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A law professor worries Israel could become the next Hungary
(JTA) — Israel’s new governing coalition has been called the “most right-wing” in the nation’s history. That’s heartening to supporters who want the country to get tough on crime and secure Jewish rights to live in the West Bank, and dismaying to critics who see a government bent on denying rights to Israel’s minorities and undermining any hope for a peaceful solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
While the far-right politics of new government ministers Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben Gvir have drawn much of the world’s attention, a series of proposed changes to Israel’s judicial system has also been raising hopes and alarms. On Wednesday, new Justice Minister Yariv Levin announced an overhaul that would limit the authority of the High Court of Justice, Israel’s Supreme Court. It would put more politicians on the selection committee that picks judges, restrict the High Court’s ability to strike down laws and government decisions and enact an “override clause” enabling the Knesset to rewrite court decisions with a simple majority.
Levin and his supporters on the right justify these changes as a way to restore balance to a system that he says puts too much control in the hands of (lately) left-leaning judges: “We go to the polls, vote, elect, and time after time, people we didn’t elect choose for us. Many sectors of the public look to the judicial system and do not find their voices heard,” he asserted. “That is not democracy.”
Critics of the changes call them a power grab, one that will hand more leverage to the haredi Orthodox parties, remove checks on the settlement movement and limit civil society groups’ ability to litigate on behalf of Israeli minorities.
To help me make sense of the claims on both sides, I turned to Tom Ginsburg of the University of Chicago, where he is the Leo Spitz Distinguished Service Professor of International Law and co-directs the Comparative Constitutions Project, which gathers and analyzes the constitutions of all independent nation-states. He’s also a Jew who has transformed a former synagogue on the South Side of Chicago into a cutting-edge arts space, and says what’s happening with Israel’s new governing coalition “raises my complicated relationship with the country.”
We spoke on Friday. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: You have written about law in Israel, which lacks a constitution but relies on a series of “basic laws” to define its fundamental institutions. You’ve written that the Israeli judiciary had become “extremely powerful” — maybe too powerful — in imbuing the basic laws with a constitutional character, but worry that the current reforms will politicize the court in ways that will undermine Israeli democracy.
Tom Ginsburg: The proposed reforms were a campaign promise of certain elements of this coalition who have had longstanding grievances against the Israeli judiciary. The Israeli judiciary over the last decades has indeed become extremely powerful and important in writing or rewriting a constitution for Israel, promoting human rights and serving as a check and balance in a unicameral parliamentary system where the legislature can do anything it wants as a formal matter. A lot of people have had problems with that at the level of theory and practice. So there have been some reforms, and the court has, in my view, cut back on its activism in recent decades and in some sense has been more responsive to the center of the country. But there’s longstanding grievances from the political right, and that’s the context of these proposals.
A lot of the concerns about the new government in Israel are coming from the American Jewish left. But in an American context, the American Jewish left also has a big problem with the United States Supreme Court, because they see it as being too activist on the right. So in some ways isn’t the new Israeli government looking to do what American Jewish liberals dream of doing in this country?
Isn’t that funny? But the context is really different. The basic point is that judicial independence is a really good thing. Judicial accountability is a really good thing. And if you study high courts around the world, as I do, you see that there’s kind of a calibration, a balancing of institutional factors which lead towards more independence or more accountability and sometimes things switch around over time.
Israeli Justice Minister Yariv Levin holds a press conference at the Knesset, the Israeli parliament in Jerusalem, Jan. 4, 2023. (Olivier Fitoussi/Flash90)
You mean “accountability” in the sense that courts should be accountable to the public.
Right. The Israeli promoters of these plans are pointing to the United States, in particular, for the proposals for more political involvement in the appointment process. On the other hand, in the United States once you’re appointed politically, you’re serving for life. There’s literally no check on your power. And so maybe some people think we have too much independence. If these proposals go through in Israel, there will be a front-end politicization of the court [in terms of the selection commission], but also back-end checks on the court [with the override clause that would allow a simple majority to reinstate laws struck down by the Supreme Court]. So in some sense, it moves the pendulum very far away from independence and very much towards accountability to the point of possible politicization.
