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As ‘The Marvelous Mrs Maisel’ ends, will its Jewish legacy be more than a punchline?

(JTA) — After five seasons, 20 Emmy awards and plenty of Jewish jokes, “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” airs its final episode on Friday.

The lauded Amazon Prime show from Amy Sherman-Palladino has enveloped viewers in a shimmering, candy-colored version of New York during the late 1950s and early 1960s — a world in which “humor” has meant Jewish humor and “culture” has meant Jewish culture.

But as it comes to an end, the show’s Jewish legacy is still up for debate: Did its representation of Jews on mainstream TV make it a pioneer of the 2010s? Or did it do more harm than good in the battle for better representation, by reinforcing decades-old comedic tropes about Jews?

The comedy-drama followed the vivacious Midge Maisel (Rachel Brosnahan) on a journey from prim Upper West Side housewife — left in the lurch after her husband has an affair with his secretary — to ambitious, foul-mouthed comic fighting her way through the male-dominated standup comedy industry. Her New York Jewishness colored her jokes, her accent, her mannerisms and much of her daily life.

That’s because the whole landscape of the show was Jewish, from the well-to-do, acculturated intelligentsia (such as Midge’s parents) to the self-made garment factory owners (such as her in-laws). Even the radical Jewish comic Lenny Bruce, a countercultural icon of the midcentury, appeared as a recurring character who propels Midge’s success.

Henry Bial, a professor specializing in performance theory and Jewish popular culture at the University of Kansas, said the emergence of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” in 2017 exemplified a shift to more overt portrayals of Jews on TV — especially on streaming services. Although Jewish characters featured in TV shows throughout the 20th century, such as “The Goldbergs” in the 1950s, “Rhoda” in the 1970s and “Seinfeld” in the 1990s, their Jewishness was often more coded than explicit. Network television, seeking to attract the majority of Americans coveted by advertisers, feared alienating audiences who couldn’t “relate” to ethnic and racial minorities.

“If there are only three things you can put on television at 8 o’clock on Tuesday night, then there’s a lot more incentive for networks and advertisers to stay close to the herd, because you’re competing for the same eyeballs,” said Bial. “But when people can watch whatever they want whenever they want, then it opens up for a much wider range of stories.”

Other shows such as “Transparent,” “Broad City” and “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” which debuted in 2014 and 2015, are often cited alongside “Mrs. Maisel” as part of a new wave of Jewish representation.

Riv-Ellen Prell, a professor emerita of American studies at the University of Minnesota, argued that Midge subverts the stereotype of the “Jewish American princess.” At the start of the show, she appears to embrace that image: She is financially dependent on her father and husband and obsessive about her appearance, measuring her body every day to ensure that she doesn’t gain weight. Despite living with her husband for years, she always curls her hair, does her makeup and spritzes herself with perfume before he wakes up.

“She looks for all the world like the fantasy of a Jewish American princess,” said Prell. “And yet she is more ambitious than imaginable, she is a brilliant comic who draws on her own life. You have Amy Sherman-Palladino inventing the anti-Jewish princess.”

Bial said that Midge’s relationship with her Jewishness defies another stereotype: That identity is not a source of neurosis or self-loathing, as it often appears to be in the male archetypes of Woody Allen and Larry David, or in Rachel Bloom’s “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.” Through the spirited banter, the pointed exclamations of “oy,” the titillation over a rabbi coming for Yom Kippur break fast — Midge’s Jewishness is a source of comforting ritual, joy and celebration.

“She has anxieties and issues, but none of them are because she’s Jewish,” said Bial.

Some critics argue the show’s depiction of Jewish culture relies on shallow tropes. In a 2019 review, TV critic Paul Brownfield said “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” repurposed stereotypes to appear “retro chic.” He pointed to a consistent contrast between the Weissmans (the assimilated, cultured Jews of the Upper West Side) and the Maisels (the boorish, money-focused Jews of the Garment District), arguing that these superficial types replace an exploration of what the period was actually like for American Jews.

