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A Holocaust survivor and her family saw ‘Leopoldstadt.’ The Broadway play told their story.
(New York Jewish Week) — On a Wednesday evening last month, three generations of a Jewish family made their way to their seats at the Longacre Theater to see “Leopoldstadt,” Tom Stoppard’s epic Broadway play about the tragedies that befall an extended Jewish family in the first half of the 20th century in Vienna.
The date of the family gathering was a significant one: Nov. 9, the 84th anniversary of the Nazi pogroms known as Kristallnacht. And in the audience was Fini Konstat, 96, who lived in the once thriving Jewish neighborhood after which the play is named, and witnessed the horrors it portrays first-hand. Alongside her were her daughter and her son-in-law, Renee and James Akers, and her oldest great-grandchild, Lexi Levin, 23.
When Konstat was a child, she lived in a “nice apartment” in Leopoldstadt. But exactly 84 years to the day of their theater date, “I was running with my father, seeing all the Jewish stores with all their windows broken,” she told Levin in a short video her great-granddaughter filmed before the curtain rose.
“It’s such a blessing for me to be here with you,” Levin said to her great-grandmother in response. “Ninety-six years old, survived a pandemic, at a Broadway show in New York City.”
Left: Fini as a child on the balcony of her apartment in Leopoldstadt. Right: Fini with her three children in front of the very same building, pictured in 2015. (Courtesy)
Since the beginning of its Broadway run in mid-September, “Leopoldstadt,” with its depiction of a prosperous Viennese family on the brink of destruction, has moved audiences to tears and inspired deep reflections on the Holocaust. Based on the celebrated playwright’s own family history — of which he was barely aware while growing up in England — it has provided a stark counterpoint to news about rising antisemitism and the celebrities who have been purveying it.
But for Konstat, the play was much more personal. “When I heard the word ‘Leopoldstadt,’ this alone gave me lots of thrills and memories,” Konstat, who is known in her family as Mimi, told the New York Jewish Week in accented English. She recalled how Levin, who recently moved to the city, invited her to fly to New York to see one of Broadway’s hottest tickets.
“Leopoldstadt,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “The second district. That’s where we lived.”
At the end of Stoppard’s five-act play, audiences learn that most of the Jewish characters had perished under the Nazis — of the four generations in the show, just three cousins survive to carry on the family’s legacy.
For Konstat too, she and her parents were among the very few in their extended family to survive the Holocaust. “Almost all of them went to Auschwitz or other camps,” Konstat said. “My mother was a twin and only the twins remained alive. [My mother’s] five other siblings and my grandmother perished.”
L-R: Renee Akers, James Akers, Lexi Levin and Fini Konstat at the Longacre Theater to see Tom Stoppard’s ‘Leopoldstadt on Broadway,’ Nov. 9, 2022. (Courtesy)
In a Zoom conversation held over Thanksgiving weekend, Konstat, surrounded by two of her daughters, two of her granddaughters and three of her great-granddaughters, shared what the play meant to her — and how her family has restored what she lost.
In the months after Kristallnacht in 1938, Konstat and her parents hid in a neighbor’s apartment; Konstat recalls hiding under the duvet when German soldiers showed up. Eventually the family fled to Turkey, and then to India, before settling down in Mexico City. There, the teenage Fini met her husband David, also a survivor who escaped Poland. The two of them began to write the rest of their story — starting with the birth of the first of their three children in 1948.
Unlike many Holocaust survivors, Fini and David Konstat were open about their experiences during the war, instilling a sense of pride and duty to remember in their children — something that eventually extended to their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
“They were proud to speak about how they survived this,” said the Konstats’ middle child, Renee Konstat Akers. “Their life was an odyssey. They had the courage to do things that you would never think were possible. We grew up grateful knowing how our family survived in that incredible way.”
Each child moved to different places as they grew up and got married. Manuel, the oldest, stayed in Mexico. Renee married an American and moved to the Midwest, and Denise, the youngest, to Houston. Each became deeply involved in their Jewish communities, sending their children (Konstat’s grandchildren) to Jewish day schools, celebrating Jewish holidays and participating in synagogue life.
“The word ‘miracle’ really does not feel like an understatement in this scenario,” said Sherry Levin, one of Konstat’s grandchildren. “When we think about what it took for my grandmother and grandfather to survive and how they were able to intersect in Mexico, and such an amazing multi-generational family has come to fruition, it feels miraculous.”
