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How Arnold Horween, an unsung Jewish Harvard hero, changed American sports
(JTA) — Decades before Sandy Koufax sat out the first game of the 1965 World Series because it fell on Yom Kippur, and 18 years before Greenberg chased Babe Ruth’s single-season home run record in the late 1930s, a college athlete made some overlooked Jewish sports history.
Arnold Horween, a burly Chicagoan, became the first Jewish captain of the Harvard University football team in 1920 — an achievement that sent ripples through American culture.
Horween, who would later play and coach in the early years of what would become the NFL, was born to Jewish immigrants from Ukraine. He became a star player at Harvard, helping the Crimson go undefeated in both 1919 and 1920 after returning from serving in World War I. (His brother Ralph also played at Harvard and in the NFL, and they were the first and only Jewish brothers to play in the NFL until Geoff and Mitchell Schwartz.)
But it was Horween’s unanimous selection as the team’s captain, and more importantly, his appointment in 1926 as the team’s coach, that would prove unprecedented.
“In American Jewish culture, the only thing greater than being the captain of the Harvard Crimson, the only higher station in American culture might have been the president, or the coach of Harvard, which he eventually becomes,” said Zev Eleff, the president of Gratz College and a scholar of American Jewish history.
Eleff explores Horween’s story and its impact in his recent book, “Dyed in Crimson: Football, Faith, and Remaking Harvard’s America,” released earlier this year. He traces the history of Harvard athletics in the early 1900s, exploring how Horween, along with Harvard’s first athletic director, Bill Bingham, altered the landscape of America’s most prestigious college.
Horween’s ascendance came at a time when Harvard instituted quotas to limit the number of Jewish and other minority students it accepted — a practice the school would employ throughout the 1920s and 30s. His story also took place amid a political landscape that featured the rise of Father Charles Coughlin, the antisemitic “radio priest,” and the reemergence of the Ku Klux Klan.
As Eleff underscores in the book, Horween did not fit the model of a “Boston Brahmin,” the class of elite, Christian, aspirationally manly men whose supremacy was unquestioned at Harvard Yard. Horween broke that mold, instead instilling a team culture where a love of the sport was almost as important as winning — the Ted Lasso effect, if you will.
“Dyed in Crimson” also uses early 20th century Harvard as an allegory for the broader theme of how sports can change society.
“The theme of the book, something that’s uniquely American, is how the periphery can influence the mainstream,” said Eleff. “How people on the sidelines can really make an influence.”
Eleff spoke to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency about how Horween’s story fits into the pantheon of Jewish American sports legends and what it says about Jews’ ability to succeed in America.
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Let’s dig into Horween’s story. I liked the idea of him as like an earlier version of Koufax or a Greenberg, but to be honest, I had never heard of him. Why do you think his story isn’t as well known as other Jewish athletes?
I think it has everything to do with the emergence of Major League Baseball. College football was America’s sport in the 1910s and 1920s. It was a big money sport, when there was very little money outside of the New York Yankees. And I think that Horween’s star started to sort of decline with Harvard football, but also the emergence of other sports.
The other reason is because the idea of the Jewish ballplayer loomed large. The New York Giants, for decades, tried to identify a Jewish superstar. They actually passed on Greenberg. There was a thought after Greenberg that there was Jewish DNA for baseball, and the signing of Koufax was directly linked to this notion. It was this eugenics-like link that you need a Jewish ballplayer. For the Giants, it was ticket sales. So the commotion about Greenberg and Koufax is more about Jewish identity. And baseball is, as a professional sport in New York, Queens, Brooklyn, the Bronx, different than college football, particularly in New England at this time. Frankly, Jews lived near the Polo Grounds, they didn’t live near Harvard Yard.
Arnold Horween shown in The Baltimore Sun on November 16, 1927. (Wikimedia Commons)
For Horween, obviously he’s not at the level of a Greenberg or Koufax talent-wise, but he also didn’t seem to care as much personally about his Jewish identity. You write in the book that there were some Jews who took issue with the fact that Horween was not practicing, but there were also many Jews who were simply proud he was Jewish. What do you think about that dynamic?
