Calling herself an “unlikely rabbi,” Angela Buchdahl has been a staple on numerous lists of notable American Jews, including the Forward 50. Born in South Korea in 1972 and raised by a Korean Buddhist mother and an Ashkenazi Jewish father in Tacoma, Washington, she went on to become the first Asian American ordained as a rabbi and first as a cantor. Today, she leads Central Synagogue in New York City, one of the largest and most influential congregations in the country.

Her new memoir, Heart of a Stranger: An Unlikely Rabbi’s Story of Faith, Identity, and Belonging, traces that journey, from the embracing Jewish community she grew up in to finding herself the answer to a Jeopardy question (“What is rabbi?”) — and, even more bizarrely, picking up the phone one day to hear a hostage-taking gunman make demands of her as the “chief rabbi of the United States.” In advance of the book’s release and a launch event hosted by Stephen Colbert, I spoke with her about claiming her place in Jewish life and the responsibility of Jews to always think of the stranger as themselves.

This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.

How did you nab Stephen Colbert for your book launch event — or did he nab you?

His son and my son were college roommates, and I got to know him and his wife, Evie. I learned quickly that this was not only a very funny man and a very good interviewer, but someone who was deeply faithful. He teaches in his church and thinks a lot about faith. I’m very grateful that he said yes.

Your title is Heart of a Stranger. I want to challenge you on that: Haven’t you and I worked for years on representing Jews of color as normative? Are you still feeling like a stranger?

I guess I would argue that you never fully let it go. It’s like someone who says they were chubby as a kid. They’re not chubby anymore, but there’s some way in which they always see themselves as the chubby kid. You carry certain formative identity markers from childhood into your adulthood.

Heart of a Stranger is not an original title. I took it from Torah, which says, “Do not oppress the stranger. You know the heart of a stranger. You were strangers in Egypt.” This is the existential state that Jews are supposed to understand and know. The danger is when we get too comfortable, too powerful, too complacent.

Along those lines, you write about undergoing a conversion, even though your family was Reform, which by the time you were growing up had recognized patrilineal descent. That brought to mind Julius Lester’s conversion, which actually was something of a reversion because his great-grandfather was a German Jew. Lester said that he wasn’t converting to be accepted; he was converting for himself, saying, “I would do it even if no Jew ever accepted me.”

I had a very similar experience. I rejected the idea of converting when it was first suggested to me at age 16. Growing up in Tacoma in a Reform synagogue in my little Jewish bubble, I was accepted without a lot of questions. But I had a lot of existential identity questions: “Was I Jewish enough? Was I authentic enough? Was I learned enough?” And some of the answers were not yes.

I termed it a reaffirmation ceremony rather than conversion, because conversion sounds like turning into something that you weren’t before. I recognized that with a Beit Din of three Reform rabbis, it wasn’t going to change my status one whit for an Orthodox Jew. But it wasn’t for them. It was really a way to ritually mark the journey that I had been on and the acceptance of my identity in a way that felt important to me.

One reason I live in Duluth is I’ve called our little Temple Israel here the warmest shul that I’ve ever found in one of the coldest places on earth. Do you find it true that smaller Jewish communities are more embracing than large ones?

I grew up in a small community that was incredibly embracing of my family, including my mother, and that made a huge difference. I now work at a very large synagogue. I think the big difference is when you’re in a community where not everybody knows each other and they’re encountering people who are strangers. That’s when the inevitable questions come up.

It was disappointing for me after many years of being the senior rabbi of Central to hear from Jews of color who said Central wasn’t as welcoming of them as I thought. It hadn’t solved every problem just by having me as the senior rabbi. That was a painful realization that started a conversation that has shifted the culture at Central.

You write about the synagogue takeover in Colleyville, Texas, in 2022. The perpetrator who held the rabbi and congregants hostage called you while it was going on. He seemed to think that you were the “chief rabbi of the United States.” On the one hand, you’re balancing this misperception of your influence and power. On the other, this was a real situation of life and death.