Pictured here on their 40th anniversary, Fini and her husband David met in Mexico City after both had fled Europe. They were married 54 years before David died in 2001. (Courtesy)
Reviews of the show have ranged from rhapsodic to resistant, with some critics suggesting the play is simplistic and obvious in its story-telling or that it is less a well-crafted play than a well-meaning lesson on the Holocaust.
But just as the Merz family clashes and argues about everything from antisemitism to intermarriage to socialism in “Leopoldstadt,” each generation of the Konstat family that saw “Leopoldstadt” that night came away with something different — a reaction influenced by their age, their Jewish identity, their nationality and their relationship with their family.
For Konstat, the arc of “Leopoldstadt” was so familiar that it hardly stirred her. “It was just very happy watching it and enjoying it and enjoying my children with me, “ she told the New York Jewish Week. “I didn’t think about anybody else.”
Akers, too, felt an intense familiarity with the story, and, perhaps toughened by her own family history, didn’t experience an intense emotional reaction. Her own parents’ lives gave Akers a sense of purpose in her life — for example, in the 1990s, she was passionate about helping resettle Jews fleeing the former Soviet Union. With her own children, she instilled in them a strong sense of Jewish purpose in their work, their education and their family.
“I was a sandwich in between seeing my mother and my granddaughter,” she said of her “Leopoldstadt” experience. “I was emotional thinking of my mom who went through it, but I was more emotional about seeing my granddaughter be so moved. It really hit her at her core.”
Indeed, it was the youngest member of the family present that night who was most shaken by the play.
“It really felt like a gift to my family and to me, specifically, to be able to see what Mimi’s life looked like before the war,” Lexi Levin said, surmising that, as a fourth-generation survivor, she is among the first in her family to be able to start processing the loss on a grander scale.
“For the first time in my life, I really felt the magnitude of her loss,” she added. “I’ve known her story and I’ve been inspired by her story to be involved with my own Jewish causes, but I have never been able to access and truly empathize with her grief and what it meant that she lost the entire family she had before this one that she created.”
Turning to her great-grandmother, as if trying to make her understand the exact precision of the show, Levin explained, “It’s a play about generations and the family was large and then it was small.”
“You made it large again,” she said, referring to the generations of family that had assembled — in the Broadway theater and again over Thanksgiving weekend. “Look at this room.”
Pictured on her 90th birthday in 2017, Fini Konstat now has three children, ten grandchildren and twenty great-grandchildren. (Courtesy)
There was a coda for the family after the curtain went down. The day after the show, the family wanted to see the 1907 “Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I,” one of Gustav Klimt’s most famous paintings, which currently hangs at the Neue Galerie on the Upper East Side. A version of the portrait’s true story — how a painting of a socialite from a prominent Viennese Jewish family was looted by the Nazis and the family’s efforts to get it back — features in the plot of “Leopoldstadt.”
The gallery, however, was closed on the only day the family could visit. After a call to the management at the gallery, which showcases the German and Austrian art collections of Jewish philanthropist Ronald S. Lauder, the gallery’s director arranged a private tour.
“It felt like we were in a puzzle and everything was finally coming together,” said Akers. “It was an emotional, emotional time.”
When the week was over and the emotions were spent, Konstat and the Akers returned home with a reignited passion for their family story. But there was yet another twist: In addition to the whirlwind trip Levin planned for her grandparents and for Mimi, she had been undergoing the laborious process of applying for Austrian citizenship. Six members in Konstat’s large family have undertaken the process over the last two years.
“Part of the motivation was knowing Mimi’s story, and knowing that she survived because her mother had citizenship in Turkey,” Levin said. “That story was just inspirational to me, knowing that dual citizenship was what saved our family.” She convinced her brother and mother to apply for Austrian citizenship as well.
The day after her grandmother and great-grandmother left New York, Levin called them with news from her small apartment in Manhattan: An Austrian passport had arrived in the mail. The curtain was rising on another act.
Konstat was surprised at how interested her family was in getting Austrian citizenship. “I feel very good,” she said. “I’m very happy.”
“Does it make you emotional?” Levin asked her during the Zoom call with the New York Jewish Week.
“It does — of course it does. I used to love Austria,” she said. “I was sad to leave. I was disappointed. We never thought of coming back. I was happy to be able to escape. Thank God we made it out of hell.”
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Here’s exactly why it’s dangerous to compare ICE to Nazis
It may feel morally clarifying to compare ICE to Nazis in moments of outrage. But those comparisons are also historically inaccurate, and politically counterproductive.