There becomes a sort of disconnect between lived religion and the perception and what they come to represent — the mantle that they wear almost towers above the practice. Horween eschewed the opportunity to claim the mantle of Jewish leadership, Jewish celebrity. But we do see in its moment that he is the topic of rabbinic sermons, that The American Hebrew and other Jewish press are reporting on him. They are elated. In American Jewish culture, the only thing greater than being the captain of the Harvard Crimson — it’s hard for people to realize, but in the moment when they were part of the big three [alongside Princeton and Yale] — the only higher station in American culture might have been the president, or the coach of Harvard, which he eventually becomes.
One of the parts of this book that I enjoyed learning about is the extent to which college football in the early 20th century was all about honor, masculinity, gentlemanliness. And at the time, that kind of stands in contrast to how Jews were viewed — that Jews were not masculine, Jews couldn’t fit into that mold of the “Harvard man.”
Being on the sports team, that was probably far beyond Jewish expectations. Not to say that Jews could not be athletic, but very often the varsity players weren’t picked for their talent but rather their surnames. What the sea change at Harvard is, [within] gentlemanly culture — in which “gentlemanly” is a Protestant, Christian masculinity — Horween is not Protestant. What allows him a pathway into that elite group is that drive to win. And as a player, he’s good luck. He never loses. He becomes a signature player for victory who even wins the Rose Bowl.
But as a coach, he subverts that. What he and Bill Bingham do is their campaign isn’t necessarily for winning, it’s for having fun, it’s for enjoying the game.
In the 1910s and 20s, college football was the peak of American sports, but that’s certainly not the case anymore. What do you think would be the modern comparison for someone like Horween?
Is Becky Hammon with the Spurs, the first woman [to act as] head coach in basketball, something like that? Or the very important discussions about people of color as coaches in the NFL? Sports and education are, for some reason or another, where change is made in American life. Brown v. Board of Education in 1954 ends, at least officially, segregation. Title IV, what is basically American law for anti-discrimination based on sex, is based on women’s college sports. You have the breaking down of color barriers and Jackie Robinson, Muhammad Ali and Vietnam. You have the first [openly] gay athletes, you have questions of breaking the glass ceiling for women and Serena Williams.
It’s absolutely 100% true that sports doesn’t matter. Who wins the World Series is of no great consequence to most people’s lives. Although it’s interesting, if you drive up I-95 on a Sunday, you will see that the bumper stickers and the flags change. There is some sort of passion, obviously, about sport. But it’s absolutely true that for some reason or another in the 20th century and 21st century in American sport, really important social and cultural decisions, and political decisions, are made in American sport.
Zev Eleff, president of Gratz College and author of “Dyed in Crimson.” (Courtesy)
Another main topic in the book is that the goal for immigrants, especially Jews, was Americanization, assimilation — that to become part of the mainstream was the marker of success. But that seems to be the case for Jews in a very different sense than it is for Catholics and for Blacks.
The major contribution of this book to American Jewish history beyond telling this story is to complicate notions of Americanization. Jews and Catholics in particular view Americanization very, very differently. The Catholic experience is to create parallel systems. If you’re a good Catholic boy with immense football talent, play for Notre Dame, play for Boston College. Don’t play for the Protestant mainstream. Cream them on the football field. Create parallel systems.
The Jewish experience is not so. Outside of Orthodox day schools in the early 20th century, it was anathema, it was considered almost heretical, for American Jews to [go] to private schools. To the contrary, the so-called golden citadels of the public schools — that is the agent of Americanization. Jews don’t establish their own educational systems. They somehow Americanize and acculturate into the mainstream. We don’t compete with Harvard, we get into Harvard.
Thinking about the antisemitism of that time — the quotas, Father Coughlin, all of that — how do you think that compares to what we’re seeing today?
Historians disagree about the 1920s. Was it a time of great prominence of American Jews? There was affluence in the roaring ’20s. There were institutions that were created, there was creativity, from the Orthodox and Mordecai Kaplan certainly, across the board, the Jewish Theological Seminary. American Judaism was at a certain high point in the 1920s. At the same time, there were quotas, and there was rising antisemitism. I think today we also have to deal with the tension of, on the one hand, there are great opportunities for Jews in the United States; at the same time, there is antisemitism. And so from the 1920s to the 2020s, 100 years later, you see a model for how to grapple with those tensions.
What do you hope, more than anything else, someone takes away or learns from your book?
