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A ‘historic’ day in Israel ends with a political compromise — and big questions about the future
(JTA) — Like hundreds of thousands of her fellow Israelis, Kelly Breakstone Roth’s instinct on Sunday was to take to the streets.
The only wrinkle: She and her family have been in Brooklyn for the last two years, part of the diaspora of hundreds of thousands of Israelis living abroad. They couldn’t just walk out the door of their apartment and join the sweeping nationwide protest that ignited after Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu fired his defense minister, who had called for a pause on proposed changes to Israel’s judiciary.
So they bought one-way plane tickets, set to take off at 2 a.m. on Monday and land in Israel that evening. “It was a very spontaneous decision,” Breakstone Roth, an entrepreneur, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency on Sunday evening, as she ran errands to prepare her family of five for a trip of indeterminate length. “But the sensation that we have to be there has been building up for quite a bit now.”
She likened the experience to that of Israeli military reservists who receive an emergency call-up notice, known in Israeli jargon as a “tzav shmoneh,” Hebrew for “order eight.”
“This is a tzav shmoneh moment for anybody who wants there to be a Jewish and democratic state,” she said.
By the time Breakstone Roth landed in Tel Aviv Monday evening, conditions in Israel had shifted dramatically. Late-night protests on Sunday that shut down a main highway and riveted Jews the world over had been dispersed, but protesters convened again on Monday in Jerusalem, where the parliament was waiting to hear whether it would vote on a key piece of the judiciary legislation. The country’s labor unions had called a general strike, and everything from universities to McDonald’s franchises to some departures at the Tel Aviv airport had shut down.
The Breakstone Roth family poses with protest signs in New York City’s John F. Kennedy International Airport en route to Israel, March 27, 2023. (Courtesy of Kelly Breakstone Roth)
Meanwhile, Netanyahu had spent Sunday night negotiating with his coalition partners, trying to keep their government together despite a mounting sense that proceeding immediately with its signature legislation could plunge Israel into unprecedented turmoil — possibly even civil war. By the evening, even the justice minister who threatened to quit if Netanyahu delayed the vote said he would respect a decision to pause — one that Netanyahu made official only as night fell.
Netanyahu did not say what he had promised his partners to sign off on the pause, but a far-right minister said he had exacted permission to launch a civilian police corps.
Earlier, breaking his public silence, the prime minister had tweeted, “I call on all the demonstrators in Jerusalem, on the right and the left, to behave responsibly and not to act violently. We are brotherly people.”
Big questions loomed: What would happen when right-wing supporters of the judiciary reform — including a notoriously racist and combative group of fans from the Beitar Jerusalem soccer club — heeded a call to take to the streets, too? Would a delay satisfy protesters who have spent a dozen weeks articulating deep-seated grievances that, in many cases, go far beyond the particular reforms? Would Netanyahu and his coalition offer any meaningful concessions before resuming the legislative process in the future? What would be the cost of the promises he offered his most extreme partners in exchange for their acquiescence?
The answers to those questions will help determine what kind of country Israel will be after this crisis ends, whenever that is. But on Sunday night and Monday, the protesters and those watching them could be forgiven for taking a moment to bask in the sense that history was being made.
Thousands of Israeli right-wing protesters rally in support of the Israeli government’s judicial overhaul bills outside of the Israeli parliament, the Knesset, in Jerusalem, March 27, 2023. (Gili Yaari/Flash90)
“What we witness in Israel is a historical revolution in the style of French, Russian, Iranian revolutions and the collapse of the Soviet Union,” tweeted Yossi Melman, a journalist who has covered military affairs for multiple Israeli newspapers.
“A historic night. Each of us will remember where we were tonight,” tweeted the journalist and political analyst Anshel Pfeffer. “And whoever was not in the streets will say that they were.”
The head of the country’s labor union, the Histadrut, also used the word “historic” to describe the general strike he was supporting.
Ahmad Tibi, an Arab lawmaker, tweeted in language drenched in history. He posted in Hebrew transliteration a slogan associated with the 2011 Arab Spring: “The people want to bring down the regime.”
It’s not at all clear that the Israelis who protested on Sunday and Monday will ultimately be satisfied. Revolutions don’t always succeed, as the Arab Spring and countless other examples in history make clear. Many of the social and demographic forces that brought Israel to this moment haven’t changed. Netanyahu has survived political crisis after political crisis before.
