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A Jewish expert on monuments on what Philly’s famous Rocky Balboa statue can teach us about memory
(JTA) — Paul Farber was shocked when he first watched “Rocky” and saw a Star of David on the grave of Rocky Balboa’s coach, Mickey Goldmill.
As a Jew and as the founder of the Philadelphia-based Monument Lab, which has explored collective memory through art installations across the country for over a decade, Farber was well positioned to think about the deeper meaning of that brief shot.
“Anytime I see a Jewish funeral in a film, there’s some kind of call to attention. And I always want to know what that means, especially for a Hollywood production, especially when it may not be branded as a Jewish story,” he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
“We’re not there in a prolonged series of mourning, but in a split second, seeing a Jewish site of a memory is really fascinating,” he added.
That outlook lies behind Farber’s work as the host of the new NPR podcast “The Statue,” a deep dive into Philadelphia’s famed statue of Rocky Balboa, the fictional prizefighter at the center of “Rocky.” The series delves into what sports and society can convey about memory, and in his research, Farber discovered a few Jewish nuggets found in the film series — including the fact that Rocky’s love interest was originally supposed to be Jewish.
“They made an actual gravestone [for her character] and it’s in Philadelphia’s most famous cemetery, Laurel Hill. And you can go there and see this gravestone where a movie character is ‘buried,’” he said. “People leave offerings on the gravestone, including small pebbles as if it’s a Jewish site of memory.”
In an interview with JTA, Farber shared his inspiration for the series, how his Jewish upbringing informed his life’s work and the role statues — such as that of Jewish baseball legend Sandy Koufax — do, and should, play.
This interview was lightly edited for length and clarity.
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: To start off, I’d love to hear about how you first got interested in studying monuments.
Paul Farber: I’m really interested in the ways that, in cities, we innovate toward the future, and also come to terms with our past, and it happens often in the same exact places. That could be a statue, a street, a corner store. And so that’s a big part for me.
What really inspired this project is a conversation I had with my mother, quite a few years ago. My mother is a lifelong Philadelphian. Her parents were Jewish immigrants in South Philadelphia. And when I told her I was teaching a class at the University of Pennsylvania about Philly neighborhoods, she asked me if I was covering Rocky. When I said, “Oh, it’s not on the syllabus” — and I may have said it in a way that felt dismissive — she gave me this look that I think a lot of us know: “How could you.” So for her birthday, we watched “Rocky” and we went to see “Creed.” My grandfather went to South Philly High and was in the boxing club. He shared stories in our family about what it meant to have sport and culture and belonging go together in South Philly. I started to see that across generations, from long before “Rocky” to this moment now, almost 50 years after the release of the film, many people’s family stories could be channeled through this statue, including my own, and that was enough of a prompt to go dive in.
“Rocky” is obviously not a Jewish story, but there are some nuggets. There’s the funeral scene, and you mentioned something about Adrian almost being Jewish. I’m curious what you think about the little Jewish pieces you can pull out of this famous story, and what those mean to you as a Philly sports fan.
It blew me away that Rocky’s coach, Mick, passes away and the character Rocky goes to his funeral, and you see a Star of David. Anytime I see a Jewish funeral in a film, there’s some kind of call to attention. And I always want to know what that means, especially for a Hollywood production, especially when it may not be branded as a Jewish story. And it just opened up a whole set of questions for me that blurred between art and life, between the film series and the city of Philadelphia.
In episode two, we showcase this monumental art book that Sylvester Stallone [who played Rocky] created. There was this passage in it that just blew me away, about the first draft of “Rocky,” where he says, “As for Adrian, she was Jewish in the first draft.” And he got feedback and cut that character. We never hear about Mickey’s Judaism. We never hear about Rocky’s bond across culture. But the fact that the first scene in the “Rocky” series is in a place called Resurrection Gym — that is obvious Christian iconography — and to put Jewish characters in is really fascinating to me.
