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18 notable Jews who died in 2022
(JTA) — Every year brings the opportunity to celebrate the accomplishments of well-known Jewish icons in every field and to mourn those we have lost.
Here are 18 Jews who died in 2022 and who leave outsized legacies on politics, the arts, sports and everything in between.
Madeleine Albright
Former U.S. Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, pictured here in 2018, died March 23, 2022. (Bill O’Leary/The Washington Post via Getty Images)
The “first woman secretary of state in the United States” label will always follow Madeleine Albright, especially because of her success in such a male-dominated field of policy. But regardless of her gender, Albright’s moves as a part of Bill Clinton’s administration left a lasting mark on U.S. peacekeeping efforts around the world. Crucial to her worldview was her refugee story, which she did not fully grasp until after her time in the limelight. Her parents were Czech immigrants who had converted from Judaism to Catholicism and then Episcopalianism to avoid persecution before fleeing Europe. Albright did not like to talk about her parents’ choice to keep her in the dark, but when she did, it was in the voice of a blunt-edged diplomat who understood how the 20th century robbed some people of agency, and how they did what they had to do to reclaim it. “I can’t question their motivation. I can’t,” she told The Washington Post in 1997. Albright died March 23 in Washington, D.C., at 84.
Melissa Bank
American author Melissa Bank poses during a portrait session in Paris, Jan. 9, 2006. (Ulf Andersen/Getty Images)
Melissa Bank published just two books in her career, but both sets of short stories were bestsellers that explored the lives of Jewish women and still resonate with young readers decades later. Her 1999 debut, “The Girls’ Guide To Hunting And Fishing,” held a spot on The New York Times’ bestseller list for months. The comic misadventures of her two books’ Jewish protagonists often intersected with Jewish life: In “Wonder Spot,” Sophie Applebaum plays hooky from Hebrew class, considers taking a job with a Jewish newspaper, and contends with a cousin’s bat mitzvah and a sister-in-law’s passive-aggressive attempts to impose kosher rules on her home. Bank died of lung cancer at 61 in August.
Isaac Berger
Isaac Berger, left, at the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. (Central Press/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
Setting Moses and the Maccabees aside, it’s not a stretch to call Isaac Berger one of the strongest Jews ever. Known as “Ike,” Berger won three Olympic medals, two World Championships and eight U.S. national championships in weightlifting during a dominant stretch in the 1950s and 60s. At the 1957 Maccabiah Games, Berger was the first athlete to break a world record in any sport in Israel. His gold medal was presented by Israeli Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion, who called Berger the “gibor Yehudi,” or “mighty Jew.” Berger was inducted into the U.S. Weightlifting Hall of Fame in 1965 and the International Jewish Sports Hall of Fame in 1980. Berger died in June at 85.
Peter Bogdanovich
Peter Bogdanovich at the 1999 New York City premiere of “RKO 281.” (Ron Galella/Getty Images)
Peter Bogdanovich was an Oscar-nominated movie director and actor whose films, ego and off-camera exploits encapsulated the personality-driven excesses of 1970s Hollywood filmmaking. He got his start making low-budget fare for shlock pioneer Roger Corman, then broke into the big leagues in 1971 with “The Last Picture Show,” a coming-of-age drama set in small-town Texas starring Jeff Bridges and Cybill Shepherd (who became the director’s partner after he began an affair with her during filming). “The Last Picture Show” became a critical and commercial smash, scoring Bogdanovich Oscar nominations for best director and best adapted screenplay, and turned its 32-year-old director into a wunderkind whom the press frequently compared to his idol, Orson Welles. Bogdanovich’s 1972 follow-up “What’s Up, Doc?” was also a hit, and as a bonus, the screwball comedy helped make a Jewish sex symbol out of star Barbra Streisand. Though Bogdanovich rarely discussed his religious background in interviews, he was proud of his father’s role in rescuing his Jewish mother from Europe. “He was a really great painter and very highly praised in the former Yugoslavia,” Bogdanovich said of his father Borislav in a 2019 interview with New York magazine, “but he gave all that up to save my mother and her family because they were Jewish. He wasn’t, but they were.” Bogdanovich died Jan. 6 in Los Angeles at 82.
James Caan
James Caan stands under casino lights in a scene from the 1974 film “The Gambler.” (Paramount/Getty Images)
One of the leading movie stars of the 1970s, James Caan once said he was twice honored as New York City’s “Italian of the Year.” It made sense, in a way: his fans were used to seeing him in tough guy roles, including one in arguably the most famous Italian gangster flick of all time, “The Godfather.” But Caan was born to German-Jewish immigrants in Queens, where his father was a kosher butcher, before starring in movies such as “Brian’s Song,” “The Gambler,” and, later in his career, Will Ferrell’s hit comedy “Elf.” His onscreen (and offscreen) persona did much to break stereotypes about weak, wimpy Jewish men. “He’s in his own lane, Jew-wise,” Seth Rogen wrote in a 2021 memoir, calling Caan an unusually “scary Jew.” Caan died July 6 in Los Angeles at 82.