In addition, while a substantial majority of Israelis oppose the specific judicial reform legislation that is on the table now, many still say they believe some changes are merited. Israel’s far right, in particular, still views a disempowered Supreme Court as essential to achieving its vision of expanded Jewish settlement and control in the West Bank.
Supporters of the judicial overhaul were framing the stakes as historic, too, but casting the demonstrations as a threat to democracy. It is “inconceivable that the minority will force its opinion with violence and the creation of anarchy in the streets,” declared 17 leading religious Zionist rabbis in a joint statement calling on the government to push forward with the legislation on Monday.
Yet for Monday, at least, the politically diverse anti-government coalition that has solidified over the last three months could exult in the power of the people. And at a time when some liberal Israelis are so alarmed by the country’s political direction that they are packing up and moving away, the Breakstone Roths were coming home.
“This is a critical time in Israel’s history,” Breakstone Roth said before boarding. “In terms of our daughters, we felt it was really important for them to know that we’re doing everything that we possibly can to try to make an impact.”
She said she hoped to hear upon landing that Netanyahu was pulling the legislation, if only temporarily — then turned to realpolitik. “Hopefully If he does say it, he intends it, and … we’ll be able to say that the demonstrations were a success,” she said. “And if he’s just fooling, trying to do some sort of maneuver, then it’s going to be ignited once again.”
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Swiss broadcaster removes footage of host criticizing Israeli bobsled team during its first Milan runs
(JTA) — A Swiss sportscaster spent the 57 seconds of the Israeli bobsled team’s first run in Milan denouncing Israel and the team’s captain, drawing criticism from U.S. Ambassador to Israel Mike Huckabee and casting a shadow over the historic outing.
The team came in last in its first efforts in the Winter Olympics, finishing 26th of 26 teams in two two-men heats on Monday. A third heat is scheduled for Monday afternoon, while the four-man event takes place next weekend.
It has been a disappointing showing so far for the team, which is making its first appearance in the Olympics following a years-long journey propelled by A.J. Edelman, an American observant Jew who has sought to do for Israel’s winter sports profile what the unlikely Cool Runnings bobsled team did for Jamaica in the 1990s.
The Swiss sportscaster, Sebastian Renna, used the run to detail allegations against Edelman, whom he referred to as “a first-time Olympian and self-described ‘Zionist to the core’ who has posted several messages on social media in support of the genocide in Gaza.” He listed comments allegedly made by Edelman and questioned why he should be allowed to compete given the International Olympic Committee’s rules barring athletes from making political statements.
Commentator Stefan Renna on Swiss public broadcaster RTS sparked controversy during Israeli captain AJ Edelman’s second bobsleigh run at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan-Cortina, bringing up Edelman’s past social media posts supporting Israel’s genocide in Gaza, including one… pic.twitter.com/TenlLtbRiw
— Drop Site (@DropSiteNews) February 17, 2026
The Swiss national broadcaster, RTS, issued a statement about the footage, which it removed from its website, on Tuesday. “Our journalist wanted to question the IOC’s policy regarding the athlete’s statements,” it said. “However, such information, while factual, is inappropriate for sports commentary due to its length. Therefore, we removed the segment from our website last night.”
The clip had drawn praise from critics of Israel and excoriating comments from its defenders. “Beyond disgusting that the Jew-hating Swiss ‘sportscaster’ spewed bigotry & bile at @Israel Olympic Bobsled team & its captain @realajedelman as they competed,” Huckabee tweeted.
Edelman, who posts frequently on social media in support of Israel and against antisemitism, did not dispute any of Renna’s allegations but rejected their thrust.
“I am aware of the diatribe the commentator directed towards the Israeli Bobsled Team on the Swiss Olympics broadcast today,” he tweeted on Monday. “I can’t help but notice the contrast: Shul Runnings is a team of 6 proud Israelis who’ve made it to the Olympic stage. No coach with us. No big program. Just a dream, grit, and unyielding pride in who we represent. Working together towards an incredible goal and crushing it. Because that’s what Israelis do. I don’t think it’s possible to witness that and give any credence to the commentary.”
On Tuesday morning, Edelman was sanguine as he prepared to take the ice again.
“Today I take the final 2man run of my career, with the Shul Runnings team that is making history,” he tweeted on Tuesday morning from Milan. “What an honor it is to wear this flag. What a blessing to be one of our people. Anyone can say anything about us, but you know what? They can only say it because we’re here. Because Israel makes the impossible possible. Victors, never victims.”
The post Swiss broadcaster removes footage of host criticizing Israeli bobsled team during its first Milan runs appeared first on The Forward.
