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DC’s new Jewish museum highlights Jews who shaped the nation’s capital, from a Confederate spy to RBG

WASHINGTON (JTA) –  Washington, D.C.’s new Jewish museum features at least two notorious women from history.

One is Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the first Jewish woman to serve as a Supreme Court justice, who was dubbed “Notorious RBG” late in her life by a cluster of fans. When the Capital Jewish Museum opens next week, it will launch with Ginsburg at its center when a traveling exhibit on her life has its final stop here.

The other is the 19th-century figure Eugenia Levy Phillips, whom the museum characterizes as “notorious” without irony.

“One of DC’s most notorious Confederate sympathizers, Eugenia Levy Phillips (1891-1902) came to town in 1853 with her congressman husband, Philip Phillips (1807-1884) of Alabama,” one of the exhibits says. “Eugenia, a spy, delivered Union military plans and maps to Confederate President Jefferson Davis.”

Another description of Levy Phillips in the museum is more straightforward: “SPIED for the CONFEDERACY,” it says below her photo.

An exhibit on Ruth Bader Ginsburg at the new Capital Jewish Museum in Washington D.C.;, June 1, 2023. (Ron Sachs/Consolidated News Photos)

The late justice and spy are two of an assemblage of notable Jews throughout history who grace the Capital Museum, which opens next Friday in northwest Washington’s Judiciary Square neighborhood, which was a local center of Jewish life more than a century ago. Showcasing the warts-and-all history of Jews in and around the nation’s capital — both prominent officials and ordinary denizens of the city — is the point of the museum, its directors say.

“Jews are a Talmudic people, we like to argue, we like to look at different sides of a story,” Ivy Barsky, the museum’s interim executive director, said Thursday at a tour for members of the media. Sarah Leavitt, the museum curator, involved the Jewish idea of “makhloket l’shem shamayim,” Hebrew for “an argument for the sake of heaven” — in other words, for sacred purposes.

“We’re telling the story in this museum in a Jewish way,” Leavitt said. “So that it’s not just that we might not agree, but actually the disagreement is important and preserving those disagreements is important.”

Barsky, who was previously the CEO of the National Museum of American Jewish History in Philadelphia, said that in relating the local history of Washington’s Jews, the new museum fills a gap. Unlike many of the country’s other longstanding Jewish communities, Washington attracted Jews not because it was a port but because it was the center of government. Like the district’s broader community, Jews in the area have been prone to transitioning in and out of the city.

“Lots of our stories start in other places, with folks who end up in D.C.,” Barsky said. “This is a unique community, especially because the local business is the federal government.”

An exhibit at the new Capital Jewish Museum asks visitors, “Who are you? and features a diverse array of Jews , in Washington D.C., June 1, 2023. (Ron Sachs/Consolidated News Photos)

Jews have been in Washington since it was established in 1790, and the area now includes some 300,000 Jews, according to a 2017 study. The museum chronicles that community’s expansion from the capital to the Maryland and the Virginia suburbs, driven at times by Jews joining “white flight” — when white residents left newly integrated neighborhoods — and other times by restrictions that barred Jews from certain areas.

Larger historical events have also at times played a role: The Jewish population in the city grew in the 1930s and 1940s because of  the expansion of government during President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal and World War II.

An exhibition asks visitors “Who are you?” and features a diverse range of Washington Jews, past and present, as well as others with quirky biographies, including Tom King, a CIA spy who became a comic book writer.

The changing fortunes of American Jewry are embedded in the date the museum opens, June 9: On that date in 1876, Ulysses Grant was the first president to attend synagogue services, when he helped dedicate the new building of the Adas Israel congregation. Fourteen years earlier, as a Union general, he infamously expelled the Jews of Paducah, Kentucky, accusing them of being war speculators. President Abraham Lincoln rescinded the order, which has been described as “the most sweeping anti-Jewish regulation in all of American history,”

Esther Safran Foer, the museum’s president and the former executive director of the city’s historic Sixth & I synagogue, said Grant’s presence in 1876 in the Adas Israel building was emblematic of the upward trajectory of American Jewry. “He sat here for more than three hours in the heat, no air conditioning, and he even made a generous personal contribution,” she said.

