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How the Lower East Side has changed since the 1988 rom-com ‘Crossing Delancey’

(New York Jewish Week) — The classic and very Jewish 1988 film “Crossing Delancey” is one of those movies that feels both extremely of its time and also completely timeless. 

Director Joan Micklin Silver’s film has all the classic rom-com trappings: A woman who’s torn between two men (and to that end, two worlds); complaints about how hard it is to meet a man in New York City (as true in 1988 as it is in 2022), and a “mother” figure who knows better (here, a Jewish grandmother known as Bubbe, and in this case, she actually does know better). You could pluck all these specifics and drop them into a present-day film — and, if told with the heart and care of “Crossing Delancey,” still have a pretty good movie.

Yet there’s one thing about the “Crossing Delancey” that fully anchors it in the past, and that is  its late-1980s Lower East Side setting. While our heroine, Izzy (Amy Irving), lives and works on the Upper West Side, she pays frequent visits to her Bubbe (Yiddish theater actress Reizl Bozyk), her grandmother, downtown. From the moment that Izzy steps off the train at Delancey Street, she’s transported to another world: a bustling Jewish enclave with market-goers shopping for produce, friends and neighbors in the streets kibbitzing and a Hasidic child sitting outside the subway, enjoying a treat from a local bakery.  

This dichotomy between the “Old World” of the Lower East Side and the “New World” uptown is the central conflict of the film: Izzy’s inability to reconcile her Jewish roots with her desire to live a secular, intelligentsia lifestyle, as represented by her two love interests (Sam the Pickle Man and Anton, the self-important author). 

However, rewatching the film in the present day, I can’t help but wonder: Would Izzy run from the shtetl if she knew that in a few years, it wouldn’t exist anymore? That due to rising rents and a shift in population, many Jewish businesses would meet their end — or, somewhat ironically, be part of the flight to Brooklyn that began in the early-to-mid 2000s? In some ways, 1988 itself was the beginning and the end: It marked the opening of the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, an effort to preserve the neighborhood’s immigrant past, and it was the very same year that Mayor Koch created a new redevelopment proposal for the Seward Park Extension, a canary in the coal mine for the sea change of development the city would see over the next 30 years.

Re-watching the film in 2022, it struck me how the Lower East Side’s bustling Jewish enclave  — the same place where my grandparents were born and raised — has since been lost to time, gentrification and re-zoning plans. These days, the neighborhood paints a different picture entirely: giant buildings hog entire city blocks, with construction promising even more sky-high buildings. There’s no specific character to the neighborhood, no story to tell, few places more integral to the city’s fabric than the Delancey-Essex McDonald’s.

Of course, if you’ve lived in the city long enough, you know there’s no getting comfortable. New Yorkers have to, in essence, harden their hearts. We must accept that the local business you love that’s here today very well could be gone tomorrow — even if that business is a Duane Reade. The Lower East Side of today is not the neighborhood of 1988, or 1968 or 1928.

But amongst all of the present-day residential developments, upscale clothing stores and fast food chains, old-school Jewish businesses like The Pickle Guys, Kossar’s Bagels and Bialys and Yonah Schimmel’s Knish Bakery are still thriving. (And, I’d like to think that if you look hard enough, you’ll find some meddling but well-meaning bubbes and yentas, too.)

While we might not be able to fully experience the Lower East Side as the cast and crew of “Crossing Delancey,” here are four places from “Crossing Delancey” that you can still visit, and four that are sadly gone forever.

What Remains Today

Bubbe’s Apartment

154 Broome Street

The interior shots of Bubbe’s apartment, where Izzy fulfills all of her granddaughterly duties, like singing with her grandmother in Yiddish and plucking her chin hairs, were filmed at 154 Broome Street. The 181-unit building sits at the mouth of the Williamsburg Bridge — which is why Bubbe has that spectacular view — and is part of the New York City Housing Authority’s Seward Park Housing Extension. So while you still can visit the exterior of Bubbe’s apartment building today, don’t linger too long — it might weird out the current tenants.