Elana Dykewomon
Lesbian author, poet and playwright Elana Dykewomon, photographed at her home in Oakland, Calif., on May 1, 2022, died Aug. 7, 2022. (Jane Tyska/Digital First Media/East Bay Times via Getty Images)
Despite never earning mainstream commercial success, Elana Dykewomon was a pioneer in the world of lesbian-themed fiction. “Beyond the Pale,” her award-winning 1997 novel, traced the intertwined stories of Jewish lesbians from Kishinev, Moldova, to the Lower East Side, in a saga that included both Russian pogroms and the deadly Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire. “It can’t be that we are the first generation of Jewish lesbian activists on the planet,” Dykewoman said at the time. “So part of what the novel is about is searching for our ancestors and ancestral community as Jewish lesbians.” Born Elana Nachman in New York City in 1949, Dykewomon changed her name after the publication of her first novel, “Riverfinger Women,” in 1974. She wanted to distance herself from the Nachman line of rabbis from whom she descended, she told J. The Jewish News of Northern California, in 1997. She adopted Dykewoman, then Dykewomon, to demonstrate her allegiance to the lesbian community — but later regretted not using her name to assert her Jewish identity, too. “If I had to do it all over again, I might have chosen Dykestein or Dykeberg,” she said at the time. Though she rejected religion after becoming a radical feminist, she said, she studied Yiddish, Torah and Talmud while writing “Beyond the Pale”; often wrote on Jewish themes; and frequently included Jewish characters in her work. The 2009 novel “Risk,” for example, featured a Jewish lesbian who lives in Oakland and makes a living tutoring high school students. Dykewomon died in August at 72 from cancer.
Hanna Pick-Goslar
Hannah Pick-Goslar seen at the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, Oct. 11, 2012. (Marcel Antonisse/ANP/AFP via Getty Images)
Hannah Pick-Goslar appears multiple times in Anne Frank’s iconic diary — as both a close friend and a premonition of the Holocaust horrors to come for Frank’s family. As Anne wrote after having a nightmare about her friend: “[Her] eyes were very big and she looked so sadly and reproachfully at me that I could read in her eyes, ‘Oh, Anne, why have you deserted me? Help, oh, help me, rescue me from this hell!’” Their final meeting would be at a fence in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. After recuperating from her liberation from the camp in the Netherlands and then later in Switzerland with her aunt and uncle, Pick-Goslar emigrated in 1947 to Israel, where she became a pediatric nurse and Holocaust speaker. Her friendship with Frank was the subject of a book, “Memories of Anne Frank: Reflections of a Childhood Friend,” and a Dutch film, “My Best Friend Anne Frank” (2021). Pick-Goslar died in Jerusalem on Oct. 28 at 93.
Gilbert Gottfried
Gilbert Gottfried at SiriusXM Studios in New York City, Feb. 3, 2020. (Slaven Vlasic/Getty Images for SiriusXM)
For a comic known for his grating, nasally voice and extremely R-rated jokes, Gilbert Gottfried was a surprisingly sweet and loving Jewish dad who grew more in touch with his Jewishness after marrying his wife in 2007. The man known as the Aflac duck voice got himself nearly canceled more than once: In 1991, Fox apologized after Gottfried, hosting the Emmy awards, kept joking about fellow comic Pee-wee Herman’s arrest for masturbating in an adult movie theater. He continued to score gigs in movies, on talk radio (frequently with Howard Stern), on sketch shows and sitcoms, and as a voice on cartoons. He was the funny animal sidekick, Iago the parrot, in Disney’s “Aladdin.” Then he famously told perhaps the first joke about the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks, just a few days after terrorists piloted airplanes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. “I’ve always said tragedy and comedy are roommates,” Gottfried told Vulture in 2019. Gottfried died Feb. 28 at 67 in New York from complications related to myotonic dystrophy, a rare condition.
Estelle Harris
Estelle Harris and Jason Alexander greet each other at the after-party for “The Producers” at the Hollywood Palladium in Los Angeles, May 29, 2003. (Kevin Winter/Getty Images)
Born Estelle, immortalized on TV as Estelle — Estelle Costanza, to be exact, the always shrill and frequently apoplectic mother to George Costanza, on the sitcom “Seinfeld” from 1992 until the show’s finale in 1998. According to Deadline, it was kismet: the character was named Estelle before Harris landed the part. Harris was born in New York City in 1928 where her parents, Jews of Polish descent, owned a candy store in Manhattan. When Harris was 7 years old, the family moved to Tarentum, Pennsylvania, where Harris suffered from antisemitic bullying at school. She quickly to turning to the theater, aided by elocution lessons, and found her calling. Though Harris went on to a prolific career recording voiceovers for commercials and playing minor characters in movies and TV shows, she became so identified with her “Seinfeld” role that fans frequently stopped her on the street to tell her her she reminded them of their own mothers. Jason Alexander, who played her character’s son George on “Seinfeld,” remembered his “tv mama” in a tweet after her death. “One of my favorite people has passed – my tv mama, Estelle Harris. The joy of playing with her and relishing her glorious laughter was a treat. I adore you, Estelle,” he wrote. Harris died in April at 93.
