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Jewish comedian Modi Rosenfeld, a mainstay for Orthodox audiences, is gay. So what?
(JTA) — Mordechi Rosenfeld, the Jewish comedian, insists that the recent Variety article in which he reveals he is married to a man is not a “coming out” piece.
“This article is showing that I’m a veteran comedian and I’m married to a man,” said Rosenfeld, who is known to his friends and fans by the nickname Modi. “This is it. It doesn’t feel like a coming-out piece to me because I’ve been out.”
Anyone who has listened closely to Rosenfeld’s podcast in the last year would know that he and his husband have been married since 2020. The pair talk about living and traveling together, and in a recent episode revealed they would be vacationing on Fire Island, which has a famous gay scene, with prominent gay Jewish cookbook author Jake Cohen.
But the news could easily have come as more of a surprise for one swath of Rosenfeld’s core audience: Orthodox Jews from communities like the one where he grew up, where LGBTQ inclusion remains an unfamiliar and often frowned-upon frontier. Rosenfeld has delivered his signature blend of highly informed Jewish comedy, which often digs into the technical details of Jewish law, on kosher Passover cruises; at benefits for Orthodox organizations including yeshivas, Young Israel chapters and Hatzalah, the Orthodox ambulance service; and on the annual Chabad-Lubavitch movement telethon. But until recently, his routine has contained little whiff of his personal life — in fact, some of his jokes suggested to his fans that he had a wife named Stacy.
“Stacy” is in fact his manager and husband, Leo Veiga, a millennial raised Catholic in South Florida whom the 52-year-old Israel-born, Long Island-raised comedian met on the New York City subway in 2015. The split content has reflected Rosenfeld’s long-espoused belief that the only way comedy can work is to tailor the set to the crowd.
“Even though some religious organization has brought me in and people are coming to see me, I understand I’m under the umbrella of a certain demographic that I need to respect and know the audience,” Rosenfeld told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “If you put me in front of an audience, I give them what they need. And they don’t need gay material — they need the material for this audience.”
“But when I’m on the road doing my material, I can do whatever I want,” he added. “They came to see me.”
The Variety article was born of Rosenfeld’s deepening belief that it’s possible to merge his Orthodox and gay identities more publicly — something that he has long done as a congregant and sometimes-cantor at the Modern Orthodox synagogue he attends in the East Village.
“The prayers are done in an Orthodox way. And somehow, gays have been attracted to come to this synagogue,” he said. “We have a whole group of gay people and we have a whole group of trans people welcome.”
“The rabbi’s thing is no one should ever feel bullied, no one should ever feel excluded,” Rosenfeld said. “Be you. Be a proud Jew and be you.”
Rosenfeld’s “not a coming out piece” is significant and part of a broader recent pattern, according to Rabbi Steve Greenberg, the founding director of Eshel, an advocacy organization for LGBTQ Orthodox Jews and their families.
“You used to leave. Coming out meant [you] had to go. Because you could either stay and be silent, or speak up and leave,” Greenberg said. “What has begun to change the story is people insisting on not choosing between their religious identities and their queer identities and insisting on staying in Orthodox communities.”
The Variety piece comes at a time of tension around LGBTQ inclusion in Modern Orthodoxy. Yeshiva University — where Rosenfeld studied at the Belz Cantorial School of Music — has made headlines for fighting for the right not to recognize an LGBTQ student club. This month, a synagogue affiliated with the Modern Orthodox flagship also made news for its treatment of a transgender congregant; Yeshiva’s top Jewish law authority said she could no longer pray there.
The episode ignited strong feelings for Rosenfeld.
“To torture someone like that, somebody who’s religious, who’s keeping the mitzvahs, who’s teaching, who’s doing that, and to open that up and to do what they did is so terrible,” Rosenfeld said. “It’s so, so terrible. That’s the only thing I can tell you.”
For Rosenfeld, there’s no tension between Jewish observance and being gay — although his articulation of why reveals an awareness of the pain that others might feel in trying.
“Being gay, you can keep Shabbos, you can keep kosher, you can keep anything you want to do,” he said. “You can learn Talmud, you can learn Torah, the only thing you can’t do is kill yourself. You can’t commit suicide. That’s not even on the table as an option.”
