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Amazon Prime doc details the wild life of Jewish gangster Myron Sugerman
(New York Jewish Week) — Mafia movies will have you believe that wise guys aren’t born, they’re made. But that wasn’t the case for Myron Sugerman, a second-generation Jewish gangster who is the subject of the new documentary, “Last Man Standing: The Chronicles of Myron Sugerman.”
Sugerman — who made his mark (and his money) by becoming, as he says in the film, the “godfather of the illegal slot machine business” — took up the mantle from his father, Barney “Sugie” Sugerman, who kept company with and served as a partner in the New Jersey Jewish mob alongside the likes of Abner “Longy” Zwillman, Joe “Doc” Stacher and Abe Green.
In his heyday, Sugie cavorted with the legendary mobster Meyer Lansky, as well as some other bold-faced names who made their money a little more honestly, like singers Perry Como and Tony Bennett.
“Our lives were basically in Newark and Manhattan,” Sugerman, 85, says in the documentary. “Tenth Avenue on the west side was Jukebox Row. From 42nd Street all the way up to 45th, 46th Street were all jukebox operators. I would go into the city in the afternoon after school, and on Friday nights we used to go to Madison Square Garden with all the fellas who worked for my father.”
Per Sugerman, his father “missed nothing” — he had his hand in everything from “bootlegging, boxing, fixing fights, thievery” to “jukeboxes, vending machines, pinball machines, slot machines,” all of which were either illegal or could be used as fronts in money laundering schemes.
But these Jewish mobsters could be called upon for nobler pursuits as well. In 1939, Newark was home to both large Jewish and German populations — Fritz Kuhn, leader of the American Nazi party, included. As Sugerman tells it, Kuhn and his cronies would follow their meetings and rallies with trips into Jewish neighborhoods where they would terrorize their residents. Together with the Jewish prize fighter Nat Arno, Sugie’s associate Longy Zwillman formed an association called The Minutemen, named after the New Englanders who took up arms against the British.
The Newark Minutemen would throw stink bombs into the halls where Nazis met. “As the Nazis came running out, our guys were like a gauntlet. They’re standing there with the monkey wrenches and baseball bats and brass knuckles. And they beat the s*** out of these Nazis,” as Sugerman tells it.
Sugerman’s version of these stories might be lost to time if it weren’t for director Jonny Caplan and his production company Tech Talk Media. Released last January — and now available to stream on Amazon Prime — Caplan’s film features extensive interviews with Sugerman himself, a character who might remind you of your own Jewish grandfather — and also the guy who keeps putting the fix on the temple’s bingo game.
In a recent Zoom interview, Caplan told the New York Jewish Week that he was “kind of blown away” when he first heard Sugerman’s story, courtesy of a colleague who was helping Sugerman with his 2019 memoir, “The Chronicles of The Last Jewish Gangster: From Meyer to Myron.”
Later Caplan watched Sugerman’s interviews online. “He’s just such an amazing character that I fell in love with,” Caplan said. Although Tech Talk mostly covers the world of innovation — previous productions include documentaries about flying taxis and “robots that look after the elderly” — Caplan said they couldn’t resist bringing Sugerman’s story to life.
Born in 1938, Sugerman took up the family business at the age of 21, following his graduation from Bucknell University. Fluent in six languages (seven, if you count profanity, as Sugerman says in the documentary), he was given $3,000 in travelers checks by his father and sent off to Europe to start an “export business.” Sugerman hit a number of countries on the Continent, all while building his reputation and ability to sell pinball machines, slot machines and arcade equipment.
Eventually, Sugerman’s specialty would become Bally Bingo pinball machines, an addictive, “dynamite” arcade game that attracted gamblers and operators who handed out prizes. After its interstate shipment was banned in the United States in 1963, Sugerman would buy parts from all over the country in order to get the machines assembled. “I was the biggest contrabandist and bootlegger of Bally Bingo machines across the states,” he recalls in the documentary. Those efforts got him named in three state cases and three federal cases for illegal gambling and organized crime. And yes, he did serve jail time.
In a highlight of the documentary, Sugmeran is eventually connected with the famed Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal. Five years after the capture of Adolf Eichmann in 1960, Sugerman happened to find himself in Vienna. Feeling galvanized by the successful hunt for the man who drew up the plans for the Holocaust, Sugerman knocked on Wiesenthal’s door and asked how he could be of service. The answer, like so many other things in life, was money.