Chaim Kanievsky
Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky at his home in Bnei Brak, Israel, Dec. 26, 2019. (Yaakov Nahumi/Flash90)
For one of the most revered Torah scholars on Earth, at least for many haredi Orthodox Jews, Chaim Kanievsky had surprisingly small handwriting. People would write to him from around the world with questions on postcards, and he would usually give “quite short answers,” a professor told JTA. “But from all his answers there are many books,” she added. After the 2017 death of Rabbi Aharon Leib Shteinman, Kanievsky became the preeminent leader of Israel’s non-Hasidic haredi Orthodox community, an authority on matters of Jewish law. He was an isolated figure who kept to himself and studied Jewish texts in the city Bnei Brak, but he became more vocal on political topics late in life. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Kanievsky first lobbied for yeshivas to stay open, but once vaccines became available, he bucked the opinions of many in his community and pushed Jews to get vaccinated — earning some death threats in the process. Kanievsky died at 94 in Bnei Brak in March.
Aline Kominsky Crumb
Aline Crumb and Robert Crumb attend A Night at Crumbland celebrating Stella McCartney and Robert Crum Collaboration and the R. Crumb Handbook at the Stella McCartney Store, in New York City, April 12, 2005. (Nick Papananias/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images)
In one of her autobiographical comics, Aline Kominsky Crumb wrote about seeing one Jewish girl after another coming into high school on Long Island after plastic surgery. “Me ‘n’ my friends developed a ‘big nose pride,’” she wrote, and one of the characters says, “I could not stand to look like a carbon copy!” Working with her husband Robert Crumb, also a leading underground comics artist, and then on her own, Kominsky-Crumb brought raw self-lacerating accountability to the genre, subverting stereotypes about Jewish women along the way. Seen by many in the 1970s and 80s as overly crude or controversial, she’s now an icon for many feminist artists. Roz Chast said her influence is seen in “every woman who creates her own cartoon voice.” Kominsky-Crumb died of pancreatic cancer at 74 in November.
Sam Massell
Mayor Sam Massell , center, and his daughter Melanie, seated, welcome members of the Jackson Five to the mayor’s office in Atlanta, April 7, 1971. (Photo by Afro American News via Getty Images)
Sam Massell was Atlanta’s first Jewish mayor, serving from 1970-1974, and the city’s last white mayor. But he was remembered as more than a single-term bookend: Massell was the first mayor to prove that the city’s Blacks had clout enough to elevate their chosen candidate to office, and he embedded Black leaders in government and built its mass transport system, forever changing the city. During his term as mayor, the number of Blacks in leadership positions doubled, to 40%. “Being black means you are always different,” he would say. “But being Jewish means I am always different, too.” Massell died March 13 at 94.
Miriam Naor
Supreme Court President Miriam Naor speaks during a swearing-in ceremony for newly appointed judges for the Supreme Court at the President’s residence in Jerusalem, Jun. 13, 2017. (Yonatan Sindel/Flash90)
Miriam Naor served on the Israeli Supreme Court for 14 years and became the second woman to helm the court as chief justice. Her tenure presided over a period when the court made several significant rulings around religious pluralism in Israel. One of the most important came in 2016, when the court ruled that Israel must recognize conversions to Judaism performed in Israel outside of the rabbinate, which controls all religious matters in Israel, for the purposes of citizenship under the country’s Law of Return. During her tenure, the court also ruled that mikvehs, or ritual baths, in Israel had to be made available for the use of non-Orthodox converts to Judaism. Speaking at her swearing-in ceremony in 2015, Naor spoke about the need to preserve Israel’s character as a “Jewish and democratic state that upholds the principle of equality” as well as to “protect human rights and the rule of law.” Naor died in Jerusalem on Jan. 24 at 74.
Nehemiah Persoff
Nehemiah Persoff has hundreds of screen credits from classic Hollywood films and TV shows. Clockwise from top left: “Some Like It Hot,” “On The Waterfront,” “Red Sky at Morning,” “Yentl” and “Playhouse 90” (as Benito Mussolini). (Nehemiah Persoff/Photo illustration by Grace Yagel)
Few openly designate themselves as “character actors,” but Nehemiah Persoff didn’t shy away from the term. From the years following Israel’s independence through the Golden Age of Hollywood and beyond, Persoff had 200 stage and screen roles, working with directors such as Billy Wilder, Alfred Hitchcock, Barbra Streisand and Martin Scorsese (playing a rabbi for the latter in “The Last Temptation of Christ”). He often played gangsters, including in the Marilyn Monroe classic “Some Like it Hot.” Born in Jerusalem, Persoff followed his family to the United States in 1929, and after World War II reconnected with his Israeli roots by performing onstage in the country. Though Persoff was not religious, he remained a devout Zionist his entire life and expressed regret for forgoing fighting in the 1948-49 War of Independence in order to further his acting career back in the United States. Persoff died in April at 102.