Nazism remains historically singular, both because of its eliminationist antisemitism and its state-driven project of industrial genocide. No other political movement has so entirely organized its worldview around the idea that a specific people constitutes a cosmic threat. The Nazis were driven by the belief that the mere existence of Jews endangered humanity, and that Jews therefore had to be physically annihilated everywhere.
A clear understanding of this truth has been absent amid renewed controversy over federal immigration enforcement and protests in Minneapolis. Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz compared children hiding in fear from ICE raids to Anne Frank hiding in Amsterdam, in terror of capture by Nazi Germany. Former Secretary of Labor Robert Reich compared ICE operations under President Donald Trump’s administration to the tactics of Hitler’s Brownshirts. They have been joined by many others, including in this publication.
Comparison is a central tool of historical and political analysis, and Nazism can and should be compared to other ideologies. But flattening the particular contours of Nazism strips it of its distinctive genocidal logic, and risks pushing us to take the wrong messages from its horrors.
When Nazism becomes a general synonym for “bad politics,” the Holocaust becomes a moral prop rather than a historically specific catastrophe. This is especially painful for Jews, but it also distorts the memory of the regime’s many other victims: Roma and Sinti, people with disabilities, prisoners of war, queer people and political dissidents, among others.
Part of what drives these comparisons is cultural familiarity. The Holocaust and the Gestapo are widely understood shorthand for the worst imaginable abuses of state power. Invoking Nazi metaphors often says more about present anxieties — foremost among them the fear that the United States may be sliding toward authoritarianism — than about historical reality.
Those anxieties are profound, and legitimate, especially when it comes to the concerns about injustice toward immigrants. Federal immigration enforcement has long prompted alarm about the abuse of civil liberties, including concerns about racial profiling, excessive force, family separation and opaque chains of accountability.
These problems span multiple U.S. administrations, showing that vigilance and legal challenge are always necessary. Calling them “Gestapo tactics,” however, as some national leaders have, obscures rather than clarifies the issue.
It conflates a flawed system operating within a still-robust framework of legal challenges and public scrutiny with a secret police apparatus designed for totalitarian control and genocide. For instance, in Minnesota, a federal judge threatened to hold the acting director of Immigration and Customs Enforcement in contempt for repeatedly defying court orders requiring bond hearings, prompting the agency to release a detainee. The fact that judges can and do continue to compel compliance, even amid sharp disputes over enforcement, shows that the U.S. remains a democracy rather than a secret police state.
There are countries today in which opposition parties are banned, protest is routinely criminalized, courts are fully captured by the regime, and independent media are systematically dismantled — such as Russia, Iran, or Venezuela. In those contexts, the language of secret police, one-party rule, and total state control describes concrete institutional realities.
It does not do so here. Yes, the U.S., like many countries today, is experiencing measurable democratic backsliding. But it remains far from an authoritarian regime. Much of the press remains free, despite significant pressure from the White House as well as structural pressures from corporate ownership, and continues to report extensively on immigration enforcement controversies. Independent courts have ruled against unlawful revocations of immigration protections. Protests in places like Minneapolis have mobilized large numbers of participants and, rather than being criminalized, are showing efficacy in getting the administration to change its course.
Learning from the Holocaust does not require declaring that everything is Nazism. Collapsing the distinction between democratic backsliding and full-fledged authoritarianism weakens our ability to diagnose what kind of political danger we are actually confronting. It might even weaken resistance: Mistaking slow erosion for a finished catastrophe can breed despair instead of motivating strategic action.
Nazi parallels also corrode political discourse itself. If ICE is the Gestapo, and Trump is Hitler, then Republican voters become Nazis by implication. This forecloses the possibility of democratic repair.
While far-right extremist currents undeniably exist within the MAGA movement, it is also a broad political camp that includes voters motivated by a variety of factors, including economic anxiety, distrust of elites and religious identity. Collapsing all of this into “Nazism” is analytically lazy and politically disastrous.
All that on top of the risk of historical whitewashing that comes with this rhetoric. If every abuse is Nazism, then nothing is Nazism, and the lessons of the Holocaust — foremost among them the necessity of vigorously combatting antisemitism in our society — are lost.
Of course, supporters of Trump also engage in similar rhetoric, calling their own opponents Nazis. Ending this cycle of mutual Nazi-labeling is essential if the country hopes to move forward. Historical memory is a tool, not a weapon. We can confront injustice without exaggeration. And the best way to defend democracy is not to demonize our opponents, but rather to speak clearly, act responsibly, and work to build a political culture that can actually heal.