And accountability in that case is too much of a good thing.
Again, you don’t want courts that can just make up rules. They should be responsive to society. On the other hand, you don’t want judges who are so responsive to society that there’s no protection for the basic rights of unpopular minorities.
What makes Israel either unique or different from some of the other countries you study, and certainly the United States? Part of it, I would guess, is the fact that it does not have a constitution. Is that a useful distinction?
They couldn’t agree on a single written constitution at the outset of the country, but they have built one through what you might call a “common law method”: norms and practices over time as well as the system of “basic laws,” which are passed by an absolute majority of the Knesset, where a majority of 61 votes can change any of those. But while they’re not formally entrenched, they have a kind of political status because of that term: basic law.
By the way, the Germans are in the same boat. The German constitution is called the Basic Law. And it was always meant to be a provisional constitution until they got together and reunified.
If you don’t have a written constitution, what’s the source of the legitimacy of judicial power? What is to prevent a Knesset from just passing literally any law, including ones that violate all kinds of rights, or installing a dictator? It has been political norms. And because Israel has relied on political norms, that means that this current conflict is going to have extremely high stakes for Israeli governance for many decades to come.
Can you give me a couple of examples? What are the high stakes in terms of democratic governance?
First of all, let me just say in principle that I don’t oppose reforms to make the judiciary more independent or accountable in any particular country. But then you obviously have to look at the local context. What’s a little worrying about this particular example is that several members of this coalition are themselves about to be subject to judicial proceedings.
Including the prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu.
Right. And for example, they need to change the rules so that [Shas Party chairman] Aryeh Deri can sit in the cabinet despite his prior convictions. That indicates to me that maybe this isn’t a good-faith argument about the proper structure of the Israeli, uncodified constitution, but instead a mechanism of expediency.
Any one of these reforms might look okay, and you can find other countries that have done them. The combination, however, renders the judiciary extremely weak. Right now, it’s a multi-stakeholder commission that nominates and appoints judges in Israel, and the new coalition wants to propose that the commission be made up of a majority of politicians. We know that when you change the appointments mechanism to put more politicians on those committees, the more politicized they become.
Think about the United States process of appointing our Supreme Court judges: It’s highly politicized, and obviously the legitimacy of the court has taken a big hit in recent years. In Israel, you’d have politicized appointments under these reforms, but then you also have the ability of the Knesset to override any particular ruling that it wanted. Again, you can find countries which have that. It’s called the “new commonwealth model” of constitutionalism, in which courts don’t have the final say on constitutional matters, and the legislature can overrule them on particular rulings. But I think the combination is very dangerous because you could have a situation where the Knesset — which currently has a role in protecting human rights — can pick out and override specific cases, which really to me goes against the idea of the rule of law.
You mentioned other countries. Are there other countries where these kinds of changes were enacted and we saw how the experiment turned out?
The two most prominent recently are Hungary and Poland, which are not necessarily countries that you want to compare yourself to.
Certainly not if you are Israel.
Right. There’s so much irony here. When the new Polish government came in in 2015, they immediately manipulated the appointment system for the Constitutional Court and appointed their own majority, which then allowed them to pass legislation which probably would have been ruled unconstitutional. They basically set up a system where they were going to replace lower judges and so they were going to grow themselves into a majority of the court. And that’s led to controversy and rulings outside the mainstream that have led to protests, while the European Union is withholding funds and such from Poland because of this manipulation of the court.
In Hungary, Victor Orban was a really radical leader, and when he had a bare majority to change the constitution he wiped out all the previous jurisprudence of the Constitutional Court. I don’t think the Israeli government would do that. But still there is this kind of worrying sense that they’re able to manipulate interpretation of law for their own particular political interest.