When Rosenfeld shared the Variety article on his Instagram page, the vast majority of the nearly 800 comments left by fans and friends showed support for his public embrace of his gay identity.
“It’s amazing that you announce that you are gay,” one fan wrote. “You are an example to all the Jews struggling with their gayness. You are a role model to me. Cheers.”
“I think it’s great you can be out with so many of your orthodox fans,” wrote Peter Fox, a freelance writer and Jewish community advocate. “What a wonderful gift of visibility.”
But a few commenters said they would boycott his work in the future, some citing interpretations of Jewish law.
“I can’t believe you are gay,” wrote one person. “What a giant Hillul HaShem [desecration of the name of God]. I lost all respect for you. Unfollowing now. And good luck to you when it’s time to be judged by The Almighty.”
Rosenfeld doesn’t anticipate that the Variety article will lose him any gigs. If anything, he says, it might actually increase his audience. Since he has started adding gay material to his repertoire, his audiences have been increasingly LGBTQ, like at some of the “Holidazed” shows he performed in December at Sony Hall in New York.
Still, he noted, “onstage, I’m more Jewish than I am gay.”
Rosenfeld began to dabble in comedy while working on Wall Street early in his career, when his colleagues realized he was good at impressions. In the last several years, he has emerged as a leader in a wave of comedians focusing on their Jewish identities, even playing himself on an episode of HBO’s “Crashing.” Five years ago, New York City’s then-mayor, Bill de Blasio, declared June 26 as “Mordechi Modi Rosenfeld Day” in honor of his contributions to the artistic community, and last August, Rosenfeld co-hosted the first-ever Chosen Comedy Festival on Coney Island with his frequent comedy partner Elon Gold to a crowd of 4,000. The Jewish comedy show has since gone on to an audience in Miami and will head to Los Angeles in February.
Meanwhile, Rosenfeld has embarked on a steady stream of sold-out shows on multiple continents himself, while enjoying several viral moments. In one bit that was shared thousands of times last year, he pilloried the practice of taking people who have made antisemitic comments to Holocaust museums, joking, “It just gives them ideas.”
Since comedy clubs reopened after their pandemic closures, Rosenfeld has worked on new material at New York’s iconic Comedy Cellar, where patrons’ phones are kept in sealed envelopes and filming is prohibited. The absence of phones gives comedians the freedom to workshop new material — and a lot of that new material, for Rosenfeld, has been focused on living with a millennial husband.
Rosenfeld and Veiga’s story is a classic New York City meet-cute: The comedian was riding the 6 train when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Veiga, then an intern at CAA, the talent agency, introducing himself.
“And then we went on a date,” Rosenfeld told JTA. “I picked him up and I brought him to the Comedy Cellar, where I was performing. And he didn’t know that.”
After his 15-minute set, Rosenfeld returned to the comedians’ table, where he had nabbed Veiga a seat, to gauge his date’s reaction. “I said, ‘So I’m a comedian.’ And then we had dinner, we had two more dates, and then he moved in.”
In the eight years they have been together, Rosenfeld credits Veiga with facilitating the evolution of his career as both his husband and manager. During the COVID lockdown, as comedians everywhere found themselves unable to perform in their usual crowded clubs, Rosenfeld says he thought he was getting a break from work — but it was Veiga who suggested a pivot to video. That’s when Rosenfeld grew his online presence and developed his now-beloved characters, like the Israeli know-it-all “Nir, not far” (married to the fictitious, off-camera Stacy) and the Hasidic Yoely, who reviews quarantine-era TV shows and runs for president.
While Yoely is a character, Rosenfeld, too, is religiously observant. He wraps tefillin in the morning, even while touring, and he and Veiga keep a kosher home. Though Veiga is not Jewish — the couple had a civil wedding — he attends synagogue with Rosenfeld, his Hebrew and Yiddish pronunciation is excellent, and he is extremely well-versed in Jewish ideas and lingo. That has occasionally enabled him to stand up for their relationship when encountering people who believe it is forbidden: In one anecdote on the podcast, Rosenfeld shared that at a Shabbat retreat at a yacht club in notoriously conservative Orange County, California, a man at the couple’s table told them that the Bible says two men should not live together. Veiga retorted that the Bible says people should not mix wool and linen — implying that not all strictures are always followed, and leaving the man dumbfounded, according to Rosenfeld’s account.