That was one of the most surreal and destabilizing experiences I’ve ever had as a rabbi. They don’t train you for hostage negotiation in rabbinical school.

This terrorist clearly had done a lot of research. He researched the synagogue, which was the closest synagogue to the federal prison from which he wanted a prisoner released. The FBI went through his computer and saw that he was searching for what he thought was the equivalent of a chief rabbi because he was from England, where there is a chief rabbi. Of course, that doesn’t exist in America. He also mentioned that he saw pictures of me with President Obama at the White House. I think given Central’s name, and the fact that I had been the answer to a Jeopardy question not long before, may have put me higher up on the search algorithm.

It was terrifying because I felt that he very explicitly put the lives of these four people on me. And yet, I felt powerless to do anything. This is a case where I realized the danger of the antisemitic trope that he had imbibed since childhood, that Jews control the government and can make a few phone calls and get anything done. When I said to him, “I don’t think I have as much power as you think I do,” he was like, “Of course you do.” So, yeah, it was a terrifying day. I continue to give thanks that the four who were being held hostage survived.

Another weird note is that he seemed to think it normative that a Jew of color would be the chief rabbi of the United States. Does this mean our efforts for a more inclusive representation of Judaism are paying off?

It is funny because when I was named senior rabbi of Central, there was an Orthodox publication that had a headline like, “It’s official: Non-Jews can be rabbis” — literally calling me a non-Jew. And here was this deranged gunman who seemed to think I was the chief rabbi. I can laugh about it in some ways now that it’s over, but it is ironic.

The post How an ‘unlikely rabbi’ went from Korea to Colbert appeared first on The Forward.

ראַשעל װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן „דאָס קרײצן פֿון די הענט“ איז אַ יוצא־דופֿן אין דער אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור.

דאָס בוך איז אַרױס אין תּל־אָבֿיבֿ אין 1971, אָבער די האַנדלונג קומט פֿאָר אין 1918. דאָס איז אַ דראַמאַטישע ליבע־געשיכטע צװישן אַ דיכטער, וואָס הייסט ניעזשינער און אַ יונגער דיכטערין, מרים. בײדע זײַנען חתונה־געהאַטע מיט קינדער: ער האָט פֿינף, זי האָט אײנס. די שטורעמדיקע ליבע צעשטערט דעם שלום־בית אין ביידעהײמען. זײ פֿאַרלאָזן זײערע משפּחות און װאַנדערן איבער די גאַסן, קאַפֿע־הײַזער און געדונגענע צימערן אין דער גרױסער שטאָט ניו־יאָרק.

װען דאָס בוך איז אַרױס אױף ייִדיש, האָבן נאָך געלעבט לײענערס, װאָס האָבן געדענקט די בלי־תּקופֿה פֿון דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור אין ניו־יאָרק און דערקענט די פּראָטאָטיפּן פֿון די פּערסאָנאַזשן: ניעזשינער איז דער דיכטער מאַני לײב בראַהינסקי (1883־1953) — ער שטאַמט פֿון דער שטאָט ניעזשין אין מזרח־אוקראַיִנע — און מרים איז די מחברטע, ראַשעל װעפּרינסקי (1896־1981). צװײ אַנדערע װיכטיקע פּערסאָנאַזשן האָבן אױך רעאַלע פּראָטאָטיפּן: ניעזשינערס חבֿר יעקבֿ שאָר איז דער דיכטער ראובֿן אײַזלאַנד (1884־1955) און זײַן קאָכאַנקע אַדאַ איז די דיכטערין אַנאַ מאַרגאָלין (ראָזע לעבענסבױם, 1887־1952).

