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A new photo book celebrates the very Jewish cafeteria culture of a vanished New York
(New York Jewish Week) – Back in 1975, Marcia Bricker Halperin had just graduated from Brooklyn College with the dream of becoming a professional photographer when she stepped into the Flatbush outpost of Dubrow’s, a cafeteria-style restaurant, for a warm cup of coffee.
It was there that inspiration hit. “I was wonderstruck,” Halperin writes in the introduction to her new book of photographs, “Kibbitz & Nosh: When We All Met at Dubrow’s Cafeteria,” describing the “cavernous” space with mirrored walls and a mosaic fountain. “It was the most idiosyncratic room I had ever seen.”
“I sensed it was a vanishing world on its last legs, and that impelled me to document it,” she continues. “On many visits, the tables were empty, sans a painterly still life of condiment bottles and jars in the morning light. I also perceived cafeterias as places that embodied a secular Jewish culture, something that was of great interest to me.”
“I attended a lecture by Isaac Bashevis Singer, who was billed as an “Outstanding Anglo -Yiddish” author, at the Brooklyn Jewish Center on Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights,” Bricker Halperin writes in the introduction. “I adored his short stories, many of which were set in cafeterias, and I regret never finding the nerve that day to tell him about my own cafeterianiks.” (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
Halperin was prescient: She started photographing these once-ubiquitous eateries one decade before the final Dubrow’s location in the Garment District would close in 1985. The chain’s first location was founded in 1929 on the Lower East Side by Benjamin Dubrow, a Jewish immigrant from Minsk. By the mid-twentieth century, the family-owned company expanded throughout Brooklyn, Manhattan and Miami Beach, with ownership passing to the second generation, and then to the third. In Dubrow’s prime, a stop at one of the cafeterias was practically required for politicians such as John F. Kennedy and Jimmy Carter.
Nearly 50 years after her first visit, Halperin’s new book is a tribute to this now-defunct New York City cafeteria culture and the characters she met during the five years she regularly photographed there. The compelling 152-page book features her original black-and-white photos along with essays from Pulitzer Prize–winning playwright Donald Margulies and Jewish American historian Deborah Dash Moore.
“Although Jews were not the only ones to patronize cafeterias, they preferred them as inexpensive places to hang out to bars, which often attracted an Irish immigrant or working-class clientele,” Moore writes in her essay, titled “See You at Dubrow’s.” “By the 1930s, cafeterias were part of the fabric of Jewish neighborhood life in New York City, a welcome alternative for socializing to cramped apartments, street corners, or candy stores.”
Now living in Park Slope and retired from a career as a special education teacher, Halperin talked with the New York Jewish Week about the city’s lost cafeteria culture and what inspired her to capture it with her camera.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
New York Jewish Week: You took these photos nearly 50 years ago. What made you decide to publish them now?
Marcia Bricker Halperin: In the 1970s, there was such good feedback on the work. I was given a show, I was collected by a few people, I had a photo in The New York Times. People wrote me letters in the mail: “Ms. Bricker, I’m interested in buying one of your photos.” At the time, I was in a project called the CETA artists project, a federally funded arts project in the ’70s where I was paid to be a photographer. It was very much like the [Depression-era] WPA project, but one of the great differences with the CETA project was anything you shot, you owned.
So I continued photographing changing New York during those years — some of it by assignment for nonprofit organizations that I worked with, like the Jewish Museum and an organization in Brighton Beach that was resettling the Soviet Jews that were arriving in the ’70s. They wanted photographs to help both the Soviet Jews understand American life and the old Jewish population in Brighton Beach understand Russian life. What a great opportunity!
I was going to be an artist and I did adjunct teaching and different things to make it work. I kind of fell into teaching high school photography and then, from there, I fell into teaching special education — that took over. Thirty-five years later, I retired from teaching. The day after I retired, I took out my negatives and my photography stuff and bought a scanner and all kinds of printers and things.
So, I was a photographer once upon a time and then taught for many years and, overnight, I became one once again.
A man reads the Forvertz newspaper in Yiddish. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
How did it feel to see these photos again? Had you developed any of them before?