Veiga has been part of Rosenfeld’s podcast behind the scenes since it began in August 2021, and began appearing on-screen in the taped recordings in December of that year. (In a sign of how deeply Jewish content is woven into his own life, he once wore a kitschy shirt referring to “muktzeh,” the prohibition of touching or moving certain objects on Shabbat.) Rosenfeld co-hosts the podcast with Jewish comedian Periel Aschenbrand, where guests include a mix of mostly comedians with the occasional rabbi (one time, Alan Dershowitz made an appearance).
Leo Veiga, left, wears a t-shirt bearing the Hebrew word “muktzeh,” which refers to a prohibition of touching certain objects on Shabbat. (Screenshot via YouTube)
In the December episode with Jake Cohen, Rosenfeld and Veiga recounted their experience at the Republican Jewish Coalition meeting in Las Vegas. The couple, who admitted to following RuPaul’s Drag Race more closely than American politics, learned what causes Republican Jews were almost universally excited by (Israel and antisemitism on college campuses) and what causes they were lukewarm on (abortion) solely based on the volume of applause in the room. They also said they were surprised by how welcomed they felt as a gay couple at a Republican event, and remarked on how many of the political figures and donors they met were excited to show them pictures of all the other gay couples they knew.
Veiga said in the episode that he didn’t learn until after they agreed to the gig that the conference lineup included Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis and former Vice President Mike Pence, whom Rosenfeld said he found “a little creepy.” Both men have advanced policies and ideas that are anti-LGBTQ.
Rosenfeld said he had no principled objection to performing for Republicans, or anyone else.
“If the Democrats want to invite me, I will go there,” Rosenfeld said. “If Al-Qaeda wants to invite me, we’re there. A check and a microphone, and I’m there. It’s simple.”
The aside came as Rosenfeld, Veiga and Cohen discussed one of Rosenfeld’s favorite ideas — what he calls “moshiach energy.”
“Moshiach energy,” as Rosenfeld puts it, is akin to the Jewish principle of loving your neighbor as yourself and then putting that energy into the universe in order to bring about the coming of the Messiah. The idea is inspired by the last leader of the Chabad-Lubavitch Orthodox movement, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson — a major source of inspiration for Rosenfeld, who studied at a Lubavitch yeshiva.
Comedian Modi Rosenfeld Rosenfeld speaks with Rabbi Manis Friedman, right, and comedian Periel Aschendbrand on his podcast in November 2021. A portrait of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the last rebbe of the Chabad Orthodox movement, is behind Rosenfeld. (Screenshot via YouTube)
It’s an attitude that he says is embodied by his synagogue, which he has attended since it opened in the 1990s.
“I am so fortunate to belong to a synagogue, Sixth Street Community Synagogue, where when you put moshiach energy out, it comes right back at you,” he said.
Schneerson considered homosexuality a sin and advocated for Jews to choose not to yield to homosexual urges. Last year, on his podcast, Rosenfeld hosted a Chabad rabbi, Manis Friedman, the former translator for the Rebbe, who espouses the same view; he said he finds Friedman inspiring even though he may not agree with all of Friedman’s views. It’s one of many instances where Rosenfeld has been able to square his identities in ways that have proved challenging for others.
Greenberg, the executive director of Eshel, agreed with Rosenfeld’s hypothesis that the Variety article would have little effect on the comedian’s ability to book gigs — and he said Rosenfeld’s commitment to Orthodox ideas and practices could work in his favor.
“Maybe some of those organizations that have hired him before will actually think this is an even more important reason to have him,” Greenberg postulated. “Some people will see this as a kind of affirmative step that you don’t have to abandon your religious identity because you’re gay.”
It’s an idea that is central to one of Rosenfeld’s signature jokes. For him, being Jewish means praying with tefillin every day, eating kosher food and observing Shabbat — while also being married to his husband.
“I always say: the Jewish people — we’re not the chosen people, we’re the choosing people,” Rosenfeld said. “Being Jewish is a lifestyle — like Equinox.”