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Was playwright Avrom Goldfaden a Zionist?
זינט די סאַמע ערשטע יאָרן פֿון דער ציוניסטישער באַװעגונג איז דער טעאַטער געװען אַ װיכטיקער מיטל פֿאַרן פֿאַרשפּרײטן אירע אידעען. מען האָט פֿאָרגעשטעלט אױף דער בינע סײַ די ייִדישע פּראָבלעמען — אַזעלכע װי אַנטיסעמיטיזם, דלות, שלעכטע מידות — סײַ די לײזונג: אַ ייִדישע מדינה. צװישן די דראַמאַטורגן זײַנען געװען די אָבֿות פֿונעם פּאָליטישן ציוניזם, אַזעלכע װי טעאָדאָר הערצל און מאַקס נאָרדױ.
אַבֿרהם גאָלדפֿאַדן (1840־1908), דער „פֿאָטער פֿונעם ייִדישן טעאַטער“, איז ניט געװען קײן פּאָליטישער דענקער. בײַ אים איז דער טעאַטער געװען אַן אָרט, װוּ אַ ייִד „זאָל האָבן װוּהין צו אַנטלױפֿן אױף עטלעכע שטונדן פֿון זײַנע ביטערע דאגות, װאָס פֿאַרפֿאָלגן אים אַ גאַנצן טאָג.“ דערפֿאַר, זאָגט ער װײַטער, „איז געװען שטענדיק מײַן פּלאַן צו פֿאַרפֿאַסן נאָר קאָמישעס מיט געזאַנג און טאַנץ, װאָס ס׳הײסט אָפּערעטע.“
אָבער אין דער אמתן זײַנען װײַט ניט אַלע פּיעסעס זײַנע געװען קאָמיש און לײַכטזיניק. װי עס באַװײַזט די דײַטשישע פֿאָרשערין מעלאַניע דאָריס ליקאַס (אוניװערסיטעט פֿון געטינגען) אין איר בוך „דער ייִדישער טעאַטער צװישן ציוניזם און ייִדישער אַסימילאַציע אַרום 1900“, איז דער ייִדישער טעאַטער געװען „אַ שפּיגל פֿון יענער צײַט“. אין זײַנע דראַמאַטישע װערק האָט גאָלדפֿאַדן באַהאַנדלט די װיכטיקסטע סאָציאַלע און פּאָליטישע פּראָבלעמען פֿון ייִדישן קיום אױפֿן שװעל פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט.
כּדי צו אַנטפּלעקן געזעלשאַפֿטלעכע און פּאָליטישע טענדענצן אין גאָלדפֿאַדנס שאַפֿונג מאַכט לוקאַס אַ פּרטימדיקן אַנאַליז פֿון די טעקסטן. זי באַטראַכט ניט נאָר די באַקאַנטע װערק װי „שולמית“, „בר־כּוכבא“ און „משיחס צײַטן“, נאָר אױך דאָס לעצטע װערק זײַנס, „בן עמי“ (1906), װאָס איז אױפֿגעפֿירט געװאָרן אין ניו־יאָרק. דער טעקסט איז קײן מאָל ניט געדרוקט געװאָרן אָבער אַ כּתבֿ־יד האָט זיך אָפּגעהיט אין ייִװאָ.
גאָלדפֿאַדן האָט באַשריבן „בן עמי“ װי אַ „נאַציאָנאַל־פּאַטריאָטישע מוזיקאַלישע דראַמע“, װאָס איז „ספּעציעל געשריבן געװאָרן פֿאַר מײַן ייִדישן פֿאָלק“. די פּיעסע ברענגט צונױף די פּראָבלעמען פֿון יענער צײַט: רעװאָלוציע און פּאָגראָמען אין רוסלאַנד, אַסימילאַציע, שמד, עקאָנאָמישע סתּירות. זײ װערן פֿאָרגעשטעלט דורך ליבע־באַציִונגען, משפּחה־קאָנפֿליקטן און פּאָליטישע װיכּוחים.
װי עס איז טיפּיש פֿאַר גאָלדפֿאַדן, װערן רעאַליסטישע געשעענישן געמישט מיט ראָמאַנטישע פֿאַנטאַזיעס: אַ גוטהאַרציקער קריסטלעכער באַראָן, װאָס האָט געראַטעװעט אַ ייִדיש מײדל רחלע פֿון אַ פּאָגראָם, האָט זיך אַנטפּלעקט װי אַ געהײמער ייִד. דער סוף איז גוט, דער באַראָן האָט חתונה מיט רחלען, און די אַסימילירטע העלדן טוען תּשובֿה.
