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A rabbi’s lifetime of outreach and inroads
(JTA) — In 1975, Lincoln Square Synagogue on Manhattan’s Upper West Side had become the hottest ticket in town. And no ticket was required to attend services at the 600-seat Orthodox congregation that, under the leadership of the charismatic young rabbi, Steven (later Shlomo) Riskin, was filled to overflowing each Shabbat. More than 1,500 people were attending the dozens of weekly adult education classes offered, from simple Hebrew to advanced Talmud.
At that point, the synagogue’s energetic educational director, Ephraim Buchwald, 29, suggested that Lincoln Square create a Shabbat service with the potential to reach the majority of American Jews — those who were unaffiliated or marginalized and felt disenfranchised from traditional synagogues and much of Jewish life. The result was the Beginners Service, a weekly gathering that included a selection of prayers in Hebrew and English, a summary and discussion of the weekly Torah portion, and most important, an open environment that encouraged questions, comments and give-and-take between Rabbi Buchwald, and a wide range of several dozen attendees.
Fifty years later, on June 27, the rabbi, now known as a pioneer in the world of Orthodox Jewish outreach, stepped down from his post. Toward the end of a long conversation a few days later, I asked him to provide contact information for some of the program’s more memorable participants, past and present, so I could interview them.
The next day he emailed me a list he compiled of “noted notables, by category,” which included one-line bios of 117 Beginners Service attendees in “academia, business, celebrity, celebrity relatives, education, Jewish communal activism, journalism/media/publishing, law, law enforcement, medicine and psychology, philanthropy, science and math, show business and entertainment, and Torah.”
The list, and his preparation of it, gave me a glimpse into the depth of Rabbi Buchwald’s reach and impact on the spiritual lives of thousands of men and women for the last five decades. Each of the former and current students of his that I subsequently spoke with described him as having re-energized and enriched them in profound ways through his teachings, not only of Jewish ritual and text but of modeling a life of meaning and purpose. Each said they had been a guest at the Buchwald Shabbat table more than once, where they were welcomed warmly by the rabbi and his wife, Aidel.
Allan Leicht, a writer and producer for theater, movies and television, discovered the Beginners Service more out of curiosity than commitment, after moving from Brooklyn to the Upper West Side with his actress wife, Renee Lippin, in 1980. “I was looking for a synagogue to go to on Saturday mornings, but after meeting this young, enthusiastic rabbi, he won me over completely,” the soft-spoken Leicht explained. “Rabbi Buchwald’s lively discussions” about the prayers and Torah portion “were addictive,” he recalled. The rabbi “never invalidated anyone’s point of view.”
Leicht began to observe Shabbat and Jewish holidays more fully, despite the challenges presented in working in the entertainment world. He credits Rabbi Buchwald for his transformation. “I became re-awakened to my Judaism.
More than 40 years later, Rachel Priester, who was raised Christian, had a similar reaction to Rabbi Buchwald’s impact on her spiritual life. “He helps people find their way to, or back to, Judaism,” said Priester, who moved to the Upper West Side a year and a half ago and sought out Lincoln Square’s Beginners Service on her path toward Judaism. Rabbi Buchwald “welcomes you warmly and reaches out to everyone on their own level and makes you aware that you are part of something bigger, part of a community of tradition and prayer.”
Priester completed her Orthodox conversion shortly before Shavuot this year and now attends the early Shabbat morning “hashkama” minyan at Lincoln Square each week in addition to the Beginners Service, which she says “continues to bring me great comfort.”
Short in stature, prodigious in enthusiasm, charisma and compassion, Rabbi Buchwald, 80, has become an inveterate selfless promoter, using his educational and marketing talents to showcase the beauty of Judaism. A favorite story he tells is of the 19th century Chasidic leader, the Kotzker Rebbe, who was asked about two people on a ladder, one on the fourth rung and one on the 10th. “Which one is higher?” his students asked. “It depends on which one is climbing up and which one is going down,” the Rebbe answered.
“As long as you’re going in the right direction – that’s our motto,” Rabbi Buchwald told me. “It’s about giving people a positive, joyous Jewish experience. And the key ingredients are passion and follow-up.”
Tom Steinberg, CEO of a diversified investment firm and a Judaics educator at Orthodox yeshivas in Israel, views his time as a Beginners Service attendee in the early 1980s as a pivotal waystation between his Reform childhood in the San Francisco area and the many years he has spent in the Israeli yeshiva world.