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Francesca Hong, pro-Palestinian democratic socialist, polling far ahead in Wisconsin governor’s race
(JTA) — One week after notching a significant primary victory in a Midwestern purple state, pro-Palestinian progressives are looking to repeat their success in Wisconsin.
The Badger State’s chaotic Democratic primary for governor ends Tuesday with state Rep. Francesca Hong, a democratic socialist, polling comfortably in the lead. Despite the best efforts of the state’s Democratic establishment, and the concerns of Wisconsin Jewish groups, Hong appears well positioned to win the primary — leaving many in the state concerned about her electability in the general.
Hong’s record on Israel and antisemitism is of concern to Wisconsin Jews, as well as Democratic figureheads more broadly. She has appeared on livestream fundraisers with Hasan Piker, the left-wing strident Israel critic who has also rallied with Hong, as well as twice with Michael Beyer, a.k.a. “Mike from PA,” who has called Jewish identity “a constructed ethnicity, this demonic ethnicity, wholly invented.”
On one of her appearances with Beyer, Hong urged constituents to fundraise for people on the “front lines in Gaza.”
A poll of likely voters one week before the race, conducted by nonpartisan outlet State Navigate, showed Hong with a commanding lead. Forty-four percent of those surveyed said they favored Hong, twice the total who backed Milwaukee County Executive David Crowley, the next-closest candidate. Only 17% of the same voter sample said they identified as democratic socialists, possibly indicating that Hong — whose platform has emphasized working families, healthcare, and data centers — has found wider appeal beyond her movement.
The party’s left flank is buoyed by Abdul El-Sayed’s victory last week in the U.S. Senate primary in Michigan, and hopes that a repeat success is possible in a neighboring Great Lakes state with a similarly purple voting bloc. But El-Sayed performed far short of the comfortable victory many polling outlets had predicted, squeaking a winning margin of just under 1%.
That may not be the case this time. Polling from Marquette Law School, considered the gold standard in the state, has also consistently shown Hong with a wide lead. Despite entering the race with little name recognition, Hong has benefitted from both a national progressive populist push and a crowded, musical-chairs Democratic field that burst with seven candidates at its peak.
The race has today whittled down to four candidates, with Crowley having re-entered the field after previously suspending his campaign. The flip came after Lt. Gov. Sara Rodriguez, the preferred candidate of Crowley and many other institutionalist Democrats, dropped out of the race following an accounting scandal. Former Lt. Gov. Mandela Barnes, the party’s 2022 U.S. Senate nominee and a once-promising figure in the state, also dropped out after failing to gain traction.
During her campaign, Hong apologized for having called the police on a vandalized Israeli flag in her district in December 2023, which at the time she had called “highly antisemitic” and urged to be investigated as a hate crime.
Explaining why she now regrets making the call, Hong recently told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, “The image was cropped and incomplete to misrepresent anti-Zionism as antisemitism – a distinction I take seriously.”
Hong’s impact on Israel policy as governor of Wisconsin would be limited. But she has called Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government “genocidal” and pushed the state to overturn a ban on government contracts with businesses that boycott Israel. She has also criticized Wisconsin’s current moderate Democratic governor for backing the International Holocaust Remembrance Association’s controversial definition of antisemitism.
Hong’s general-election success may hinge on the broader electorate’s views of the Democratic Socialists of America. This week a co-chair of the DSA drew further concern from Jewish Democrats after appearing in a viral interview on The New Yorker’s podcast. Megan Romer called the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attacks in Israel “largely inevitable” and said she “probably would have” joined a pro-Palestinian rally in New York the day after the attacks if she’d been able to attend.
Prior to Oct. 7, Hong’s state house campaigns had expressed some positive feelings toward Jews and Jewish causes. In January 2023 her campaign sold a Hebrew-language shirt, with proceeds going to Jewish Social Services of Madison.
“Team Hong has upped our commitment to uplifting multiculturalism,” Hong’s campaign wrote on Twitter at the time. She included praise of the symbolic significance of the number 18 in Hebrew and of the Hebrew phrase “L’chaim.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Francesca Hong, pro-Palestinian democratic socialist, polling far ahead in Wisconsin governor’s race appeared first on The Forward.
