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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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Israel Announces Departure From Several UN Agencies It Accuses of Bias Against Jewish State
United Nations Secretary-General Antonio Guterres speaks at the UN headquarters in New York City, US, before a meeting about the conflict in Gaza, Nov. 6, 2023. Photo: REUTERS/Caitlin Ochs
Israel will immediately sever ties with several United Nations agencies and international organizations, the Foreign Ministry announced on Tuesday, accusing the bodies of exhibiting systemic bias against the Jewish state within the UN system.
In a statement posted on social media, the foreign ministry said that the decision was made following an internal examination after the United States last week withdrew from dozens of international bodies which, according to the White House, “no longer serve American interests.”
The move was approved by Israeli Foreign Minister Gideon Sa’ar, who instructed officials to conduct a broader review to determine whether Israel should continue cooperating with additional international organizations, potentially leading to further shakeups.
The seven organizations that Israel will remove itself from right away are: the Office of the Special Representative of the Secretary-General for Children in Armed Conflict, UN Entity for Gender Equality and the Empowerment of Women (UNWOMEN), UN Conference for Trade and Development, (UNCTAD), UN Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia (ESCWA), UN Alliance of Civilizations, UN Energy, and Global Forum on Migration and Development.
The foreign ministry argued that each body targeted Israel unfairly.
After an examination and discussion conducted following the US withdrawal from dozens of international organizations, Israel’s Minister of Foreign Affairs @gidonsaar has decided that Israel will immediately sever all contact with the following UN agencies and international…
— Israel Foreign Ministry (@IsraelMFA) January 13, 2026
Israeli officials said the decision to sever ties with these specific organizations was the result of a broader conclusion that parts of the UN system have been politicized and openly hostile to Israel. According to the foreign ministry, several of the bodies either singled out Israel for disproportionate condemnation, ignored or minimized Israeli civilian suffering, produced one-sided and ideologically driven reports, or provided platforms for critics while excluding Israeli participation altogether.
Other organizations were accused of undermining core principles of state sovereignty or exemplifying an unaccountable and inefficient UN bureaucracy. Collectively, the ministry argued, this repeated behavior led Israel with little justification for continued engagement and necessitated a reassessment of participation in forums it believes no longer operate in good faith.
Israeli officials framed the move as both corrective and overdue, arguing that a number of UN-affiliated bodies have abandoned neutrality and instead become platforms for political attacks against the Jewish state.
Several of the organizations cited in the US withdrawal announcement had already been cut off by Israel in recent years.
Israel ended cooperation with UN Women in July 2024, after the agency declined to address or investigate sexual violence committed against Israeli women during Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, invasion of and massacre across southern Israel. The foreign ministry said the organization’s silence on the issue was unacceptable, adding that the former local head of UN Women concluded her tenure at Israel’s request.
Officials signaled that additional organizations could face similar decisions as Israel reevaluates the costs of participation in international forums it believes have become politicized.
The move comes on the heels of the US removing itself from 66 international organizations which, the Trump administration argued, behave “contrary to US national interests, security, economic prosperity, or sovereignty” and promote “ideological programs that conflict with US sovereignty and economic strength.”
“These withdrawals will end American taxpayer funding and involvement in entities that advance globalist agendas over US priorities, or that address important issues inefficiently or ineffectively such that US taxpayer dollars are best allocated in other ways to support the relevant missions,” the White House said in a Jan. 7 statement.
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Anti-Israel Activists Drop Lawsuit to Cancel Antisemitism Prevention Course at Northwestern University
People walk on the campus of Northwestern University, a day after a US official said $790 million in federal funding has been frozen for the university while it investigates the school over civil rights violations, in Evanston, Illinois, US, April 9, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Vincent Alban
A civil lawsuit which aimed to cancel Northwestern University’s antisemitism prevention course on the apparent grounds that conduct widely acknowledged as antisemitic is integral to Palestinian culture has been voluntarily withdrawn by both parties.
“The plaintiffs and defendants, by and through their respective undersigned counsel, hereby submit the following joint stipulation of voluntary dismissal purgation to federal rule of civil procedure … and hereby stipulate to the dismissal of this action in its entirety, without prejudice,” says a court document filed on Dec. 22. “Each party shall bear its own attorneys’ fees and costs.”