Myron Sugerman, right, meets with famed Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal in New York City in an undated photograph. Sugerman says he “sent very generous amounts of money” to help Wiesenthal hunt down war criminals. (Myron Sugerman/Impossible Media LLC)
“I was religious every week — we sent very generous amounts of money to Wiesenthal,” Sugerman says in the film. The pair struck up a friendship, and with each trip Wiesenthal took to New York City, Sugerman says Wiesenthal’s first call was to him. Eventually, prior to one of Sugerman’s trips to Asuncion, Paraguay, Wiesenthal asked the contrabandist to get him information regarding the whereabouts of notorious Nazi doctor Josef Mengele, who was rumored to have decamped there. I don’t want to give too much away, but if you enjoyed seeing Nazis killed in the film “Inglourious Basterds,” you might like how this story ends.
Sugerman provides details of his life, confessional style, as he leads the camera crew to local haunts in Little Italy and Brooklyn’s Kings Highway. Along the way, he meets friends who help him tell his tales of the old days, like “Baby John” Delutro, also known as “The Cannoli King,” and Johnny Chinatown, who points out a Chinatown landmark seen in “The Godfather.” Both are 20-plus years Sugerman’s junior, but still have ties to the Mafia life he knows and loves. (Those old days might be gone, but the incredible nicknames persist.)
At Grill Point, a now-shuttered kosher restaurant in Brooklyn, we see Sugerman chatting with Moishe Peretz, a retired mob boss who calmly recalls getting shot in the chest in 2016.
Though the mob plays a central role in Sugerman’s identity, his Jewish bona fides are just as significant. “The Jewish gangster really had a need, a psychological need, to show that the Jews could be just as tough as any other ethnicity, because they were going to break with the 2,000 years of our heads down, living in the ghetto, living fearful,” he says in the film. “There was definitely no identity crisis. These Jews were tough and ready to prove it.”
These days, Sugerman lives in Montclair, New Jersey, with his wife, Clara. Though his life may be quieter now, his sense of humor and joie de vivre endure, and now as much as ever he’s committed to the work of defending the Jewish people. “Most guys at 85 years of age, if they’re lucky to be alive, are sitting in front of a lawn of grass, watching the grass grow,” he told the New York Jewish Week. “But I’m not comfortable — I’m not comfortable when the hair on the head of a Jew is moved out of place by an antisemite.”
To that end, Sugerman is putting together an organization with the goal of promoting Jewish pride — and he encourages all those interested in joining to reach out via his website.
More than anything, the toughness and tenacity of the Jewish people is a message that Sugerman wants to continue to send today. “That the era of bending your head, that the era of dismissing antisemitism as a mosquito on the tuchus of an elephant is over with,” he said.
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The post Amazon Prime doc details the wild life of Jewish gangster Myron Sugerman appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Denied arrest power, Mamdani encourages New Yorkers to protest Netanyahu
After conceding that he cannot arrest Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu as a war criminal, Mayor Zohran Mamdani on Tuesday doubled down on assailing the Israeli leader and encouraged New Yorkers to protest his expected visit to the United Nations in September.
“I think one of the bedrocks of our city is protest,” Mamdani said at a press conference in City Hall Wednesday morning. “If anyone feels a level of frustration or opposition, protest is something that we will always respect. I leave it to New Yorkers themselves to make that decision.”
The mayor also faced renewed questions about why it took months to acknowledge that the pledge he made last year to arrest Netanyahu could not legally be carried out, and about his choice to post a formal mayoral address on his official social media accounts to announce the city’s legal conclusion that it has no authority to execute the International Criminal Court arrest warrant against Netanyahu.
“What brings me to my conclusions about Israel and Palestine is a belief in the universality of humanity,” Mamdani said.
Mamdani pointed to a roundtable with faith leaders on Staten Island on Tuesday where he met a young Gaza refugee who had lost an arm, and he recounted stories from Palestinian New Yorkers who shared that their families have been affected by the war.
“I view that as a very serious issue,” Mamdani said. “I think that it is incredibly important that we ensure that we have done all of our due diligence when conducting a review.”