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How 3 Jewish refugees from the Nazis built Iceland’s classical music scene from scratch
(JTA) — REYKJAVIK, Iceland —This city in the autumn of 1935 was a small fishing port of corrugated-iron houses battered by high winds, cod trawlers idling in the harbor, and geothermal steam curling up from hot springs that would one day heat the whole city. Fewer than 30,000 people lived there. There was no concert hall, no real orchestra, and no conservatory worth the name.
Onto this isolated island, in late 1935, stepped a 22-year-old pianist from Berlin named Robert Abraham. He carried almost nothing with him and hoped no one would ask too many questions about why he had left Germany.
He wasn’t the only one. Three years later, a Viennese conductor named Victor Urbancic disembarked with his Jewish wife, Melitta, after years of trying and failing to find a safe harbor elsewhere in Europe. And somewhere in between came Heinz Edelstein, a cellist and teacher from the German town of Freiburg, who arrived with his wife and two sons.
None of them had chosen Iceland. For a classically trained European musician fleeing the Nazis, an island near the Arctic Circle with no symphony orchestra and a government hostile to Jewish immigration was about as far from a dream destination as it got. Yet Urbancic, Abraham, and Edelstein went on to build the institutions that still define Icelandic classical music today.
Iceland is a nation that has always known how to keep its stories alive, from the medieval sagas to the living oral traditions that shaped its literature and language. But its more recent history of Jewish exile has gone largely untold for nearly a century until now — as scholars have worked both to recover the music that Nazi persecution scattered across the globe and reconstruct an Icelandic musical history that offers a painful reminder of the country’s Holocaust history.
The musicians’ story is the subject of a newly translated book, “Music at World’s End: Three Refugee Musicians from Nazi Germany and Their Contribution to Iceland’s Music Life,” by Icelandic musicologist Árni Heimir Ingólfsson. It was published in English this year by SUNY Press following the Icelandic edition in 2024.
The book reconstructs the three refugees’ individual pathways to Iceland. Urbancic was born in Vienna in 1903 and trained as a pianist, composer, and conductor at the Vienna Conservatory, working his way through theaters in Mainz and Graz. He was raised Catholic, but his wife, Melitta, came from a Jewish family, and under the Nazis, that was enough to end his career. After doors closed on him in Switzerland and the United States, an old classmate helped him find a foothold in Iceland in 1938.
Abraham’s path was more solitary. Born in Berlin in 1912, the son of musicologist Otto Abraham, he trained at the Berlin Hochschule für Musik before fleeing Germany in 1934, at age 22. Denmark turned him down. In late 1935, he sailed for Iceland alone and was advised to settle first in the fishing town of Akureyri, in the north.
Edelstein’s journey looked different from the start, a father bringing his family into exile rather than a young man traveling light.
“Today, there are as many as 100 descendants of these three men living in Iceland,” Ingólfsson said in an interview.
Their arrival was never guaranteed. At least four other Jewish musicians, including composer Viktor Ullmann, who would later die in Auschwitz, applied for Icelandic work permits around the same time and were turned away under a government that had largely closed the door to Jewish immigration. At the time, Icelandic immigration policies were very restrictive, similar to Denmark’s policies before and during the war. Iceland was a poor country with economic hardship, and antisemitism also played a role.
“Iceland is small and isolated, and in a place like that, xenophobia takes root easily,” Ingólfsson said. “The country was struggling economically, which fed suspicion of foreigners, and there was a prime minister who, on his own authority, closed the country to Jews entirely.”
Yet that same isolation created a practical need for what these three men could offer. “Iceland was pushing toward full independence from Denmark, and we felt we needed our own institutions to be taken seriously as a nation,” Ingólfsson said. “Musically, we still had a long way to go. … These three musicians arrived at exactly the right moment, despite the antisemitism.”
One more factor may have eased their acceptance, Ingólfsson said: By the time they reached Iceland, none of the three was a practicing Jew.
Abraham had been raised Protestant by his Jewish parents; he was no longer religious, according to Ingólfsson. Urbancic’s wife was Jewish, but he was not. And Edelstein had become an atheist.
“That made them easier for Icelanders to accept,” Ingólfsson said.
The three were admitted based on luck, timing, and getting their cases in front of the right people.