דער תּמצית פֿון דער פּיעסע װערט אױסגעדריקט אַלעגאָריש אין אַ ליד אינעם פּראָלאָג. אַן אַלמנה זיצט „בײַ דער כּותל־מערבֿי אין גאַנץ טיפֿן טרױער“ װעגן דעם ביטערן מצבֿ פֿונעם ייִדישן פֿאָלק. זי װערט געטרײסט דורכן כאָר, װאָס זאָגט צו, אַז אָט־אָט, וועלן די קינדער אירע „אַלע צוזאַמען /קומען צו דער מאַמען / זי זען אין אַמאָלעדיקער פּראַכט.“ אַזױ, האַלט לוקאַס, מאַכט גאָלדפֿאַדן קלאָר די אידעע פֿון זײַן דראַמע: ייִדן װעלן זיך אומקערן קײן ארץ־ישׂראל און אױפֿבױען דעם נײַעם בית־המקדש.
די געשטאַלט פֿון דער אַלמנה בת ציון, װאָס זיצט „אין דעם בית־המקדש / אין אַ װינקל חדר“ געפֿינט מען שױן אין „שולמית“ אינעם באַרימטן ליד „ראָזשינקעס מיט מאַנדלען“. דאָרט איז דאָס אַן אַלעגאָריע פֿונעם ייִדישן פֿאָלק װאָס בענקט נאָך זײער הײמלאַנד. אין „בן עמי“ איז דאָס פֿאָלק שױן גרײט אַראָפּצוברענגען די גאולה.
עס איז טשיקאַװע צו לײענען װי גאָלדפֿאַדנס אַ פּערסאָנאַזש אין דער פּיעסע האָט זיך פֿאָרגעשטעלט דאָס אומקערן פֿון ייִדן אין ארץ־ישׂראל. דאָס װעט פֿאָרקומען „דורך רעװאָלוציאָן אין אַ גינסטיקער צײַט און געלעגנהײט“. די דאָזיקע רעװאָלוציע דאַרף זיך אָנהײבן אין דער טערקישער אימפּעריע, „װען די טערקישע געבילדעטע יוגנט װעלן זיך רעװאָלטירן אַראָפּצוּװאַרפֿן פֿון זיך דעם דעספּאָטישן יאָך“.
דעמאָלט װעט די ייִדישע יוגנט אין ארץ־ישׂראל „אױך קענען אױפֿהײבן די פֿרײַהײט־פֿאָן און מיט װאָפֿן אין די הענט אַרױספֿאָדערן זײער גערעכטלעכע הײמאַט [היימלאַנד].“ די ייִדן אין אַנדערע לענדער דאַרפֿן דערבײַ „בלײַבן טרױ זײערע רעגירונגען“, אָבער „שטײן פֿאַרטיק בײַם ערשטן סיגנאַל פֿון דאָרטן זיך אָפּרופֿן מיט מאַטעריעלער און פֿיזישער הילף, זײ צו שיקן געלט און אײגענע סטראַטעגיקער, װאָס האָבן גענאָסן זײער בילדונג אין ציװיליזירטע לענדער און דאַן — איז דער זיג געװוּנען.“ װי אין אַנדערע ציוניסטישע פּראָיעקטן פֿון יענער צײַט, װערט די אַראַבישע באַפֿעלקערונג ניט דערמאָנט.
להיפּוך צו גאָלדפֿאַדן, האָבן די דײַטשיש־שפּראַכיקע ציוניסטישע מחברים טעאָדאָר הערצל און מאַקס נאָרדױ ניט קײן אינטערעס צו ארץ־ישׂראל. זײער דאגה איז דער אַנטיסעמיטיזם, װאָס לאָזט ייִדן ניט אינטעגרירן זיך אין דער מאָדערנער געזעלשאַפֿט אין דײַטשלאַנד און עסטרײַך. דער קאָנפֿליקט צװישן ייִדן און קריסטן אין הערצלס דראַמע „דאָס נײַע געטאָ“ (1895) שפּילט זיך אַרום עקאָנאָמישע און סאָציאַלע ענינים.