Svika Pick
Israeli singer Svika Pick, who died Aug. 14, 2022 at the age of 72, poses in a 1985 photo. (Moshe Shai/Flash90)
One of the most famous figures in Israeli cultural history, musician Svika Pick was a pioneer in his adopted country in many senses. He lightened up Israel’s pop music with simple chords and lyrics; he borrowed sounds from Mizrahi music and employed Black backup singers at a time when his government was trying to deport many would-be immigrants; and he set fashion trends with a feminine, Bowie-like aesthetic. In 1998, he wrote Israel’s third Eurovision winner, “Diva,” for Dana International, the first transgender person to win the contest. In his later years, Pick became a judge on reality shows and his daughter Daniella became paparazzi fodder when she married American director Quentin Tarantino, who moved to Tel Aviv to join the family. Pick died Aug. 14 in Ramat Hasharon, Israel, at 72.
Bob Saget
Comedian Bob Saget performs at the Improv Comedy Club at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Hollywood, Fla., Feb. 24, 2006. (Ralph Notaro/Getty Images)
A wholesome dad on network TV, and one of the raunchiest standup comedians in the business — few could boast a resume like Bob Saget’s. Before he got to Hollywood, Saget honed his comedy as a misbehaving Hebrew school student at Temple Israel in Norfolk, Virginia. “I go back and forth with my belief system, by the way. I’m not the best, most observant Jewish person you’ve ever met or talked to, and yet I’m Jewish and proud to be,” he once said. After a short stint contributing to CBS’ “The Morning Program,” Saget was cast to play a morning show host on TV. As Danny Tanner on “Full House,” Saget played a widowed dad and TV host raising three daughters in San Francisco with the help of his brother-in-law and his best friend. Saget was also known for hosting “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” The respected standup died in January at 65 from complications after a blunt head trauma.
Gerda Weissman Klein
President Barack Obama presents Jewish Holocaust survivor Gerda Weissmann Klein a 2010 Presidential Medal of Freedom, during a ceremony in the East Room of the White House in 2011. (Brooks Kraft LLC/Corbis via Getty Images)
Gerda Weissmann Klein’s liberation from concentration camps came after a brutal 350-mile death march to avoid the advance of the Allied forces. Of the 4,000 women who started the march, fewer than 120 survived. After moving to the United States, Weissman Klein became a bestselling author of 10 books, including her 1957 autobiography, “All But My Life,” which is frequently used as a text by Holocaust educators, and “The Hours After: Letters of Love and Longing in War’s Aftermath,” a chronicle of her and her husband’s correspondence in the years between liberation and their marriage. Decades later, Weissmann Klein’s story became the basis of the 1995 HBO short documentary “One Survivor Remembers,” which won both an Emmy and an Oscar (and is currently available for streaming on HBO Max). At the Oscars, she was almost played off before she could deliver an acceptance speech; but she stood her ground, and delivered a memorable message, concluding with, “Each of you who know the joy of freedom are winners.” Klein died April 3 in Phoenix, Arizona.
A.B. Yehoshua
Israeli novelist A.B. Yehoshua speaks after receiving an honorary degree at the University of Palermo, Sept. 10, 2019. (Francesco Militello Mirto/NurPhoto via Getty Images)
Many of Israel’s leading writers take aim at the country’s moral and political dilemmas. But few attacked the subjects with such blatant intensity as A.B. Yehoshua, who authored 11 novels, three collections of short stories and four plays, in addition to other essays. His fiction centered on the on-the-ground lived experiences of Israelis, but there were always larger societal themes and critique. He experimented with format, too, leading critic Harold Bloom to compare him to William Faulkner in 1984. But he was arguably as well known for his sharp public statements on his homeland, politics and Diaspora Jews. A firm believer in a two-state solution who critiqued both the Israeli occupation and Palestinian leaders, Yehoshua also infuriated U.S. groups by saying “Only those living in Israel and taking part in the daily decisions of the Jewish state have a significant Jewish identity.” He died on June 14 in Tel Aviv at 85.
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The post 18 notable Jews who died in 2022 appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Women aren’t equal citizens in Israel. But this week brought us closer than ever
On Monday, three women sat for an exam — and changed the course of Israeli history.
Never before have women been permitted to take the rabbinical exams issued by Israel’s Chief Rabbinate. But thanks to a groundbreaking Supreme Court ruling in July which deemed such exclusionary practices unlawful, three scholars were able to break this glass ceiling.
Yaara Widman Samuel, Ruth Agib and Rachel Tzaban’s victory against gender-based discrimination in Israeli society is momentous, an achievement rooted in many years of tireless advocacy, courageous leadership and unflinching determination. And yet, it is but one victory in a larger, ongoing battle for gender and religious equality in Israel, a battle waged over decades and across many fronts.
Recently, I had the privilege of witnessing another front in this battle at the Western Wall. There, I joined Women of the Wall, advocates for equal rights at the Kotel, for their Rosh Chodesh Adar service. It was an experience I will never forget.
Women of the Wall are engaged in an epic struggle for equality under Israeli law. For more than 37 years, they have gathered on Rosh Chodesh — the holiday that marks the start of each new Jewish month — to pray, sing, and read Torah at the Western Wall. Their mission is simple: to secure women’s right to pray at the Wall.