“In a way, it happened in a very Icelandic way,” said Ingólfsson. “They were lucky; instead of an automatic no, their applications were forwarded on based on people who knew people.”
Tina Frühauf of the CUNY Graduate Center, who studies Jewish music in the modern era, noted that Jewish identity across pre-Holocaust Europe was far from monolithic, meaning that many emigres had biographies like the Iceland refugees’.
“Before the Holocaust, Germany had an incredibly diverse Jewish religious landscape, and that diversity carried over into the migration itself,” she said.
What happened next still seems improbable. Urbancic became chief conductor of the Reykjavík Orchestra, the ensemble that, by 1950, had grown into the Iceland Symphony Orchestra, and led the country’s first performances of Bach’s “St. John Passion” and Mozart’s “Requiem,” and, in 1951, its first staged opera, Verdi’s “Rigoletto.” He also taught piano and theory at the Reykjavík School of Music and played the organ in the city’s only Catholic church.
Abraham became a central figure in Icelandic choral music. He conducted the Iceland Symphony Orchestra’s first-ever concert in 1950, founded the Philharmonia Choral Society in 1959, and earned a doctorate in musicology, eventually serving as director of music for the Church of Iceland — a long way from the young man who had arrived in Akureyri with one suitcase and instructions to keep a low profile. Edelstein, meanwhile, helped build the music schools and teaching pipelines that a country with no conservatory tradition simply didn’t have.
“They essentially created it,” Ingólfsson said of Iceland’s classical music scene. “People often ask why a country this small punches so far above its weight musically. Part of it is training, but just as important is a willingness to do the work. These three men set their egos aside. They were multi-talented and willing to take on any role — training orchestras, building choirs, teaching children — not just performing or conducting.”
That willingness, Ingólfsson argued, wasn’t incidental. A country with no infrastructure needed people willing to do five jobs at once, for little money and less glory. Urbancic, Edelstein, and Abraham fit that need because their old lives had already been upended. They weren’t protecting professional reputations, they were starting over.
Despite its impact, the story sat largely untold for decades, even in Iceland. Ingólfsson stumbled into it by chance. “It came to me by accident — about 25 years ago, an editor in Iceland approached me with the idea,” he said. “I was in graduate school at Harvard, so I researched and wrote much of it during my summer break.”
He published three newspaper profiles of the men in 2001, then set the project aside for two decades before finally turning it into a full book — work that meant tracking down archives, and just as often, tracking down people.
“I got in touch with the musicians’ families and met each of their children,” he said. “It’s a small world, and one connection led to another. Having that access early on made all the difference.”
One connection led somewhere unexpected and miraculous. While researching Abraham, Ingólfsson learned that the young musician had once been engaged to a non-Jewish woman who stayed behind in Berlin when he fled, and that he sent her care packages for years. Ingólfsson tracked down her daughter and wrote to her cold. “I’m writing a biography of your mother’s ex-boyfriend,” he told her. “She was overjoyed,” he recalled. “I met her in Hamburg, and she handed me a box of letters. That daughter became a second grandmother to me.”
So why did the story take so long to surface? “There’s still a tendency to tell the stories of our own,” Ingólfsson said. “Yes, these men did extraordinary work, but they were foreigners. Musicology is also a fairly new field in Iceland; there are only three or four musicologists in the whole country.”
Recognition is arriving now: Weeks ago, the Exile Museum in Berlin launched a series with foreign embassies, each spotlighting a refugee story tied to their country, and Iceland was chosen to go first.
Set against the wider history of Jewish musical exile, Iceland is an extreme case of an ordinary pattern. Musicians fleeing Nazi Europe scattered unevenly across the globe, and what happened to them next often depended on little more than where an immigration officer happened to say yes.
“Exile happened in very different ways,” Frühauf said. “Some musicians were actively forced out, threatened with internment, and some were even interned before being released. Others left earlier, and where they ended up varied enormously — America, Singapore, all over the world.”
The German musicologist Albrecht Dümling, meanwhile, saw his research take him to Australia, where nearly 100 German-Jewish refugee musicians landed, some of whom, after fleeing the Nazis, were deported there by the British, who considered them “enemy aliens.”