“However ‘Jewish’ Sherman-Palladino wants the show to be, ‘Maisel’ fails to grapple with the realities of the moment in Jewish American history it portrays,” Brownfield wrote. “Which is ultimately what leaves me queasy about its tone — the shtick, the stereotypes, the comforting self-parody.”

Meanwhile, Andy Samberg took a jab while co-hosting the 2019 Golden Globes with Sandra Oh. “It’s the show that makes audiences sit up and say, ‘Wait, is this antisemitic?’” he joked.

Tony Shalhoub and Marin Hinkle, shown in a synagogue scene, are two of the show’s non-Jewish actors. (Nicole Rivelli/Amazon Studios)

Others have criticized the show’s casting: Its titular heroine, her parents Abe and Rose Weissman (Tony Shalhoub and Marin Hinkle) and Lenny Bruce (Luke Kirby) are all played by non-Jews. A debate over the casting of non-Jewish actors in Jewish roles has heated up in recent years, taking aim not only at Brosnahan as Midge Maisel, but also at Felicity Jones as Ruth Bader Ginsberg in “On The Basis of Sex,” Helen Mirren as Golda Meir in “Golda” and Gaby Hoffmann and Jay Duplass as the Pfefferman siblings in “Transparent.” Comedian Sarah Silverman popularized the term “Jewface” to critique the trend.

“Watching a gentile actor portraying, like, a Jew-y Jew is just — agh — feels, like, embarrassing and cringey,” Silverman said on her podcast in 2021.

Midge’s rise as a comedian is interlocked with her ally and one-time fling, the fictionalized Lenny Bruce. His character has a softened glow in the show, but in reality, Bruce was branded a “sick comic” for his scathing satire that railed against conservatism, racism and moral hypocrisy. Between 1961 and 1964, he was charged with violating obscenity laws in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Chicago and New York, and he was deported from England. At his Los Angeles trial in 1963, Bruce was accused of using the Yiddish word “shmuck,” taken as an obscenity to mean “penis.” He incorporated the charge into his standup, explaining that the colloquial Jewish meaning of “schmuck” was “fool.”

Driven to pennilessness by relentless prosecution, police harassment and blacklisting from most clubs across the country, he died of a morphine overdose in 1966 at 40 years old. The real Lenny Bruce’s tragedy lends a shadow to the fictional Midge Maisel’s triumphs.

The United States that he struggled with until his death also looks comparatively rosy through the lens of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel,” whose protagonist battles misogyny but takes little interest in other societal evils — including still-rampant antisemitism. Some critics have noted that she is oblivious to segregated facilities when she tours with Black singer Shy Baldwin, then nearly outs him as gay during her set.

“‘Mrs. Maisel’ takes place in a supersaturated fantasy 1958 New York, one where antisemitism, racism, homophobia and even sexism are barely a whisper,” Rokhl Kafrissen wrote in 2018.

Reflecting on the criticism that had piled up by 2020, Sherman-Palladino and her husband Daniel Palladino, also an executive producer and a lead writer for the show, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that trying to appease every Jewish viewer was a futile exercise.

“We knew that if we show a Jewish family at temple — if we show them and talk about Yom Kippur and all those kinds of things — there are going to be people who are going to nitpick at specifics that maybe we didn’t get exactly right,” said Palladino, who is not Jewish. “But a lot of the feedback that we’ve gotten has been ‘Thank you. Thank you for leaning into it and showing Jews being Jewish, as opposed to just name checking them as Jewish.’”

Sherman-Palladino added: “[T]here are many different kinds of Jews! To say, ‘oh, Jewish stereotypes,’ well, what are you talking about? Because we have an educated Jew, we have a woman who was happy to be a mother, we have another woman striking out as a stand up comic, and, you know, Susie Myerson’s [Alex Borstein’s character] a Jew! We’ve got a broad range of Jews in there.”