There is another famous grave that is involved in the series. The character Adrian eventually passes away, and like the statue, which was made as a bronze sculpture, for the “Rocky” film series they made an actual gravestone and it’s in Philadelphia’s most famous cemetery, Laurel Hill. And you can go there and see this gravestone where a movie character is “buried.” People leave offerings on the gravestone, including small pebbles as if it’s a Jewish site of memory.
People talk about representation on screen, and I’m not sure a Jewish funeral necessarily does that, but I would imagine for some people, seeing Rocky Balboa say the “Mourner’s Kaddish“ was maybe their first interaction with Judaism in some way. What do you make of that?
Every shot is deliberate. And it’s actually that kind of attitude and outlook that created the Rocky statue, because Sylvester Stallone was the director of that film, and they could have made a styrofoam version or a temporary one, but they spent over a year making a bronze version so that when the camera faced it, it would make contact. I think very similarly, this is part of the artistry of Stallone that plays out in our podcast series. We’re not with him when he sits shiva. We’re not there in a prolonged series of mourning, but in a split second, seeing a Jewish site of a memory is really fascinating. And to see the coach Mickey, to have his Wikipedia page say he’s Jewish, all that we have is mourning.
I think about how for immigrant Jewish communities, there are gaps in our narratives. Throughout the series, and one of the reasons I wanted to share my perspective as a queer Jewish person who grew up loving sports in Philly, I’ve been informed by my own family’s history, and what we’re able to recall and what gaps there are. And I see that being echoed for so many people in the Rocky story.
It’s clearly a very personal story for you. Why did you think it was important to start the podcast with your own identity, and to include your Jewish mother?
I think it’s important that when we talk about sites of memory, we understand that there are shared and collective ways that we bring the past forward, and there are others that are incredibly personal. My hope was to find, in this case, to spotlight, a significant site of memory in the city, but ask questions about it. And I think it was important to note what position I would take, because I don’t believe there’s one story to the Rocky statue. To tell a biography of a statue, you actually have to tell it of the people who make meaning from it. So in the series, we do a lot of work where we want to know other people’s stories and backgrounds, whether they are refugees from Afghanistan, or community organizers in Kensington [a neighborhood of Philadelphia]. My hope was by positioning this from my perspective, almost as a memoir in a way, that it opened up space for others to have their experiences be valued and made meaning of.
The official artwork for Farber’s podcast. (Courtesy)
Both with the podcast and in your work with the Monument Lab, how do you feel that your Jewish identity informs what you do? Do you see overlap between your Jewish values and the values you work on in your organization?
I absolutely think so. I grew up in a Jewish community in Philadelphia, and tikkun olam was a constant refrain. The work of tikkun olam meant a worldview that necessitated building coalitions and understanding across divides, to not diminish or under-emphasize them, but to appreciate how we work in solidarity, whether that’s around racial justice, gender justice, in various struggles. I am a co-founder and director of an organization that focuses on memory, and that I really get from the stories of growing up in a Jewish household, in a Jewish community, where memory lived in different ways. We were always aware of the stories of trauma and loss, as well as reconciliation and transformation, and how you work with the gaps that you have, and you listen, and you learn and you carry the story with you. Because that is the way to bond generations. Jewish memory really grounds what I do, and I seek to use it as a tool to learn more and to feed connection across divides.
Rocky takes on this almost mythical, godlike status, and his statue in Philadelphia is a bit of a pilgrimage site. Do you see any tension there as a Jew, given the prohibition against idol worship?
I think about the importance of memory, against forces of violence and erasure. I also understand that, in a world that is full of pain and difficulty and loss, we seek places to release that. And so I understand the pull to monuments. What I would like to see, and what we try to do through this series, “The Statue,” and also with the work of Monument Lab, is to look on and off the pedestal, and really think about how history lives with us. As we say in the series and other places, history doesn’t live inside of statues, it lives with people who steward them, who create other kinds of sites of memory, who are vigilant in their modes of commemoration. What I try to do in this work is understand the ambivalence around monuments, the pull to try to remember and be enduring through time, and just that constant reminder that whenever you try to freeze the past, or freeze an image of power, you cut out the potential to find connection and empowerment, and thus forms of survival.