And for more than three decades, they have been met with anger, disdain, humiliation and denial. Most recently, Israel’s Knesset advanced a law that would prohibit non-Orthodox and egalitarian prayer at the Western Wall complex. The proposed law would grant Israel’s two chief rabbis exclusive authority over the Wall, allowing them to define prayer and what constitutes “desecration.” Under this law, those who “desecrate” prayer — such as women who wear tallit or tefillin, or mixed gender groups that gather for worship — could face up to seven years in prison.
And yet, like the women who fought for the right to take the Chief Rabbinate’s rabbinical exams, Women of the Wall has not been silenced or deterred. They know that the Western Wall is not the property of one denomination or community; it belongs to all Jewish people — regardless of gender, denomination, or affiliation.
Israel’s Declaration of Independence states that the country “will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race, or sex.” This promise must extend to the Western Wall as well. All Jewish women should be welcome at the Kotel, and all should feel safe to practice their Judaism in the manner they choose. These principles of equality and inclusion are essential to Israel’s democracy and religious identity.
But not all would agree.
When the Torah is contraband
On Rosh Chodesh Adar, we arrived at the entrance to the Wall a few minutes before 7 a.m. Even at that early hour, it was already crowded with worshippers.
The energy was charged and tense. As our group approached the security check, we were met with immediate hostility.
The security guards often harass and humiliate Women of the Wall participants. This day was no different: they asked us to remove our coats and demanded every bag be checked by hand. Purses were emptied, tallitot unfolded, even wallets were scrutinized — all in the name of preventing something “dangerous” from entering the plaza.
The “dangerous” items they were seeking were Torahs.
That morning, we carried a Torah proudly to expose the absurdity and injustice of the situation: how could our religion’s foundational document be treated as dangerous?
Security did not take kindly to our effort. Needless to say, the Torah was not allowed inside.
Shaken, we made our way toward the Wall. As we walked, we found ourselves surrounded by mobs of children, many apparently from traditional communities, who screamed hateful things, calling us heretics and shouting at us to leave. They mocked women wearing kippot and tallitot, pushing and shoving as they did.
Their contempt wasn’t surprising; similar scenes have unfolded many times, over many years. But it was shocking — and deeply disheartening.
When it came time to leave the plaza, many of us held hands, for solidarity, but also for safety. We circled back to the Kotel entrance, to read from the Torah, since we couldn’t do so at the Wall itself.
As we read, the commotion reached a crescendo. The noise was deafening, and we were increasingly hemmed in by rioting crowds. Meanwhile, the security guards — tasked with keeping the peace — not only allowed the agitators to continue, but targeted us. Ultimately, two of our prayer leaders were detained — simply because they were women reading Torah.
Not at the Wall. Outside the Wall.
Incredulously, these women — rather than the violent crowds around them — were deemed a “disturbance to public order.” rather than the violent rioters attacking them. And yet, even amidst this harassment, they bravely stood their ground. Until the moment they were detained, they prayed with sincerity, with strength, and — appropriately for the start of Adar, a month that ushers in joy — with audacious joy.
A continuing fight
After their release from police custody, the two women who had been arrested put out a video in which they said, defiantly, “We will be back!”
And indeed, in honor of Rosh Chodesh Iyyar they returned. While their Torah was seized yet again, they remained undeterred, declaring: “We will not give up our Jewish right. We held a Torah reading at the entrance to the Wall — and we will continue our just struggle.”
That struggle has been going on for decades, but has perhaps never been more important than today. The erosion of religious freedom in Israel may begin at the Wall — but it will not end there.
That is partly why the image of the three brave women taking the Chief Rabbinate’s exams resonated so deeply: Our rights are under threat, but at the same time, we have clear proof that progress is still possible. It’s a reminder that privileging one segment of the Jewish community at the expense of the rest will only divide us, within Israel and across the Diaspora. As Rabbi Mauricio Balter teaches, “A strong Israel is a democratic Israel. A faithful Israel is a pluralistic Israel.”
And so, we persist. We fight for ourselves, for our mothers and our grandmothers, and for our daughters and granddaughters. We do not give up this fight because religious equality matters. Because gender equality matters. And because Israel’s future as a democracy depends on it, for those who live there and for those who call it their spiritual home.
The post Women aren’t equal citizens in Israel. But this week brought us closer than ever appeared first on The Forward.
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The Israeli plant with a heavenly sweet fragrance
יאָרן לאַנג האָב איך דאָ אין ישׂראל געהערט רעדן וועגן די וווּנדער פֿון בעז. די וואָס זײַנען געקומען אַהער פֿון מזרח-אייראָפּע האָבן דערציילט וועגן אַ לעגענדאַרן לילאַ-בוים, וואָס גיט אַ ריח גן-עדן אינעם וווּנדער-שיינעם מאָנאַט מײַ. לעגענדאַר – ווײַל אין ישׂראל, צום באַוידערן, וואַקסט נישט קיין שום בעז. עס איז געוואָרן אַ מין פֿויגלמילך, אַ סימבאָל פֿונעם פֿאַרלוירענעם עבֿר פֿון יענע לענדער. אָט למשל, האָט דער כּסדר-בענקענדיקער פּאָעט בינעם העלער געשריבן אין אַ ליד אין 1966, ווען ער האָט שוין געוווינט אין תּל-אָבֿיבֿ:
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ בײַ מיר אין גאָרטן.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ, און איך פֿאַרגעס,
אַז ערגעץ אין דער קינדהײט, ערגעץ דאָרטן,
האָט בלאָ אַזױ געבליט דער בעז.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ. װי הײסן אָט די בײמער?
