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After I stopped an attack on the subway, the victim and I bonded over Katz’s pastrami sandwiches
(New York Jewish Week) — You definitely don’t want to have what she was having at that moment.
It was December, on a Friday. I was in the tunnel that leads to the subway that runs beneath the American Museum of Natural History on West 81st St. Walking just ahead of me were two women, chatting with each other. I didn’t know them, but I watched as a man, disheveled and bearded, wearing a black knit cap with a sparkly “NYC” on it, came from the other direction. He veered a little too close to the taller of the two. Suddenly, he shifted and grabbed her from behind.
I often wondered what I would do in this situation. Standing only steps away, I no longer had to wonder. After a moment’s hesitation, I sprang into action, grabbing the man and pulling him off her. Then the woman, her friend and I hightailed it through the turnstiles. All in a New York minute.
The woman said she was OK, just worried her attacker would hurt other women. I called 911 but the operator could only speak in subway platforms, not quite grasping it occurred under the museum. How could a visitor be expected to explain the location? And why was there no attendant or police patrol in one of New York’s most visited neighborhoods? I happen to be getting a PhD in tourism studies at Purdue University, but it’s a no-brainer how bad that is for visitors and locals alike.
The 20th Precinct and Transit District 1 responding officers were polite but seemed focused on whether the attack was sexual. Later, the woman would tell me she sensed they thought nothing actually happened, despite a clear crime. “I don’t know,” she said, “one moment I’m walking in the subway and the next someone grabs me from behind. But I wind up OK, so there’s no problem?”
They nabbed the guy, holding him against the tiled wall in the very place the attack occurred. One officer said something like, “He has no ID, no nothing. He’s babbling to himself and doesn’t seem to know where he is.” A sense of pity rose in all of us. The woman did not want to press charges. Even the police were sympathetic, expressing how helping the mentally ill is beyond their capacity. The consensus seemed to be that they would take him somewhere for mental help.
As we waited for the train — mine to Washington Heights, the women’s to Queens — we realized we all had just come from the New-York Historical Society’s “I’ll Have What She’s Having” exhibit on Jewish delis, named for the iconic Katz’s Delicatessen scene in the 1989 film “When Harry Met Sally.” We laughed about what struck us as an ironic way to spend a Friday Shabbat evening days before Hanukkah.
Still perhaps cautious of our surroundings, we shared thoughts about the exhibit. For instance, the surprising amount of Los Angeles material and the signage explaining terms someone Jewish or from New York might take for granted — like mohel or mikvah — and Yiddish words that have long entered the local vernacular, no matter your religion.
The woman who was attacked didn’t want to be identified here, saying “I don’t want people to Google me and this is the first thing they see” — something I understand, having myself been a crime victim in 2014. Later, she texted to say she arrived home safely, adding that, despite the attack, she was “grateful to live in New York, because you restore my faith that people are there for each other.” I don’t think of myself as a mensch or hero. I just did what had to be done. And, like I said, I had a moment’s hesitation.
The situation called for dinner plans. A Jewish deli, of course, considering the circumstances. And it had to be Katz’s.
I arrived at the deli, laden down with a few free Chabad menorahs I picked up along the way after coming from the Union Square Holiday Market. I almost rushed past her standing outside the restaurant, worried about being late. We encountered a chaotic, noisy scene inside, and I realized I had not been there since before the pandemic. A man behind us in the haphazard line, there for the first time, nervously wanted advice. Have what we’re having, I suggested: pastrami on rye with mustard. No cheese, a kosher nod in this place long without such restrictions.
If fate’s bad luck brought us together, serendipity now ruled. Our sandwich maker looked familiar, and I realized he appeared in a video at the deli exhibit. As Esteban pushed our sandwiches over the glass divider, the famous table from the fake orgasm scene in “When Harry Met Sally” suddenly emptied, a family bundling up to leave. I ran to grab it, even mid-sentence talking with Esteban about the exhibit.