“They were horrified, as they had come as Jewish refugees to Britain and had hoped to be in a safe country,” he said of men sent aboard the prison ship Dunera in 1940. “They could not believe that in England they had been interned, and this was continued in Australia as well. Some were very depressed. But others saw their internment as a challenge to write songs that made clear their opposition to Hitler’s Germany.”
What separated musicians who thrived from those who vanished, Dümling said, often had less to do with talent than paperwork: Refugees in Iceland typically weren’t permitted to resume their old careers, a fate Urbancic, Edelstein, and Abraham avoided only because Iceland’s need for musicians overrode the usual restrictions.
Frühauf sees Iceland’s relative obscurity as instructive rather than incidental. “Smaller countries of exile are exactly where you find figures who’ve been overlooked,” she said. “Because exiles were so widely dispersed, many remain unknown simply due to geography.”
All three scholars described a sense of urgency, with the window for hearing these stories firsthand closing fast. “As eyewitnesses to the Nazi era pass away, hopes are pinned on the second generation,” Dümling said, “but the publication of personal memoirs, letters, and diaries written by these eyewitnesses is also taking on greater significance.”
That urgency comes with an ethical balancing act, Frühauf said. Recover the work too cautiously, and the story behind the music stays lost; recover it carelessly, and real artists risk being seen merely as symbols of suffering. “We have to avoid reducing these artists to simply victims or survivors, and instead make sure their music is valued on its own artistic merit,” she said. “The goal isn’t only to recover lost works, it’s to bring these musicians back into the canon.”
For Ingólfsson, the project has become something closer to a rescue than a research assignment, a chance to explain to the country that has been hearing this music for so many years, where so much of it actually came from.
“What strikes me most is the sheer randomness of it, how much depended on one person knowing another, often in events far outside Iceland,” he said. “These men were growing desperate in the 1930s, trying everything to get out. For a classical musician, Iceland was hardly a dream destination. And yet they turned something depressing and unfortunate into something extraordinary. It’s a very Icelandic story.”
The post How 3 Jewish refugees from the Nazis built Iceland’s classical music scene from scratch appeared first on The Forward.
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South Carolina’s Republican Senate nominee will likely be pro-Israel, but no match for Lindsey Graham
(JTA) — A crowded field of candidates will compete in South Carolina’s special primary this Tuesday, with hopes of securing the Republican nomination for a U.S. Senate seat long held by the late Lindsey Graham, one of Israel’s strongest allies on Capitol Hill and an advocate for military action against Iran.
There is little doubt that the winner will be supportive of Israel, but it remains to be seen just how high the Jewish state will rank among the candidate’s priorities. Matching Graham’s level of foreign policy experience and focus on the Middle East, a region he often visited, would be difficult.
“If other people are quite that hawkish, then they just don’t have the platform and power to say it. Whereas, he did,” Scott Huffmon, a professor of political science at South Carolina’s Winthrop University, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Graham died suddenly on July 11 from an aortic dissection, at 71 years old, after serving 23 years in the Senate and eight in the U.S. House. He was a longstanding member of the Senate’s Armed Services and Budget committees and had traveled to Israel about a dozen times since Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023 attack on Israel.
Having grown up in the Cold War era, Graham was an anti-Soviet and then anti-Russia conservative who was always solidly pro-Israel, said Huffmon, who also directs Winthrop’s Center for Public Opinion and Policy Research.
“He viewed peace in the Middle East through the lens of a protected Israel,” Huffmon said, noting that Graham made Israel a priority issue. “It would be really tough for a new person to have the traction to do that, even if they believe just as strongly as the late Senator Graham.”
Just a few days after his death, South Carolina Gov. Henry McMaster, a Republican, appointed the late senator’s younger sister, Darline Graham, to complete the rest of his term. Despite having only limited policy experience, such as previously serving on the South Carolina Commission for the Blind, she quickly earned President Trump’s endorsement and announced she would be running in Tuesday’s special primary.
Graham will be up against nine fellow Republicans, with her biggest challengers including Ralph Norman and Russell Fry, who are both currently serving in Congress, as well as Mark Sanford and Mark Lynch.