װאָס אַרט עס מיך? אַבי זײ בליִען בלאָ.
און אױף דער פֿרילינג־שפּראַך, אױף דער געהײמער,
איז בלאָ – די פֿרײד, װאָס איז נישטאָ.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ, און איך װיל מער נישט װיסן
די שײַכות צװישן זײ און בלאָען בעז –
כאָטש בײדע בליִען בלאָ אַזױ פֿאַרביסן,
און בײדנס בליִונג איז אַ נס
פֿונעם בוך „דור און דויער“.
כאָטש דער בעז אַליין וואַקסט טאַקע נישט דאָ, איז זײַן נאָמען גאָר באַקאַנט, און אויף עבֿרית פֿאַרמאָגט ער גאָר אַ שיינעם נאָמען: לילך. זײַט מיר מוחל, אָבער איך מיין אַפֿילו אַז “לילך” (וואָס קומט פֿון לילאַ) איז נאָך שענער ווי „בעז“, און עס פֿאַרמאָגט אין זיך צוויי ווערטער: “לי” און “לך” („פֿאַר מיר“ און „פֿאַר דיר“). לכּבֿוד דעם לילך האָט מען געשריבן לידער אויך אויף עבֿרית. אָט למשל דאָס ליבע-ליד „פּרח הלילך“ (די בלום פֿונעם בעז): אורי אסף האָט עס געשריבן, און נורית הירש האָט צוגעפּאַסט איינע פֿון די שענסטע מעלאָדיעס. (אַגבֿ, נורית הירש האָט קאָמפּאָנירט הונדערטער העברעיִשע לידער, און אויך עטלעכע אויף ייִדיש, אַזוי ווי איציק מאַנגערס „מיט פֿאַרמאַכטע אויגן“. אויב ס’איז נישט גענוג, האָט חוה אלבערשטיין געזונגען דאָס ליד, און דאָ זעץ איך איבער דעם רעפֿרען:
מען ליבט זיך שטיל און נישט גראַנדיעז,
מיר ריידן נישט אַזוי ווי מענטשן
וואָס וועלן סײַ ווי סײַ גאָר נישט פֿאַרשטיין
ווי שיין און פֿײַן עס בליט נאָך אַלץ די בעז.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEBMh5Kmyvw&list=RDGEBMh5Kmyvw&start_radio=1
אָבער כאָטש דער בעז וואַקסט נישט אין ישׂראל בליִען דאָ יעדן פֿרילינג, סוף אַפּריל־אָנהייב מײַ, די שיינע קליינע לילאַ-בלויע בלומען פֿון אזדרכת (איזדאַרעכעט), אויף ייִדיש — מעליע. אמת, איר נאָמען קלינגט נישט אַזוי שיין ווי „לילך“ ; עס זײַנען דאָ אַ סך פֿרויען און מיידעלעך וואָס הייסן „לילך“ און קיינער הייסט נישט אזדרכת. פֿון דעסט וועגן, דערמאָנט איר ריח דעם ריח פֿונעם בעז, און עס טראָגט זיך אין דער לופֿטן ווי אַ זיסן פּאַרפֿום. עס איז גאָר מעגלעך אַז אָט דעם בוים וואָס בינעם העלער האָט באַשריבן איז די אזדרכת, וואָס וואַקט אויך אַנטקעגן מײַן פֿענצטער.
ווי דער בעז געהערט צו די צפֿונדיקע לענדער, אַזוי איז אזדרכת אַ טראָפּישער-סובטראָפּישער בוים. איר וויסנשאַפֿטלעכער נאָמען איז Melia azedarach. „מעליאַ“ באַטײַטהאָניק, אָט דער ריח פֿון אירע בלומען, און azedarach איז אַ פּערסיש-אַראַבישער טערמין. אין צאַנינס ווערטערבוך הייסט עס דווקא אויף ייִדיש: „כינעזישע לילאַ“. סײַ ווי סײַ, האָבן די ביימער עולה געווען אין ארץ-ישׂראל שוין אינעם 16טן יאָרהונדערט, און געהערן צו די „ותיקים“, ד”ה זיי זײַנען מיט דער צײַט געוואָרן אַ טייל פֿונעם ארץ-ישׂראלדיקן פּייזאַזש.