However “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” is assessed in the future, it will remain significant for thrusting a new kind of Jewish heroine into the mainstream consciousness, said Bial.

“Because of its popularity, its longevity and frankly its quality, it’s going to be the example,” Bial said. “In the history of Jews and TV, this is going to be the chapter for the late 2010s and early 2020s — you have to mention ‘Mrs. Maisel.’ It is very clearly a landmark in Jewish representation, particularly for Jewish women.”


The post As ‘The Marvelous Mrs Maisel’ ends, will its Jewish legacy be more than a punchline? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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The rabbinic backlash against Zohran Mamdani isn’t about Mamdani at all

The sheer number of letters by rabbis circulating about Zohran Mamdani’s New York City mayoral campaign is “mind numbing,” a rabbi friend texted me earlier this week.

There’s the public letter decrying Mamdani, the Democratic candidate, sponsored by The Jewish Majority, which as of this writing has 1,138 signatures from rabbis, cantors and rabbinical students. But two or three other letters are also making their way through her circles. (One affirms a belief that Mamdani’s support for Palestinian rights comes from “deep moral convictions”; the others have not yet been made public.) “Make it stop,” she wrote.

The last two years have been unbelievably difficult for American Jews, and particularly so for rabbis. Rabbis have been tasked with counseling congregants deeply affected by the trauma caused by Oct. 7 and the rise in antisemitism, as well as the global outcry against Israel’s brutal bombardment of Gaza. Not to mention navigating efforts by certain political actors to weaponize Jewish pain in order to silence pro-Palestinian activists, remake higher education and accelerate an aggressive deportation agenda.

Now, the ceasefire between Israel and Hamas has created something of a vacuum, leaving rabbis to channel the complexity of the last two years into an unrelenting, disproportionate and often negative focus on Mamdani.

The old joke goes “two Jews, three opinions.” It’s rare to find Jewish consensus on where to get the best bagels, let alone a political issue. Yet rabbis from states as distant as Nevada, Illinois, Georgia, Indiana, New Mexico and Tennessee have signed the Jewish Majority letter, which calls out “rising anti-Zionism and its political normalization,” publicly affirming their opposition to a potential Mayor Mamdani. While the letter boasts 1,138 signatures, only around 100 of them actually live in New York City and would be directly affected by a Mamdani administration.

Isn’t it a bit strange that no cause has apparently rallied more American rabbis — not a devastating humanitarian crisis in Gaza; not an antisemitic AI chatbot developed by the richest man on Earth; not the Department of Homeland Security sharing antisemitic dogwhistles; not Immigrations and Customs Enforcement kidnapping people off the street — than opposition to a Muslim, Democratic socialist mayoral candidate who is not pro-Israel?

I find it hard to believe that New York City’s next mayor is truly the most vital issue facing American Jews outside this specific city. So why this level of focused condemnation?

I think there’s an answer in the striking timing of these letters. Mamdani won the Democratic primary overwhelmingly in June. Where were the letters then? If anything, his victory seems less assured than it did a month or two ago — recent polls suggest that former Gov. Andrew Cuomo, running as an Independent, has cut Mamdani’s lead in half following Mayor Eric Adams’ withdrawal from the race.

So what changed? With the ceasefire and the return of the last living hostages, I think that diaspora Jewry is suddenly unsure about our political role. Now that the living hostages — the one issue most of us agreed on in the last two years — are home safe, whom do we advocate for? What are we supposed to talk about now?

The flurry of these rabbinic anti-Mamdani letters less than a month before the mayoral election in November has been framed by some as an extraordinary expression of rabbinic unity in the face of a dangerous candidate. “Look at how many American rabbis have ever signed a letter,” one commenter on r/Jewish wrote on Reddit. “This is one of the largest rabbinic sign-on letters in history.”

