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Letty Cottin Pogrebin wants Jews to own up to the corrosive power of shame
(JTA) — When a lawyer for Donald Trump asked E. Jean Carroll why she didn’t scream while allegedly being raped by Donald Trump, I thought of Letty Cottin Pogrebin. In her latest book, “Shanda: A Memoir of Shame and Secrecy,” she writes about being assaulted by a famous poet — and how the shadow of shame kept women like her silent about attacks on their own bodies.
That incident in 1962, she writes, was “fifty-eight years before the #MeToo movement provided the sisterhood and solidarity that made survivors of abuse and rape feel safe enough to tell their stories.”
Now 83, Pogrebin could have coasted with a memoir celebrating her six decades as a leading feminist: She co-founded Ms. magazine, its Foundation for Women and the National Women’s Political Caucus. She served as president of Americans for Peace Now and in 1982 blew the whistle on antisemitism in the feminist movement.
Instead, “Shanda” is about her immigrant Jewish family and the secrets they carried through their lives. First marriages that were kept hidden. An unacknowledged half-sister. Money problems and domestic abuse. An uncle banished for sharing family dirt in public.
“My mania around secrecy and shame was sparked in 1951 by the discovery that my parents had concealed from me the truth about their personal histories, and every member of my large extended family, on both sides, was in on it,” writes Pogrebin, now 83. “Their need to avoid scandal was so compelling that, once identified, it provided the lens through which I could see my family with fresh eyes, spotlight their fears, and, in so doing, illuminate my own.”
“Shanda” (the Yiddish word describes the kind of behavior that brings shame on an entire family or even a people) is also a portrait of immigrant New York Jews in the 20th century. As her father and mother father move up in the world and leave their Yiddish-speaking, Old World families behind for new lives in the Bronx and Queens, they stand in for a generation of Jews and new Americans “bent on saving face and determined to be, if not exemplary, at least impeccably respectable.”
Pogrebin and I spoke last week ahead of the Eight Over Eighty Gala on May 31, where she will be honored with a group that includes another Jewish feminist icon, the writer Erica Jong, and musician Eve Queler, who founded her own ensemble, the Opera Orchestra of New York, when she wasn’t being given chances to conduct in the male-dominated world of classical music. The gala is a fundraiser for the New Jewish Home, a healthcare nonprofit serving older New Yorkers.
Pogrebin and I spoke about shame and how it plays out in public and private, from rape accusations against a former president to her regrets over how she wrote about her own abortions to how the Bible justifies family trickery.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity.
I found your book very moving because my parents’ generation, who like your family were middle-class Jews who grew up or lived in the New York metropolitan area, are also all gone now. Your book brought back to me that world of aunts and uncles and cousins, and kids like us who couldn’t imagine what kinds of secrets and traumas our parents and relatives were hiding. But you went back and asked all the questions that many of us are afraid to ask.
I can’t tell you how good writing it has been. I feel as though I have no weight on my back. And people who have read it gained such comfort from the normalization that happens when you read that others have been through what you’ve been through. And my family secrets are so varied — just one right after the other. The chameleon-like behavior of that generation — they became who they wanted to be through pretense or actual accomplishment.
In my mother’s case, pretense led the way. She went and got a studio photo that made it look like she graduated from high school when she didn’t. In the eighth grade, she went up to her uncle’s house in the north Bronx and had her dates pick her up there because of the shanda of where she lived on the Lower East Side with nine people in three rooms. She had to imagine herself the child of her uncle, who didn’t have an accent or had an accent but at least spoke English.
You describe yours as “an immigrant family torn between loyalty to their own kind and longing for American acceptance.”
There was the feeling that, “If only we could measure up, we would be real Americans.” My mother was a sewing machine operator who became a designer and figured out what American women wore when she came from rags and cardboard shoes, in steerage. So I admire them. As much as I was discomforted by the lies, I ended up having compassion for them.
It’s also a story of thwarted women, and all that lost potential of a generation in which few could contemplate a college degree or a career outside the home. Your mother worked for a time as a junior designer for Hattie Carnegie, a sort of Donna Karan of her day, but abandoned that after she met your dad and became, as you write, “Mrs. Jack Cottin.”
The powerlessness of women was complicated in the 1950s by the demands of the masculine Jewish ideal. So having a wife who didn’t work was proof that you were a man who could provide. As a result women sacrificed their own aspirations and passions. She protected her husband’s image by not pursuing her life outside the home. In a way my feminism is a positive, like a photograph, to the negative of my mother’s 1950s womanhood.