Another thing I want to raise is the potential for a constitutional crisis now. Suppose they pass these laws and the Israeli Supreme Court says, “Well, wait a minute, that interferes with our common law rules that we are bound by, going back to the British Mandate.” It conflicts with the basic law and they invoke what legal scholars call the “doctrine of unconstitutional constitutional amendments,” which is basically saying that an amendment goes against the core of our democratic system and violates, for example, Israel’s character as a Jewish and democratic society. Israel has never done this, but it is a kind of tool that one sees deployed around the world in these crises. And if that happened, then I think you would have a full constitutional crisis on your hands in Israel.
Supreme Court President Aharon Barak speaks with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu during a ceremony in the Supreme Court marking 50 years of law, Sept. 15, 1998. (Avi Ohayon)
What does a constitutional crisis look like?
Suppose you have sitting justices in Israel who say, “You know, this Knesset law violates the basic law and therefore it’s invalid.” And then, would the Knesset try to impeach those judges? Would they cut the budget of the judiciary? Would they back down?
When you compare Israel’s judicial system to other countries’ over the years, how does it stack up? Is it up there among the very strong systems or is it known for flaws that might have maybe hobbled its effectiveness?
It’s always been seen around the world as a very strong judiciary. Under the leadership of Aharon Barak [president of Israel’s Supreme Court from 1995 to 2006] it became extremely activist. And this provoked backlash in Israeli politics. That led to a kind of recalibration of the court where it is still doing its traditional role of defending fundamental rights and ensuring the integrity of the political process, but it’s not making up norms left and right, in the way that it used to. This is my perception. But it’s certainly seen as one of the leading courts around the world, its decisions are cited by others, and because of the quality of the judges and the complex issues that Israel faces it’s seen as a strong court and an effective court and to me a balanced court.
But, you know, I’m not in Israel, and ultimately, they’re going to figure out the question how balanced it is or where it’s going to go. I do worry that an unchecked majoritarian system, especially with a pure proportional representation model like Israel, has the potential for the capture of government by some minorities to wield power against other minorities. And that’s a problem for democracies — to some degree, that’s a problem we face in the United States.
How correctable are these reforms? I am thinking of someone who says, “These are democratically elected representatives who now want to change a system. If you want to change the system, elect your own majority.” Is the ship of state like this really hard to turn around once you go in a certain direction?
This is an area in which I think Israel and the United States have a lot of similarities. For several decades now, the judiciary has been a major issue for those on the political right. They thought the Warren Court was too left-leaning and they started the Federalist Society to create a whole cadre of people to staff the courts. They’ve done that and now the federal courts are certainly much more conservative than the country probably. But the left didn’t really have a theory of judicial power in the United States. And I think that’s kind of true in Israel: It’s a big issue for the political right, but the political left, besides just being not very cohesive at the moment, isn’t able to articulate what’s good about having an independent judiciary. It is correctable in theory, but that would require the rule of law to become a politically salient issue, which it generally isn’t in that many countries.
How do you relate to what is happening in Israel as a Jew, and not just a legal scholar?
That’s a great question, because it really raises my complicated relationship with the country. You know, I find it to be a very interesting democracy. I like going to Israel because it’s a society in which there’s a lot of argument, a lot of good court cases and a lot of good legal scholars. On one level, I connect with my colleagues and friends there who seem very demoralized about this current moment. And I honestly worry about whether this society will remain a Jewish and democratic one with the current coalition.
The rule of law is a part of democracy. You need the rule of law in order to have democracy function. And I know others would respond and say, “Oh, you’re just being hysterical.” And, “This isn’t Sweden, it’s the Middle East.” But the ethno-nationalist direction of the country bothers me as a Jew, and I hope that the court remains there to prevent it from deepening further.
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Iran’s Leaders, Like Pharaoh, Won’t Budge Until They Pay a Real Price for Their Wickedness
A demonstrator lights a cigarette with fire from a burning picture of Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei outside the Iranian embassy during a rally in support of nationwide protests in Iran, in London, Britain, Jan. 12, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Toby Melville
There is a particular kind of self-destructive confidence that exists only at the very top of a brutal regime. It isn’t courage, and it certainly isn’t principle. It’s raw hubris, reinforced by a self-belief so detached from reality that objective facts become little more than a distraction.