Yes, it was touristy! But considering what we had encountered only days before, it was a relief to feel like a tourist in a crowd of tourists. There were locals too, of course, like a diminutive old couple, smiling and saying hello to select tables. We asked a gorgeous Greek tourist we at first thought was an influencer — her dress a one-of-a-kind, hair in flowing, pop queen curls — to snap our picture.
We talked for hours about jobs, travel, family, the men in our lives and how there is no city like New York, with its museums and culture and its ethnic and religious diversity. The ultimate way to say “to life,” l’chaim.
Crime impacts everyone differently, especially when it happens to you. Yet I also know the city is vastly safer than when I was young. At 54, I remember the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s, when murders peaked at something like six a day.
If I learned anything from the subway experience, it is that our time on earth is a gift more precious than anything we might unwrap on Hanukkah or Christmas. And if anyone saw us sitting at that famous Katz’s table wondering why we laughed so much, they should ask to have what we were having: a profound appreciation that, like the sandwiches in front of us, life is delicious and should be enjoyed in big portions, despite what fate throws at us.
—
The post After I stopped an attack on the subway, the victim and I bonded over Katz’s pastrami sandwiches appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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How I found freedom in a Passover Seder, an amp and a red Fender Duo-Sonic guitar
Passover at my cousin Doug’s house was always a strange blend of ritual, impatience and barely contained chaos. None of us was particularly religious, but we knew the drill: Read the Haggadah, dip the bitter herbs, eat a boatload of matzo, and laugh along as Uncle Sonny delivered his annual denunciation of religion. We rushed through the Seder with the urgency of people trying to outrun a bullet train. Everyone wanted to get to the oleshkas, the tzimmis, and my Grandma Min’s gefilte fish.
At some point during the adult drone that followed — politics, real estate, digestive-related medical complaints — I slipped away from the table in search of Doug’s electric guitar: a red Fender Duo-Sonic. Sleek, curved, impossibly alluring. The first time I saw it, Doug, then 17 or 18, played a halting version of “Hey Joe” for my sister and me. But it wasn’t only the sound that hooked me; it was the shape of the thing. I was 13, only a few months after my Bar Mitzvah, and the guitar felt like contraband, akin to the pot I would soon be smoking. I stared at it with the same stunned focus I reserved for an occasional glimpse of the bare backside of a Playboy centerfold.
The Haggadah asks: Why is this night different from all other nights?
For me, the answer was simple: It was the night I transformed from a pimply suburban teen into something mythic. If daily life — compulsive worry about my untamable Jewy hair, god-awful grades, and a steady stream of unrequited urges — felt like Egypt, then that red Duo-Sonic was my personal Moses.
A few weeks after Passover, my father — a serial entrepreneur who once marketed his own brand of car battery, opened the first Suzuki motorcycle shop in Minneapolis, and launched an eight-track cassette store he called Tape-O-Rama — bought Doug’s Duo-Sonic guitar and his Princeton Reverb amplifier for $150. He was as thrilled about it as I was. I remember him standing in my room, sleeves rolled up, trying to look like he knew what he was talking about. It was endearing and a little sad when he pointed at the amp’s knobs — treble, bass, tremolo, and reverb — and suggested I set them all to five.
“Let’s make ’em all the same, Pete.” He said. “Even Steven.”
My dad knew less than zero about rock, but as always, he wanted to help with something that mattered to me.
The guitar changed my life. Not instantly, but decisively. The first time I played with another kid my own age, my drummer friend Andy Kamman, an impressive musician even as a fifth-grader, I felt something shift. It wasn’t like school band, where I played the alto sax while the band director hovered over us, selecting songs notable only for their excruciating lameness. This was fully ours. No supervision. No rules. No permission required. I pulled my Duo-Sonic and the Princeton amp down the street in my Radio Flyer and set it up in Andy’s basement.