It’s a book that begins like a punch line: a working class Protestant, a Catholic and a Jew walk into a football field. But it ends with something I think a lot more pronounced, which is, it’s a story about change. As a historian, I study change, particularly in American Judaism, broadly in American religion and Jewish Studies. Change is the best asset that a historian has to study. I wasn’t interested in just finding another Sandy Koufax story, replicating that story. This is a story that isn’t just about a Jew who happened for his moment to become quite successful and quite famous, or a Catholic or a former mill hand turned first athletic director in college history. It’s really about how people on the periphery influence the mainstream.
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The post How Arnold Horween, an unsung Jewish Harvard hero, changed American sports appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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US Envoys in Israel to Discuss Future of Gaza
FILE PHOTO: US President Donald Trump’s son-in-law, Jared Kushner, and US Special Envoy Steve Witkoff take part in a charter announcement for US President Donald Trump’s Board of Peace initiative aimed at resolving global conflicts, alongside the 56th annual World Economic Forum (WEF), in Davos, Switzerland, January 22, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Denis Balibouse/File Photo
US envoys Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner were in Israel on Saturday to meet with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, mainly to discuss Gaza, two people briefed on the matter said, as local authorities reported further violence in the enclave.
The US on Thursday announced plans for a “New Gaza” rebuilt from scratch, to include residential towers, data centers and seaside resorts.
The project forms part of President Donald Trump’s push to advance an October ceasefire between Israel and Palestinian terrorist group Hamas that has been shaken by repeated violations.
LOCAL AUTHORITIES REPORT MORE DEATHS
The Palestinian Health Ministry in Gaza said on Saturday that Israeli fire had killed three people, including two children, in two separate incidents in the northern Gaza Strip.
A statement from the Israeli military said that its troops operating in the northern Gaza Strip identified several militants “who crossed the Yellow Line, planted an explosive device in the area, and approached the troops, posing an immediate threat to them.”
Under the ceasefire accord, Israeli troops were to retreat to a yellow line marked on military maps that runs nearly the full length of Gaza.
A source in the Israeli military told Reuters that the military was aware of only one incident on Saturday and that those involved were not children.
A spokesperson for the Israeli prime minister’s office confirmed that the meeting was planned but did not provide further details.
Earlier this month, Washington announced that the plan had now moved into the second phase, under which Israel is expected to withdraw troops further from Gaza, and Hamas is due to yield control of the territory’s administration.
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Long before Trump’s second-hand Nobel, a laureate sought to curry favor with Nazis by regifting a prize
Donald Trump is not the first authoritarian to come into possession of a Nobel medal that wasn’t intended for him. In 1943, Norwegian novelist Knut Hamsun sent his Nobel Prize for Literature to Nazi propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels, a gesture meant to secure a private audience with Adolf Hitler.
Although Hamsun was infamous during World War II and its aftermath, most Americans likely know little about the author. It has taken Trump’s lust for the Nobel Peace Prize — something like Gollum’s slobbering obsession with the “precious” gold ring — to cast fresh light on the Norwegian novelist.
Hamsun occupies a place in history similar to Hitler’s filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl: a genuine artistic innovator who fell under the spell of der Führer and paid for it later in life.
Born to a poor rural family in 1859, Hamsun began writing in his teens. Over his long career he produced more than two dozen novels, along with poetry, short stories and nonfiction. His influence was enormous — Isaac Bashevis Singer once called him the father of modern literature, and his psychological style has often been compared to Franz Kafka’s.
Hamsun vaulted to fame at age 30 with the 1890 publication of the semiautobiographical novel Hunger. He won the 1920 Nobel Prize in Literature for Growth of the Soil, which the Nobel Committee said “aroused the liveliest interest in many countries and has found favorable reception with the most diverse groups of readers.” Those readers included fascists.
Hamsun was a passionate admirer of Germany and of the Nazis’ ideas about Teutonic purity. The admiration was mutual. German critics praised Growth of the Soil for its portrayal of a mystical connection between people and the land — a theme the Nazis eagerly embraced.
During Germany’s 1940–45 occupation of Norway, Hamsun supported the Nazi-installed government of Vidkun Quisling. His devotion to Hitler was so great that he parted with his 18-carat gold Nobel medal, sending it to Goebbels in hopes that it would earn him a personal meeting with the Führer.
It did. But the audience did not unfold as Hamsun hoped. Although he supported the occupation, he objected to some of its harsher measures, including executions. He hoped to persuade Hitler to soften the regime’s policies. The meeting — retold in a 2005 New Yorker article titled “In From the Cold” — took place June 26, 1943, at Hitler’s retreat in the Bavarian Alps. According to the article, as the two men took tea in Hitler’s study, the conversation turned tense when Hamsun urged Hitler to fire Josef Terboven, the Reich Commissioner for Norway. Hitler rebuffed him, saying, “The Reich Commissioner is a warrior; he’s only there for war-related duties.”