In sports, there are so many ways to honor people, especially different ways that, like a statue, take on the idea of permanence. When Bill Russell died, the NBA retired his number 6 across the league. On Jackie Robinson Day, every April 15, the whole MLB honors Jackie Robinson by wearing his uniform number. But statues just have a different level of oomph. Sandy Koufax has a new statue in Los Angeles that was unveiled last year; Hank Greenberg has one. What do you think it should take for an athlete to reach that status?
The pinnacle in sports is to have a statue dedicated to you outside of the stadium. And I do believe the cultures of social media have amplified that, because we grew up with the story of Sandy Koufax not pitching in the World Series during the High Holy Days, and that wasn’t because we learned it from a statue or a plaque. We learned it because it was carried forward and put into different forms of remembering and recalling its importance. I went to several Maccabi Games in the U.S. — I used to be a sprinter. And the culture of memory and sport, they were one in the same.
In professional sports, the pinnacle is the statue, but I think you brought up other really important ways of remembering that operate in non-statue forms that feel like they are living memorials. The idea of retiring someone’s number, and keeping their number up, is a way to acknowledge, in this really public of all public spaces, an intimacy and a care, and especially when an athlete passes away, how that transcends the lines of city geography. Jackie Robinson Day is something that did not occur immediately after Jackie Robinson was the first Black player to play in the major leagues, but was a product of a later moment when people around Major League Baseball sought to activate his memory. So yes, a statue outside of a stadium is like a particular kind of professional accolade. But the other forms are really meaningful.
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The post A Jewish expert on monuments on what Philly’s famous Rocky Balboa statue can teach us about memory appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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How Hamas still holds Gaza captive
Almost 10 months after the October 2025 President Trump‑brokered ceasefire and hostage‑release agreement that formally ended the war between Israel and Hamas, the conflict is anything but over.
For there to be real progress, both sides of this discourse need to confront an uncomfortable truth: Palestinians retain real agency even within a profound power imbalance, and Hamas — not just Israeli policy — bears direct responsibility for wrecking Gaza and the Palestinian national project. That means an honest reckoning with a pattern of strategic miscalculation running from the Second Intifada through Oct. 7, and a clear-eyed recognition that until Hamas’s grip on Gaza is broken, two million Palestinians remain its hostages as much as anyone else’s.
Gaza’s conditions continue to deteriorate. What was meant to launch a phased transitional process is paralyzed. The Trump‑created Board of Peace has achieved almost none of its stated objectives. Gaza remains largely destroyed, with the Israeli military now controlling nearly two‑thirds of the territory, expanding well beyond the original “Yellow Line.” Hamas, the fascistic terror group whose catastrophic Oct. 7, 2023 attack unleashed unprecedented suffering on Palestinians in Gaza, is vastly weakened but still rules a third of the Strip, where two million people remain trapped under its totalitarian grip.
Equally troubling is the state of discourse around Israel and Palestine, especially in Western societies like the United States. Many who call themselves “pro‑Palestine” have refused, out of negligence, ignorance, or deliberately, to confront Hamas’s narrative, behavior, and agenda. Yet they played a significant role in worsening and escalating the discourse, promoting overtly pro‑Hamas ideas under slogans of “resistance” while normalizing or excusing the group’s criminality, history, and anti-Palestinian behavior for nearly two years after Oct. 7.
On the other side, many who identify as “pro‑Israel,” whether they are diaspora Jews, non-Jews or Israelis, have insisted on treating or considering all Gazans as Hamas — either supporters of the terror group, endorsers of its actions, or perpetual enemies of Jewish existence. Whether due to dehumanization, misinformation, or difficulty parsing complex evidence, many could not grasp that Gazans, despite their contemporary grievances with Israeli policy or historic ones with Zionism, were deeply antagonistic toward Hamas long before Oct. 7 and have turned against the terror group en masse since then.
As a Palestinian who spent much of his childhood in Gaza, and lost many family members in Israeli attacks, I want to reach both these camps: those who consider themselves pro‑Palestine, as well as those in the pro-Israel camp who need to see how Israeli policy choices have influenced Hamas’s rise and control in Gaza.