The museum’s core is the 1876 building that Grant helped dedicate. It has since been physically moved in its entirety three times in order to preserve it, most recently in 2019 as part of the initiative to build the museum, which began in 2017. The museum’s upper floor reproduces the sanctuary, with the original pews. Its walls, however, are renovated: they display an audiovisual chronicle of the area’s Jews.

The museum’s permanent exhibition aims to traverse that history in other engaging ways as well. The same section that highlights Levy Phillips’ adventures (including her diary’s account of her arrest — “I am not in the least surprised Sir” she told the agent who had come to take her away) also mentions Rabbi Jacob Frankel, who was commissioned by Lincoln during the Civil War as the first Jewish military chaplain.

A photo of Jews and Blacks joined in a bid to desegregate a local amusement park in the early 1960s gets equal billing with one of Sam Eig, a Jewish developer who in 1942 advertised the new Maryland suburb he built as “ideally located and sensibly restricted,” a euphemism for not allowing Black people to buy property.

Interactive exhibits include a Seder table that encourages guests to debate immigration, Israel and civil rights. Parts of the museum’s exhibition recount Jewish debates over pivotal issues such as those and others, including abortion.

Ginsburg will be the museum’s first main attraction, and it makes clear she was a role model. The special exhibition on her life and career includes a glamorous photo of the two Jewish women who coined the “Notorious RBG” nickname, Shana Knizhnik and Irin Carmon. Visitors can go into a closet and don duplicates of Ginsburg’s judicial robes.

One of the first events is on July 12, when museum goers will join in fashioning the special “I Dissent” collars that Ginsburg would famously wear over her robes when she was ready to dissent from the bench.

Jonathan Edelman, the museum’s collections curator, described one prized collection — items he persuaded disability rights advocate Judy Heumann to donate before she died in March.

“Judy’s is a Washington story,” he said. “She came to this city first as an outsider as a protester protesting for disability rights. And then she came back to the city as an insider working within the government to make change both in D.C. government and in the federal government.”


The post DC’s new Jewish museum highlights Jews who shaped the nation’s capital, from a Confederate spy to RBG appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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Shabbat Vayikra: Learning From the Traditions of the Past

A Torah scroll. Photo: RabbiSacks.org.

The term for rabbinic ordination is Semicha. It means laying hands on someone, which implies confidence, identifying with the person, and expecting there to be a continuity in passing on the tradition. The word comes from the law mentioned in the context of sacrifices, where one was commanded to place one’s hands on the head of the sacrifice before it was offered.

“And if a person brings a sacrifice to the Tabernacle … he should place his hand on the head of the sacrifice, and it will be accepted as an atonement” (Vayikra1:4).

Placing one’s hands on the animal was meant to create a bond between the human and the animal, and to respect the sacrifice the animal was making. The animal represented one’s failure to rise above the norms expected of humans. Therefore, there was a need to atone. The sacrifice of the animal was giving the human a second chance, and for this, he had to be grateful to the animal and God. To put one’s hands on the animal’s head was a sign of empathy. Ironically, we are, in a way, blessing them.

When one blesses children, one also places one’s hands on their heads. This goes back to Yaakov’s blessing. When we bless our children, we are showing we care and praying they will be protected and succeed in life and carry on our traditions.

The same thing happens when a rabbi is appointed. Those who give Semicha hope the rabbi will continue their traditions and work to keep them and the community alive, and follow the spirit of the Torah as well as the law. This too can be a kind of sacrifice, of oneself for the greater good. Sadly, as with parents and rabbis, not everyone succeeds. Sacrifices had another important function: community and eating together.

Although the sacrificial system has fallen into disuse for the past 2,000 years, there are still lessons to be learned from the procedures and laws mentioned here in the Book of Vayikra, which merit analysis.