הערצל װײַזט, אַז אַפֿילו װען ייִדישע געשעפֿטסלײַט באַמיִען זיך צו פֿאַרבעסערן די עקאָנאָמישע לאַגע פֿון קריסטלעכע אַרבעטער, װערן זײ סײַ װי ניט באַהאַנדלט װי גלײַכע מיט די קריסטן. ניט געקוקט אױף דער קולטורעלע אַסימילאַציע און דעם עקאָנאָמישן דערפֿאָלג געפֿינט זיך די ייִדישע בורזשואַזיע אין אַ נײַעם געטאָ מחוץ דער קריסטלעכער געזעלשאַפֿט. סימבאָליש װערט דאָס פֿאָרגעשטעלט דורך אַ דועל, אין װעלכן אַ ייִד װערט פֿאַרװוּנדעט דורך אַ קריסט.
אַן ענלעכע פּראָבלעם װערט פֿאָרגעשטעלט אין נאָרדױס דראַמע „דאָקטער קאָן“ (1899). דער העלד איז אַ באַגאַבטער מאַטעמאַטיקער, װאָס װיל באַקומען אַ פּראָפֿעסאָר־שטעלע כּדי צו מעגן חתונה האָבן מיט אַ פֿרױ פֿון אַ פֿאַרמעגלעכער קריסטלעכער משפּחה.
אָבער די אַנטיסעמיטישע אַדמיניסטראַציע פֿונעם אוניװערסיטעט גיט אים ניט קײן שטעלע, און די משפּחה װיל אים ניט האָבן פֿאַר אַן אײדעם. װי אין הערצלס פּיעסע פֿירט דער קאָנפֿליקט צו אַ דועל, דאָס מאָל צװישן קאָן און דער פֿרױס ברודער. קאָן װערט שװער פֿאַרװוּנדעט און שטאַרבט.
הערצל און נאָרדױ זײַנען בײדע געװען די פֿירנדיקע ציוניסטישע פּאָליטיקער פֿון יענער צײַט, אָבער אין זײערע דראַמאַטישע װערק איז ניטאָ קײן שפּור פֿון אַ פּלאַן צו האָבן אַ ייִדישע מלוכה, שױן אָפּגערעדט פֿון װידער אױפֿבױען דעם בית־המקדש. אין זײערע פּיעסעס האָבן די מאָראַלישע קאָנפֿליקט און סאָציאַלע פּראָבלעמען פֿון ייִדן אין דער קריסטלעכער געזעלשאַפֿט ניט קײן לײזונג.
לוקאַסעס פּרטימדיקער פֿאַרגלײַכיקער אַנאַליז אַנטפּלעקט דעם װיכטיקסטן חילוק צװישן גאָלדפֿאַדן און די דײַטשיש־שפּראַכיקע מחברים. גאָלדפֿאַדן האָט זיך געװענדט צו דעם ייִדישן עולם און געקענט קונציק צופּאַסן ערנסטע פּאָליטישע טעמעס צום לײַכטן סטיל פֿון זײַן באַליבטן זשאַנער פֿון אָפּערעטע. הערצל און נאָרדױ האָבן געשריבן פֿאַרן ברײטערן דײַטשישן עולם, װאָס האָט ניט געהאַט קײן אינטערעס צו דער ציוניסטישער פּאָליטיק. די פּראָבלעם פֿון זײערע העלדן איז געװען אַנטיסעמיטיזם, ניט דאָס אױפֿבױען אַ ייִדישע מלוכה.
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Forever curious, never daunted, Frederick Wiseman sought to repair the world through film
Frederick Wiseman, whose 60-year project of quietly asking America to look at itself — without sermon or embellishment, yet wielding the camera with an ethical ferocity‚ has died at the age of 96. Wiseman was a documentarian par excellence, but — as his year-long 2010 MOMA retrospective and his winter-long 2025 Lincoln Center appreciation show — he was more than a filmmaker and more dynamic than the institutions he critiqued. The 45 films he made between 1967 and 2023 embody the very process of American self-reflection.
Born Jan. 1, 1930, in Boston, Mass., Wiseman grew up in a Jewish household that never made a big show of its Jewishness, yet never let it slip from mind. His father, Jacob Leo Wiseman, was an accomplished lawyer; his mother, Gertrude Leah Kotzen, had a number of jobs but Wiseman once told the Forward that “not being able to study acting was her life’s regret.” In countless interviews, Wiseman described his upbringing as secular but culturally Jewish — one with plenty of Yiddish and the Forverts on the kitchen table. It was a childhood that inculcated a moral restlessness that he would spend his entire creative life channeling through film.