For the pro-Palestine group, introspection, accountability, and soul-searching are urgently needed to assess historic and contemporary Palestinian failures, including Oct. 7, the latest tragic iteration of strategic miscalculation. Hamas has catastrophically damaged the Palestinian national project, destroying hopes for statehood, weakening pragmatic leadership, empowering far-right forces in Israel, and eroding Palestinian values and social cohesion from within. Yes, there is an imbalance of power between Israel and the Palestinians. But within that imbalance exists meaningful space for Palestinian agency. Acknowledging this is not “blaming the victims,” as detractors claim; it is the first step toward empowering Palestinians to make decisions and choices that improve their prospects and outcomes.
Needed: An honest critique of Hamas
Hamas embedded itself across Gazan society by weaponizing religion and social services, especially in the refugee camps that had become mini-cities. Crucially, and often forgotten, Hamas’s first victims were Palestinians, not Israelis — only after 1987 did Israel become its primary target.
I watched the group’s rise in Gaza City firsthand, including encounters my own family had with senior Hamas figures, without falling into its grip. The Second Intifada, the 2005 disengagement, and Hamas’s violent takeover on June 14, 2007 — the very day I had my U.S. political asylum interview, making me the first Gazan granted asylum on the basis of Hamas’s control of the territory — are the hinge points that led to Oct. 7.
As I lay out at greater length in my new book, Hamas and Its Two Million Hostages, this is a story of Oslo’s optimism curdling into the trauma of the Second Intifada, the collapse of the political process, and Hamas’s steady rise to power. Much of today’s pro-Palestinian discourse is saturated with critique of Israel but starved of honest critique of Hamas, and of the Palestinian leaders, groups, and elites who have failed and even betrayed their own people.
The “pro‑Palestine” community, especially diaspora Arabs, Muslims, and Palestinians in the U.S., refuses to face this reality. A recent Pew survey found that 44% of American Muslims say they support Hamas, a figure that is likely an undercount based on my negative experiences in trying to promote the kind of perspectives I offer here. An April poll found that over 40% of Americans aged 18 to 34 said they supported Hamas over Israel.
My plea to the pro-Palestinian movement
These numbers prove pro‑Palestine discourse is in shambles. Failed, ineffective, and morally reprehensible types of armed “resistance” like taking women and children as hostages on Oct. 7 are glorified. Hamas is excused, supported, and whitewashed. Extreme anti‑Zionism is now the mainstream, increasingly merging seamlessly with antisemitism. And there is no realism or pragmatism; no viable solutions that actually help Gazans, and a discourse that is completely detached from the very people it proclaims to champion.
The gap between what Gazans think, feel, want, and believe is wider than ever from the majority of the pro-Palestine and anti-Zionist movements in the Western world. When Hamas tortures, beats, kills, and abuses Gazans, they are ignored at best, or labeled collaborators, traitors, and worthy of execution at worst. For the most part, Palestinians in Gaza have devolved into being mere pawns — convenient elements of broader anti-Western, post-colonial, anti-capitalist, and social-justice narratives that have little to do with actually helping Gazans.
This is a plea to those who genuinely care about the Palestinian people: learn the bare minimum about the most destructive force in contemporary Palestinian history. Separate the Palestinian people’s just and urgent aspirations for freedom and prosperity from Hamas, Jihadi Islamism and violent extremism. Until that is done, Hamas will continue to hold two million hostages in Gaza.
The post How Hamas still holds Gaza captive appeared first on The Forward.
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A play about racism in America was a hit in Warsaw in 1935
„מיסיסיפּי“ פֿון לײב מלאך האָט געבראַכט די אַמעריקאַנער ראַסע־פּראָבלעם אױף דער ייִדישער בינע אין פּױלן
סקאָטסבאָראָ, אַ שטעטל אין אַלאַבאַמע, איז אין די 1930ער יאָרן באַקאַנט געװאָרן איבער דער גאַנצער װעלט צוליב דעם געריכט־פּראָצעס איבער נײַן אַפֿריקאַנער־אַמעריקאַנער יונגע לײַט, װעלכע זײַנען פֿאַלש באַשולדיקט געװאָרן אין פֿאַרגװאַלדיקן צװײ יונגע װײַסע פֿרױען.