די אזדרכת קאָן מען נישט איגנאָרירן, בפֿרט איצט, ווען ס׳איז באַדעקט מיט בלומען. דערנאָך וואַקסן די אזדרכת-פֿרוכטן: קליינע רונדיקע געלבע פּירות, וואָס זײַנען גיפֿטיק צום עסן אָבער די קינדער האָבן סײַ־ווי ליב זיי צו וואַרפֿן ווי קליינע באַלן. סוף זומער שטייט די אזדרכת אין שלכת, עס הייבן אָן צו פֿאַלן די בלעטער. אַ פּאָר חדשים ווינטערצײַט שטייט די אזדרכת גאָר נאַקעט, און דאַן, פּלוצעם, צעבליִען זיך די בלעטער און די בלומען.
אָבער אַפֿילו אין די ווינטער־חדשים בלײַבט נישט די אזדרכת אַליין: זי ציט צו זיך כּלערליי פֿייגל, וואָס עסן אירע פֿרוכטן. איינע פֿון די פֿייגל איז די דוכיפת (Hoopoe), וואָס צוליב איר פּרעכטיקער קרוין האָט זי אַ ייִדישן ייחוס: ווען דער פּאָעט חיים־נחמן ביאַליק האָט איבערגעזעצט זײַנע לידער אויף עבֿרית האָט ער די פֿראַזע „גאָלדענע פּאַווע“ איבערגעזעצט ווי „דוכיפת הזהב“, כאָטש דאָס וואָרט פֿאַר פּאַווע איז „טווס“. ווי די אזדרכת, איז די דוכיפת אייגנטלעך נישט קיין סאַברע, אָבער אויך זי איז שוין אַ ותיקה און ווערט אַפֿילו באַצייכנט ווי דער נאַציאָנאַלער פֿויגל.
די אזדרכת ציט אויך צו צוויי אַנדערע פֿייגל, וואָס געהערן צו די „אַרײַנדרינגענדיקע מינים“. די ערשטע איז די דררה, אַ מין גרינער פּאַפּוגײַ, וואָס פֿרעסט די פֿרוכטן פֿון אזדרכת מיט גרויס חשק און רעש – זי פּלאַפּלט אָן אַן אויפֿהער און מאַכט אַ גראַטשקע. כאָטש די דררה איז אַ שעדיקער, איז זי גאָר שיין און אַ ביסל קאָמיש דערצו — קאָקעטיש און „פֿאַרפּוצט“. דער צווייטער פֿויגל איז די מײַנע , אַ קליינער שוואַרצער פֿויגל מיט אַ געלבן שנאָבל, וואָס איז זייער קלוג, און קאָן נאָכמאַכן פֿאַרשיידענע שטימען פֿון פֿייגעלעך. די צרה איז אַז די מײַנע האָט נישט ליב קיין קאָנקורענץ, טרײַבט זי אַוועק די אַנדערע פֿייגל, און בפֿרט די אָרטיקע, וואס האָבן נעבעך ווייניק שׂכל און כּוח.
אַלע ישׂראלים זײַנען אויפֿגעבראַכט וועגן די מײַנעס, אָבער בײַ מיר דערוועקט זייער נאָמען אַ שמייכל, ווײַל עס דערמאָנט מיר אָן דעם וויץ מיט אַ פּוילישן ייִד וואָס זיצט אין אַ ווינער קאַפֿע. דער ייִד בעט דעם קעלנער אים געבן דאָס זעלבע וואָס זײַן שכן טרינקט, און דער קעלנער ענטפֿערט: “דאַס איזט זאַהנע!” (Sahne, דאָס דײַטשע וואָרט אויף שמאַנט). זאָגט דער ייִד (מיט זײַן פּוילישן אויסרייד): “דוס איז זאַאַנע, אָבער ווי איז מאַאַנע?”
ווי געזאָגט, אין די לאַנגע זומער חודשים ווערט די אזדרכת, צוליב אירע געלבע פֿרוכטן, אַ באַליבטע סבֿיבֿה פֿון די פֿאַרשיידענע פֿייגל. אַמאָל פּראָבירן זיי לעבן בשלום איינער מיטן אַנדערן, ווײַל עס זײַנען דאָך פֿאַראַן געונג פּירות פֿאַר אַלעמען. אָבער פֿון צײַט צו צײַט ווערט אַזאַ געשריי בײַם בוים, אַז עס גלוסט זיך פּשוט צו פֿאַרמאַכן דאָס פֿענצטער — כאָטש ס׳איז אַ שאָד צו פֿאַרפֿעלן דעם ריח גן־עדן!
The post The Israeli plant with a heavenly sweet fragrance appeared first on The Forward.
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I’m an Orthodox student in NYC. I’m grateful Mamdani vetoed the school buffer bill
My classmates at Manhattan’s Hunter College regularly gather to protest in a plaza at the southwest corner of East 68th Street and Lexington Avenue. This winter, that intersection hosted many protests against Immigration and Customs Enforcement — protests that felt more urgent because, for many Hunter students and their family members, detainment and deportation are very real threats.
Seeing how committed my classmates were to fighting back against injustice made me proud to be a New Yorker, and a student at Hunter.
Detractors often portray college protesters as liberal elites, comfortably removed from real-world issues. That’s not the case at Hunter. That’s part of why, as an Orthodox Jew deeply involved with Jewish life on campus, I’m glad that Mayor Zohran Mamdani vetoed a bill that would have established security perimeters disallowing protests near educational facilities.