Yes, I printed quite a few of them then. I worked as a darkroom lab technician, so I had an opportunity in the ’70s to do a lot of silver gelatin prints. I would bring in a thick envelope of the imperfect prints to the cafeteria and at that point, everybody knew me. I gave out portraits to people. If I hadn’t shot them, they would gather around me asking: “Do you have my picture? Did you print it?” Especially the staff — there was a very international cohort of people working there and they all wanted pictures to send home to their families.
After that, the pictures lay fallow for all these years. I protected them and stored them very carefully. When I had the opportunity to come back and put together a sample book, I started looking through the negatives and I said, “Oh, my God, I don’t remember that picture.” It was a time warp to see some of these photos taken in the 1970s. In Manhattan, the ’60s had happened, but Flatbush in Brooklyn was the “Old Country.” It hung onto the past for a while and some women dressed like they were still in the 1950s.
Dubrow’s Cafeteria, Kings’s Highway 1975. The photographer appears in the top left corner. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
Dubrow’s closed just ten years after you started shooting there. Could you feel at the time that cafeteria culture was ending?
I kept a journal at the time. When I went back 42 years later to look at it, I had written: “One day I’m going to show up here and this is going to be closed.”
There were other cafeterias in Manhattan and the Bronx and they had all closed. I’ve collected like every article ever written about cafeterias, and there’s one from 1973: “Are cafeterias going to be gone?” So it was fairly well known that this was a vanishing kind of establishment in New York. The automats ceased having the little boxes, Burger King bought them out, they tried to modernize and it got pretty sad. Sometimes during the day, the huge cafeteria would be empty and people would say, “This business can’t survive.” So I knew I was photographing in the vein of needing to document the things that are there and will be gone. It was one of the things that propelled me to get out there and photograph.
Today, things are different. There’s food courts and wonderful little coffee places. There are many businesses, especially here in Brooklyn, trying to perpetuate “grandmother foods” and there are restaurants that are serving “reinvented Jewish-style foods.” So there are some continuations, but in terms of the huge, opulent cafeteria spaces — grand professional murals, intricate woodworking, food with a crazy amount of preparation, 300 items, 30 different cakes — no restaurant could possibly survive like that. The only thing that still exists are my photos of them.
Men and women converse around empty tables at Dubrow’s on Kings Highway. (Marcia Bricker Halperin)
What was the Jewish culture of Dubrow’s and Flatbush like at the time?
Growing up, we went to a little old “Conservadox” synagogue. We were the kind of family where my mother kept a kosher kitchen at home, but on Sunday nights we’d go out to the Chinese restaurant. Dubrow’s menu was “Jewish-style” but it was also a place you could go out and have your first shrimp salad sandwich, which became their most popular food. They were famous for shrimp salad!
These cafeterias were all started by Jewish immigrants. But they were democratic for everyone — there was ham on the menu, shrimp. You could choose whether to have just meat or have a meat meal and then have a cream pie for dessert. That was your choice. With cafeteria-style, like religion, you pick and choose what you want and what you want to observe.
When I would go there, all the older people would ask: “Are you Jewish? You don’t look Jewish.” I’d say,“I’m Jewish. I know a few words of Yiddish, my parents speak Yiddish at home.” They would be satisfied with that. There was this sense that it was a club a little bit, it was a Jewish establishment. Not that everybody wasn’t welcome, and everybody socialized with everyone else.
Socializing was a big thing there, not necessarily eating. Many of my pictures are people sitting around — sometimes it’s a coffee cup on the table, most of the time the table is empty. They were there to meet their friends and talk. Some people said it replaced the synagogues. The old men would go to Dubrow’s and have a cup of coffee with their friends in the morning and gossip and talk.
“Kibbitz & Nosh: When We All Met at Dubrow’s Cafeteria” will be published on May 15, 2023. The photos are on exhibit at the Edward Hopper House in Nyack, New York through June 25.