די געריכט־פּראָצעסן האָבן זיך געצויגן פֿון 1931 ביז 1937 און האָבן אַרויסגערופֿן אַ סך אױפֿמערק צוליב זײערע אױסגעשפּראָכן ראַסיסטישע פּניות. ייִדישע ליטעראַטן האָבן געװידמעט דעם דאָזיקן ענין אַ היפּשע צאָל אַרטיקלען, רעפּאָרטאַזשן און ליטעראַרישע װערק.
צװישן די קינסטלערישע אָפּקלאַנגען אױף דעם סקאָטסבאָראָ־ענין איז געװען די דראַמע פֿון לײב מלאך (אַריה לײב זאַלצמאַן, 1894־1936) „מיסיסיפּי“, װאָס דער באַרימטער פּױליש־ייִדישער רעזשיסאָר מיכאל װײַכערט האָט אױפֿגעפֿירט אינעם װאַרשעװער „יונג־טעאַטער“ אין 1935.
דער טעקסט פֿון דער פּיעסע איז פֿאַרעפֿנטלעכט געװאָרן נאָך מלאכס טױט אין לאָס־אַנדזשעלעס אין 1949. איצט איז „מיסיסיפּי“ אַרױס אין דער ענגלישער איבערזעצונג פֿון עלען פּערעצמאַן און אַליסע קװינט, אונטער דער רעדאַקציע פֿון אַליסע קװינט.
קװינטס גרונטיק געפֿאָרשטער הקדמה דערצײלט די געשיכטע פֿון דער דאָזיקער מערקװירקידער אױפֿפֿירונג.
„מיסיסיפּי“, האַלט קװינט, איז אינטערעסאַנט הײַנט ניט אַזױ װי אַ װערק פֿון קונסט נאָר װי אַ „װערק פֿון דער הומאַניסטישער עמפּאַטיע“ און די ערשטע פּיעסע װעגן אַמעריקאַנער ראַסיזם אױף דער פּױלישער (ניט נאָר ייִדישער) בינע.
אָבער װײַכערטס טעאַטראַלישע אױפֿפֿירונג איז טאַקע יאָ געװען אַ װיכטיקע טעאַטראַלע דערשײַנונג. די 1930ער יאָרן זײַנען געװען די בלי־תּקופֿה אין דער ייִדישער טעאַטער־געשיכטע, װען דער ייִדישער טעאַטער איז געװען אָפֿן צו אַנדערע קולטורן, דערקלערט קװינט. דעמאָלט האָט מען אױפֿגעפֿירט אױף ייִדיש דראַמאַטישע װערק פֿונעם אַמעריקאַנער דראַמאַטורג יודזשין אָ׳ניל, דעם פֿראַנצױזישן שרײַבער ראָמען ראָלאַן, דעם דײַטשישן מחבר פֿרידריך װאָלף און אַנדערע.
לכתּחילה איז װײַכערט ניט געװען זיכער, אַז דער ענין פֿון ראַסיזם אין אַמעריקע װעט געפֿינען אַן אָפּקלאַנג בײַם פּױליש־ייִדישן עולם. אָבער ער האָט געגלױבט, אַז זײַנע „פּראָגרעסיװע צושױער“ װעלן דערקענען אין די אַפֿריקאַנער־אַמעריקאַנער פּערסאָנאַזשן פּשוטע מענטשן און אַרבעטער גלײַך װי די פּױלישע ייִדן.
„מיסיסיפּי“ האָט װײַכערט אױפֿגעפֿירט אינעם סטיל פֿון אַװאַנגאַרד. די פּיעסע האָט העכער װי 30 פּערסאָנאַזשן, װאָס זײַנען געטײלט אין צװײ גרופּעס, שװאַרצע און װײַסע. די פּױליש־ייִדישע אַקטיאָרן האָבן געשפּילט אין „בלעקפֿײס“, מיט שװאַרץ־געשמירטע פּנימער.