 

Essex Market

108 Essex Street

This one is a little complicated. The original Essex Market, where Bubbe shows off her Korean-language skills, still stands today. (If you get off at the subway at Delancey Street, you can’t really miss it.) But that iteration of the market closed its doors in 2019 — in order to relocate to a building across the street so big and so glassy it would make Michael Bloomberg blush. In addition to apartments, office space and a movie theater (it’s a truly mixed-use building for our modern times!), Essex Market does boast local, independent vendors, such as Essex Olive & Spice, Porto Rico Importing Co. and Puebla Mexicana food. Per the New York Times, only one of the market’s vendors decided to forgo the move, opting instead for retirement. But you  might want to pay a visit to the original Essex Market while you still can — even if only to give it one last look. Following the move, Essex Market initially housed some avant-garde art installations, but it has since seemingly closed its doors for good. According to Gothamist, it’s to be razed to create — what else? — more condos.

 

Seward Park Handball Court

Essex Street between Grand and Hester Streets

From the moment Sam and Izzy meet, he makes no effort to hide his ardor. In fact, I’d say he uses every weapon in his arsenal to demonstrate his interest — even going so far as to try to impress her with his handball skills when she unexpectedly drops by the court. (You might also clock his CUNY sweatshirt, as I most certainly did.) The handball court is still there, should you decide you want to play a pickup game, but sadly the court’s colorful mural depicted in the film has since been painted over.

 

Bonus: Gray’s Papaya

2090 Broadway

While this article is focused on the film’s Lower East Side locations, and with good reason, we’d be remiss if we didn’t point out that one important New York institution Izzy visits triumphantly remains: The Upper West Side Gray’s Papaya. There, Izzy celebrates her birthday with a friend and a hot dog — the right way to do it, in my opinion — when a woman bursts in singing “Some Enchanted Evening,” for everyone and no one in particular. It’s one of many of the film’s classic New York moments.

 

What’s Been Replaced

Steinberg’s Dairy

21 Essex Street

When Izzy emerges from that train at Delancey Street, director Silver takes great care to immerse us in this world. The camera stays on Izzy as she walks from the subway to Bubbe’s apartment, passing a host of local businesses along the way. Among them is Steinberg’s Dairy, which once lived at 21 Essex Street. Steinberg’s Dairy, which also had an Upper West Side location, offered staples like herring, egg salad and vegetarian chopped liver for less than a dollar back in 1941. Today, if you’re in the area, you can grab a drink at the punk rock bar Clockwork, which opened in 2013.

 

Zelig Blumenthal

13 Essex Street

Izzy also takes us by Zelig’s Blumenthal (also known as Z & A Kol Torah), where three older women sit outside, enjoying the sights and sounds around them. Once a popular Judaica store, it unexpectedly closed its Lower East Side doors in 2010 after 60 years in business. At the time, then-owner Mordechai Blumenthal made the decision to relocate the store to Flatbush due to a dwindling Orthodox population and foot traffic in the area, and a landlord who made clear he “wanted him gone.” It’s unclear if the Flatbush location remains open today, but a vintage clothing store called Country Of has taken up its original spot.

 

Posner’s Pickles (AKA Guss’ Pickles)

35 Essex Street

Posner’s Pickles, as run by Sam the Pickle Man in the film, was never exactly a real place to begin with. Filming took place at the world-famous Guss’ Pickles, which first opened on Hester Street in 1920, before relocating to Essex Street, where there were once over 80 pickle vendors for locals to choose from. After a stint on Orchard Street, Guss’ Pickles followed in the footsteps of so many others by then, leaving Manhattan to open up shop in Brooklyn’s Dekalb Market in 2017. While Guss’ Pickles is today based out of the Bronx, their delicious pickles are available to order no matter where you are in the country, via Goldbelly. Today, 35 Essex Street is home to Delancey Wine —  appropriately named, but  doesn’t offer possibilities for a slogan like “a joke and a pickle for only a nickel,” as Posner’s Pickles did in the film.