When he and I started playing, it felt shockingly intimate — frightening at first. Not that I knew what a sexual encounter was, but that’s what it felt like: two separate things — guitar and drums; two separate people — me and Andy — merging into a kind of oneness. I had no idea that this sudden unanimity would become an aspiration, not only in music but in all things. Music was simply the clearest expression of that spiritualized coming-together.
I’d play a riff; he’d shift the rhythm; I’d shift again. Words I hadn’t planned poured out. It was as close to conception as I’d get for a while. That transcendent aspect of music — its weird mixture of beauty, ego, and power — was already becoming clear.
By sixth grade we had a band: me on lead guitar and vocals, Andy on drums, Steve Grossman on bass, and Aron Goldfarb on rhythm guitar. We were rehearsing for the Peter Hobart Elementary Spring Concert in Andy’s basement and the whole neighborhood seemed to show up. We had a makeshift PA — one microphone duct-taped to his brother’s stereo — and we played our three originals on repeat. Most of them barely counted as songs. “Sorrowland” was two lines of lyrics and a four-chord progression. “Down by the River” had two chords and one line clearly stolen from Creedence Clearwater.
Our masterpiece was “Exit,” which I wrote during Drug Prevention Week. Every kid had to make a filmstrip warning against marijuana. Mine consisted entirely of dinosaurs I’d rubbed from National Geographic onto overhead projector sheets. I told the class that pot would make you hallucinate brontosauruses, which — completely contrary to the purpose of the curriculum — made drugs sound irresistible.
“Exit” was about a boy who tried to touch his girlfriend’s breast before she was ready and, to soothe his rejection, turned to pot. Its last verse closed with these lyrics:
Your hopes are down and you pick up a J,
it ain’t gonna help you anyway.
But you strike a match and you let it burn
now your mind is ready to turn…
I hit the tremolo pedal on the line “strike a match,” making my voice wobble in druggy vibrato. Everyone went nuts.
With all the attention, the band drama kicked in. Aron, our rhythm guitarist, kept insisting he sing lead — even though we had only one microphone and it was plugged directly into the stereo’s single input. “Hey, Goldfarb, stop being such a dickfarb,” I said into the mic. It got a big laugh. I repeated it until the phrase turned into a song. I strummed some chords and chanted “Goldfarb’s a dickfarb,” over a riff stolen from “Exit.” The room roared. Aron turned red, threw down his gorgeous sunburst Vox Teardrop — an absurdly expensive guitar his parents bought him before he could even play — and stormed upstairs.
Things began to snowball. Kids at the school drinking fountain hummed my guitar riffs. Laura Bloomenthal finally noticed me. And then: incredible news. Mrs. Perhofsky called my house to ask if our band would perform for residents of the Saint Paul Cerebral Palsy Center. $25 plus unlimited orange pop and Fritos. I was ecstatic — and terrified. I had a problem with inappropriate laughter. Not cruelty — just a tendency to laugh when I wasn’t supposed to. A waitress once spilled pancakes at Uncle John’s Pancake House, and I burst out laughing for no good reason. I worried this gig might trigger the same response.
We practiced nonstop: our originals, Creedence’s “Who’ll Stop The Rain,” a few Beatles songs. My nerves tightened with every rehearsal.
The center’s cafeteria was huge. We set up our amps and waited. Then the audience poured in — dozens of people reaching toward us, smiling, stomping, yelling with unbounded eagerness. One guy’s head was long and cylindrical, strapped to the back of a metal wheelchair. A pretty teenage girl with no hands drew a beautiful picture with a crayon held between her toes. An older woman with skin so thin I could see every vein greeted us warmly and made us feel at ease. When we started to play, the place exploded. People pounded on tables, shouted, danced and laughed. Andy played better than I’d ever heard him. We all did.