The issue of sacrifices is controversial. But the voice on this issue that resonates with me is that of the great Maimonides, who seems to have two different points of view. In his great work, the Mishneh Torah, he includes in great detail those areas that have fallen into disuse, such as sacrifices and many of the laws of purity. But on the other hand, in his philosophical work, The Guide to the Perplexed (Section 3.32) he says quite clearly that sacrifices were introduced because that’s what everybody did at that time, and it would have seemed abnormal to start a religion without including sacrifices. His implication is that they were a temporary feature that would be replaced. And, in fact, they were replaced by devotional prayer after the Second Temple was destroyed.

I would suggest that whereas nowadays nobody would think of starting a new religion without prayer, it’s possible that at some stage in the future, we may substitute prayer in the way we recite it today by Artificial Intelligence or some other system. Who knows? But in the meantime, as I said above, there are important lessons we can learn from the past from traditions that are applicable today.

The author is a writer and rabbi, based in New York.

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Extremist Yesterday, Authority Today: The Media Whitewashes Joe Kent

National Counterterrorism Center Director Joseph Kent attends a House Homeland Security hearing entitled “Worldwide Threats to the Homeland,” on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC, US, Dec. 11, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Elizabeth Frantz

Within hours of publishing his resignation letter on X, Joe Kent, the Director of the National Counterterrorism Center, had reached millions.

The media, predictably, was enthralled.

‘Iran posed no imminent threat to our nation’: Trump-appointed intelligence official resigns over Iran war,” CNN blared.

Axios followed suit, presenting Kent’s claims with little skepticism: “‘No imminent threat’: U.S. Counterterrorism Center head resigns over Iran war.”

The Hill amplified another conspiratorial voice, headlining Tucker Carlson’s warning that “neocons” would now try to destroy Kent.

The New York Times published multiple pieces within hours, including one that packaged his resignation letter as a standalone piece.

Readers were invited to see Kent’s words as a serious, insider indictment of both the war against Iran and President Donald Trump’s administration itself.

After all, this was a man personally appointed by the president, working under Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard.

The Daily Mail went further still, elevating Kent’s rhetoric about the “Israel lobby” in a headline that nodded to one of the oldest conspiratorial tropes in circulation.

The Associated Press soberly reported that Kent had resigned because “Iran posed no immediate threat.”

Across outlets, the framing was clear: Kent was to be taken seriously.

His claims — that the war was driven by Israel and its American “lobby,” that Trump had been “deceived,” and that Iran posed no imminent threat — were not meaningfully interrogated, but simply transmitted.

Even his more outlandish assertions were handled with care.

Kent claimed that his wife, Shannon, had died in a “war manufactured by Israel.”

In reality, Shannon Kent was killed in Syria in 2019 by an ISIS suicide bomber, a fact Kent himself stated plainly in a 2020 NBC op-ed. That article did not mention Israel once.

Apparently, it is only in retrospect that Kent has decided ISIS — an Islamist terrorist group that broadcast the executions of Western hostages from the Syrian desert  — was somehow a product of Israel.

Yet even here, major outlets softened the reality.

NPR avoided stating how she was killed, noting only that she “died serving in Syria in 2019.”

The BBC similarly declined to mention ISIS, reporting merely that she “was killed in a bombing in Syria.”

This is how credibility is quietly manufactured: not through explicit endorsement, but through omission.

But there is a deeper problem:

The same media outlets now treating Kent as a credible whistleblower were, until recently, describing him very differently.

When Kent first entered national politics, his record was viewed — quite rightly — as something far more troubling.

Kent, 44, has twice run unsuccessfully for Congress in Washington state.

During his 2022 campaign, he gave an interview to a neo-Nazi YouTuber who had praised Adolf Hitler as a “complicated historical figure.” He also engaged with figures from white nationalist circles and reportedly complained that America was “anti-white.”

He sought support from Holocaust denier and white supremacist Nick Fuentes during a GOP primary. Though Kent later attempted to distance himself from Fuentes, the outreach itself was not in dispute.