As previously reported by The Algemeiner, the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) — an organization that has been scrutinized by US authorities over alleged ties to the Palestinian terrorist group Hamas — demanded a temporary restraining order to halt the program, which the university mandated as a prerequisite for fall registration, and the rescission of disciplinary measures imposed on nine students who refused to complete it. Filing on behalf of the Northwestern Graduate Workers for Palestine (GW4P) group CAIR charged that the required training violates Title VI of the US Civil Rights Act of 1964 and serves as a “pretense” for censoring “expressions of Palestinian identity, culture, and advocacy for self-determination.”
CAIR particularly took issue with Northwestern’s adoption of the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance’s (IHRA) definition of antisemitism and its application to the training course, which, at its conclusion, calls on students to pledge not to be antisemitic.
Used by governments and other entities across the world, the IHRA definition describes antisemitism as a “certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.” It provides 11 specific, contemporary examples of antisemitism in public life, the media, schools, the workplace, and in the religious sphere.
Beyond classic antisemitic behavior associated with the likes of the medieval period and Nazi Germany, the examples include denial of the Holocaust and newer forms of antisemitism targeting Israel such as demonizing the Jewish state, denying its right to exist, and holding it to standards not expected of any other democratic state.
The mutual dismissal did not cite a reason for the claim’s withdrawal, but it was Northwestern’s robust policy agenda for combating antisemitism which precipitated CAIR’s scrutiny.
The university adopted the IHRA definition of antisemitism in 2025 and began holding the “mandatory antisemitism training” sessions CAIR challenged in its lawsuit.
“This included a live training for all new students in September and a 17-minute training module for all enrolled students, produced in collaboration with the Jewish United Fund,” Northwestern said in a report which updated the public on its antisemitism prevention efforts. “Antisemitism trainings will continue as a permanent part of our broader training in civil rights and Title IX.”
Other initiatives rolled out by the university include an Advisory Council to the President on Jewish Life, dinners for Jewish students hosted by administrative officials, and educational events which raise awareness of rising antisemitism in the US and around the world.
On Tuesday, the Coalition Against Antisemitism at Northwestern (CAAN) told The Algemeiner that the lawsuit lacked a “strong legal foundation” and was “an inefficient use of judicial resources.”
It added, “Universities have broad discretion to require training programs designed to address antisemitism and other issues central to campus safety and wellbeing. While the case was withdrawn prior to a ruling on the merits, we believe the university’s authority in this area is well-established.”
In late November, Northwestern University agreed to pay $75 million and abolish a controversial compact, known as the “Deering Meadow Agreement,” it reached with a pro-Hamas student group in exchange for the US federal government’s releasing $790 million in grants it impounded in April over accusations that it was slow to address antisemitism and other policies which allowed reverse discrimination.
Part of the “Deering Meadow Agreement” which ended an anti-Israel encampment, called for establishing a scholarship for Palestinian undergraduates, contacting potential employers of students who caused recent campus disruptions to insist on their being hired, creating a segregated dormitory hall to be occupied exclusively by students of Middle Eastern and North African (MENA) and Muslim descent, and forming a new advisory committee in which anti-Zionists students and faculty may wield an outsized voice.
The agreement outraged Jewish civil rights groups and lawmakers and ultimately led to the resignation of former Northwestern University president Michael Schill, who authorized the concessions.
“As part of this agreement with the federal government, the university has terminated the Deering Meadow Agreement and will reverse all policies that have been implemented or are being implemented in adherence to it,” the university said in a statement, noting that it also halted plans for the segregated dormitory. “The university remains committed to fostering inclusive spaces and will continue to support student belonging and engagement through existing campus facilities and organizations, while partnering with alumni to explore off-campus, privately owned locations that could further support community connection and programming.”
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.
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For 250 years, American Jews have answered prejudice with defiance
(JTA) — In December 1778, as the American Revolution still raged, a Jewish writer in Charlestown opened a newspaper and saw Jews made into wartime scapegoats. An article in the local press claimed that Jews in Georgia had taken “every advantage in trade,” then fled with “ill-got wealth” as soon as the state was “attacked by an enemy,” “turning their backs upon the country when in danger.”
The writer did not let this accusation go unanswered. He responded in print. And he signed his reply with a line that declared both his patriotism and his devotion to Judaism: “A real AMERICAN, and True hearted ISRAELITE.”
That combination — civic belonging and Jewish identity claimed in the same breath — feels newly resonant as the United States enters its 250th anniversary year. The American story has never been free of antisemitism. But this early source reveals something else that is often overlooked: From the country’s earliest years, Jews in the United States could answer public insinuations in newspapers, using the civic vocabulary of their time, as participants in the public square.