He says he met Rabbi Buchwald soon after he moved to New York to start a job in finance and had decided he wanted to become observant. “On my first visit to Lincoln Square, I met the rabbi and he immediately invited me to lunch for that Shabbat,” Steinberg recalled. He found the rabbi’s teachings “masterful,” and was moved by the warmth of the Buchwald family, where he was a frequent Shabbat guest.
Over time, Steinberg moved toward a more “yeshivish” life in Jerusalem and, like his mentor, became involved in kiruv, or outreach, to young people. He has remained close to Rabbi Buchwald, and says he deeply appreciates “the amazing energy it takes to create a new organization” and keep it growing for decades. “He literally carried me on his shoulders at my wedding,” Steinberg said, attributing the feat to the rabbi’s “spiritual strength.”
In reflecting on how the Beginners Service has changed in recent years, Rabbi Buchwald said that since the Covid pandemic, the number of those who attend the three-hour sessions has decreased a bit from about 50 people a week to between 30 and 40. He estimates that half of the regulars now are not Jewish, about equally divided between those who have a Jewish spouse or partner and those who are spiritual seekers drawn to Judaism on their own.
Educator and opera singer Jennifer Moore, raised Catholic, was interested in Judaism before she met her observant Jewish boyfriend. “Seeing his devotion to his faith and how he lives his life made me draw closer,” she said, and Rabbi Buchwald’s “generosity of spirit and personal interest in each person’s journey” was instrumental in her decision to convert to Judaism. She said that becoming a Jew after Oct. 7 felt like “the right thing to do. I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t aligned with my values.”
Adrianne McMillan, an African-American woman who was born Episcopal, said Rabbi Buchwald made her feel comfortable the first time she attended the Beginners Service four years ago, and over time, “he made me feel like a daughter.” Her conversion took place in 2024, and she still walks four miles from her Harlem home to Lincoln Square on Shabbat.
Rabbi Ephraim Buchwald, left, joins Lincoln Square Synagogue congregant Richard Seaman at a November 2025 event marking 38 years of the National Jewish Outreach Program, founded by Buchwald. (Courtesy Rabbi Ezra Buchwald)
Rabbi Buchwald launched the National Jewish Outreach Program (NJOP) in 1987, and promoted its first project, the Hebrew Reading Crash Course, through an ad campaign developed by the late copywriter Jesse Cogan. It included jingles on the radio, toll-free numbers, and billboards on buses and subways with catchy slogans like, “This Rosh Hashanah, Pray in the Original,” and “This Passover, Experience the Exodus From Right to Left.” The course began at Lincoln Square, with 5,000 people signing up at the outset, and later went national.
Rabbi Buchwald said reading Hebrew was key for feeling comfortable at synagogue, that learning it was relatively easy and that “it was neutral and non-threatening” compared to Shabbat observance. “For many who took the course, Hebrew reading became the gateway to greater Jewish involvement,” the rabbi has said.
Over the years NJOP has helped establish Beginners Services at synagogues around the country as well as programs like “Turn Friday Night Into Shabbat” – based on a phrase Cogan created and which became NJOP’s motto – and Shabbat Across America, a once-a-year synagogue service for unaffiliated and marginally affiliated Jews that has drawn more than 1.5 million people and now takes place in more than 40 countries, according to Rabbi Buchwald.
The Beginners Service will continue, Lincoln Square has assured its community, and though he will miss those weekly encounters, Rabbi Buchwald plans to keep busy with a highly ambitious list of projects. They include raising “billions of dollars” to allow Jewish day schools around the country to provide a free education, and promoting a campaign to have Jews around the world recite Sh’ma Yisrael twice a day “with love.” Perhaps most challenging: “convincing people to stop talking in shul,” Rabbi Buchwald said.
If anyone can do it, he can.
Gary Rosenblatt, a Pulitzer Prize finalist, is the former editor and publisher of The Jewish Week of New York. You can follow him as a free or paid subscriber at garyrosenblatt.substack.com.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Mahmoud Khalil’s book reiterates his anti-Zionist stance
From the beginning, Palestinian activist Mahmoud Khalil denied claims that the protests at Columbia University after the Oct. 7, 2023 Hamas attacks on Israel were antisemitic.
In his book, No Land to Stand On, released Tuesday, he stands by that.
Khalil, who became the face of the anti-Israel campus movement after he was detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement in 2025, reiterates his anti-Zionist stance in the book while detailing “a life of exile, refuge, and resistance.”