צו דער צײַט פֿון דער פּובליקאַציע פֿונעם ראָמאַן זײַנען די דאָזיקע פּראָטאָטיפּן — חוץ װעפּרינסקין — שױן געװען אױף יענער װעלט. זײ האָבן ניט געקענט האָבן קײן טענות צו דער מחברטע. אַ סבֿרא, ניט אַלע פֿון זײ װאָלטן געװען צופֿרידן מיט זײערע ליטעראַרישע פּאָרטרעטן, בפֿרט אַנאַ מאַרגאָלין. אָט, למשל, װי װעפּרינסקי באַשרײַבט די באַציִונגען פֿון אַדאַ צו שאָרן: „אַדאַ האָט אים אױסגעקליבן בלױז דעמאָלט, װען זי האָט שױן נישט געהאַט קײן אױסקוק אױף עפּעס בעסערס. דערבײַ מאָנט זי כּסדר בײַ אים געטרײַשאַפֿט. אַלײן קאָכט זי צומאָל נישט אָפּ אַ לעפֿל געקעכץ, שטענדיק נאַשט זי זיסקײטן און װערט דיקער פֿון טאָג צו טאָג. אין שטוב איז אָנגעװאָרפֿן, ס’איז דאָ אַן אמתער הקדש.“ עס איז קלאָר, אַז קײן שטאַרקע ליבע צװישן װעפּרינסקי און מאַרגאָלין איז ניט געװען.

הײַיאָר איז װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן אַרױס אױף ענגליש אין דער איבערזעצונג פֿון חנה נאָריך און עלען קעסעדי. זײ דערקלערן אין דער הקדמה, אַז די פּערסאָנאַזשן פֿונעם ראָמאַן געהערן צו דער באָהעמישער ליטעראַרישער סבֿיבֿה אַרום דער ליטעראַרישער גרופּע „די יונגע“, װאָס איז געװען פּראָמינענט אין די ערשטע פּאָר צענדליק יאָר פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט.

אײַזלאַנד שרײַבט אין זײַנע זכרונות „פֿון אונדזער פֿרילינג“, אַז „דער נאָמען ׳יונגע׳ איז אורשפּרענגלעך געװען אַ שפּאָט־נאָמען פֿאַר אַ גרופּע יונגע שרײַבער, װאָס האָט נאָך אין 1907 געהאַט די ׳חוצפּה׳ צו דערקלערן, אַז מען דאַרף דאָס ביסל ייִדישע ליטעראַרישע כּוחות אין אַמעריקע באַפֿרײַען פֿון דער אַפּוטרופּסות פֿון די צײַטונגען, און זײ האָבן געזוכט צו שאַפֿן אַן אײגענעם ליטעראַרישן װינקל אין די דינע העפֿטלעך פֿון דעם חודש־זשורנאַל ׳די יוגנט׳.“ ביז הײַנט פֿאַרבלײַבן װעפּרינסקיס ראָמאַן און אײַזלאַנדס זכרונות די װיכטיקסטע מקורים װעגן דער ליטעראַרישער סבֿיבֿה פֿון יענער תּקופֿה.

„די יונגע“ האָבן געהאַט פֿעסטע עסטעטישע השׂגות װעגן דיכטונג. אײַזמאַן שרײַבט: „די דיכטונג דאַרף ניט לעבן אין זכות פֿון װעלכער ניט איז אידײ, װײַל זי לעבט אין איר אײגענעם זכות.“ ניעזשינער און מרים, פּונקט װי דאָס רובֿ ייִדישע ליטעראַטן פֿון יענער צײַט, זײַנען געװען אַרבעטער, אָבער דיכטונג איז בײַ זײ געװען װיכטיקער אײדער פּרנסה. נאָך אַ שװערן אַרבעט־טאָג אין אַ שאַפּ אָדער אַ פֿאַבריק האָבן זײ פֿאַרבראַכט אָװנטן מיט חבֿרים ליטעראַן און אַקטיאָרן אין קאַפֿע־הײַזער אױף דעם איסט־סײַד.