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Italian rapper Ghali’s planned Winter Olympics set draws backlash over his Gaza advocacy
(JTA) — Italian rapper Ghali’s slated performance at the opening ceremony for this year’s Winter Olympics in Milan has drawn criticism from Italian leaders over his past activism against Israel.
Ghali Amdouni, a prominent Milan-born rapper of Tunisian parents, will be joined by a host of performers including Andrea Bocelli and Mariah Carey during the opening ceremony on Feb. 6. This year, nine Israelis will compete, including the national bobsled team for the first time.
The selection of Ghali drew criticism from members of Italy’s right-wing League party.
“It is truly incredible to find a hater of Israel and the centre-right, already the protagonist of embarrassing and vulgar scenes, at the opening ceremony,” a source from the party told the Italian outlet La Presse. “Italy and the games deserve an artist, not a pro-Pal fanatic.”
In early 2024, Ghali drew criticism from Italian Jewish leaders and Israel’s former ambassador to Italy, Alon Bar, after he called to “stop genocide” during his performance at the Sanremo Italian song festival. The spat later spurred protests outside the office of the Italian public broadcaster RAI.
On X, the rapper has also criticized other artists for not using their platforms for pro-Palestinian activism and appeared to refer to the war in Gaza as a “new Holocaust.”
Ghali’s selection comes as Italy has become an epicenter of pro-Palestinian activism that has been sustained even as such activism has receded in other places. In October, over 2 million Italians took part in a one-day general strike in support of Palestinians and the Global Sumud Flotilla. The previous month, a separate general strike was organized in response to call from the country’s unions to “denounce the genocide in Gaza.”
According to a study of global antisemitism published in April by Tel Aviv University, Italy was one of two countries that saw a spike in antisemitic incidents from 2023 to 2024. A September survey from the pollster SWG found that roughly 15% of Italians believe that physical attacks on Jewish people are “entirely or fairly justifiable.”
Italian Sports Minister Andrea Abodi said he does not believe Ghali will make a political statement on stage.
“It doesn’t embarrass me at all to disagree with Ghali’s views and the messages he sent,” said Abodi, according to the Italian outlet La Repubblica. “But I believe that a country should be able to withstand the impact of an artist expressing an opinion that we don’t share. And that opinion will not, in any case, be expressed on that stage.”
Noemi Di Segni, the president of the Union of the Italian Jewish Community, told Italian media that she was hopeful Ghali would receive instructions ahead of his performance.
“It is clear that I hope Ghali has received instructions or guidelines on the ‘role’ he is expected to play. So I hope he will understand what he needs to do in that context and at that moment,” Di Segni told the Italian outlet La Milano. “I am confident that he will understand what he is called upon to do in that context and at that moment.”
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After Alex Pretti killing in Minneapolis, Jewish gun owners confront Second Amendment tensions
(JTA) — Roberta Tarnove was horrified last week when she learned that a man protesting ICE was shot and killed in Minneapolis. And it wasn’t just because someone was dead.
The 65-year-old Jewish resident of Los Angeles was also distressed that federal officials said the agents were justified in shooting Alex Pretti because they believed he was armed. Pretti, 37, was a licensed gun owner in a state where carrying a gun openly is legal.
“I’m very sad. He certainly had every right to carry a gun,” Tarnove said.
The situation hit home for Tarnove because she, too, owns guns and has a permit allowing her to carry concealed firearms.
“As a Jewish person whose Sunday school teachers were mostly Holocaust survivors, there was something about Donald Trump’s presidential run that just hit me hard,” she said. “The dog whistles and things just sounded alarm bells in my head, and so I think I need to get a gun, not that I can overthrow the government, but just for personal protection.”
Since getting her first gun in 2015, Tarnove has been part of a Southern California Jewish gun club, Bullets & Bagels.
There was no discussion of Pretti’s killing at a Bullets & Bagels event featuring the Los Angeles district attorney on Sunday, according to the club’s founder, Fred Kogen. He said he could not comment on the specifics of the shooting.
“What happened there was that this gentleman lost his life, that’s all I know, to be honest, and that, interestingly enough, has not been a discussion within the community of Jewish shooters that I’m a part of,” Kogen said.
Tarnove wasn’t there on Sunday. But she said she wasn’t surprised by Kogen’s report.
“The reaction from the overruling gun community — and apparently the government — is, well, if you bring a gun to protest, you’re going to get shot,” Tarnove said. “So it’s Second Amendment for me, but not for thee, which is one of the things about the gun culture I really hate.”
Pretti’s killing has spurred sharp debate over whether the Trump administration’s response to armed protesters may be at odds with Second Amendment protections traditionally cherished by conservatives.