“I’m not an optimist. I call myself a ‘cockeyed strategist,” said Pogrebin, who has a home on the Upper West Side. (Mike Lovett)
You write that you “think of shame and secrecy as quintessentially Jewish issues.” What were the Jewish pressures that inspired your parents to tell so many stories that weren’t true?
Think about what we did. We hid behind our names. We changed our names. We sloughed off our accents. My mother learned to make My*T*Fine pudding instead of gefilte fish. Shame and secrecy have always been intrinsically Jewish to me, because of the “sha!” factor: At every supper party, there would be the moment when somebody would say, “Sha! We don’t talk about that!” So even though we talked about what felt like everything, there were things that couldn’t be touched: illness, the C-word [cancer]. If you wanted to make a shidduch [wedding match] with another family in the insular communities in which Jews lived, you couldn’t let it be known that there was cancer in the family, or mental illness.
While I was writing this memoir, I realized that the [Torah portion] I’m listening to one Shabbat morning is all about hiding. It is Jacob finding out that he didn’t marry Rachel, after all, but married somebody he didn’t love. All of the hiding that I took for granted in the Bible stories and I was raised on like mother’s milk was formative. They justified pretense, and they justified trickery. Rebecca lied to her husband and presented her younger son Jacob for the blessing because God told her, because it was for the greater good of the future the Jewish people.
I think Jews felt that same sort of way when it came to surviving. So we can get rid of our names. We wouldn’t have survived, whether we were hiding in a forest or behind a cabinet, a name or a passport, or [pushed into hiding] with [forced] conversions. Hiding was survival.
I was reading your book just as the E. Jean Carroll verdict came down, holding Donald Trump liable for sexually assaulting her during an encounter in the mid-’90s. You write how in 1962, when you were working as a book publicist, the hard-drinking Irish poet Brendan Behan (who died in 1964) tried to rape you in a hotel room and you didn’t report it. Like Carroll, you didn’t think that it was something that could be reported because the cost was too high.
Certainly in that era powerful men could get away with horrible behavior because of shanda reasons.
Carroll said in her court testimony, “It was shameful to go to the police.”
You know that it happened to so many others and nobody paid the price. The man’s reputation was intact and we kept our jobs because we sacrificed our dignity and our truth. I was in a career, and I really was supporting myself. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. I would have been pilloried for having gone to his hotel room, and nobody was there when he picked up an ashtray and threatened to break the window of the Chelsea Hotel unless I went up there with him.The cards were stacked against me.
In “Shanda,” you write about another kind of shame: The shame you now feel decades later about how you described the incident in your first book. You regret “how blithely I transformed an aggravated assault by a powerful man into a ‘sticky sexual encounter.’”
I wrote about the incident in such offhand terms, and wonder why. I wrote, basically, “Okay, girls, you’re gonna have to put up with this, but you’re gonna have to find your own magical sentence like I had with Behan” to get him to stop.
You write that you said, “You can’t do this to me! I’m a nice Jewish girl!” And that got him to back off.
Really painful.
I think that’s a powerful aspect of your book — how you look back at the ways you let down the movement or your family or friends and now regret. In 1991 you wrote a New York Times essay about an illegal abortion you had as a college senior in 1958, but not the second one you had only a few months later. While you were urging women to tell their stories of abortion, you note how a different shame kept you from telling the whole truth.
Jewish girls could be, you know, plain or ordinary, but they had to be smart, and I had been stupid. I could out myself as one of the many millions of women who had an abortion but not as a Jewish girl who made the same mistake [of getting pregnant] twice.
The book was written before the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. In the book you write powerfully about the shame, danger and loneliness among women when abortion was illegal, and now, after 50 years, it is happening again. Having been very much part of the generation of activists that saw Roe become the law of the land, how have you processed its demise?
Since the 1970s, we thought everything was happening in this proper linear way. We got legislation passed, we had litigation and we won, and we saw the percentage of women’s participation in the workplace all across professions and trades and everything else rise and rise. And then Ronald Reagan was elected and then there was the Moral Majority and then it was the Hyde Amendment [barring the use of federal funds to pay for abortion]. I was sideswiped because I think I was naive enough to imagine that once we articulated what feminism was driving at and why women’s rights were important, and how the economic reality of families and discrimination against women weren’t just women’s issues, people would internalize it and understand it and justice would be done.