On campus, there has been much discussion around City Council Intro 175-B, which the council passed by a 30-19 vote in March. Students suspect that these policies are in place not to protect us but rather to shield the Israeli government from criticism. Internal discussion among Jewish students has been varied. Some students say the bill is necessary to protect us, while others agree with the progressive views of a majority of Hunter’s politically active students, and want their voices to be heard.
Either way, Jewish students are not a monolith, and I am distrustful of politicians and bills which claim to speak for all Jews as a bloc.
I proudly wear a kippah and tzitzis to campus every single day. Friends jokingly call my accent a “generic northeastern yeshivish,” interspersed with Aramaic and Hebrew terms. Before you know my name, you know I’m a Jew. And I feel complete confidence in saying that Hunter is a good place to be Jewish.
My non-Jewish friends and professors have respected my identity and perspective. That isn’t to say that protests related to Israel and the Gaza war haven’t been contentious or charged: they have been. But when I pass my friends who wear kaffiyeh in protest of the destruction in Gaza, they still dap me up.
That image — of a kippah-wearing Jew and a kaffiyeh-clad Arab student greeting in the hallway — encapsulates my experience at Hunter.
Yes, some protesters have crossed lines. At a protest during my freshman year, a protester displayed a banner with an AK-47 and red block letters saying: “BRING THE WAR HOME.” I thought the goal was ending wars abroad, not bringing them home. I was appalled, as were many other students across the political spectrum.
But I believe it’s the responsibility of New York City’s colleges and universities, relying on the input of their students, to address these issues. They can make informed decisions about which applications to approve or deny, take their own safety measures, and, as a last resort, oversee necessary disciplinary action.
Hunter is capable of promoting free expression and dialogue, along with security measures to protect students when necessary. There’s nothing to gain from imposing heavy-handed restrictions on my university and my classmates that would suppress their speech. And there’s much to lose.
Hunter is a bastion of free thought, somewhere my classmates and I can immerse ourselves in different perspectives, and learn through dialogue and debate. It’s somewhere you can espouse unpopular opinions, as long as you have the ability to defend your argument.
Notably, 175-B — which still may be passed, as the council has launched an effort to overturn Mamdani’s veto — contains a carveout for labor protests, allowing these protests to move inside security barriers. I agree that these protests should continue unencumbered by barriers or buffer zones on our campuses. But I don’t see why they should be the only ones. Encountering ideas that differ from your own should be thought-provoking, even thrilling. It should be what college is all about.
So when people back home on Long Island ask me how I’m dealing with antisemitism at Hunter, my answer is another question: “Do you mean anti-Zionism or antisemitism?”
Many Hunter students are staunch or outspoken anti-Zionists, opposing Israel’s right to exist. That perspective is challenging for students with a deep attachment to the Jewish state. It took several difficult conversations with honest and principled anti-Zionists before I began to understand that their logic and perspective is as informed as any other.
In my experience, anti-Zionism and antisemitism are not the same. My peers are entitled to their First Amendment rights, and when they exercise them, everyone benefits in the long run. Engaging outlooks that make us uncomfortable is the best way to learn and grow. I’d rather speak with my classmates face to face than confine their ideas to the perimeter of a buffer zone.
Antisemitism is an extremely dangerous issue in New York City, and Jews in America are rightfully on high alert. But a policy platform of censoring free speech will not disincentivize rogue incidents of hate violence. Those are the most imminent physical threat to American Jews, and I have done my best to make sure Hunter’s social justice community understands that. This line of open communication is what keeps Jews safe at Hunter, and 175-B threatened to sever it.
The NYPD told the City Council in February that its existing authority is enough to handle protests. 175-B went beyond that authority, erecting barriers with the stated goal of protecting Jewish students like me. But as a Jewish student, I believe they would have violated the First Amendment rights of all students — Jewish and non-Jewish alike. The bill, rather than creating new security for students like me, seemed poised to isolate the Jewish community: no one wants to debate someone whom they see, fairly or not, as participating in the restriction of their rights.
And truthfully, I have experienced far more antisemitism on the streets and subways of New York than I ever have on Hunter’s campus. It is no small thing that I am safe at Hunter, and I would speak out if I was not.
With this veto, the mayor recognized that our community and our city did not need this crackdown on expression. We need the opposite. The United States, and New York in particular, have been a haven for Jewish life and culture for more than a century. Our community will never achieve safety and security by allying ourselves with those who treat civil and constitutional rights as dispensable.
I don’t always agree with everything protesters have to say, but it isn’t my place, or the City Council’s, to legislate where and how they say them.
I don’t want to see roadblocks or barriers on 68th and Lexington. I want to see Hunter students exercising their right — and fulfilling their duty — to speak out against injustice and tyranny. I salute Mamdani’s decision to veto City Council Intro 175-B. It would have cost more in freedom than it could ever provide in safety.
The post I’m an Orthodox student in NYC. I’m grateful Mamdani vetoed the school buffer bill appeared first on The Forward.