Napoleon spent his final days as leader of France convinced that one more maneuver could reverse his fate, even as Europe closed in around him. And 130 years later, in a Berlin bunker, Hitler issued orders to imaginary divisions as the Third Reich disintegrated above his head.
If you’ve been watching events in Iran over the past couple of weeks, that same detached hubris has been on full display. As protests spread from city to city – sparked by economic collapse and rapidly morphing into thousands openly calling for regime change – the response from the Islamic Republic’s highest echelons has been depressingly familiar: extrajudicial killings, mass arrests, internet blackouts, and the ritual denunciation of protesters as “vandals,” “terrorists,” or foreign agents doing America and Israel’s bidding.
Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who has conveniently hidden himself away from any public contact, insists that the Islamic Republic “will not back down.” President Masoud Pezeshkian has expressed sympathy for the economic pain endured by ordinary Iranians, even as he authorizes the brutal crackdown.
Protesters have been shot and killed, hospitals are overwhelmed with casualties, and the death toll – including police and government workers – continues to climb, all while the leadership doubles down, as though sheer refusal to yield can still bend reality to its will.
It’s horrifying. But it’s also strangely predictable. Authoritarian regimes rarely collapse because they recognize their mistakes; they collapse when the protective bubble around their leaders finally bursts. Until that moment, what passes for strength is not power at all, but blindness — an inability to see the wood for the trees.
By the time you read this, the Iranian regime may have fallen, or it may have clawed its way through yet another crisis. Either way, the pattern is unmistakable, and the writing is on the wall: systems built on fear and insulation eventually join their predecessors in the dustbin of history.
Religious narrative often prefigures political reality. Which brings us to Pharaoh, the antihero of the opening chapters of the Book of Exodus. We first encounter him in Parshat Shemot as a brutal dictator, imposing unbearable suffering on the Hebrews through enslavement, persecution, and ultimately genocide.
By the time we reach Parshat Va’era, the stakes have escalated dramatically. Pharaoh refuses to relent to Moses’ demands to free the Hebrews, and Egypt is struck by a cascade of calamities: its water supply is contaminated, frogs overrun homes, lice infest the land, and so it goes on.
Life in Egypt grinds to a halt. The economy is crippled, normal existence becomes impossible, and yet, despite all this, Pharaoh barely flinches.
The Torah tells us that Pharaoh’s heart is hardened — first through his own stubbornness, and eventually by God, who gives him the strength to resist pressure to alleviate the suffering of his people.
But that explanation only deepens the puzzle. Why is Pharaoh so immune to the devastation unfolding around him? Why doesn’t he learn? Why doesn’t he adjust? Why does each plague simply provoke the next act of defiance?
The easy answer is that Pharaoh is wicked. But that answer isn’t very satisfying. Wicked people can still be pragmatic, and history offers plenty of examples of evil tyrants who knew when to retreat. Pharaoh doesn’t — and the reason is subtle but crucial.
Like so many brutal rulers across history, Pharaoh never truly experiences the consequences of his stubbornness personally. His advisers plead, the people suffer, the nation groans — but Pharaoh himself remains untouched. Power has wrapped him in cotton wool. He is insulated from reality, and it is precisely that insulation that allows him to harden his heart.
The Torah is teaching us something uncomfortable here. The most dangerous leaders are not the ideologues or the fanatics, but those who never pay a price for being wrong. When suffering is always outsourced – to citizens, soldiers, or convenient scapegoats – there is no internal mechanism that forces change.
And that is exactly what we are seeing in Iran. The clerical elite and the Revolutionary Guard leadership are not standing in breadlines. Their children are not dodging bullets in the streets. Their electricity has not been cut, their access to water remains secure, their wealth is intact, and their personal safety is guaranteed. The pain is being borne entirely by others – and so, like Pharaoh, they respond to an existential crisis not with reform or retreat, but by doubling down on repression and violence.
There is a tragic irony here, borne out by countless historical examples – from the time of Pharaoh through the four millennia that have followed. The more violence a regime unleashes, the clearer it becomes that it has run out of ideas.