הײַנט באַטראַכט מען אַזאַ שטיק װי אַ סימן פֿון ראַסיזם, אָבער עס װאָלט געװען ניט קאָרעקט צו משפּטן דעם ייִדישן טעאַטער אין פּױלן אין די 1930ער יאָרן לױט די איצטיקע השׂגות.
מען האָט געשפּילט דעם ספּעקטאַקל אױף דרײַ רונדע בינעס, געשטעלט אין דער מיט פֿונעם זאַל. די צוקוקער האָבן געדאַרפֿט פֿאָלגן דאָס ליכט, װאָס האָט באַשײַנט אײן בינע נאָך דער צװײטער, װוּ פֿאַרשײדענע גרופּעס אַקטיאָרן האָבן געשפּילט עפּיזאָדן פֿון דער דראַמע. דער עולם האָט זיך געפֿילט אין דער מיט פֿון די געשעענישן, װאָס האָבן זיך אַנטפּלעקט אַרום זײ.
די דאָזיקע בינע־אַראַנזשירונג האָט באַטאָנט דעם קאָנטראַסט צװישן דער „װײַסער“ און דער „שװאַרצער“ װעלט. אין אײן עפּיזאָד זעט מען װאָס ס׳קומט פֿאָר אױף דער באַן צװישן די אַפֿריקאַנער־אַמעריקאַנער און די װײַסע פֿרױען, דערנאָך װערט מען איבערגעטראָגן אין דער דירה פֿון די פֿרױען, װוּ זײ באַדינען זײערע װײַסע מאַנצבלישע „קליענטן“; װײַטער רוקט זיך די האַנדלונג אינעם געריכטזאַל, און אַזױ װײַטער. יעדער עפּיזאָד האָט אַן אײגענע דראַמאַטישע אינטריגע, װאָס האַלט די צוקוקערס געשפּאַנט.
מלאך איז געװען אַ געניטער זשורנאַליסט און האָט געשריבן רעפּאָרטאַזשן פֿון פֿאַרשײדענע לענדער פֿון אײראָפּע, אַמעריקע און פֿון ארץ־ישׂראל. ער האָט אָנגעזאַמלט מאַטעריאַלן װעגן דעם סקאָטסבאָראָ־ענין, װאָס איז צו יענער צײַט נאָך ניט געהאַט פֿאַרענדיקט געװאָרן.
מלאך האָט באַשלאָסן ניט צו שרײַבן קײן „דראַמאַטישן רעפּאָרטאַזש“ און האָט אױסגעטראַכט אײניקע פּרטים, װאָס האָבן אים דערלאָזט דערקלערן דעם אַמעריקאַנער פּאָליטישן און געזעלשאַפֿטלעכן קאָנטעקסט פֿאַרן פּױליש־ייִדישן עולם.
אין דעם שײכות קאָן מען זיך דערמאָנען אָן אַן אַנדער פּיעסע פֿון די 1930ער יאָרן אינעם זשאַנער פֿון געריכט־רעפּאָרטאַזש, אַלטער קאַציזנעס „שװאַרצבאַרד“. פֿאַר זײַן פּיעסע האָט קאַציזנע גענוצט מאַטעריאַלן פֿונעם פּאַריזער משפּט איבער שלום שוואַרצבאַרדן — דעם ייִדישן זייגערמאַכער, וועלכער האָט דערהרגעט דעם אוקראַיִנישן נאַציאָנאַליסט סימאָן פּעטלוראַ כּדי זיך נוקם צו זײַן פֿאַר די בלוטיקע פּאָגראָמען בעתן בירגערקריג אין אוקראַיִנע אין 1918־1919. דער פֿראַנצױזישער געריכט האָט אים דערקלערט פֿאַר אומשולדיק.