But I worry this proliferation is a sign of insecurity in our community, not health.

In a time when it has felt so impossible to express nuance and to allow for a multiplicity of truths, Mamdani represents, for many, an easy opportunity to align against a figure whose position on Israel departs from the long-accepted political norm of vocal support.

A recent poll conducted by The Washington Post shows that nearly 40 percent of American Jews believe Israel has committed genocide. That number jumps to 50 percent between the ages of 18 and 34. Synagogue leaders, who are always trying to grow their community with new, younger members, must appease older, more pro-Israel congregants while remaining in touch with the changing views of the new generations — a balancing act that is increasingly untenable.

For a rabbi who is attempting to negotiate the tensions of differing political beliefs within their congregation, it is far easier to sign a letter than it is to reckon, both personally and communally, with the profound generational divide on Israel.

Mamdani’s campaign is not the only time that rabbinic leaders have spoken out since the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023 — or this year. On Feb. 13, 350 American rabbis took out a full-page ad in The New York Times to oppose President Donald Trump’s plan to remove all Palestinians from Gaza. “Jewish people say NO to ethnic cleansing!” it read in bold letters. In July, 1,200 rabbis and Jewish leaders from around the world signed a letter urging Israel to open Gaza to humanitarian aid, followed by a letter in August from over 80 Orthodox rabbis, led by the former mashgiach ruchani of Yeshiva University, Rabbi Yosef Blau.

But the Jewish Majority letter has made by far the biggest impact. And I wonder at the usefulness of its signatories expending limited political capital against a candidate who, by all accounts, is likely to become mayor. When historians write about this charged era of American Jewish life, when authoritarian power is aggressively taking hold, I doubt that this letter will be regarded as a worthy use of their considerable communal power.

In the end, the anti-Mamdani letters say very little about Mamdani and everything about American Jewry. Instead of coming together based on a shared commitment to Jewish values, American rabbis are choosing an enemy to ally against. Instead of drawing “a line in the sand,” as one commentator framed the letter, I fear it is simply a line that will further divide us.

Since Oct. 7, American Jews have been buffeted by anti-war protests, antisemitic attacks and institutional strife. The Hamas attacks and Israel’s war in Gaza have unleashed a profound internal and external reckoning about the previously sacrosanct relationship between the U.S. and Israel. With the tenuous ceasefire coming soon after the start of a new Jewish year, and the traditional pro-Israel consensus irrevocably cracking under the strain of war and religious extremism, American Jews have an important opportunity, now, to look inward.

What have we learned over these painful years? How can we heal, while also taking responsibility for the ways in which we did not use our power for good? How do we want to use our communal power, period? If the party line on Israel has changed, how do American Jews want to change with it?

The conversations within the Jewish community are just beginning, and will last long past the New York City mayoral election on Nov. 4. I pray that our rabbinic leaders will have the courage to help us have them.

The post The rabbinic backlash against Zohran Mamdani isn’t about Mamdani at all appeared first on The Forward.

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How a curator and a rabbi joined forces to keep a piece of Boston’s Jewish history alive

The most striking artifact in the Judaica collection at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts isn’t from Yemen or Galicia, or any other far-flung Jewish community that’s long since dispersed; it’s from Chelsea, Massachusetts.

The magnificent wooden Torah ark is just shy of 12 feet tall, and until 1999 it was the centerpiece of the Orange Street Synagogue, in Chelsea, a suburb that once teemed with so much Jewish life it earned the nickname ‘Little Jerusalem.’

But with American synagogues now closing at a record pace, the arks and facades and stained glass windows that testified to American Jewry’s dynamism face an unsettled future.

Indeed, to make the short hop from Chelsea to northeast Boston, the MFA’s ark took a rather scenic — even biblical — route. There’s a last-gasp reprieve as destruction looms; an extended stint in a wilderness of sorts (Texas); and a healthy sprinkling of rabbinic wisdom.