Brutality against the people a government claims to represent and protect is not strength – it is the language of exhaustion. When leaders can no longer persuade, they intimidate. When they can no longer inspire fear, they escalate it instead.
It is precisely this dynamic that plays out in ancient Egypt. Each plague strips away another illusion of control, but instead of adapting, Pharaoh tightens his grip. He banishes Moses – the one person capable of ending Egypt’s day-to-day nightmare – and in doing so inflicts wave after wave of suffering on his own people.
The Torah does not portray Pharaoh as a strategic mastermind undone by clever tactics. It portrays him as a man trapped by his own power, unable to imagine a world in which he is not obeyed.
That, ultimately, is why the plagues have to escalate. Only when Pharaoh’s firstborn son dies in Parshat Bo – and Pharaoh, himself a firstborn, suddenly fears for his own life – does he finally relent, and even then, only briefly.
Hubris returns almost immediately. He pursues the Hebrews in a last, futile attempt to destroy them or drag them back into slavery, and his army is annihilated at the Red Sea. The Midrash leaves Pharaoh alive, the sole survivor, condemned to live on as a witness to the ruin he brought upon himself and his people.
History suggests that this pattern is remarkably consistent. Regimes that respond to dissent with ever harsher measures, deaf to the realities unfolding around them, are not demonstrating strength but buying time – and borrowed time always runs out.
Whether Iran’s current uprising ends tomorrow, next month, or further down the road is impossible to know. What is clear is that we have seen this story before, not only in modern history, but in the Torah itself.
Pharaoh’s story reminds us that hearts hardened by power rarely soften while there is still a chance to escape the deluge. Change is imposed when consequences can no longer be deflected, and when a system built on fear finally collapses under the weight of its own cruelty.
Pharaoh learned that lesson too late. History has been relearning it ever since.
The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.
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‘All Time Is Unredeemable’: A Core Message for Israel
Smoke billows following missile attack from Iran on Israel, at Tel Aviv, Israel, June 13, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Gideon Markowicz ISRAEL
“If all time is eternally present, all time is unredeemable.” — T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton
Behind the current noise about Iran, Hamas, America, Russia, Turkey, Qatar, etc., are much deeper conceptual issues. Accordingly, whatever the tangible facts of its strategic and tactical challenges, Israel will need to approach all potentially existential calculations at a conceptual level. In this connection, nothing could prove more important than variously contradictory ideas of time.
Precisely, what are the relevant contradictions? Though Israel lives according to “clock time,” its jihadi adversaries (both state and sub-state terror groups) regard all mechanistic chronologies as a theological profanation. It follows, inter alia, that pertinent conceptual differences on time could have major policy implications for the Jewish state’s management of war and terror.
All this will sound excruciatingly theoretic. Nonetheless, a clarifying bifurcation could be crucial to Israel’s survival. Israel’s jihadi enemies believe in “sacred time,” not “clock time,” a core belief that encourages “martyrdom operations.”
Plausibly, “over time,” these discrepant concepts of temporality and chronology could enlarge risks of a major war, including a nuclear war. To wit, even before Israel would have to face any operational nuclear adversaries, Jerusalem could find itself caught up in an “asymmetrical nuclear war.” The fact that only Israel could employ nuclear ordnance during such a conflict does not mean that Israel would necessarily avoid significant military harms.
There is more. At some point, a state enemy could become a “suicide bomber in macrocosm.” For Israel, no such force-magnification could ever be “acceptable.” Not to be minimized or overlooked in these sui generis calculations is that Israel is less than half the size of America’s Lake Michigan.
For Jerusalem, policy-relevant issues should always be framed in legal and military terms. Though generally unrecognized, Israel’s jihadi adversaries (a category that now includes reconfiguring terror groups in Syria, Lebanon, Yemen, Iraq, Qatar, and other places) define true victory as “power over death.” For these recalcitrant foes, becoming a “martyr” (a shahid) represents “power over time.” Prima facie, there could be no comparable or greater form of power.
Because “clocks slay time” — a famous observation by American writer William Faulkner — narrowly objective chronologies would prove injurious for Israel. But what should constitute a suitably personalized and policy-centered theory of time for decision-makers in Jerusalem? It’s a demanding but imperative question.