I felt something then I couldn’t name, a sense of having stepped into the world, of finally being part of something important. I was so overwhelmed I almost cried then and there. I probably would have, if I hadn’t been afraid the guys would laugh at me. After our originals and the Creedence numbers, they demanded more. So we played everything again. We cracked open my Beatles songbook and sight-read our way through half its pages.
I didn’t laugh. I didn’t feel the need. Not even close.
Without question, it was the best day of my life so far.
Freedom is like that.
The post How I found freedom in a Passover Seder, an amp and a red Fender Duo-Sonic guitar appeared first on The Forward.
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In a first, President Donald Trump to receive Israel Prize, the country’s top civilian honor
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu announced on Monday that President Donald Trump will receive the Israel Prize in 2026, marking the first time the award will be bestowed to a foreign leader.
Trump was informed he had won the prize during a meeting with Netanyahu at his Mar-a–Lago estate as the pair discussed plans to push the ceasefire in Gaza into its second phase, a process that has stalled in recent months.
“For the first time in the history of the State of Israel: The Israel Prize will be awarded to President Trump!,” wrote Israeli Education Minister Yoav Kisch in a post on X. “This is a historic decision that expresses recognition of President Trump’s extraordinary contribution and lasting impact on the Jewish people in Israel and around the world.”
On a call with Kisch during the meeting, Trump said the award was a “great honor,” adding that to be the “first one outside of Israel is really something.”
While the prize has infrequently been awarded to non-Israeli citizens in its history, including to Indian conductor Zubin Mehta in 1991, Monday’s announcement marked the first time that a foreign leader has received the accolade.
According to the Jerusalem Post, the guidelines for the prize mandate that candidates must be Israeli citizens, with the exception of “candidates for the Israel Prize for Diaspora Jewry and/or for a special contribution to the Jewish people.” Mehta, for example, was music director of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra.
Speaking beside Trump on Monday at a press conference in Florida amid negotiations for the second phase of the Gaza ceasefire deal, Netanyahu said that Trump would receive the award for his “tremendous contributions to Israel and the Jewish people.”
“President Trump has broken so many conventions to the surprise of people, and then they figure out, oh, well, maybe you know, he was right after all,” said Netanyahu. “So we decided to break a convention to or create a new one, and that is to award the Israel Prize, which, in almost our 80 years, we’ve never awarded it to a non-Israeli, and we’re going to award it this year to President Trump.”
Netanyahu added that the award “reflects the overwhelming sentiment of Israelis across the spectrum.”
“They appreciate what you’ve done to help Israel and to help our common battle against the terrorists and those who would destroy our civilization,” continued Netanyahu.
Trump has made no secret of coveting and appreciating prizes, having frequently said that he deserves the Nobel Peace Prize. Netanyahu was among the world leaders, including officials from Pakistan and Cambodia, who nominated Trump for the Nobel. Earlier this month, the international soccer federation FIFA awarded Trump its inaugural “FIFA Peace Prize.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post In a first, President Donald Trump to receive Israel Prize, the country’s top civilian honor appeared first on The Forward.
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Iran Faces Nationwide Protests Amid Economic Collapse as Israel Voices Support for Demonstrators
Protesters demonstrate against poor economic conditions in Tehran, Iran, with some shopkeepers closing their stores on Dec. 29, 2025, in response to ongoing hardships and fluctuations in the national currency. Photo: ZUMA Press Wire via Reuters Connect
Iran on Monday experienced a second straight day of expanding nationwide anti-government protests, with violent clashes between demonstrators and security forces escalating as the country grapples with unprecedented domestic crises amid Israel’s open support for the protesters.
On Sunday, thousands of people joined protests across Tehran as shopkeepers closed their stores and went on strike over the country’s deepening economic crisis and the rial — the nation’s currency — plummeting to record lows, Iranian media reported.
Demonstrators are now calling to extend strikes into a third day on Tuesday, with closures reported across key markets and protests spreading nationwide amid mounting economic pressure and growing calls for regime change.