 

Schapiro’s Kosher Wines

124 Rivington Street
For 100 years, Schapiro’s Kosher Wines proudly served the Jewish community as the only kosher winery in New York City. It’s where Bubbe chides Izzy for her lack of interest in Sam, and while today the pair couldn’t have this conversation outside Schapiro’s, they could grab brunch at the restaurant Essex. Home to New York City’s “longest-running Brunch Party,” Essex salutes its Lower East Side roots with dishes like potato pancakes and Israeli couscous.

 

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The post How the Lower East Side has changed since the 1988 rom-com ‘Crossing Delancey’ appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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Outrage First, Facts Later: Jerusalem’s Palm Sunday Story

Pope Leo XIV delivers a homily during the Palm Sunday Mass in Saint Peter’s Square at the Vatican, March 29, 2026. REUTERS/Francesco Fotia

News that Israeli police had blocked Latin Patriarch Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa from entering the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday spread rapidly across social media this week.

The reaction was swift and severe, with Israel accused of restricting Christian worship and violating religious freedom at one of Christianity’s holiest sites.

But much of the outrage was missing key facts.

Israeli police, along with the Prime Minister and President, said the measures were driven by security concerns at Jerusalem’s holy sites during wartime.

With Iranian missile fire ongoing and fragments already landing near religious locations, authorities cited the risk of mass casualties in an area with limited shelter and difficult emergency access.

The decision, they said, was about protecting both the cardinal and worshippers.

What was also largely overlooked is that the situation was quickly resolved.

Following coordination between Israeli authorities and the Catholic Patriarchate, an agreement was reached allowing prayer under agreed limitations, and access was restored.

There is room to criticize what was, at best, a clumsily handled situation that should have been resolved before escalating publicly. But there was no evidence of malice — only an attempt to enforce safety regulations under wartime conditions.

That context, however, was almost entirely absent from the viral narrative.

Pro-Palestinian accounts on X portrayed the incident as a deliberate act against Christians. Some framed it as persecution; others as proof of systematic religious discrimination.

One widely shared post by Quds News Network claimed Israel had prevented the cardinal from entering the church with no reason given, omitting any reference to security measures or crowd control, and reinforcing the perception of deliberate obstruction.

In another post, Palestinian writer Mosab Abu Toha — previously criticized for disparaging Israeli hostages in Gaza — cast the incident as part of a broader pattern of restrictions on worship, again without mentioning the security rationale cited by Israeli authorities.

Susan Abulhawa went further, using the incident to promote inflammatory rhetoric about “parasitic Jewish supremacists,” falsely claiming that Jews were granted unrestricted access while Christians and Muslims were barred.

Other commentators, including Ethan Levins, Carrie Prejean, and longtime Israel critic Mehdi Hasan, echoed similar claims — all reinforcing the same stripped-down narrative: denial of access, devoid of context.

Missing from much of the online reaction was the perspective of Cardinal Pizzaballa himself. He stated that he was treated with politeness and emphasized the importance of respectful dialogue moving forward.

In reality, Israel faced a difficult choice: allow unrestricted access during Holy Week amid an active war and credible security threats, or impose temporary limitations and face international backlash.

Either option carried consequences. Had a mass casualty event occurred, the criticism would likely have been far more severe.

This is the nature of a lose-lose scenario.

Events in Jerusalem, particularly around religious sites, do not unfold in a vacuum. They are shaped by security realities, historical sensitivities, and the challenge of balancing competing religious claims.

Reducing such incidents to a single viral image strips away that complexity.

The Palm Sunday episode is a case study in how quickly a misleading narrative can take hold when context is omitted, and how rarely subsequent clarifications receive the same attention as the initial outrage.