Hitler did not bother to say goodbye when Hamsun left and later snapped at his aides: “I don’t want to see that sort of person here anymore.”
The unpleasant encounter did little to dampen Hamsun’s admiration for the Nazi leader. On May 7, 1945, a collaborationist newspaper published Hamsun’s obituary for Hitler, in which he wrote: “He was a warrior, a warrior for mankind, and a prophet of the gospel of justice for all nations.”
After the war, thousands of Norwegian collaborators were arrested and put on trial — including Hamsun. By then he was 86, and his age, along with his stature as Norway’s most celebrated novelist, worked in his favor. While 40 collaborators were executed, including Quisling, Hamsun received a fine of 325,000 kroner, reduced from 575,000.
Hamsun died on Feb. 19, 1952, at age 92.
As for the Nobel medal he sent to Goebbels — it vanished. No one knows what became of it.
Which brings us to Donald Trump and his pre-owned Nobel.
Hitler had no shame in accepting lavish gifts from industrialists, world leaders, and others who arrived in Berlin seeking favor. But Hitler might well be impressed with Donald Trump’s collection during his second term — a glittering haul accumulated on trips to the Middle East and during visits to the White House by foreign dignitaries and sycophantic American business executives.
Size-wise, nothing comes close to the 747 provided by Qatar. And knowing the way to Trump’s heart, Benjamin Netanyahu personally presented him with a letter that the Israeli leader had sent nominating him for the Nobel Peace Prize. FIFA, the world soccer federation, went so far as to create its own peace prize for the American president.
Trump kept pressing his case that he deserved the Nobel prize, sometimes aided by foreign allies who publicly insisted that he, more than anyone else, merited the honor. But the Nobel Committee never budged.
A workaround presented itself in the person of María Corina Machado, the Venezuelan opposition leader who had been awarded the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize for her role in resisting Nicolás Maduro’s dictatorship. Machado, desperate for Trump’s backing as Venezuela enters a volatile transition, made a calculation as stark as Hamsun’s in 1943. She handed Trump her Nobel medal in the hope that the gesture would secure her political survival.
Still smoldering over being snubbed by the Nobel Committee for a Peace Prize of his own, Trump lashed out in familiar ways — threatening to use military force to take control of Greenland and to slap heavy new tariffs on European allies. Those threats eventually fizzled after Europe dug in its heels, but the resentment never did.
It’s unlikely America’s Gollum will abandon the quest for his own golden “precious,” one with his name engraved on it. With the inauguration of Trump’s new “Board of Peace,” he may have convinced himself he’s found a fresh path to Oslo. The board — made up of foreign governments invited by Trump — is billed as a vehicle for resolving global conflicts. Permanent membership is offered to those that contribute more than $1 billion. As chairman, Trump would be in a position to steer the board however he wishes.
If the “Board of Peace” doesn’t help him finally secure a gold Nobel medallion, it may still serve another purpose: expanding his already considerable wealth.
Luxury condos on the Gaza waterfront, anyone?
The post Long before Trump’s second-hand Nobel, a laureate sought to curry favor with Nazis by regifting a prize appeared first on The Forward.
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Oct. 7 spurred this secular private school in Manhattan to start holding an annual Shabbat gathering
(New York Jewish Week) — A new Jewish tradition has taken hold at a private, non-Jewish school in Manhattan.
On a recent Friday, about 240 students, parents and educators from the Town School, located on the Upper East Side, stayed late to eat matzah ball soup, recite blessings over challah and candles, and sing Hebrew songs.
It was the third time in as many years that the school had held a Shabbat celebration, and more than half of the students and parents in attendance weren’t Jewish.
“I think there is a real enthusiasm and excitement for families who are not Jewish to come into their first Shabbat or learn more about it again,” said Pierangelo Rossi, the Town School’s director of equity and community action.
Originally from Peru, Rossi is not Jewish. His first Shabbat experience ever was at the Town School in 2024, after Jewish parents organized a gathering in the wake of the Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel.
For years, the school had special “affinity groups” and spaces for students and parents of color, for “white anti-racist” students, and for queer students and their allies. The attack, and the surge of antisemitism that followed, spurred Jewish students and parents to work with the school to create their own.
