַרטיקלען. זי איז אַ קולטור־טוערין אין לאָנדאָן און האָט מיטאָרגאַניזירט סײַ דעם גרויסן ייִדישן פּאַראַד, סײַ דעם Yiddish Café Trust. זי זינגט פּאָפּולערע לידער אויפֿן „קאָקני־ייִדיש“ מיט די גרופּעס קלעזמער־קלאָב און קאַטשאַנעס, און פֿירט שפּאַצירטורן איבער דעם „איסט־ענד“.
The post VIDEO: Historian Vivi Laks tells history of the London Yiddish Press appeared first on The Forward.
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Puppet Monty Pickle is guest on the Forward’s ‘Yiddish Word of the Day’
It’s not every day that a kosher dill pickle puppet gets a chance to learn some Yiddish.
Monty Pickle, star of the children’s series The Monty Pickle Show, recently joined Rukhl Schaechter, host of the Forward’s YouTube series Yiddish Word of the Day, for an episode teaching viewers the Yiddish words for various wild animals.
Or as they’re called in Yiddish: vilde khayes.
The Monty Pickle Show, a puppet comedy on YouTube and TikTok, aims to show young viewers what it means to be Jewish in a fun, lively way. The series was created by the Emmy Award-winning producers of Sesame Street and Fraggle Rock.
So far, he’s met a number of Jewish personalities, including rabbis, musicians and chefs, and explored holidays like Rosh Hashanah, Hanukkah and Passover.
Sitting alongside Rukhl during the lesson, Monty eagerly tries to guess what each word means, providing for some very funny moments.
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