אין 1934 האָט די פּױלישע מאַכט פֿאַרװערט צו שפּילן „שװאַרצבאַנד“ אין װאַרשע װײַל מען האָט מורא געהאַט פֿאַר אוקראַיִנישע נאַציאָנאַליסטן אין פּױלן. אין דער געשפּאַנטער פּאָליטישער אַטמאָספֿער פֿון די 1930ער יאָרן האָט מען געדאַרפֿט זײַן אָפּגעהיט, און מלאך און װײַכערט האָבן אױסגעקליבן אַ „פּאַרעװען“ קעפּל, „מיסיסיפּי“. דאָס װאָרט סקאָטסבאָראָ איז צו יענער צײַט באַלאָדן געװאָרן מיט לינקע פּאָליטישע אַסאָציאַציעס.
סך־הכּל האָט מען געשפּילט „מיסיסיפּי“ בערך 200 מאָל אין פֿאַרשײדענע שטעט אין פּױלן. די ייִדישע פּרעסע פֿון כּלערלײ פּאָליטישע שאַטירונגען אױף ייִדיש און פּױליש האָט מיט התלהבֿות געלױבט דעם ספּעקטאַקל. דער קריטיקער משה קאַנפֿער האָט געשריבן, אַז „ייִדן און אַפֿריקאַנער־אַמעריקאַנער זעען אין זיך אַ קעגנזײַטיקע אָפּשפּיגלונג פֿון אײנעם אינעם צװײטן“.
די ענגלישע איבערזעצונג איז זײער פֿליסיק. די רײד פֿון די פּערסאָנאַזשן קלינגט װי די אַמעריקאַנער שמועסשפּראַך פֿון די 1930ער יאָרן, װאָס איז גוט באַקאַנט לױט די דראַמאַטישע װערק פֿון יענער צײַט. כּדי אָפּצוהיטן דעם צײַטגײַסט האָט די איבערזעצערין באַשלאָסן צו נוצן די װערטער װי „נעגראָ“ און אַפֿילו דאָס „נ־װאָרט“, װאָס זענען הײַנט װי באַלײדעװדיקע נעמען פֿאַר אַפֿריקאַנער־אַמעריקאַנער.
אַן אַנדער פּראָבלעם פֿאַר דער איבערזעצונג האָט צו טאָן מיט די ענגלישע װערטער, אַזעלכע װי „מיס“, „קאָנדאָקטאָר“, „באָי“, מיט װעלכע מלאך האָט באַפֿעפֿערט זײַן טעקסט כּדי צו שאַפֿן אַן אַמעריקאַנער קאָלאָריט. אין דער איבערזעצונג זײַנען די דאָזיקע װערטער באַצײכנט געװאָרן מיט שטערנדלעך.
דער ענין פֿון ראַסע און ראַסע־באַציִונגען איז אין די לעצטע פּאָר צענדליק יאָר געװאָרן אַ װיכטיקע טעמע אין ייִדיש־פֿאָרשונג. דאָס איז אַ ניצלעכער מעטאָדאָלאָגישער קוקװינקל, װאָס לאָזט פֿון דאָס נײַ באַטראַכטן די מאָדערנע ייִדיש־קולטור. אָבער ביז הײַנט האָט מען דער עיקר באַהאַנדלט דעם אַמעריקאַנער מאַטעריאַל.
די פּובליקאַציע פֿון „מיסיסיפּי“ איז אַ װיכטיקער בײַטראָג אין דער דאָזיקער בראַנזשע פֿון ייִדיש־פֿאָרשונג. זי באַװײַזט, אַז די פּראָבלעם פֿון ראַסיזם אין אַמעריקע האָט געהאַט אַן אָפּקלאַנג אױך בײַ ייִדן אין מיזרח־אײראָפּע.
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Nithya Raman, LA mayoral candidate who clashed with DSA on Israel, wins their endorsement
Ever since Councilmember Nithya Raman’s last-minute entry into the Los Angeles mayoral race, questions have loomed about her relationship with the Democratic Socialists of America — and whether her stance on Israel would chill the group’s support for her underdog campaign.