װעפּרינסקי באַשרײַבט די דאָזיקע אָװנטן אין דער הקדמה צו מאַני לײבס בריװ, װאָס זי האָט אַרױסגעגעבן אין 1980: „מאַני לײב פֿלעגט זיך אײַלן פֿון דער אַרבעט אין שלומס קאַפֿע און ס׳האָבן שױן דאָרט געװאַרט אױף אים זײַנע חבֿרים, כּדי צוזאַמען זאָלן זײ אױסאַרבעטן זײערע ליטעראַרישע פּלענער און פּראָיעקטן, אַרױסהעלפֿן חבֿרים פּאָעטן אַרױסגעבן זײערע װערק און טאַקע אױך הערן װעגן די לעצטע לידער זײַנע, װאָס זײַנען דערשינען זונטיק אין ‘פֿאָרװערטס’ און אין אַנדערער צײַטשריפֿטן. אױך איך פֿלעג קומען אַהין און מיר פֿלעגן זיך דאָרט טרעפֿן.”

מען האָט אױך געפֿירט לינקע ליבעס, צומאָל מיט מער װי אײן פֿרױ אָדער מאַן אײנצײַטיק. אַזאַ פֿירונג איז געװען אַ מין פּראָטעסט פֿונעם יונגן דור אימיגראַנטן קעגן דער אַלטמאָדישער ייִדישקײט פֿון זײערע עלטערן. די שטאָט ניו־יאָרק האָט טאַקע געשאַפֿן נײַע מעגלעכקײטן פֿאַר פֿרײַע באַציִונגען צװישן מענער און פֿרױען. די בריקן צװישן ברוקלין און מאַנהעטן, שמאָלע גאַסן און ברײטע עװעניוס, רעסטאָראַנען און פּריװאַטע דירות, װי אױך די װאַקאַציע־האָטעלן, פֿערמעס און װעלדער אין די קעטסקיל־בערג שפּילן אַ װיכטיקע ראָלע אין דער אַנטװיקלונג פֿונעם סיפּור־המעשׂה פֿונעם ראָמאַן.

די איבערזעצערינס באַמערקן אין דער הקדמה׃ „כאָטש דער ראָמאַן איז פֿאַרעפֿנטעלעכט געװאָרן אין ייִדיש העכער װי פֿופֿציק יאָר נאָך די באַשריבענע געשעענישן, לײענט ער זיך כּאילו ער איז אָנגעשריבן געװאָרן בשעת די האַנדלונג איז פֿאָרגעקומען.“ װעפּרינסקיס זכּרון האָט אָפּגעהיט ניט נאָר די פּרטים פֿונעם אַמאָליקן באָהעמישן שטײגער נאָר אױך דעם גײַסט פֿון יענער תּקופֿה, װען „די יונגע“ זײַנען טאַקע געװען יונג און פֿול מיט שעפֿערישע כּוחות.

אײַזלאַנד האַלט, אַז דער ערשטער, ראָמאַנטישער פּעריאָד אין מאַני לײבס דיכטונג, איז געקומען צום סוף, דװקא אַרום דער צײַט פֿון זײַן באַגעגעניש מיט ראַשעל. באַלד נאָך דעם האָט זיך אָנגעהױבן די צװײטע תּקופֿה: „די הױפּט־כאַראַקטעריסטיק פֿון מאַני לײבס ערשטער דיכטערישער תּקופֿה איז נעפּל. אַלץ איז אין איר פֿאַרנעפּלט. די שטימונג איז פֿאַרנעפּלט, די איבערלעבונג פֿון װעלכער זי װאַקסט אַרױס איז פֿאַרנעפּלט. […] די סיבה פֿון דער דאָזיקער פֿאַרנעפּלטקײט האָט זיך, לױט מײַן מײנונג, גענומען הױפּטזעכלעך פֿון דעם, װאָס ער אַלײן האָט […] מורא געהאַט צו דערגרונטעװען זיך צו זײַנע עמאָציעס. די הױפּט־כאַראַקטעריסטיק פֿון זײַן צװײטן פּעריאָד איז זוניקײט און קלאָרקײט.“