All the same, it illuminates an often forgotten chapter in Boston’s Jewish story.

A thriving Jewish enclave 

Around the turn of the 20th century, tens of thousands of mostly eastern European Jewish immigrants arrived in Chelsea, transforming a provincial Protestant outpost into a chiefly working-class center of Jewish cultural, religious and economic life. By 1920, it had between 15 and 20 synagogues; a Hebrew School that graduated over 400 people a year; and dozens of clubs and organizations that held their meetings in Yiddish.

One of its more well-known inhabitants was Sam Katz, a Galician immigrant who was, for a time, Massachusetts’ pre-eminent woodcarver. Katz was born in 1884 in Veshnevets, modern Ukraine, and emigrated to the US in 1910. He lived briefly in New York before settling in Greater Boston, where, even though he lacked formal training, he built an estimated 24 synagogue arks during the 1920s and 30s. “These immigrant wood carvers, in general, learned from their father and their grandfather,” said Simona Di Nepi, curator of the MFA’s Judaica collection.

Still, Katz found his own style. “When I see vine leaves and grates and these kinds of lions,” Di Nepi told me, pointing to a pair of gilded lions affixed to either side of the MFA’s ark, “I know that it’s Sam Katz.” Perched on top of the ark is a bald eagle, jostling for position with a Torah crown. Taken together, said Di Nepi, the sculptures are a kind of shorthand for the burgeoning Jewish-American culture Chelsea represented. Indeed, this is one of the gallery’s abiding themes: the various ways artists have combined age-old Jewish iconography with time- and place-specific motifs.

Sam Katz (right) with Torah ark at synagogue Anshai Poland, with MFA's Gilded Lion on the right side.
Sam Katz (right), ark-itect Courtesy of The Wyner Family, Jewish Heritage Center at American Ancestors, Boston, Massachusetts

The ark needs a hero 

By 1950, Jewish Chelsea had entered a terminal decline. Many of its inhabitants had moved to tonier Boston suburbs like Brookline or Newton, propelled by improving socio-economic mobility, though the construction of the Tobin Bridge between 1947 and 1950 also pushed out some 250 families and effectively split the Jewish community in two. In early 1999, the Orange Street Katz Torah ark closed for a final time, its fate uncertain.

That’s when rabbi David Whiman, a congregational rabbi in nearby Newton, and an avid Judaica collector, stepped in.

Whiman salvaged the ark alongside a small crew of friends. A small screen in the gallery plays grainy footage of Whiman in an oversized white T-shirt, smiling broadly. Though the Orange Street shul pews are empty, and the work laborious, Whiman and his group appear noticeably upbeat. The opportunity to preserve such an invaluable link to Chelsea’s Jewish past is, clearly, a happy one. (Whiman, rabbi emeritus at North Shore Synagogue, did not respond to an inquiry.)

Whiman kept the ark with him as his rabbinical career took him first to Houston, where he stayed for the better part of decade, and, later, to Syosset, Long Island. And then, at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, he emailed Di Nepi. He had heard the MFA was establishing a permanent Judaica collection. “He initially said, ‘I’m a collector, and you can have anything you want,’” Di Nepi recalled. In 2022, she went to Syosset, and was immediately taken with the ark. “There were other things that I might have been interested in,” she said, “but this was so much a Boston story — a local story.”

The ark bore the scars of nearly 20 years in storage. “All the attached pieces were in a box,” Di Nepi said. “And the wood had marks all over it.” Over six months, the MFA’s Conservation department, led by Christine Storti, restored the ark’s original flourishes: On top, an eagle and a torah crown; just below, two golden lions and three Magen Davids; and, in the middle, two gilded hands of Kohanim clasped together in prayer. Di Nepi then placed the renovated ark on a bimah-esque plinth, where it remains today, resplendent in the dim gallery light.