His campaign drew endorsements from figures like Paul Gosar, who has long associated with white nationalists, and Marjorie Taylor Greene, who has a long and well-documented history of antisemitic rhetoric. Kent’s website also featured support from Arizona state senator Wendy Rogers (R), who was later censured after appearing at a white nationalist conference and invoking anti-Jewish tropes.

Kent even hired a member of the Proud Boys as a campaign consultant.

At the time, much of the media covered this record in detail.

CNN itself reported extensively on Kent’s “past association with extremists” and his interactions with Nazi sympathizers and Holocaust deniers.

Now, that same outlet reduces this history to a paragraph that references his “past associations with far-right figures became a key issue,” while dedicating far more space to his peddling of conspiracy theories about the murder of Charlie Kirk.

The Daily Mail omitted it entirely, opting instead to highlight his “decorated military career” and a spat with Laura Loomer.

Equally absent from much of the coverage was the extent to which Kent’s claims were rejected across the political spectrum. Rep. Josh Gottheimer (D-NJ) pushed back publicly, while White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt directly called his central claim — that Iran posed no imminent threat — “false,” stressing that President Trump had “strong and compelling evidence” of an impending attack.

In other words, the man has not changed; he is still peddling the same absurd conspiracies as he always has.

What has changed is the media’s willingness to contextualize him.

When Kent was politically inconvenient, his extremism was central to his identity.

Now that his claims can be used to undermine a war involving Israel — and, by extension, the Trump administration — that same extremism is quietly set aside.

The result is that a figure once treated as beyond the pale is suddenly recast as a credible authority on matters of national security and foreign policy.

His claims are not strengthened by evidence, but by the selective amnesia of the outlets amplifying them.

And the public is left with a dangerously distorted picture: not just of Joe Kent, but of the issues he is now being used to comment on.

Because when the media decides who is credible based not on consistency, but on convenience, it does more than mislead.

It erodes the very standard by which credibility is judged in the first place.

The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.

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The Nazis didn’t care that Paul Klee wasn’t Jewish

Paul Klee is hard to describe. The German artist’s works, which he began creating in his childhood until 1940, when he died at age 60, vary widely; they often feature abstract forms, but just as often figures. They are known for strong colors, but some are monochrome. He taught at the Bauhaus school, is considered by some to be the father of abstract art, but he’s also foundational to surrealism and German expressionism. He uses cubism and pointillism.

What he is not particularly known for is his political statements. But a new exhibit, Paul Klee: Other Possible Worlds, opening this week at the Jewish Museum in New York, is looking to change that.

The exhibit, curated by Mason Klein in his final exhibit as senior curator at the museum, includes work from throughout Klee’s career, tracing a throughline of political commentary on fascism and authoritarianism that has gone little discussed. Its centerpiece is the first U.S. exhibit of a cycle of sketches the artist made in response to the Nazi assumption of power in 1933. It was an important year for Klee — it was the year he was removed from his teaching position at the Düsseldorf Academy of Art, in response to pressure from the new regime.

Angelus Militans, 1940, by Paul Klee. Image by Paul Klee

Klee was not Jewish. But Nazi press defamed him as Jewish anyway to justify his termination. “He tells everybody he has pure Arabian blood in his veins, but he is actually a typical Galician Jew,”read an article in Nazi outlet Die Rote Erde. 

Klee was one of the first artists the Nazis declared “degenerate,” a descriptor applied to the abstract artists, often Jewish, who the regime sought to smear as sick, immoral and corrupting to the idea of German culture that Hitler promoted; 17 of his works were featured in the infamous Degenerate Art exhibition organized by Nazi leaders in 1937, which compared the artworks to the drawings of the insane. In another Nazi publication, Volksparole, he was accused of advancing “the Bolshevist ideals in art of communists and Jews.”

Klee, along with his wife Lily and son Felix, fled to Switzerland. But before he left, he drew hundreds of sketches satirizing Nazi ideology, full of chaotic lines, evoking the distress of the era. Klee’s concerns about the shifting culture are also seen in the pointed titles of each work, which he noted in a meticulous catalogue he maintained.