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The post A new photo book celebrates the very Jewish cafeteria culture of a vanished New York appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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81 Years After the Holocaust, Antisemitism Pervasive in Germany, Poland
A demonstration in Schwerin, Germany under the slogan “All together to protect democracy”, with a banner reading “Against Nazis”. They want to demonstrate against new borders in Europe and protest against cooperation with right-wing extremists. Photo: Bernd Wüstneck/dpa via Reuters Connect.
Eighty-one years after the Holocaust, antisemitism remains rampant in the heart of the former Third Reich, with rising antisemitic hate crimes in Germany and incidents targeting Jewish communities in Poland drawing widespread condemnation.
On Tuesday, as the world marked International Holocaust Remembrance Day, a group of Orthodox Israelis waiting to board a flight to Israel at Krakow Airport in Poland were physically and verbally assaulted by an airport employee, in the latest antisemitic incident drawing condemnation from officials and community leaders.
The travelers were praying before boarding their flight when the employee noticed them and began shouting antisemitic slurs while demanding that they stop.
When the group members explained they were nearly finished, the assailant became even more aggressive, reportedly spitting on one person and pushing another.
As the situation escalated and the assailant grew more hostile, airport police intervened to control the scene, with the incident captured and widely shared online.
In videos circulating on social media, the airport employee is seen approaching the group aggressively, shouting, “Why are you in Poland? Go back to Israel.”
The group members are seen speaking in English, asking him to stop, as he persists in claiming that Poland is “his country.”
Go back to Israel, what are you doing coming to Poland”:
A group of Israeli ultra-Orthodox Jews who traveled to Poland were attacked by a local airport employee – but they didn’t stay silent: “Be quiet.” | video pic.twitter.com/vu0Iz3rSy6— daniel amram – דניאל עמרם (@danielamram3) January 27, 2026
According to local media, airport officials have yet to release a public statement, confirm whether the employee has been suspended or disciplined, or clarify if an investigation into the incident is underway.
The airport workers’ remarks were reminiscent of comments made by Polish lawmaker Grzegorz Braun, a far-right politician notorious for his repeated antisemitic statements and outspoken criticism of Israel.
“Poland is for Poles. Other nations have their own countries, including the Jews,” Braun said during a press conference in November in Oświęcim, a town in southern Poland that is home to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp memorial and museum. International Holocaust Remembrance Day is observed annually on Jan. 27, the date when Auschwitz, the largest and most notorious of the Nazi death camps, was liberated.
“Jews want to be super-humans in Poland, entitled to a better status, and the Polish police dance to their tune,” Braun continued.
Poland, like most countries across Europe and the broader Western world, has seen a rise in antisemitic incidents over the last two years, in the wake of Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, invasion of and massacre across southern Israel.
Germany has been one such country to experience a surge in antisemitism.
Most recently, unknown individuals vandalized the memorial at a local synagogue in Kiel, a city in the northwestern part of the country, destroying items left by people honoring the victims of the Holocaust — including a Star of David, candles, and a photograph.
“This attack is an utterly unacceptable act of antisemitic hatred and an affront to the memory of the crimes committed under National Socialism,” Daniel Günther, the minister-president of Schleswig-Holstein, a state in northern Germany, said in a statement. “Anyone who desecrates a memorial site like this violates historical responsibility and the core values of the state.”
“We are witnessing a growing number of antisemitic incidents. Ninety years ago, that hatred marked the beginning of the end,” he continued. “That is precisely why we cannot tolerate a single incident today. Every act must be investigated and punished under the rule of law.”
This latest antisemitic attack comes as the local Jewish community rallies to defend democracy and protest against antisemitism on International Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Observed each year on Jan. 27, the day honors the six million Jews and other victims killed by the Nazis and commemorates the liberation of Auschwitz in 1945.
“Holocaust survivors around the world are asking whether democracies and their citizens are sufficiently aware of the dangers posed by the hateful rhetoric of far-right and populist politicians and parties,” Christoph Heubner, vice president of the International Auschwitz Committee from Berlin, said in a statement.
“Antisemitism has an unfortunate characteristic: it serves as an ideological bridge between right-wing extremists, left-wing extremists, and Islamists alike,” he continued. “These forces will continue to grow stronger if, as a society, we do not stop these threatening developments.”