In purposeful reply, history deserves pride of place. By ironic coincidence, the complex notion of temporality as “felt time” or “subjective time” has its origins in ancient Israel. By rejecting time as a linear progression, early Hebrews generally approached the issue as a matter of qualitative experience. Among other things, the associated view identified time as logically inseparable from its personally infused content.
In terms of prospective nuclear threats from adversaries, Israeli planners should consider temporality at the level of individual decision-makers. For example, “What do authoritative enemy leaders think about time in shaping their operational military plans?” For Israeli leaders, there could be no more urgent question.
There is more. From its beginnings, the Jewish prophetic vision was one of an imperiled community living “in time.” Within this formative vision, political geography or “space” was vitally important, but not because of territoriality.
The importance of specific geographic spaces stemmed from certain unique events that had presumably taken place therein. Eventually, a subjective metaphysics of time, a reality based not on equally numbered moments but on “time as lived,” could impact ways in which (1) jihadi enemies choose to confront the Jewish state; and (2) Israeli decision-makers choose to confront these enemies.
In the final analysis, a worst case for Israel would be to face an already nuclear and seemingly irrational enemy state. Any such adversary could reasonably be described as a “suicide bomber in macrocosm.” Simultaneously, Jerusalem could need to deal with a “suicide bomber in microcosm,” i.e., an individual “flesh-and-blood” jihadi terrorist armed with crude or “small” nuclear weapons. In further elaboration, a radiological weapon or radiation dispersal device should come to mind.
What else should Israel know about time? Among Islamists at every level, “martyrdom” is accepted as the most honorable way to soar above clock time or “profane time.” Looked at from a dispassionate perspective, this “heroic suicide” is accepted by jihadists as the optimal way to justify mass murder of “unbelievers.” Ironically, because such alleged self-sacrifice is expected to confer “power over death,” it does not properly qualify as a suicide. In law, it is always an inexcusable homicide.
It’s time for conclusions. From the standpoint of Israel’s most urgent survival concerns, the time-sensitive adversary could be an individual jihadi terrorist, a sovereign enemy state, or both acting together. In the third scenario, the effects of a state-terrorist fusion could be not merely interactive, but also synergistic. This would mean that a “whole” injury inflicted upon Israel would be greater than the sum of its “parts.” The dangers to Israel of any such unprecedented synergy would be most catastrophic if the pertinent enemy state was nuclear or soon-to-be nuclear.
Sometimes, the strategist can learn from the poet. For T.S. Eliot, “all time is unredeemable.” With this unchallengeable insight in mind, an immediate goal for Israel’s defense policy planners should be a fuller awareness of jihadi capabilities and intentions “in time.” Such a deliberately enhanced understanding could ultimately prove crucial to both counterterrorism and nuclear war-avoidance.
Prof. Louis René Beres was educated at Princeton (Ph.D., 1971) and is the author of many books and scholarly articles dealing with international law, nuclear strategy, nuclear war, and terrorism. In Israel, Prof. Beres was Chair of Project Daniel (PM Sharon). His 12th and latest book is Surviving Amid Chaos: Israel’s Nuclear Strategy (Rowman & Littlefield, 2016; 2nd ed., 2018).
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The exceptional actress in the Yiddish film ‘I Have Sinned’
איינער פֿון די פֿילמען וואָס מע ווײַזט די וואָך ווי אַ טייל פֿונעם ניו־יאָרקער ייִדישן קינאָ־פֿעסטיוואַל איז דער פּרעכטיקער ייִדישער פֿילם ,,על חטא“.
דער פֿילם, וואָס איז געמאַכט געוואָרן אין פּוילן אין 1936, איז געווען אַ וויכטיקע דערגרייכונג אין דער געשיכטע פֿון ייִדישן קינאָ. ער איז געווען דער ערשטער ייִדישער פֿילם מיט קלאַנג און דיאַלאָג, און האָט אויך געשילדערט אַ גאָר מאָדערנע טעמע.