The 1778 letter is striking not only for its tone but for its immediacy. The author refutes the rumor with a blunt factual claim: “there is not, at this present hour, a single Georgia Israelite in Charlestown.” The people the earlier writer thought he had identified “upon inspection of their faces,” he suggests, were women “with their dear babes,” fleeing danger as countless families did in wartime.
Then he turns the accusation on its head. Far from abandoning Georgia, he writes, Jewish merchants from the state had been in Charlestown on “Sunday the 22d” [sic] of the previous month and when they learned of an enemy landing, “they instantly left this… and proceeded post haste to Georgia, leaving all their concerns unsettled.” They are now, he insists, “with their brother citizens in the field, doing that which every honest American should do.”
The accusation did not end with the Revolution. In the next century, amid another national crisis, it returned in a different form — and again drew a public reply.
A second text, published 85 years later during the Civil War, records antisemitism appearing again. On May 22, 1863, the Natchez Daily Courier published an extract from a sermon preached at the German Hebrew Synagogue in Richmond on a fast day “recommended by the President.” The rabbi, M. J. Michelbacher, addressed what he called the “cry” heard in public life: “that the Israelite does not fight in the battles of his country.”
The sermon does what the Charlestown letter did. It names the accusation plainly, then insists that it is false. “All history attests the untruthfulness of this ungracious charge,” the rabbi declares. He speaks of Jewish soldiers who have been “crippled for life, or slain upon the field of battle,” and of “several thousand” still in the war’s campaigns.
Then he turns to another longstanding claim — one that recalled the 1778 rumor about “ill-got wealth.” “There is another cry heard,” he says, “and it was even repeated in the Hall of Congress, that the Israelite is oppressing the people — that he is engaged in the great sin of speculating and extorting in the bread and meat of the land.”
The rabbi reports having made “due inquiry” from the Potomac to the Rio Grande and concludes: “the Israelites are not speculators nor extortioners.” He argues that Jewish merchants do not hoard a staple “to enhance its value,” and he appeals to the plain logic of commerce: “It is obvious to the most obtuse mind that the high prices of the Israelite would drive all his customers into the stores of his Christian neighbors.”
Taken together, the 1778 letter and the 1863 sermon extract show two strands present early in the American record: antisemitism, and the ability to answer it in print. That right did not erase prejudice or guarantee safety. But it did give American Jews an early civic tool of belonging —something many European Jews could not take for granted.
The same paper record that preserves these rebuttals also holds another inheritance: early scenes of Jewish belonging, especially at synagogue dedications and cornerstone layings, when non-Jewish neighbors and civic leaders chose to show up.
In Charleston, one of the nation’s earliest centers of Jewish life, Temple Beth Elohim rebuilt after a devastating fire in 1838. When the new synagogue was dedicated in March 1841, notices extended an invitation beyond the Jewish community. “Clergy of all denominations,” “His Excellency the Governor,” judges, other elected officials, the Mayor and Aldermen of Charleston, and “the public generally” were all “respectfully invited to attend.”
The notice shows the dedication as a civic occasion, not a private rite.
A similar pattern appears in Mobile. In 1858, after a fire left the Jewish community without its synagogue, a report in The Israelite spoke with gratitude of “Christian brethren” who “had generously and liberally contributed towards erecting a most beautiful and substantial edifice.” The same theme surfaces again and again in early reports of synagogue building across the United States.
That is why these sources matter in a 250th anniversary year: The paper record preserves both early prejudice and early practices of public belonging, and provides a template for what Jews can anticipate in the face of attacks, like last week’s arson at a synagogue in Jackson, Mississippi.
That double inheritance still shapes American Jewish life: welcome and violence, belonging and suspicion. The balance is never guaranteed. Pluralism has to be chosen again and again.
In the 1778 letter, the writer does not ask for pity. He asks for fair judgment. “Let judgment take place,” the earlier author had written, after describing Jews fleeing Georgia. The rebuttal responds with evidence and with a claim about the obligations of citizenship: Georgia’s Jewish merchants, he insists, are “with their brother citizens in the field.”
In 1863, M.J. Michelbacher did not pretend that the accusations were harmless. He calls them “ungracious” and rooted in prejudice.
As the United States marks 250 years, there will be no shortage of speeches about what it means to be an American. Newspaper archives offer one reminder: pluralism has always depended on choices made in public life — by editors who amplify slander or correct it, by neighbors who show up to moments of celebration across lines of faith, and by those who helped build places of worship not their own.
Belonging has never been guaranteed; it has been defended. The Charlestown “true hearted Israelite” offers an enduring lesson for the 250th: when prejudice is spoken, and you have the power to answer, you answer
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
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