With public unrest sweeping the nation and disrupting commercial districts, security forces have escalated their crackdown, clashing violently with protesters while firing tear gas at shopkeepers.
In widely circulated social media videos, protesters can be heard chanting slogans such as “Death to the dictator” and “[Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei] will be toppled this year,” while also calling for Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian to step down.
Videos sent to Iran International show security forces confronting protesting shopkeepers in central Tehran on Monday, with riot police deployed around the Grand Bazaar and tear gas used on Jomhouri Street near the Hafez underpass. pic.twitter.com/OyhQlyUJaN
— Iran International English (@IranIntl_En) December 29, 2025
On Monday, Pezeshkian made his first official response to the protests, announcing that government officials had been instructed to engage in talks with community leaders.
“I have instructed the interior minister to hear the legitimate demands of the protesters by engaging in dialogue with their representatives, so the government can fully address the issues and respond responsibly,” the Iranian leader said in a televised speech.
According to Iranian media, Pezeshkian also appointed former economy minister Abdolnaser Hemmati as the new head of the central bank, announcing a leadership change amid growing criticism over the rial’s historic decline and accelerating inflation.
Meanwhile, Israel has openly expressed support for the protests, denouncing the Islamist regime’s ongoing oppression and pointing to the country’s dire economic and social conditions.
“People in Iran are exhausted with the regime and the collapsed economy,” Israel’s Foreign Ministry wrote in a post on its Persian-language X account.
چون اسرائیل همیشه در کنار مردم ایران ایستاده است. https://t.co/KTC6j44Cpr
— اسرائیل به فارسی (@IsraelPersian) December 29, 2025
Former Israeli Prime Minister Naftali Bennett also voiced his support for the protesters, saying they deserve a better future and affirming that the international community stands with them.
”The Iranian people have a glorious past, and they can have an even more glorious future. That future depends on every one of you,” Bennett said in a video posted on X.
“So, to all the brave men and women now rising up across your country, all the nations of the free world stand with you in your just struggle. Change is possible, there will be a better Middle East,” he continued.
Meanwhile, the Mossad — Israel’s national intelligence agency — used its X account in Farsi to urge the Iranian people to stand up to the regime, indicating agents would join them in support.
“Let’s come out to the streets together,” the Mossad wrote. “The time has come. We are with you. Not just from afar and verbally. We are with you in the field as well.”
با هم به خیابان ها بیایید. وقتش رسیده.
ما همراه شما هستیم. نه تنها از راه دور و شفاهی. در میدان نیز همراهتان هستیم.— Mossad Farsi (@MossadSpokesman) December 29, 2025
Iranian authorities warned that anyone accused of disrupting the country’s economic system would face punishment, calling such acts part of a “foreign-backed effort to destabilize the country.”
The Iranian Interior Ministry blamed the growing unrest on “hostile psychological operations,” claiming that foreign exchange fluctuations were driven by “enemy inducements” rather than economic factors, while urging the public to resist outside propaganda.
Iran has been facing a brutal economic and ecological crisis, with crippling pressure on its water and energy resources, forcing the government to take steps to relocate its capital amid mounting economic and foreign sanctions.
#BREAKING A video obtained by Iran International shows security forces shooting directly at protesters in Hamadan on Monday. pic.twitter.com/MiSXcdyrnp
— Iran International English (@IranIntl_En) December 29, 2025
As the country’s domestic crises deepen, the government has also intensified its internal crackdown.
According to Iran Human Rights Monitor (IHR), a Norway-based NGO that tracks the death penalty in the country, at least 1,791 people have been executed this year, marking a staggering rise from the 993 executions recorded in 2024.
Most of those executed were accused of collaborating with Mossad and aiding covert operations in Iran, such as assassinations and sabotage targeting the country’s nuclear program.
With at least 61 women among those executed, Iran remains the world’s leading executioner on a per capita basis, using capital punishment as a tool of repression, fear, and ideological control.