איך האָב אַליין געזען דעם פֿילם אויפֿן מעלבורנער „דשיף“ אינטערנאַציאָנאַלן פֿילם־פֿעסטיוואַל אין אָקטאָבער 2025, און ער האָט אויף מיר געמאַכט אַ שטאַרקן אײַנדרוק. עס שילדערט נישט בלויז דאָס ייִדישע לעבן אין שטעטל, די ראָלע פֿון רעליגיע אין טאָג-טעגלעכן לעבן, די מנהגים און די שוועריקייטן פֿון די שטעטל־ייִדן, נאָר אויך ווי פּראָגרעסיוו און בראַוו איז געווען דער אויסבליק פֿון די שרײַבער און אָנטיילנעמער אין ייִדישן טעאַטער און פֿילם אין יענער צײַט.
דער רעזשיסאָר, אַלעקסאַנדער מאַרטען, און די שפּילער האָבן נישט מורא געהאַט אָפֿענערהייט צו באַטראַכטן אַ טעמע וואָס איז דעמאָלט געווען פֿאַרבאָטן. דער פֿילם דערציילט ווי אסתּר, אַ יונגע טאָכטער פֿונעם שטעטל רבֿ, פֿאַרשוואַנגערט מיט אַן אָפֿיציר פֿון אַרמיי. דער פֿילם באַשרײַבט אירע שוועריקייטן און קאָנפֿליקטן אַלס אַ נישט־חתונה געהאַטע, וואָס זי באַשליסט צו טאָן און וואָס געשעט ווײַטער. די באַרימטע קאָמיקער דזשיגאַן און שומאַכער שפּילן דאָ הױפּט־ראָלעס. מיר זײַנען צוגעװוּינט צו זען דזשיגאַן און שומאַכער אין סלעפּסטיק און קאָמישע שטיק. דאָ אָבער זעען מיר אַ טיפֿערן אויסטײַטש אין זייער אויסשפּילונג — קאָמעדיע געמישט מיט דראַמע און איידלקייט.
די הױפּט־ראָלע פֿון אסתּר שפּילט די אויסגעצייכנטע אַקטריסע רחל האָלצער. דאָ באַװײַזט זי מיט האַרץ און געפֿיל, פֿאַרװאָס זי איז געװאָרן אַ װעלט־באַרימטע ייִדישע אַקטריסע. איר אויסטײַטש איז פּרעכטיק און רירנדיק. עס איז װערט קוקן דעם פֿילם פּשוט צו זען און אָנערקענען איר ראָלע.
רחל האָלצער איז געװען אַ הױפּט־שפּילער און רעזשיסאָר אינעם נאַציאָנאַלן פּױלישן טעאַטער, און אויך אין דער װילנער טרופּע. אין „על חטא“ איז זי שוין געווען אין די יונגע דרײַסיקער, נאָר זי שפּילט דאָ סײַ די ראָלע פֿון אסתּר ווי אַ יונג מײדל, סײַ אסתּר ווי אַן עלטערע פֿרױ. אין 1939, דרײַ יאָר נאָך דעם וואָס „על־חטא“ איז אַרױס, איז רחל געװען מיט איר מאַן, דעם באַקאַנטן דראַמאַטורג חיים ראָזענשטיין, אין מעלבורן ווי טייל פֿון אַ װעלט־טור. זײ זײַנען געקומען כּדי צו שטעלן איר סאָלאָ־פּיעסע, װען עס איז אױסגעבראָכן די צװײטע װעלט־מלחמה, און זײ האָבן נישט געקענט זיך אומקערן קײן פּױלן. אַ דאַנק זייער זײַן אין אויסטראַליע זענען זײ געראַטעװעט געוואָרן פֿון דעם חורבן, און זײַנען ביז זייער טױט געבליבן אין מעלבורן.