Before the camera, there was the classroom: Williams College, then Yale Law School. Law was his first chosen arena, and there is something telling in that. To make a good lawyer, you need curiosity, patience and the stamina to sit with contradiction. Wiseman found the law constricting and he turned, gradually and then completely, to filmmaking, where the rules were up for grabs but the moral stakes were never abstract.
After helping to produce Cool World, a 1965 feature about drug addiction, violence and economic hardship set in Harlem, Wiseman bought a 16mm camera and went to Bridgewater State Hospital to film Titicut Follies. His first film remains one of his most notorious, not least for influencing Miloš Forman’s 1975 One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The state hospital for the criminally insane becomes, through Wiseman’s lens, both theater and trial. The patients are on display for us as are the guards but we, the audience, are on trial too: How do we treat the weakest among us? How do we look away?
Although the film represents an early example of his unobtrusive style, it was so uncomfortably honest that the Massachusetts government succeeded in banning it from general American distribution for 20 years. It was the first known film to be censored for reasons other than obscenity, immorality or national security. This is where his Jewishness lived — in the refusal to flinch from the unspeakable. Wiseman spent six decades getting us to see what we really mean by the places we build, the rules we enforce, and sometimes the people we push to the margins.
His “reality fictions,” as he preferred to call them, are quiet but not passive. They have no narration — no voice-of-God explanations or neat moral conclusions. The camera simply sits, bearing witness to public housing in Chicago, an inner-city high school in Philadelphia, Boston city government, a Dallas department store, a welfare office, a library in Queens, smalltown Indiana, and two views of domestic violence in Florida. What emerges is an archive of American power and American fragility.
Even more than his contemporaries D.A. Pennebaker and the Maysles brothers, Wiseman avoided tying his stories into a single ideological bow. But, just like his friend and follower Errol Morris, he never stopped asking questions. He once said he disliked the word “documentary” because it suggested a neatness and authority that reality refuses to offer. Like a scribe working on a Torah scroll, Wiseman would spend a year or more in his editing room shaping hundreds of hours of footage into a final cut.
Every editing choice was an act of interpretation, and every interpretation was a kind of moral accounting. To watch a Wiseman film is to practice a secular version of cheshbon nefesh — an accounting of the soul. We see the small humiliations of bureaucracy, the quiet heroism of nurses, the petty tyrannies of principals, the warmth and indifference that coexist inside every institution. His films remind us that institutions, including marriage, are made up of people, and people are both better and worse than the systems they create.
Though Wiseman never foregrounded his Jewishness in public, it filtered through his choice of subjects — and his abiding belief in the dignity of ordinary lives. He loved the messy, pluralistic, contradictory spaces where authority and people meet, like a library, a community center, a city council meeting. He loved making films and was annoyed not to be able to film or edit after his 2023 feature, Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros, about a Michelin three star-restaurant and the family that runs it.
He once called his films “epic poems,” but they are also commentaries, in the rabbinic sense: teasing out what is hidden in plain sight, turning it over and over until it yields something that might help us live with ourselves. Wiseman was excited in 2025 when a group of archivists finished the process of restoring and digitizing 33 of his films so that his entire oeuvre can be more easily examined for years to come.
Wiseman’s focus was mainly on the United States, though he did film elsewhere — especially in Paris where he filmed at a strip club and a dance rehearsal at the Paris Opera Ballet. In later years, when asked how he chose what to film, he said simply: “Curiosity.” But curiosity, for Wiseman, was never passive. It was a demand to see. In this, he practiced a form of tikkun olam — repair of the world — that was all the more radical for being so understated. He didn’t shout. He didn’t score cheap points. He invited us to do the hard work ourselves.
He was honored, eventually, by the very institutions he made his life’s work dissecting. A MacArthur “Genius Grant,” a Guggenheim Fellowship, an honorary Academy Award, the Golden Lion for Lifetime Achievement in Venice. Yet he remained — in temperament and in practice — the same outsider who first brought his camera to that state hospital in 1967, sure only that the camera should watch and listen, and that we should, too.
Wiseman’s wife Zipporah Batshaw passed away in 2021 but he is survived by his two children and a generation of filmmakers who learned from him that moral clarity need not come at the expense of complexity. They carry forward the project of asking the unasked questions, of looking at what we’d rather ignore. In that way, his legacy is not a monument but a living tradition — an ever-expanding conversation about what it means to be human, to be responsible for each other, and to stand, clear-eyed, in the face of the world as it is.
May his memory be a blessing, and may we, like him, never stop seeing.
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