The ICC, based in The Hague, issued arrest warrants in November 2024 for Netanyahu, former Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant and Hamas military commander Mohammed Deif. Hamas confirmed in January 2025 that Deif was killed during an airstrike.
The United States is not a member of the International Criminal Court and the Trump administration imposed sanctions on the ICC months after it issued the warrants.
In his video posted Tuesday night, Mamdani accused Netanyahu of orchestrating a “horrific genocide against the Palestinian people” in the Gaza Strip. He cited reported Palestinian death tolls, wounded children, the destruction of hospitals and clinics and the killing of aid workers and journalists. He did not mention the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attack on Israel, which sparked the war. He instead called on the federal government to join the ICC and execute the warrant.
Jewish organizations sharply condemned the mayor’s Tuesday remarks, accusing him of presenting a one-sided narrative of the war.
“Shame on you,” the UJA-Federation of New York said in a statement. “Your video is rife with distortions and disinformation. At a time of rising antisemitism, repeatedly singling out and vilifying the world’s only Jewish state for perceived political benefit is repugnant and puts Jews at greater risk.”
The Orthodox Union said the video “endangers Jewish New Yorkers” and “is a betrayal of his oath of office and his own commitment to protect all New Yorkers.”
Mamdani rejected the criticism.
“We cannot pick and choose which crimes against humanity we oppose,” he said. “We must be in opposition to all of them.” Asked whether he considers the Hamas massacre a genocide, he stopped short of using that term, instead calling the Oct. 7 attacks “a horrific war crime” that should be opposed “with every single fiber of our being.”
Mamdani used the moment to bring his long-held pro-Palestinian advocacy into City Hall, framing Netanyahu’s expected visit as both a moral and political issue. While acknowledging the city lacks legal authority to arrest the Israeli leader, Mamdani shifted the conversation toward the role of the federal government.
In a Truth Social post, President Donald Trump reassured Netanyahu that he “will not be arrested, in any way, shape, or form, while in the United States of America.”
Mamdani also encouraged New Yorkers to take it to the streets to protest Netanyahu during his visit. “That welcome ends with me,” he said. “I will not be welcoming Benjamin Netanyahu or any other war criminals when they come to this city.”
Mamdani’s remarks could resonate well beyond New York as rejection of Israel is increasingly part of national Democratic Party politics. By arguing that Washington should join the International Criminal Court and enforce its warrants, Mamdani is helping define the expectations that progressive activists may place on the 2028 presidential candidates as the party continues to debate its approach to Israel and Gaza.
Despite the backlash, Mamdani insisted his position would not affect how he governs for Jewish New Yorkers.
“I know that there are Jewish New Yorkers who agree with my analysis; there are those who disagree with my analysis,” Mamdani told the Forward. “ And my responsibility to them is to ensure that they are cherished, they are celebrated, and they are safe in their city.”
The post Denied arrest power, Mamdani encourages New Yorkers to protest Netanyahu appeared first on The Forward.
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Innovative Yiddish actor-director Raphael Goldwasser has died
פֿון שׂרה־רחל שעכטער
דער ייִדישער אַקטיאָר, רעזשיסאָר, פּאַנטאָמימיקער און לערער פֿון ייִדישן טעאַטער, רפֿאל גאָלדוואַסער, איז דינסטיק געשטאָרבן אין נאַרבאָן, פֿראַנקרײַך, צוליב קאָמפּליקאַציעס פֿון אַ האַרץ־פֿעלער. ער איז געווען 79 יאָר אַלט.
די לוויה וועט פֿאָרקומען פֿרײַטיק דעם 24סטן יולי, 15.00 אַ זייגער, אויפן ייִדישן חלק פון בית-עולם אין מערבֿ-נאַרבאָן.