According to newly released figures from the German Ministry of the Interior obtained by the newspaper BILD, antisemitic incidents continued to rise last year, with 2,122 offenses reported in Berlin alome, including 60 violent attacks.
This represents a significant increase of 80 percent compared with the already high number of incidents in previous years, with Berlin police recording 901 such offenses in 2023 and 1,622 in 2024, BILD reported.
“The rise in these figures is alarming, but not surprising. When politicians allow antisemitic demonstrations to go unchallenged, it emboldens certain groups and reinforces their antisemitic attitudes and attacks,” Timur Husein, a member of Parliament from the CDU, Germany’s center-right Christian Democratic Union, who requested the data, told the German newspaper.
Husein also said that the CDU is looking to strengthen Germany’s assembly laws to ban antisemitic demonstrations, which he says are responsible for a significant share of these crimes.
Earlier this month, the commissioner to combat antisemitism in the German state of Hesse sounded the alarm after an arson attack on a local synagogue in the town of Giessen, warning that it reflects a “growing pogrom-like atmosphere” threatening Jewish life across Germany as Jews and Israelis continue to face an increasingly hostile climate.
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Minnesota, Rabbi Tarfon and the language of horror
I sat up when Senator Tina Smith of Minnesota described a “coalition of the horrified” that formed in response to this past weekend’s appalling shooting of a protester on a Minneapolis street — the second shooting of an American citizen there by ICE
“Coalition of the horrified?” I thought. “That’s a great phrase. And it can move people.”
“There’s sort of this coalition of the horrified that has developed around what’s been happening here in Minnesota. And it includes law enforcement,” Smith told the PBS News Hour. “It is people who care about Second Amendment rights — the level of rejection of this behavior of ICE is growing, not diminishing.”
Perhaps Republican politicians are finally horrified enough to talk with Democratic colleagues about how disproportionate all of this is.
While “horrified” is a relatively recent word, first used in 1791, the word “horror” is quite old, and its history helps explain what many of us are feeling.
The word “horror” comes from the Middle English orrour, horrour, which is borrowed from Anglo-French horrour, which is in turn borrowed from Latin horrōr.
According to Merriam-Webster, it means “standing stiffly, bristling (of hair), shivering (from cold or fear), dread, consternation.”
That “stiffness” seems apt.
In recent weeks, I have spoken to several friends and neighbors who could not figure out how to respond to the Trump administration’s most recent outrages.
“I just don’t know what to do,” a longtime neighbor and Democratic activist said.
“What can one person do about any of this?” an old friend commented sadly. “I feel powerless.”
In other words, stiffness had set in.
But Senator Smith’s apt language gives us all a starting point. Form a coalition. Join with others. Stand together.
And Jewish tradition has a deeper answer to the “what to do?” question. It comes from Pirkei Avot, or “Ethics of the Fathers.”
Rabbi Tarfon was discussing what to do when the day appeared short, but the to-do list was long. His famous comment — lo alecha ha’mlacha ligmor — is relevant now.
“It is not your duty to finish the work,” Rabbi Tarfon said. “But neither are you at liberty to neglect it,” Rabbi Tarfon said,
This is the same passage that Josh Shapiro, the Jewish governor of Pennsylvania, quoted when he was elected in 2022.
He quoted the same verse again after Minnesota governor Tim Walz was selected as the vice presidential pick. Shapiro had been a contender, but ultimately was not chosen.
What is important now is not only to know who we may be standing with, but also who we are not standing with.
We don’t stand with those who shoot protesters to death in the street. And we don’t have to complete everything — we don’t have to agree with fellow protesters on every political issue — but as Rabbi Tarfon explained, we do have to get in the fray.
We have to remember our tradition. Ben chorin, frequently translated as “at liberty” in the Rabbi Tarfon phrase, is actually an idiom meaning a free man.
If it sounds familiar, it may be because it’s the singular form of b’nei chorin, or “freeborn” in the plural, part of the famous avadim hayinu or “we were slaves” narrative in the Haggadah.
Once we were slaves; now we are free.
We cannot allow ourselves to be so stiff with horror that we become powerless. We cannot give up freedom for slavery.