Drinking Companion (Stammtischler), 1931. Image by Paul Klee

In “Stammtischler,” a clearly recognizable portrait of Adolf Hitler stares out from the page, with small, beady, scribbled eyes. In English, the title translates to “drinking companion,” a term with the positive-leaning connotation of an affable friend. But in German, writes curator and art-historian Pamela Kort, the term Klee uses suggests an oaf who voices loud, poorly-informed opinions. Given that U.S. pundits often discuss which candidate the voters can imagine drinking a beer with, “Stammtischler” feels like a warning.

The museum’s director, James S. Snyder, noted the exhibit’s resonance to our current era in his remarks at the exhibit’s press preview. And it is hard not to think of our current political milieu when perusing Klee’s sketches.

“This Game is Getting Out of Hand,” which shows a group of children with several balls in the air, depicts brawling as much as playing; Klee, the wall text elsewhere in the exhibit notes, was deeply concerned about the long-lasting effects of exposing children to Nazi ideology and violence. This evokes today’s extremist influencers — often young men who grew up immersed in the toxic soup of the internet — who use a trolling tone when espousing antisemitism or misogyny. It’s all a joke, supposedly, but the joke is getting less and less funny.

The Game Is Getting Out of Hand (das Spiel artet aus), 1940. Image by Paul Klee

The political dimensions of Klee’s work are most obvious in the sketches. But they highlight the mockery of authoritarianism and fascism woven throughout his other work. “Your Ancestor,” a drawing of a monstrous, Gollum-like creature, pokes fun at the Nazi focus on eugenics. The wall text argues that his strangely colored paintings of fruit can be read as commentary on the pitfalls of selective breeding. “Athlete’s Head,” a portrait of a distorted face, is, according to the exhibit, “satirizing the Nazis’ superficial glorification of the heroic athlete” in light of a required five hours a day of athletics in schools.

Klee’s dismissal from his teaching position was not the first time Klee was slurred as a Jew. Over a decade earlier, when he was nominated as a professor at the Stuttgart Art Academy, critics who felt his art was too left-wing referred to him as “Paul Zion Klee.” (He did not get the position.)

This inspired Klee to paint “Harlequin on the Bridge,” which deals openly with antisemitism. In it, a harlequin figure represents Klee himself, a Star of David hanging over his head, against an ethereal, unsettling background. The work wrestles with the idea of the perpetual outsider, whether jester or Jew, as the bridge between worlds, their positionality enabling them to access new ideas, combine categories and reach other worlds.

Harlequin on the Bridge (Arlequin auf der Brücke), 1920. Photo by Mira Fox

Klee’s politics are not always obvious. At times, it can feel hard to imagine that these abstract, modernist works are truly making a winking political commentary on antisemitism or Nazism, especially given that Klee did not speak publicly about his political views — though he wrote about them in personal letters to his wife and friends. Other Possible Worlds compellingly highlights the political valences in his work, but they remain open to a wide range of interpretations.

It all raises the question of why, if so much of his work had a political subtext, Klee did not take a louder, more pointed stand against the Nazis. Even his sketches, which criticize the new political regime, do so via caricature and irony. The titles, which give a trenchant context to each work, are still indirect. The power of Klee’s work lies in its ambiguity and ability to contain worlds, but it makes for poor activism.

In his writing, Klee appears to have decided that the best response to the vilification was to refuse to dignify it with any acknowledgment, however much he addressed the criticism in his art.

“It seems unworthy of me to undertake anything against such crude attacks,” he wrote in a letter to his wife. “For even if it were true that I am a Jew and came from Galicia that would not affect my values as a person or my achievement by an iota.”

Paul Klee: Other Possible Worlds will be on display March 20 – July 26, 2026 at The Jewish Museum in Manhattan.

The post The Nazis didn’t care that Paul Klee wasn’t Jewish appeared first on The Forward.

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