גאָלדוואַסער האָט נישט סתּם אינסצענירט פּיעסעס, נאָר זיך באַמיט איבערצוצײַגן דעם צוקוקער זיך אַרײַנצוטראַכטן אינעם אינהאַלט. מע זעט דאָס קלאָר אין זײַן ייִדישער איבערזעצונג פֿון דני האָראָוויצעס העברעיִשער פּיעסע „פֿעטער אַרטור“ (2020ֶ), וואָס מע קען זען אויף יוטוב. דאָ רעדט זיך וועגן אַ דראַמאַטורג, פּיטער סטאָון — אַ לעבן געבליבענער פֿון חורבן — וואָס שרײַבט אַ פּיעסע ווי אַ נקמה זײַן פֿעטער אַרטור, וואָס פֿלעג זאָגן, זיצנדיק אין ניו־יאָרק: „ווי קענען מענטשן זיך לאָזן פֿירן אין קרעמעטאָריע ווי שאָף צו דער שחיטה?“ סטאָון באַמיט זיך שטאַרק צו געפֿינען אַ ישׂראלדיקן טעאַטער וואָס זאָל פּראָדוצירן די פּיעסע, אָבער קיין איין טעאַטער וויל זיך דאָס נישט אונטערנעמען. אין סטאָונס פֿרוסטרירונג קען מען דערפֿילן אויך גאָלדוואַסערס עגמת־נפֿש.
„רפֿי האָט ניט געקאָנט פֿאַרטראָגן מלחמה, ער האָט געמוזט אַנטרינען פֿון איר,“ האָט גלאַי געזאָגט. אַ פּנים דערפֿאַר האָט ער זיך טאַקע אַריבערגעצויגן פֿון ישׂראל קיין פֿראַנקרײַך. „דער מצבֿ אין ישׂראל, אַפֿילו פֿון דער ווײַטנס, האָט אים זיכער אָפּגעשוואַכט.“
אין 2013 האָט גאָלדוואַסער געמאַכט אַ טיפֿן אײַנדרוק שפּילנדיק די ראָלע פֿון לאָקי אין סעמיועל בעקעטס „וואַרטן אויף גאָדאָ“. דער ייִדישער קולטור־טוער דזשאָרדין קוציק זאָגט אַז גאָלדוואַסער האָט אַרײַנגעבראַכט אין דער פּראָדוקציע אַ „סטאַבילן פּסיכאָז“: „דער ריטעם פֿון זײַן מאָנאָלאָג בײַט זיך אין גאַנצן נישט און די עמאָציאָנעלע קוואַליטעט פֿון זײַן פּסעוודאָ־וויסנשאַפֿטלעכע פּלאַפּלערײַ בלײַבט אויך די זעלבע.“
שיין בייקער, דער אַקטיאָר און דירעקטאָר פֿונעם ייִדישן קולטור קאָנגרעס, האָט געזאָגט אַז נאָך גאָלדוואַסערס פּטירה האָט משה יאַסור, דער רעזשיסאָר פֿונעם ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקן „וואַרטן אויף גאָדאָ“, אים געזאָגט פֿאַר וואָס ער האָט אויסגעקליבן גאָלדוואַסערן פֿאַר דער ראָלע. „רפֿי איז געווען דער בעסטער אויסטײַטשער פֿון לאָקי ווײַך ער האָט ממש פֿאַרקערפּערט די ראָלע. זײַן פֿעיִקייט בײַם אויסדריקן זיך איז געווען פֿאַרוואָרצלט אין דער פֿיזישער קונסט פֿון מאַנטאָמימע — סובטיל אָבער בולט.“
קוציק האָט געזאָגט אַז גאָלדוואַסער האָט זיך אַנטקעגנגעשטעלט ווען עמעצער האָט, נאָכן זען די פּיעסע, באַמערקט אַז „לאָקי איז געווען אַ מין קאָמישע אָפּשפּאַנונג (comic relief בלע״ז) אין דער פּיעסע“: „מײַן ראָלע איז נישט געווען קיין קאָמישע אָפּשפּאַנונג, נאָר פֿאַרקערט: איך בין דווקא געווען די טראַגעדיע, און די אַנדערע פּערסאָנאַזשן האָבן געשילדערט די אַבסורדיסטישע קאָמעדיע,“ האָט גאָלדוואַסער געזאָגט.