We must instead use that horror to come together. I hope Senator Smith is right that at the leadership level, that is already happening. At the language level, at least, I can feel a turn.
The post Minnesota, Rabbi Tarfon and the language of horror appeared first on The Forward.
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San Diego Group Apologizes for Disinviting Rabbi From MLK Jr. Event Over ‘Safety Concerns,’ Pro-Israel Stance
The Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial in Washington, DC. Photo: Reuters / Allison Shelley.
Organizers of a Martin Luther King Jr. Day event in San Diego, California, have apologized for disinviting a rabbi from speaking due to his stance on the Israel-Hamas war and “safety concerns.”
Alliance San Diego made the apology in a released statement after receiving widespread criticism for its treatment of Rabbi Hanan Leberman, the leader of Tifereth Israel Synagogue in San Diego. He was originally scheduled to lead the closing prayer at the city’s 38th annual All Peoples Celebration at the Balboa Park Activity Center on Jan. 19.
In a description for the event, Alliance San Diego invited the public to “choose Courage; to decide, with intention, to do what is right even when the fear and opposition are loud. Now more than ever, our voices must rise above hesitation. We must claim our dignity and echo the notion that any attack on one, is an attack on us all.”
A day before the event, Leberman wrote in a Facebook post he was “deeply upset” to learn he had been disinvited from presenting at the ceremony because of his “connection to Israel.” Alliance San Diego claimed Leberman was instead invited to attend the program as a guest, but the rabbi said he ultimately decided not to attend the event at all.
The decision to disinvite Leberman from presenting at the event was condemned by a coalition of nearly four dozen community-based organizations, social service providers, and synagogues in a joint statement published on Jan. 18.
While apologizing for the move in a statement shared on Instagram, Alliance San Diego also explained its decision, saying that event organizers faced “major disruption over two speakers’ public stances on the conflict in Israel-Palestine.”
“We hear the community’s concern that this decision felt to some like an exclusion of Jewish identity echoing historical traumas and antisemitic patterns present in many public spaces today. This was not our intention, and we apologize for reinforcing this pattern,” the group said. “To protect the attendees at the celebration and keep the focus on Dr. King, we asked both speakers to attend as our guests instead of present on the program. Our decision was based solely on safety concerns and was communicated in person conversations with the speakers. We recognize, however, that intent does not erase impact, and we take responsibility for the hurt caused … A deep source of regret is that our missteps have distracted us from our core work of creating a San Diego that is safe for all people.”
Leberman was born in Chicago, raised in Philadelphia, and ordained as a rabbi in Israel, where he lived and worked before moving to San Diego, according to the website for Tifereth Israel Synagogue. He moved to Israel at the age of 20 and served three years in the undercover counter-terrorist unit Duvduvan of the Israel Defense Forces, often serving as the unit’s cantor. Leberman studied at the Jerusalem Academy of Music, and aside from being a cantor, he is also a professional opera singer. He served as a rabbi and cantor for the Masorti movement in Israel and led congregations as a guest cantor in Israel, England, and the United States.
Alliance San Diego said in an earlier statement that it asked two speakers to give up their speaking roles at the event “in response to concerns about potential disruption related to Zionism and anti-Zionism,” but noted they had not been disinvited. The other speaker was not publicly identified but also ultimately decided not to attend the event.
“At the time, we believed we were acting in the best interest of protecting attendees and preserving the spirit of the event,” the group said in its statement. “Our intention was never to exclude Jewish faith leaders or Jewish voices from this space. As an organization working across many communities under immense strain and confronting assaults on immigrant communities, including Jewish and Israeli immigrants at a time of rising antisemitism and fear, we acknowledge that our decision contributed to that pain rather than alleviating it.”
Leberman said in his Facebook post on Jan. 18 that disinviting him from speaking at the event “runs counter to Dr. King’s message — particularly at this moment in history, when Jews are experiencing the most significant rise in hate crimes of any group.”
“The decision to disinvite me is, in my view, a disservice to the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr,” he added. “I believe the organization would benefit from deeper education about what Zionism truly is and about what the Jewish community is facing today — from both the left and the right.”