The debate is also taking place among American Jews. While American Jews have historically opposed gun ownership, Oct. 7 and the ensuing rise in antisemitism across the country has spurred many to take up arms for the first time. Now, Jewish gun owners are confronting a tension that has emerged between their right to bear arms and the federal government’s response to armed civilians.
“My personal opinion is that he was executed,” said J.N., a 59-year-old Jewish gun owner in the Washington, D.C., suburbs who requested anonymity to protect his employment. “I’ve watched the video like everybody else, his hand never went anywhere near his gun. It was handled horrifically.”
On the other hand, Bruce Cohen, a lifelong Jewish gun owner in Arizona who hosts the Facebook group Jews for the Preservation of Firearms Ownership, said he believed Pretti was “looking for trouble.”
“I don’t know if I can fault the law enforcement officer,” Cohen said. “As a libertarian, I want very, very strict limits on police powers, I do not want police to abuse or mistreat or mislead citizens or non-citizens, for that matter, but I can see how that could happen, and if that person was more careful and more friendly and exercised his freedom of speech and right to protest in a more appropriate manner then he could be protesting today.”
In the wake of Pretti’s killing, several Trump administration officials said his gun possession instigated the shooting. Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem claimed Pretti “attacked” officers and was “brandishing” a gun, though a preliminary report completed on Tuesday by Customs and Border Protection found he did not brandish a weapon during the encounter.
On Tuesday, President Donald Trump himself said, “You can’t have guns. You can’t walk in with guns,” in response to a question about the killing from PBS.
“My assessment is the government is lying,” said J.N. “I don’t know why he carried it, but he’s entitled to carry it, he had a concealed carry permit. The Second Amendment says that you’re allowed to carry a gun, so I can’t fathom why the government, supposedly a Republican government, would say that.”
In a post on X, the National Rifle Association took aim at the rhetoric from the federal government, writing, “Responsible public voices should be awaiting a full investigation, not making generalizations and demonizing law-abiding citizens.”
A national Jewish gun club, Lox & Loaded, echoed that sentiment.
“Lox & Loaded stands firmly behind the absolute right to bear and conceal arms in any lawful setting,” said COO Gayle Pearlstein. “The pending investigation and resulting determination of the incident involving Mr. Pretti and federal law enforcement should in no way interfere with or call into question this longstanding personal right.”
Jordan Levine, the Jewish founder of the online gun advocacy group A Better Way 2A, said he believed the shooting of Pretti “sets a precedent, because it calls into question if somebody can be murdered for simply carrying a gun.”
But Levine stipulated that he was not concerned “as of right now” about losing Second Amendment rights.
“The Trump administration, thankfully, is still a bit removed from our court systems, and we’ve seen time and time again the court’s ruling in favor of Second Amendment liberties,” Levine continued.
Cohen said he would have handled the situation differently in Pretti’s shoes.
“If I was in his situation with his motivations, I would have introduced myself to the cops. I would have shaken hands with the cops, I would have said, hey, I disagree with what you’re doing, but thank you for being professional,” said Cohen.
But others within the JPFO Facebook group were quick to decry the federal government’s rhetoric.
“I’m not going to shut up and wait when agents of an authoritarian government are violating the rights of and killing citizens,” wrote one JPFO member. “The Declaration of Independence gives us the right to fight tyranny.”
J.N., who is also a member of the JPFO group, said, “As a Jewish person, and as an American, it sickens me.”
In the wake of Pretti’s killing, many critics have likened ICE’s tactics in Minneapolis to the Gestapo in Nazi Germany. While both Trump administration officials and some Jewish voices have called such comparisons inappropriate, for J.N., the similarities rang true.
“I’m not going to call them Nazis, because nobody’s being sent to the showers and burned en masse, OK, I get the difference, but I can tell you that I feel like they are using Gestapo techniques,” J.N. said.
Cohen said the comparison was a “standard left-wing package.”
“They train people to say that stuff, and it’s hypocritical and insincere because they don’t actually believe what they’re saying,” said Cohen. “I don’t see that at all, because we’re not, you know, the Jews in Germany. We’re not illegal aliens, we’re not on welfare, we’re not doing criminal things, we’re not stealing financially.”
For Tarnove, the federal government’s rhetoric around Pretti’s gun ownership had raised alarm bells for potential restrictions against gun ownership for certain groups.
“We aren’t past the point of no return, but we are getting so darn close, and I wish that more Jews would recognize that,” said Tarnove. “When the government can go after one group of people, then they can go after any group of people, and you’re not safe.”
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