Recounting the endless interviews with journalists that made him the face of a campus movement, he writes that the question of whether the protests were antisemitic kept coming up.
“I explained, repeatedly, that the conflation of anti-Zionism with antisemitism was a strategy to stifle righteous criticism of Israel,” writes Khalil, who added that many Jewish students were involved in the protests. “Such weaponization of antisemitism was designed to place a state and its crimes beyond criticism by wrapping them in the protections owed to a faith and its people.”
The memoir weaves Khalil’s beliefs and frustrations through stories from his life, from where he was born in a Palestinian refugee camp in Syria and fled to Lebanon at age 18, to the protests at Columbia, his detention and finally his release. He uses the book as an opportunity to say his detention was unjust, and to critique the government’s case against him.
He notes a memo from U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio that states his detention was a result of “antisemitic protests and disruptive activities, which fosters a hostile environment for Jewish students in the United States,” adding those activities were “otherwise lawful.”
“Otherwise lawful,” writes Khalil. “They had written it themselves. My beliefs were lawful, and they wanted to deport me for them.”
Khalil argued that the administration was disingenuous in deporting him for alleged antisemitism, pointing to Trump’s personal visit with the openly antisemitic influencer Nick Fuentes. He also accused the administration of platforming “white supremacist rhetoric and symbolism.”
Further, Khalil claimed pro-Palestinian protesters were peaceful, while “it was the pro-Israel students and Zionist groups that had provoked confrontations, harassed Palestinian students, and in some cases physically attacked them.”
Despite his status as a lawful permanent resident married to a U.S. citizen, the federal government apprehended him on March 8, 2025. Khalil spent 104 days in ICE detention, famously missing the birth of his first child.
His imprisonment sparked a fierce debate over free speech, along with a debate over what his beliefs were to begin with. Khalil clarified his stances in an April interview with the Forward saying he acknowledged “a Jewish connection” to Israel, but that “rejecting the self-determination of the Jewish people on the Palestinian land in itself is not antisemitism.”
He reiterates in the book that he does not “endorse” Hamas, though he told the Forward he was unsure if Hamas targeted civilians on Oct. 7, something that has been widely documented and substantiated.
While he expressed disdain for the way the university handled the protests and its messaging after Oct. 7, Khalil said the university was failing its Palestinian students long before 2023. He pointed to the school’s Tel Aviv Global Center, which opened this past summer despite protest.
“Columbia wanted to open an institutional outpost, funded in part by our tuition, in a place that had a policy of refusing entry to people like me, and call it a center for global learning,” he wrote.
He also took aim at Columbia’s dual degree program with Tel Aviv University.
“The dual-degree stream was largely built around Jewish Israeli students who had served in the Israeli army,” writes Khalil. “I couldn’t stop thinking that if I were in Palestine, some of these students would be stopping me at checkpoints, raiding my university, piloting the drones surveilling my community, killing my neighbors.”
Returning home to New York from the ICE detention center in Louisiana, he wrote that he was met with praise — and harassment.
When people approached him asking if he was the Khalil they’d seen in the news, he was unsure: “Whether they wanted to shake my hand or spit in my face, say ‘Thank you for what you’re doing’ or follow me through Midtown yelling ‘Am Yisrael Chai.’”
He saw all of those reactions and more, he wrote.
The 208-page book is dedicated to Khalil’s wife, to the Columbia students who participated in the protests, to ICE detainees and “Palestine, until you are free.” He will launch a book tour on Tuesday at a shop just two blocks from Columbia’s campus.
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Sydney Sweeney went to shul. But did she choose the right occasion?
Jewish internet spaces are alight this week with reports that actress, model and political lightning rod Sydney Sweeney was spotted in the pews on Rosh Hashanah.
According to GreenwichTime and The Free Press, Sweeney — who is not Jewish — attended services at Temple Sholom in Greenwich, Connecticut, with her boyfriend, music mogul Scooter Braun (who grew up there). Gossip rag DeuxMoi has since claimed that Sweeney, who has been linked with Braun since at least June 2025, is also contemplating conversion.
One can speculate on whether the most in-demand actress on the planet might be leaning a bit too hard into her Marilyn Monroe character arc. At the Forward, though, we’re wondering whether Sweeney’s Jewish beau picked the right holiday to bring her to shul.