In the end, the situation was resolved not through outrage, but through dialogue.

That, too, is part of the story.

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 Media Ignores Iran’s Crimes, Because It Wants to See the Regime Prevail

Members of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) attend an IRGC ground forces military drill in the Aras area, East Azerbaijan province, Iran, Oct. 17, 2022. Photo: IRGC/WANA (West Asia News Agency)/Handout via REUTERS

Start with three facts from this past week.

Not rumors. Not slogans. Not social media noise.

Facts — reported in mainstream outlets, documented by international human rights bodies, and, in part, reflected in the regime’s own conduct and admissions.

First, a 19-year-old wrestler — Navid Afkari — was executed by the Iranian regime after a trial widely condemned by international observers. Hung. Killed. His crime: protesting.

Second, officials tied to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) advancing frameworks where children as young as 12 can be integrated into war-support roles — patrols, logistics, internal enforcement. Not speculation. Not anonymous leaks. Positions reflected in both external reporting and Iranian media.

Third, multiple independent investigations — and mainstream media reports — documenting the systematic use of rape and sexual violence by the IRGC and Basij against detainees, particularly protesters, as a tool of repression.

Stop there.

You don’t need embellishment. You don’t need a fourth example. You don’t need a roundtable parsing “context.” What you need is to understand what kind of regime produces all three of these facts consistently, predictably, and without apology.

Because in the Islamic Republic of Iran, these are not aberrations. They are not excesses at the margins of an otherwise functioning system. They are the system.

Authoritarian systems do not need to announce what they are. They demonstrate it. Not in their slogans — which are often framed, for many Western audiences, in the language of justice and resistance — but in what they do to people, particularly their own citizens.

For 47+ years under this Iranian regime, the pattern is direct and repeatable. That is not hyperbole or metaphor. It is a description of how the Iranian regime operates.

And yet — and this is where the second scandal should begin — this regime still receives the benefit of the doubt, if not outright support, in significant parts of Western discourse.

Watch almost any show on MSNBC or CNN and you can hear it happen in real time.

The language shifts. It hedges. Or it flips into outright advocacy.

Iran becomes “complicated.”
The regime becomes “reactive.”

Its brutality is sometimes acknowledged, but immediately diluted with qualifiers — history, geopolitics, grievance. Explanations that are rarely extended to democratic states defending themselves.

And then there is the next tier — those who go further and actively sanitize what is happening as they also effectively cheerlead for this regime in its current war against America, Israel, and every moderate Sunni Arab state in the region.

They do not talk about the crimes happening in Iran, because those facts are disqualifying.

Once stated plainly, without euphemism or ideological filtering, these facts collapse the narrative that these groups rely on to excuse or deflect from the regime’s conduct.

You cannot claim moral seriousness or concern for human rights and dignity while excusing executions of protesters, the integration of children into state security structures, and the systematic use of sexual violence as a tool of repression.

You can argue politics. You can criticize Israel. You can debate foreign policy or military strategy.

But if you ignore or minimize these facts about the Iranian regime, you are not making an argument tied to human rights. You are abandoning it.

There is a sad, long and well-documented history of this kind of intellectual evasion and duplicity.

In the 1930s, Western journalists like Walter Duranty downplayed or denied Stalin’s famine in Ukraine while millions died. Soviet show trials and purges were explained away as internal necessities. In Mao’s China, the Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution were rationalized or ignored by sympathetic observers even as tens of millions perished. Later, Pol Pot’s Cambodia was dismissed by some Western voices as exaggerated propaganda until the killing fields could no longer be concealed.

Evidence is available. Documentation exists. But it is discounted, reframed, or ignored because it conflicts with a preferred political narrative.

If you excuse or downplay executions after sham trials, as well as these other crimes, you are providing political cover for a regime routinely and regularly engaged in brutality and systematic repression.