A recent Emerson College poll showed Graham and Norman vying for the lead, with 19% and 22% support, respectively, while Fry had 12%. Sanford is a former congressman and South Carolina governor, while Lynch is a businessman.
Among Norman’s top priorities is the Safeguard American Voter Eligibility Act (SAVE America Act), a bill he co-sponsored in the U.S. House that would require voters to provide identification at the polls – and a top priority for Trump. He also has pledged to reduce spending, secure the U.S. borders, fund law enforcement, protect gun ownership rights, restrict women’s sports to assigned females at birth, support veterans and strengthen the military.
“We should be slow to send America’s sons and daughters into harm’s way, but when we do, they deserve every advantage to accomplish the mission and return home safely,” the campaign stated.
Darline Graham revealed her platforms less than a week ago on Fox News, noting that the SAVE America Act is her first co-sponsored bill in the U.S. Senate. Her other policies were similar to those on Norman’s list, though she also expressed specific support for the right to life, She slams diversity, equity and inclusion, and two bugbears of the left: progressive leader Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez of New York and Anthony Fauci, the former top federal health official Republicans say bungled the COVID pandemic. Graham earned the backing of the Republican Jewish Coalition shortly after announcing her candidacy.
Fry’s campaign also promotes the Trump-branded “America First” agenda, focusing on securing borders, ending the fentanyl crisis, lowering costs, advocating for farmers and rural communities, honoring veterans, confronting China’s communist party and advancing U.S. oil, gas and nuclear energy development.
Sanford’s top priority, as highlighted in bold and red on his website, is the “nation’s debt and the spending that drives it.” His campaign focuses on reversing the “financial tipping point” that has threatened the country’s “ability to sustain the American Dream.” Sanford, whose governorship was plagued with scandals, briefly ran against Trump in the 2020 presidential primaries.
Lynch’s focuses are fairly similar to those of Norman, Graham and Fry, with stronger language on foreign policy that demands a “lethal military focused on defending the homeland,” an end to “American involvement in open-ended foreign conflicts” and formal congressional authorization for new military engagements.
Israel has not been an active issue in the campaign.
Although Graham earned Trump’s endorsement, Huffmon said that supporters of Norman and Fry also see them as candidates who “will help push Trump’s agenda.” Norman has a strong track record and statewide recognition as a fiscal conservative, while Fry has “solid conservative bona fides” but less notability, according to Huffmon.
In his own past polls of South Carolina Republicans, Huffmon said he found that the most conservative voters tended to have high approval ratings for Trump, McMaster and former governor Nikki Haley, but they saw Lindsey Graham as “too moderate.”
“The people who want the Trump agenda to succeed the most were not always Graham’s biggest fan,” he added. “So they might not automatically say, ‘Well, Graham’s sister is the natural candidate.’”
Christopher Cooper, a political science professor at Western Carolina University, predicted that “she will be fairly close to her brother on most issues,” noting that this is in some ways “her feature as a candidate.” But like Huffmon, he stressed that “Lindsey Graham was not that popular,” even if he was expected to win reelection.
That said, Huffmon stressed that South Carolina “is still a conservative, Trump supporting state” and that “his endorsement still matters a lot.”
Cooper agreed. “I think you’d rather have it than not have it, but it’s no longer a guarantee for victory,” he said.
The Emerson poll — which included about 500 GOP primary voters — also asked respondents what issues the next senator of South Carolina should prioritize. Just 3.5% chose foreign policy, while 59.5% picked the economy, 18.7% immigration, 8.3% healthcare and 10% “something else.” On the other hand, 56.1% said they “strongly support” U.S. military action in Iran, with only 14.6% voicing strong opposition.
Huffmon said that when a poll asks for a voter’s top priority, the respondent’s second most important issue could be “millimeters behind,” but they can only name one. Voters right now might feel like a strong foreign policy approach “is necessary but not sufficient,” he said.
Huffmon characterized Israel as “a threshold issue,” meaning that voters would view anti-Israel, pro-Palestinian sentiments as disqualifying factors, but the issue is not as high priority in comparison to other concerns, like the economy.
Cooper agreed. “GOP voters are going to be fairly hawkish, but if you ask any group of people right now, what’s your most important issue, it’s going to be the economy,” he said.
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