After all, there’s a wide range of experiences when it comes to prayer services, and you want to make a positive first impression. You’d want their day in shul to be accessible, fun and not too long. That’s a Sydney Sweeney movie, though, not Rosh Hashanah services. So without further ado, here’s the official undisputed rankings of Jewish calendar days on which to bring your non-Jewish partner to shul.
Going from least to most desirable:
Erev Tisha B’av
I would have to respect the audacity of someone bringing their partner to synagogue for the first time on Tisha B’av, the day Jewish people grieve the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. It’s an intentionally unpleasant time to be in shul — you’re sitting on the floor, reading Lamentations. Also, you’re not supposed to greet people at all, which would almost certainly be awkward for a first-timer, considering how uncomfortable it is for regulars. On the flip side, if you’re Sydney Sweeney, that rule means no one can bother you for a selfie, either.
Shemini Atzeret
We pray for rain, which is an ancient word that means sustenance, but at this point everyone’s running on fumes for the High Holiday season, so you probably won’t get your senior rabbi delivering the sermon. Some years (including this one), your synagogue might be reading Ecclesiastes, which is both melancholy and long. Hard sell.
Passover
Passover isn’t known for its prayer services — the main event is, of course, the seder. If you’re taking a non-Jewish partner to services for the first time on Passover, it usually means one of two things: 1) You don’t want anyone to meet this person, because nobody goes to shul on Passover or 2) You didn’t have enough fun at the seder, because if you did, you’d be sleeping in with the rest of us.
One Passover plus: On the Shabbat that falls during the holiday, services also include the reading of the Song of Songs, the most risqué text in the Jewish canon.
Shavuot
In the height of summer, we read the story of Ruth — Judaism’s great conversion story. (Hint hint.) We also celebrate the receiving of the Ten Commandments, which your partner may already be familiar with from the movies, if not public school.
Shavuot morning is also a good service to go to because — at least in synagogues that observe two days of the holiday — the first day’s early services are led at a breakneck pace so that people who stayed up all night studying Torah the night before can go straight to sleep. No sermon! You’ll be out of there faster than you can say Na’aseh V’nishmah.
Simchat Torah
Like Sukkot, but swap out the lulav and etrog for Torah scrolls, which don’t smell as good or shake as well. Many synagogues (over-)serve alcohol on this holiday, which is a double-edged sword for a day you’d prefer everyone to be on their best behavior.
Yom Kippur
I’m gonna call this one underrated. There are surprisingly some things going for the Jewish day of repentance. The themes of atonement and forgiveness have universal appeal, and Jewish people do them well. You’ll probably get one of the rabbi’s strongest sermons of the calendar cycle. There’s a strange ecstasy that comes from being trapped in a room with hundreds of fasting people; the story of Jonah and the whale is one of our highlights. (This is also the only holiday I can attest to: My parents had their first date — ever! — on Yom Kippur services, and they’re still together.)
At the same time, Yom Kippur tends to have the longest prayer services of the year. It’s a fast day, so there’s no free food at the end of afternoon services (though you might get bagels at the break-fast). You usually have to pay to get in, plus there’s often a fundraising appeal woven into the service. And due to the prohibition on wearing leather shoes, you’d also be surrounding your partner with people wearing Crocs with dress clothes, which may scare them away from Judaism even if you try to explain it.
Sukkot
People like to call this our most pagan holiday, but marching around in circles with a giant asparagus and lemon is objectively fun, and the Four Species can represent basically anything you want. Let’s just hope your partner isn’t a willow.
Rosh Hashanah
Scooter Braun isn’t the first person to drag their partner to shul on Rosh Hashanah, and for good reason. Everyone wears their finest clothing, the shul will be beautifully decorated and the prayers are musically extravagant. The rabbi’s sermon will emphasize renewal and the commitment to doing better. There’s a decent chance apples dipped in honey will be served in the lobby. And above all else, the shofar blowing — done right — is arguably the highlight of the year in shul.
Plus, everyone’s there, so you can introduce your partner to everyone they need to know in one fell swoop. The only downside is you usually have to buy a ticket. (And on behalf of synagogue offices everywhere, if you’re the Jewish partner in the relationship, don’t try to arrange this over email 24 hours before the holiday.)
Purim
This is one thing Nobody Wants This got right: Purim is the ideal holiday for introducing a non-Jewish partner to the community. What better way to show up than in costume? You learn a foundational story of Jewish survival, a tradition that transforms our vulnerability into comedy. It’s also a family-oriented holiday — kids in face-paint, everyone with their graggers — which makes it a perfect picture-this set piece.