Large parts of the anti-Israel, self-described “pro-Palestinian” movement are not engaged in a human rights campaign. They are engaged in a selective political project that ignores abuse when it is inconvenient and amplifies (and lies about) it when it is useful. If human rights were the standard, the Iranian regime would be at the center of their outrage. It isn’t.

And that tells you everything you need to know.

Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.

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An American Student’s View From Israel: The First Day of My First War

A drone view shows a damage in a residential neighborhood, following a night of Iranian missile strikes which injured dozens of Israelis, amid the US-Israel conflict with Iran, in Dimona, southern Israel, March 22, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Roei Kastro

On February 28, 2026, at 8:15 AM, I was woken up by a very unique alarm clock. Israel’s Home Front Command app had suddenly replaced Google and Gemini as the most invaluable tool I had.

Surprise is not the right word for what I felt at that moment, because we had all been anticipating a war for the past month.

I bolted awake in my bed and looked at my roommates in disbelief. “Yup, that’s a siren,” said one of them. I frantically threw on my shoes and ran to the bomb shelter, feeling the adrenaline kicking in.

The bomb shelter was crammed with people, as we were on a trip to Safed at the time, a town in Israel’s North, famous for its Jewish mystics and beautiful views. Our counselors attempted to count us off as Israelis around us were shouting at and through each other, both on the phone and in person.

My journey to Israel began in March of last year, when I decided to apply to the Alexander Muss High School, a semester abroad program for North American students in Israel. This program integrates the students’ schoolwork from home with a travel schedule around Israel and a rich educational curriculum to connect kids with Jewish history and modern Israel.

It is an amazing program that allows students to learn extensively about Israel and its culture, something that I, as a kid from the Bay Area, do not get.

All of our original plans to explore Safed that day were scrapped. We were given 15 minutes to pack up our things and get on the bus to go back to campus in Hod HaSharon, in central Israel. What was supposed to be an hour and a half ride turned into three; it was also the most surreal bus ride of my life.

Ten minutes into the drive, a siren rang. We drove into a tunnel and were told to crouch down in the aisle of the bus and cover our heads and necks. Something I had seen Israelis do for years on the news was now a reality for me.

After some time, we were back on the road, but not for long.

After several more sirens, stops, and crouching down in the bus, we finally made it back to campus. We did not get a break for long. Soon we were greeted by another round of sirens, and back into the bomb shelter we went.

There were a total of twenty-seven sirens that day. The entire day was spent in the bomb shelter. During the brief couple of minutes between rounds that we had, we set objectives for what was to be accomplished, whether it be grabbing food, water, or plugging in a portable charger that was dead at the most opportune time. Many attempted, unsuccessfully, to take showers, but were interrupted by sirens. It did not feel frightening, but it did feel very strange.

This truly gave me the full Israeli experience.

Normal, everyday tasks were done under the constant stress of whether they would be interrupted by a siren. During a particularly intense day of rocket fire, I prepared baggy clothes to throw on in case of a siren while showering. Meals were frequently interrupted. What we in the Bay Area take for granted is not the case for Israelis now. Multiple times a day, we are forced to drop whatever we are doing and run to the shelter.

And that’s assuming Israel’s defenses work, and bomb shelters will protect us. But sometimes they won’t.

This war has provided me with an unparalleled experience, where, for the first time, I truly understand what being part of the Israeli community means, both in peace and in war.

These moments that now make up everyday life, whether positive or not, have brought my classmates and me together.

In the past month, I have learned a lot, and I have experienced a real war, something one never looks forward to.

I fully understood who I was when, under that tunnel where the bus stopped to hide from the missiles, we formed a big circle and began singing Hatikva, Israel’s anthem. That was a moment of unity and resiliency that I, as an American and a Jew, will never forget.

Sheina Stesin is a high schooler from the Bay Area, and is currently on a study abroad program in Israel.

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