רפֿאל גאָלדוואַסער איז געבוירן געוואָרן אין אַרגענטינע אין 1947. זײַן טאַטע איז געווען דער אָנגעזעענער אַקטיאָר זישע גאָלדוואַסער, אַ מיטגליד פֿונעם ייִדישן פֿאָלקס־טעאַטער אין בוענאָס־אײַרעס. די מאַמע, לאה (לאָלאַ אויף שפּאַניש), האָט געגעבן אירע דרײַ זין עכטע ייִדישע נעמען — ראובֿן, דניאל און רפֿאל, האָט געזאָגט רפֿאלס עלטערער ברודער דניאל גלאַי — דער פֿאָרזיצער פֿון „בית לייוויק“ אין תּל־אָבֿיבֿ. „די מאַמע איז געווען באַצויבערט פֿון איר מאַנס טאַלאַנט, און איך געדענק נישט אַז מײַנע עלטערן האָבן זיך אַ מאָל געקריגט צווישן זיך.“
ווען רפֿי איז געווען פֿינף יאָר אַלט האָט מען אים שוין געזען אויף דער בינע אין בוענאָס־אײַרעס — אין שלום־עליכמס איינאַקטער, „אַגענטן“. ווען די אַקטיאָרן האָבן געזען ווי שטאַרק דאָס קינד וויל שפּילן טעאַטער האָט מען אים געגעבן אַן איין־שורהדיקע ראָלע: „טאַטע, כ׳וויל עסן!“ כּדי ער זאָל זיך פֿילן גלײַך מיט די אַנדערע אַקטיאָרן.
„כ’בין זיכער אַז שלום עליכם האָט הנאה געהאַט דערפֿון,“ האָט גלאַי געזאָגט.
נאָך דעם ווי די משפּחה האָט עולה געווען קיין ישׂראל האָט רפֿאל שטודירט טעאַטער און געשיכטע בײַם תּל־אָבֿיבֿער אוניווערסיטעט, און שפּעטער באַקומען אַ מאַגיסטער פֿון טעאַטער־געשיכטע בײַם פּאַריזער אוניווערסיטעט.
במשך פֿון זײַן קאַריערע האָט ער זיך קונה־שם געווען ווי אַ נאָוואַטאָרישער אַרטיסט, וואָס האָט צונויפֿגעפֿלאָכטן די טראַדיציעס פֿון ייִדישן טעאַטער, פֿראַנצייזישער פּאַנטאָמימע און דער נײַער אוידיאָ־וויזועלע מעדיאַ, האָט געזאָגט דער פֿאָרזיצער פֿונעם אַרגענטינער ייִוואָ, אַבֿרהם ליכטענבוים. ער האָט אויפֿגעטראָטן איבער דער וועלט, געשאַפֿן טעאַטראַלישע אונטערנעמונגען, אַנסאַמבלען, אינטערנאַציאָנאַלע פֿעסטיוואַלן און, דער עיקר, פֿאַרלייגט און אָנגעפֿירט מיטן „לופֿט־טעאַטער“ אין סטראַסבורג, פֿראַנקרײַך.
ער איז אויך געווען אַן אָנגעזעענער פּעדאַגאָג, געלערנט אין דער ייִדישער טעאַטער־אַקאַדעמיע און געפֿירט אינטערנאַציאָנאַלע סעמינאַרן איבער אייראָפּע. במשך פֿון די לעצטע יאָרן האָט ער, בשותּפֿות מיטן בוענאָס־אײַרעסער ייִוואָ, געהאַלטן בײַם אַנטוויקלען אַ „נײַע פּעדאַגאָגיע פֿאַרן ייִדישן טעאַטער“.
רפֿאל גאָלדוואַסער האָט פֿאַראָבֿלט זײַן ברודער, דניאל גלאַי; זײַן לעבנס־באַגלייטערין דזשוטיט בוכהאַלטער; זײַנע קינדער יאָרדאַן, מאַרין און מאַעל, און דרײַ אייניקלעך.
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What a West Bank visit taught me about the past and present tragedies of Tisha B’Av
As we chant Lamentations on the floor, in the dark, on Wednesday night for Tisha B’Av, we will open with the word “eikha” — “how.”
That same word became the refrain of a recent eight day visit I made to Israel and the West Bank.
I traveled to Jerusalem for a week of immersive learning with 150 rabbis and cantors at the Shalom Hartman Institute’s annual Rabbinic Torah Seminar. But my learning wasn’t restricted to the beit midrash. I spent time with cousins finishing combat service; friends working late into the night in the Knesset before its dissolution; people working to build shared society in Haifa; and families grieving the loss of loved ones. And at every turn, I found myself asking “eikha.”