אין אױסטראַליע איז רחל האָלצער אויפֿגעטראָטן אױף די גרעסטע בינעס מיט גרויסן דערפֿאָלג. אין 1940 האָט זי, צוזאַמען מיט יעקבֿ װײַסליץ, געשאַפֿן דעם „דוד הערמאַן טעאַטער“ אין מעלבורן וואָס איז געבליבן אַקטיוו מער ווי פֿערציק יאָר. זי האָט אױך ווײַטער געשפּילט אין סאָלאָ־פֿאָרשטעלונגען. זעקס טויזנט מענטשן האָבן זי למשל געהערט רעציטירן יעווגעני יעווטאָשענקאָס ליד „באַבי־יאַר“ אינעם מעלבורנער שטאָטזאַל. צווישן זיי: יעווטאָשענקאָ אַליין. די וועלכע האָבן עס געזען און געהערט האָבן געזאָגט אַז עס איז געווען, ווי אַלע אירע פֿאָרשטעלונגען, אומפֿאַרגעסלעך.
איך האָב נישט געקענט רחל האָלצערן ווי אַ יונגע אַטקריסע, און געדענק זי נאָר אַלס אַן עלטערע פֿרױ. אָבער זי האָט קײנמאָל נישט פֿאַרלױרן איר עלעגאַנץ, איר שײנקײט. זי איז געװען די מלכּה פֿון דער ייִדישער טעאַטער און איז געבליבן אַ מלכּה, אַפֿילו אין אירע נײַנציקער, ווען איך האָב זי באַזוכט אין אַ מושבֿ-זקנים.
איך האָב אויך געהאַט אַ פּערזענלעכן שײַכות צו רחל האָלצער. איר מאַן, חיים ראָזענשטיין, איז געװען דער ברודער פֿון מײַן באָבעס מאַן, מאָטל ראָזענשטיין. נישט געקוקט אויף דעם װאָס חיים און מאָטל זײַנען בײדע געשטאָרבן איידער איך בין נאָך געווען אויף דער וועלט, האָב איך געװוּסט אַז זי איז אַ װײַטע קרובֿה, און איך פֿלעג זי זען אינעם ייִדישן קולטור־קלוב אין מעלבורן, „קדימה“, אָדער בײַ מײַנע עלטערן. און אַוודאי אויך אויף דער בינע.
ווען איך בין געווען דרײַצן יאָר אַלט האָב איך געהאַט אַ ספּעציעלע איבערלעבונג מיט איר. מיר זײַנען ביידע געווען אין „קדימה“, אינעם גרױסן זאַל װוּ מע האָט אָפֿט געשפּילט ייִדישן טעאַטער. איך האָב רעציטירט אַ דראַמאַטישע פּאָעמע אויף דער בינע. נאָך דער פֿאָרשטעלונג איז רחל האָלצער צוגעקומען צו מיר, מיך אָנגעכאַפּט בײַ דער האַנט, און מיט אַ שמײכל פֿון נחת געזאָגט: „דו ביסט מײַן משפּחה, דו ביסט מײַן משפּחה!“ אַזאַ כּבֿוד פֿון דער קעניגין פֿון ייִדישן טעאַטער האָב איך נישט דערװאַרט! איך האָב דעמאָלט נישט פֿאַרשטאַנען די גרױסע מתּנה װאָס זי האָט מיר געגעבן מיט די װערטער. איך וועל דאָס קײנמאָל נישט פֿאַרגעסן.
דער גרױסער זאַל און די בינע זענען הײַנט אַן אַלגעמיינער קינאָ־הויז. װען איך האָב אין נאָוועמבער דאָרט געקוקט דעם פֿילם „על חטא“, בין איך געזעסן ממש נאָר אַ פּאָר רײען פֿונעם אָרט, וווּ רחל האָלצער האָט אַמאָל גענומען מײַן האַנט און מיך אַזוי וואַרעם באַגריסט.
פֿאַר די פֿון אײַך וואָס וועלן דעם זונטיק זען „על חטא“ אויפֿן ניו־יאָרקער ייִדישן קינאָ־פֿעסטיוואַל, װעט איר האָבן אַ געלעגנהײט אַליין צו זען רחל האָלצערס וווּנדערלעכן טאַלאַנט ווי אַן אַקטריסע. דאָס אַליין איז ווערט דאָס גאַנצע געלט.
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