עס איז אַװדאי ניט מער װי אַ השערה, אַז די דראַמאַטישע און שטורעמדיקע ליבע־אַפֿערע מיט ראַשעל האָט געגעבן אַ שטױס פֿאַרן אַרױסברענגען מאַני לײבס דיכטונג פֿון נעפּל צו קלאָרקײט. אָבער עס איז ניטאָ קײן ספֿק, אַז די דאָזיקע שטאַרקע איבערלעבונגען האָבן איבערגעלאָזט אַ טיפֿן רושם אױף בײדע נשמות זײערע. װעפּרינסקי האָט אָפּגעהיט דעם דאָזיקן רושם איר גאַנץ לעבן און האָט געפֿונען פֿאַר אים אַ פֿרישן קינסטלערישן אױסדרוק אין איר ראָמאַן.

דער בעסטער אופֿן אָפּצושאַצן די שײנקײט און פֿרישקײט פֿונעם ראָמאַן איז צו לײענען אים אין אײנעם מיט מאַני לײבס לידער. און די הײַנטיקע צײַט איז אַן עת־רצון פֿאַר װענדן זיך צו דער ירושה פֿון דער אַמעריקאַנער ייִדיש־ליטעראַטור, װען אָרעמע ייִדישע אַרבעטער האָבן באַזונגען אין זײערע לידער פֿרײַהײט, ליבע און שײנקײט פֿון דער װעלט — אױף צו להכעיס די ביטערע אומשטאַנדן פֿון זײער טאָגטעגלעכן לעבן.

The post A love affair between two Yiddish poets in New York City  appeared first on The Forward.

NEW YORK CITY — More than 100 people gathered Sunday morning in the basement of Fifth Avenue Synagogue, a Modern Orthodox congregation on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, to discuss one thing: how to stop Zohran Mamdani’s march to City Hall.

“Fifth Avenue Synagogue invites you to attend a parlor meeting to discuss DEFEATING MAMDANI PLAN B,” the invitation read.

Synagogue president Jacob Gold had invited Mamdani’s two competitors in New York City’s mayor’s race, former Gov. Andrew Cuomo and Republican Curtis Sliwa, to join the event. Only Sliwa RSVPed yes, speaking to the group before taking questions from the mix of members and guests of the synagogue.

Over coffee and bagels with egg salad, attendees voiced their appreciation for the Guardian Angels founder, who was wearing his signature red beret — but their overwhelming message was one that he did not want to hear.

“We all love you, we want you to win,” said synagogue president Jacob Gold, who was standing by Sliwa at the podium. “But you’re at 15%, and Cuomo’s at what percent? And Mamdani’s at what percent?”

No one answered, but everyone knew the numbers: Cuomo netted 28% of the vote in the latest poll, which was also the first to show Mamdani crossing the 50% threshold.

“Let’s cut to the chase — you want me to drop out,” Sliwa interjected.

“No!” Gold replied. “I want you to merge with Cuomo.”

Many others in the room joined Gold in yelling out “No” in unison. But a smattering of voices told Sliwa he had sized the situation up correctly.

A number of attendees spoke up during the Q&A period, pleading their case that Sliwa, who is polling third, should team up with former Gov. Andrew Cuomo against Mamdani.

“Merge!” attendees blurted out at various points, as well as “Unite!” One suggested Sliwa could take a position in Cuomo’s administration. Another posited that Sliwa could take over as mayor once Cuomo runs for president of the United States in a couple years.

But Sliwa has resisted calls to drop out before and did so again during the synagogue meeting. “It’s not happening,” he said.

The pleas to unite with Cuomo did not necessarily reflect loyalty to the former governor, whom Gold said might visit the synagogue next week: The phrase “Plug your nose and vote Cuomo” was uttered more than once. Instead, they came as part of an attempt to overcome a sizable lead by Mamdani, the Queens state lawmaker whose harshly critical views on Israel and democratic socialist politics are anathema to many in Orthodox Jewish communities.

“He’s an antisemite, period!” one man yelled out.

Once Sliwa left after concluding his Q&A, other speakers took to the podium including Hank Sheinkopf, a veteran political consultant; former Lieutenant Governor Betsy McCaughey, who’s behind an anti-Mamdani independent expenditure committee called Save NYC; and Jason Meister, a former Trump advisor who’s heading Defend NYC, a super PAC aimed at thwarting Mamdani’s campaign.