For every rescued Torah ark, however, are dozens that couldn’t overcome the demographic and cultural changes that have reshaped American Judaism during the past half-century. “There used to be a high demand for Torah arks,” Di Nepi said. “But now, we have the inverse situation, where there is mass demand for finding homes for arks that are closing.”

The Sam Katz ark is therefore a monument to a community that’s largely slipped from view. Yet there’s one fragment of Jewish Chelsea that’s proved remarkably durable. The glass light bulb Katz hung from the ark more than a century ago still works, Di Nepi told me, though she and Storti opted against displaying it, given its obvious fragility, and commissioned a replica. I am nevertheless consoled by the thought that somewhere in the Museum of Fine Arts’ storage there’s a tiny piece of Jewish Chelsea, waiting to shine again.

The post How a curator and a rabbi joined forces to keep a piece of Boston’s Jewish history alive appeared first on The Forward.

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A second rabbinic letter, arguing against Jewish rejections of Mamdani, enters the NYC mayor’s race

A second rabbinic letter about the New York City mayor’s race repudiating the first has drawn hundreds of signatures in the day since its launch.

Titled “Jews for a Shared Future,” the new letter rejects the argument that the frontrunner in the race is unacceptable because of his opposition to Israel and contends that Jews should see their safety in New York City and beyond as entwined with that of others.

“In response to Jewish concerns about the New York mayoral race, we recognize that candidate Zohran Mamdani’s support for Palestinian self-determination stems not from hate, but from his deep moral convictions,” the letter says. “Even though there are areas where we may disagree, we affirm that only genuine solidarity and relationship-building can create lasting security. That work has sustained us for generations wherever Jews have lived, and remains our only path forward.”

It also responds to attacks on Mamdani’s Muslim identity, saying, “Jewish safety cannot be built on Muslim vulnerability, nor can we combat hate against our community while turning away from hate against our neighbors.”

In the day since its launch, the letter has been signed by 740 Jews. Of them, 230 are rabbis, 40 located in or near New York City.

Some of the signatories have previously offered their public support for Mamdani, including Sharon Kleinbaum, who spoke at his rally in Queens on Sunday, but others have not. Although some do not work in traditional pulpits, many others do. Some are well known for their own anti-Zionist activism that puts their outlook on Israel in line with Mamdani’s, but others openly identify as Zionists.

In a sign of how complex the current political discourse is for politically liberal Jews, at least one retired rabbi signed both the “Shared Future” letter and the broadside it follows.

The first letter, denouncing Mamdani and the “normalization of anti-Zionism,” began circulating a week ago and has now topped 1,150 signatures, with hundreds of signatories in New York City. It has roiled Jewish communities across the country as congregants look for their rabbis on the list.

The new letter was written by Rabbi Shoshana Leis, a graduate of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College who helms Pleasantville Community Synagogue in New York City’s northern suburbs. In a post on Facebook, she said she had begun drafting the letter on Sunday after observing the “painful divisiveness” that the first letter was creating and that she had “struggled” to formulate a response that would not run the risk of “further reinforcing the divisions.”

A breakthrough came, she said, after consulting with other rabbis and drawing on the work of Israeli and Palestinian shared-society activist organizations.

“What happens in NYC often resonates throughout the country. While I do not endorse any candidates and do not have a vote in the NYC election, I do endorse a particular way for Jews to show up in America,” she wrote. “Our safety is interconnected with the safety of our neighbors, and the path to friendship is through the difficult but rewarding work of building relationships, one at a time, even across significant and vital differences.”

The dueling letters underscore a pitched divide around politics in the pulpit, exacerbated this year by the Trump administration’s decision to stop enforcing a rule that barred clergy from making political endorsements. Some rabbis have said that they have refrained from signing letters related to the New York City election, even when they may agree with the contents, because they see such direct political advocacy as inappropriate and divisive.


The post A second rabbinic letter, arguing against Jewish rejections of Mamdani, enters the NYC mayor’s race appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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