But the best thing about Purim? Thanks to the tradition of drinking ‘til you drop — if the relationship doesn’t work out, no one will remember a year later.
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How Toronto Jews spread the Gospel of ‘Godspell’
To wander into a screening of You Had to Be There, Nick Davis’ documentary about the famed 1972 Toronto production of Godspell, is to have a Jewish come-to-Jesus moment.
The first thing you hear, after the voice of a 22-year-old Martin Short, testing a microphone in a furtive recording taken at the Royal Alexander Theatre, is a shofar sounding a tinny tekiah. It’s maybe not what you’d expect from a musical built around the Gospel of Matthew. But the film, which features interviews with original 1972 cast members Eugene Levy and Victor Garber, composer Stephen Schwartz and the production’s musical director Paul Shaffer, makes a strong case for Jewishness being the secret sauce that made the show take off.
Davis, who grew up in a secular Jewish home, began this project as a Godspell skeptic, trying to understand how so many subversive comedic talents broke out in a “hippie-dippy musical about Jesus.”
“I could imagine SCTV ripping Godspell apart with the Godspell that I knew,” Davis said in a video call from Chicago, where he was in town for a screening at the Music Box Theater. “Almost from the very beginning, they were like, ‘You don’t understand what Godspell was.’”
The show was picketed by Christians who took exception to the apostles, and Jesus himself, depicted as clowns clad in overalls. The key to the success of the Toronto Godspell, one of a number of regional productions that sprang up in the 1970s, was its invitation to performers to improvise within a sacred text.
“My feeling now is they were attracted to this material because this material encouraged them to be their biggest, best, most brilliant comic selves,” said Davis.
In the case of Hamilton, Ontario-native Eugene Levy or Gilda Radner, who came over from Detroit to audition, this meant introducing a Jewish sensibility to a work that was rooted in the writings of a First Century Jew. Whether they knew it or not, the cast was soon following a Jewish schedule of worship.
Perhaps more legendary than the show, composed by an early career Schwartz, later to write Wicked, with a book by his Carnegie Mellon classmate John-Michael Tebelak, were the after-parties, dubbed “Friday Night Services” and held at the shared home of Short and Levy.
It was here, with some chemical assistance — that the cast and their friends, among them John Candy, developed bits and worked on characters. (Thankfully, they had the presence of mind to record these confabs, which can be heard in the film and are animated in a style a la The Brady Kids.)
It wasn’t quite Bible study, but in his interviews, Eugene Levy briefly reflects on the significance of his turn as Jesus, following Victor Garber and Don Scardino, who later became a prolific comedy director for shows like 30 Rock and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.
“I think I was the first Jewish-looking Jesus that any of the productions had,” Levy says in the documentary. “They went more Ronald McDonald with that look but I definitely was sporting my ethnicity and a little hair.”
Levy refused to manscape for the role of Jesus, who traditionally makes his entrance in just his boxers, and so he had to wear an undershirt. At one point the actor considers if, in the moment after Jesus is “crucified” on a chainlink fence, and lifted by the company in a sort of resurrection, he was doing something sacrilegious.
In the end, he concludes, it just felt like good theater.
The call of Godspell remains strong, Davis said. Not every member of the company — some of whom are related by marriage — still sees each other in person, but they’re all on an email chain. Davis embarked on the film thinking it would be a study on “the fickleness of fame,” with the cast of 10 about evenly divided between household names and ones who didn’t quite hit, but from the first interview he found people asking when he’d arrange a reunion.
The moment finally arrived in 2025, which, due to the exigencies of scheduling, happened to be the first night of Passover. There was a cake, but you can see Paul Shaffer electing to snack on matzo. (When cast member Valda Aviks asks him if he shouldn’t be at a Seder, he simply says “eh.”)
“I did bring a Seder plate that we had, a little fun thing for them to play with if they wanted,” said Davis. “All they wanted to do was sing by the piano.”
Davis considers Godspell, the Jesus musical written by a “nice Jewish boy from Long Island,” an example of the way Jews succeed through assimilation and entertainment. While he came in thinking the show was cornball, he now understands how it paved the way for the barrier-breaking comedy its alumni would produce
“There’s something Jewish fundamentally at the core of it,” Davis said. Like the Jewish teacher at its center, it is “radical.”
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