They emphasized the importance of a major get-out-the-vote effort, citing their belief that Mamdani could still be beaten if voter turnout reached 45%. McCaughey distributed leaflets about Mamdani’s support for a law that she said could cause voters against him if they were aware.

“He’s the only candidate who backs rigorous enforcement of Local Law 97, which will force one million Homeowners like you to foot the enormous cost of converting oil or natural gas heat to electric heat throughout your building,” part of the leaflet reads, with “DO NOT VOTE FOR MAMDANI” in big red letters.

Sheinkopf urged attendees to combat the presence of Mamdani’s tens of thousands of volunteers by campaigning against him.

“The only thing that matters here is communicating with people and getting in the street. The rest of it is nonsense,” Sheinkopf said. “Sure as we’re in this room, I need your help to hit those doors and get in the street and get on those phones. Because if we do, we have the potential to win this thing.”

Ultimately, however, the biggest push from the attendees themselves was their attempt to talk Sliwa into a coalition with Cuomo.

“Everybody’s talking about it privately,” said Daria Fane, an attendee who is not a member of Fifth Avenue Synagogue, but frequently attends services there and at other Upper East Side congregations.

“We sit around the dinner table talking about it — where’s New York City going, and what are we going to be able to do?” Fane said in an interview following the event. “And one of the little truisms that always comes up is that Curtis Sliwa should drop out. If it’s just a two-way race, Cuomo would have a better chance of winning.”

She added, “We’ve had this conversation since before Eric Adams dropped out.”

During the Q&A, a woman who said she was wearing a red hat in support of Sliwa asked that he not “put down Cuomo” in the next debate, as he had done in Thursday’s. “You need to both go against Mamdani — Mam-dummy,” she said, getting some laughs with a derisive nickname.

But Sliwa did not entertain the idea of a coalition with Cuomo, and doubled down on his criticisms of the former governor.

“I was raised in America — one man, one woman, one vote,” Sliwa said. “I never heard of one man, one woman, and the rest of you drop out.”

“Andrew Cuomo needs to get out on the campaign trail. He’s spending all of his time trying to get me to drop out. It’s not happening. I’m out there to get my vote out,” he said, which was met with more shouts of “Unite!”

“But then you’re going to be a spoiler!” someone in the crowd said, which drew some boos.

“You guys would make the best government ever,” an attendee chimed in, appealing to the idea that they “unite” rather than using the term “drop out.”

Sliwa did not hold back from criticizing Cuomo, skewering him for signing cashless bail legislation reform as governor. He also came out hard against Mamdani, telling attendees that they must convince their Mamdani-supporting “children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren that they are committing a shanda,” the Yiddish term for “shame.”

Sliwa did defend Mamdani, however, when an angered attendee recalled when Mamdani asked Cuomo during the debate if he’d ever visited a mosque.

“Cuomo should’ve said, ‘Have you ever been in a synagogue?’” she said.

A mix of cheers and chatter erupted; Sliwa shook his head. “Excuse me — he has been in a synagogue,” he said, correcting the record.

Mamdani attended a mayoral candidates forum in the spring at B’nai Jeshurun, a non-denominational synagogue on the Upper West Side, as well as High Holiday services at the progressive Brooklyn congregation Kolot Chayeinu and the “God-optional experimental Jewish community” Lab/Shul. Last weekend Mamdani spoke at Congregation Beth Elohim, the biggest Reform synagogue in Brooklyn.

Even with Sliwa not budging on his position, speakers including McCaughey and Defend NYC’s Meister said a major voter turnout could swing the election against Mamdani. With the election on Nov. 4, however, time is not on their side, leaving some attendees wondering if it’s too little, too late.

“I don’t know,” said Monique Silberman, a member of Fifth Avenue Synagogue. “It’s last-minute — this whole thing is last-minute.”

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