Raman, a dues-paying DSA member, had criticized the group for a statement the national organization made after Oct. 7. In 2024, she was censured by the LA chapter for courting a pro-Israel group in her campaign for re-election to city council.
But following weeks of debate in the local chapter, Raman won its official endorsement Wednesday, paving the way for the leftist group to organize for her campaign to unseat incumbent Mayor Karen Bass.
The endorsement, which reportedly came with the support of more than 60 percent of some 1,400 voting members, vindicated Raman’s breaking with the group on Israel and other issues. It also comes after the councilmember stated definitively that she believed the war in Gaza constituted a genocide — a basic litmus test inside the hardline anti-Zionist group.
Raman, 45, seemed to allude to the conflict in a statement thanking the organization.
“This endorsement means something because of what it represents: a coalition of people who don’t always agree on every question, but who agree that LA needs real change,” Raman wrote on Instagram, adding. “It’s not about everyone thinking alike. It’s about building power together toward the same goal.”
The contentious endorsement process around Raman, one of the group’s national success stories and its first member to win citywide office in Los Angeles — three more have since joined her on city council — underscored the fierce ideological commitments in the DSA. Yet its outcome may not be entirely in her favor, as mainstream Jewish groups have come to hold DSA and its candidates in contempt.
Raman has rarely fit neatly into the group’s political conventions. On Oct. 7, 2023, when more than 1,200 people were killed in Israel, the national DSA club publicly blamed Israel for incurring the Hamas-led attack. Raman — whose district included heavily Jewish neighborhoods like Hancock Park and Sherman Oaks — had quickly issued a statement standing with her Jewish and Israeli constituents. A few days later, she also disavowed the DSA response, calling it “unacceptably devoid of empathy.”
Her positions on the Middle East frustrated Israel’s supporters, too. In June 2024, she helped pass a resolution calling for a ceasefire and release of hostages, infuriating the local Jewish federation and other Jewish groups, which said she was selling out Israel’s ability to defend itself.
Nevertheless, she earned the backing of Democrats for Israel-Los Angeles in her run for re-election that year, with the president of the liberal Zionist group crediting her statement that Israel had a right to exist and her general engagement with Jewish constituents. Outraged, DSA’s members voted to censure her.
In the runup to June’s mayoral primary, Raman joined the livestream of leftist firebrand Hasan Piker, telling him she agreed that it was committing genocide in Gaza. But DSA did not endorse any candidate in the June 2026 primary — even as Raman was locked in a tight race with the conservative reality star Spencer Pratt for a spot in the November runoff. (Another DSA candidate, Rae Huang, placed a distant fifth.)
Asked whether she believed Israel was an apartheid state, Raman said, “Yeah, I think that they’re treating people unfairly, that they’re not treating people equally, and I’m critical of that.”
Israel is not the only wedge issue for Raman in DSA. She split with the group — and her democratic socialist peers on city council — on a local “mansion tax,” saying that it discouraged new multifamily housing construction. And she was one of only two councilmembers who railed against a controversial multibillion-dollar expansion of the LA convention center — even as the other DSA members, who have strong backing from the building trades unions, voted for it.
The debate within DSA was framed as ideological purity versus political pragmatism. Bass, a historically unpopular incumbent whose tenure included the most catastrophic wildfire the city had seen in decades, has governed as a centrist Democrat; though Raman is broadly aligned with DSA policy, some of the group’s members who opposed the endorsement wrote in a communist magazine this week that it should not be “rewarded based on ideological proximity.”
The DSA’s endorsement was the second major pickup for Raman in the last week; the powerful hospitality workers union, Unite Here Local 11, officially threw its support behind Raman Tuesday, though organized labor still largely backs Bass.
Now a new question emerges: whether the endorsement of a group with a few thousand members came too late. Peer-to-peer betting markets currently have Bass as a roughly 2-to-1 favorite.
Sean Wakasa, co-chair of the Los Angeles DSA chapter, told The New York Times the group was warming to the challenge.
“We have thousands of members who are ready to organize, talk to their neighbors, knock on doors and build power to shake up Los Angeles and build a brighter future,” Mr. Wakasa said.
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