“Eikha” is more than a question. It is the sound made when the distance between what should be and what is becomes almost impossible to bear. Naming that distance is at the heart of Tisha B’Av — and, for me, at the heart of thinking honestly about Israel today. How will Israel move from this moment of profound moral and political fracture toward the future our prophets imagined?
On a visit to the West Bank with Rabbis for Human Rights, I connected with Israelis from across the country who had come to be a protective presence for Palestinians in Jenata, near the settler outpost of Havat Eitam. The Palestinians there face violence and intimidation in an area formally under Palestinian civil authority. We heard from a man whose brother had recently been killed by settlers, and we learned that their imam was jailed just that morning to prevent Friday prayers from moving forward as planned.
Then we were told to leave. The corner of the village we were visiting was declared a 24-hour closed military zone.
Next we traveled to Umm al-Khair, a Palestinian herding community where the Hathaleen family buried their son Awdah almost a year ago, after he was shot and killed by an Israeli settler who still walks free. Since his death, settlers have built caravans encroaching into the village, with some only a few meters from homes. This encroachment has triggered the declaration of another “closed military zone,” cutting the family off from their own bathroom and animals. They must use a neighbor’s bathroom and can only feed their animals when a soldier comes to allow it.
I asked a soldier standing guard that day whether any of it troubled him.
“Doesn’t Oct. 7 trouble you?” he replied.
I don’t know what that soldier has seen, or what he has lost. But I know his response took two griefs and set them against each other, as though one atrocity could justify another. “Eikha”: How do we nurse our deepest wounds without allowing them to justify our wounding others? How do we stay safe and moral?
This past Shabbat was Shabbat Hazon — the “Sabbath of Vision” — so named for the opening word of the Haftara, which describes Isaiah’s vision of a devastated but ultimately redeemed Jerusalem. That reading, in our current context, must push us — and, God willing, Israel’s next political leaders — to articulate compelling responses to the questions bearing down on Israeli society and on Judaism itself. To ask how we came to a point of such dire trouble, and realize a vision for redemption from it.
I keep thinking about the way slain hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin would remind his fellow captives, citing Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl’s words, that if they could hold onto a “why,” they could endure any “how.”
Israel and the Jewish people have profound whys. We are meant to be, in the words of “Hatikvah,” “a free people in our own land.” And to be, in the words of the Torah, “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”
This Tisha B’Av, as we mourn the destruction that shattered Jewish sovereignty in the land of Israel 2,000 years ago, we must also reckon honestly with the forms of inhumanity that threaten its moral future and physical safety today.
We must understand that our freedom, our holiness and our humanity are bound up in that of the Hathaleen family, and the besieged villagers of Jenata. During my visit, an Israeli cousin of mine acknowledged that everything I had seen in the West Bank was real and terrible — and that he didn’t want Palestinians living so close to Israel, out of fear of an Oct. 7 attack from the West Bank. What I wish all of us could better understand: If Jewish freedom depends upon denying Palestinian freedom, then it is neither the freedom of “Hatikvah” nor the holiness the Torah demands. I also don’t think it will make us safe.
This is, I think, the particular question facing rabbis and Jewish communal leaders like me right now: how do we hold onto our right — our obligation — to name Israel’s failures honestly, as people bound to this place and this story, without having our words weaponized to delegitimize and demonize the entire project? My criticism of what I saw in Jenata and Umm al-Khair comes from love — the same love that makes looking away impossible. Learning how to hold both at once, unflinching criticism and unwavering commitment, may be the most urgent “eikha” of this particular moment.
After Tisha B’Av comes the Shivah d’Nehemta — the Seven Weeks of Consolation that carry us into Rosh Hashanah.
In those weeks, the questions of “eikha” don’t disappear. They deepen. These weeks lead us into Elul, a time of intense heshbon hanefesh — accounting of the soul. The pairing of consolation with accounting suggests that renewal comes not through answering our questions, but through finding the courage to keep asking them.
How do we protect ourselves without surrendering our humanity? How do we acknowledge our own suffering without turning it into permission to inflict suffering on others?
Those are Israel’s questions as they move toward their October elections. They are ours as well, as we navigate being Jews in this moment.
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