While the Town School does not collect information about students’ religion, officials estimate that at least a quarter of the student body is Jewish.
“After Oct. 7, we knew — and it became clear to all of us — that our Jewish community was looking for that sense of affirmation in a way they hadn’t before,” said Head of School Doug Brophy.
Brophy, who has led the Town School since 2018, understood how they felt. He is also vice president of the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue on the Upper West Side.
Affinity groups have emerged as a hot-button issue in the debate over DEI, or diversity, equity and inclusion. While their proponents say the groups give minority and marginalized populations desperately needed spaces of their own, critics of DEI say the groups can reinforce divisions and inappropriately inject progressive ideologies into schools and other institutions.
Jewish “anti-woke” advocates have particularly criticized the affinity group framework for too often forcing Jewish students into a binary framework about race and privilege that does not recognize the complexity of Jewish identity.
At the same time, tensions amid the aftermath of Oct. 7 roiled some New York City private schools. The head of one elite private school stepped down last summer after members of the school community clashed over identity, antisemitism, Islamophobia and the Gaza war.
At the Town School, officials and parents say, those tensions have been absent. Instead, the entire school community has embraced the Shabbat celebrations alongside the other special events held to honor students’ traditions, such as a lion parade on the school’s block to mark Lunar New Year and a Persian New Year observance led by parents.
“Whether it’s coming from a vulnerability or a difference, it’s [about] wanting to be part of something bigger than yourself, and not just our Jewish families and colleagues feeling a sense of identity, but everyone else developing a greater sense of empathy,” Brophy said.
The Town School is not the only non-Jewish private school in the city to hold Shabbat celebrations in recent years: Riverdale Country Day School in the Bronx says 700 people attended its November 2024 gathering. But it has committed to annual gatherings, which are growing in attendance.
That first Shabbat in 2024 was led by Rabbi Bradley Solmsen from the Conservative Park Avenue Synagogue; in 2025, by Rabbi Rena Rifkin from Stephen Wise; and this year, by Ana Turkienicz, an educator from the Upper West Side’s Rodeph Sholom School and the Pelham Jewish Center.
“For me, it was really a very different context where you have non-Jews that are interested in learning about what is it that Jews do and are open,” Turkienicz said. “And it was beautiful.”
To create an educational plan that was still engaging for children of all ages, she narrowed the focus of the event to two words: “Shabbat” and “shalom,” meaning “Sabbath” and “peace.”
“I need to use vocabulary, and I need to work with the room only, with those with concepts that are universal,” Turkienicz added. “And there is a lot. There’s a lot in ‘Shabbat’ and ‘shalom’ that are universal.”
She taught the guests the songs “Bim Bam” and “Salaam” — the latter being the Arabic word for “shalom” — and recited the blessings over the candles and challah, and the younger children decorated placemats, while the older children hung out with their classmates.
14-year-old Daniel Rybak stuck around near the school after his last class of the day got out so he could attend the after-school Shabbat service for his second time.
Rybak, whose mother is Catholic and whose father is Jewish, has attended the Town School for nine years.
“Just talking about the greater world at this point, with all the troubles in the Levant, with Israel and Gaza, as well as just the general sense, I suppose, that things are getting a little more violent around the world — it’s just a nice thing that brings people back to that sense of, ‘Hey, we’re here, we’re family, we’re OK, we’re getting through this,’” Rybak said. “It just shows that even throughout all that that’s happened everywhere, there’s still pockets of community and of real hope.”
This year, the Shabbat gathering took on added meaning for some attendees as some of New York’s Jews feel increasingly alienated or afraid following the election of Zohran Mamdani, a longtime and staunch critic of Israel, to the mayor’s office.
“The whole time I was thinking: 20 blocks north from here, there is a new mayor that we don’t know what [he’s] going to be for the Jewish community in New York,” Turkienicz said. “Twenty blocks south of his mansion, we have a private, non-Jewish school doing a Kabbalat Shabbat.”
Katy Williamson, a Jewish parent who helped organize the last two Town School Shabbats and attended this year’s, said she was “really blown away by the sense of community” and surprised by how many people attended.
“I read the news. Obviously, we live in New York City. I’m very aware of what’s going on outside of this, just in the world right now,” she said. “There was just this really warm feeling. … So many people from the school community joined and wanted to be a part of it.”
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