In the case of Roe, we could not imagine that rights could ever be taken away. We didn’t do something that we should have done, which is to have outed ourselves in a big way. It’s not enough that abortion was legal. We allowed it to remain stigmatized. We allowed the right wing to create their own valence around it. That negated solidarity. If we had talked about abortion as healthcare, if we had had our stories published and created organizations around remembering what it was like and people telling their stories about when abortion was illegal and dangerous…. Instead we allowed the religious right to prioritize [fetal] cells over a woman’s life. We just were not truthful with each other, so we didn’t create solidarity.
Are you heartened by the backlash against restrictive new laws in red states or optimistic that the next wave of activism can reclaim the right to abortion?
I’m not an optimist. I call myself a “cockeyed strategist.” If you look at my long resume, it is all about organizing: Ms. magazine, feminist organizations, women’s foundations, Black-Jewish dialogues, Torah study groups and Palestinian-Jewish dialogues.
Number one, we have to own the data and reframe the narrative. We have to open channels for discussion for women who have either had one or know someone who has had one, even in religious Catholic families. The state-by-state strategy was really slow, but Ruth Bader Ginsburg wanted that. She almost didn’t get on the court because she didn’t like the nationwide, right-to-privacy strategy of Roe but instead wanted it won state by state, which would have required campaigns of acceptance and consciousness-raising.
So, the irony is she hasn’t lived to see that we’re going to have to do it her way.
You share a lot of family secrets in this book. Is this a book that you waited to write until, I’ll try to put this gently, most of the people had died?
I started this book when I was 78 years old, and there’s always a connection to my major birthdays. And turning 80 – you experience that number and it is so weird. It doesn’t describe me and it probably won’t describe you. I thought, this could well be my last book, so I needed to be completely transparent, put it all out there.
My mother and father and aunts and uncles were gone, but I have 24 cousins altogether. I went to my cousins, and told them I am going to write about the secret of your parents: It’s my uncle, but it’s your father. It’s your family story even though it’s my family, but it’s yours first. And every cousin, uniformly, said, “Are you kidding? You don’t even know the half of it,” and they’d tell me the whole story. I guess people want the truth out in the end.
Is that an aspect of getting older?
I think it’s a promise of liberation, which is what I have found. It’s this experience of being free from anything that I’ve hid. I don’t have to hide. Years ago, on our 35th wedding anniversary, we took our whole family to the Tenement Museum because we wanted them to see how far we’ve come in two generations.
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The post Letty Cottin Pogrebin wants Jews to own up to the corrosive power of shame appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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For a few terrifying minutes, Israelis were heroes again
For a few terrifying minutes aboard a Flydubai flight bound for Tel Aviv on Wednesday, a group of Israeli passengers found themselves with a problem that was considerably more immediate than the usual arguments about Israel. Someone in the cockpit had become violent, the airplane was descending rapidly and the people aboard had to figure out what to do. They did.
According to the emerging account, Israeli passengers helped overpower the attacker and restrain him, while pilots traveling as passengers assisted in getting the aircraft safely onto the ground in Saudi Arabia. Other passengers provided medical assistance. A flight that could have ended in catastrophe instead became one of those extraordinary stories in which ordinary people discover that the few seconds available for a decision are the only seconds that matter.
There is something refreshing about the simplicity of the story. The passengers were confronted with a danger that required immediate action, and some of them acted. Israelis watching the story unfold saw a familiar national trait emerge in circumstances where slogans had very little use.
Former Israeli spokesman Eylon Levy captured the comic quality of it perfectly. “Overall, the probability that a plane full of Israelis will contain a trained assault team, two additional pilots, and, statistically, at least one cardiac surgeon, psychologist, lawyer, and diamond dealer is substantially higher than 50%.”
The joke survives the caution that is always needed with stereotypes because anyone who has spent time around Israelis recognizes the type. Put 180 Israelis in a metal tube in the skies and you have a statistically improbable concentration of people who have served in the military, flown aircraft, treated patients, run companies, handled emergencies, argued with authority and developed the conviction that whatever has gone wrong can probably be fixed if everyone stops panicking and starts doing something.
For Israelis, that quality has long been part of the national mythology. The country was built around the idea that its people would have to improvise their way through circumstances that seemed to offer very little room for error. The mythology produced its own cliches: the engineer who can repair anything, the doctor who appears when somebody needs one, the stranger who immediately assumes responsibility because waiting for an official response seems inefficient.
In the military, it is the officer who shouts “after me” – aharai! – rather than leading from behind.
This is the Israel that was admired after the 1967 Six Day War – or for the 1977 commando raid on Entebbe Airport that rescued over 100 hostages held by pro-Palestinian hijackers.
Sadly, much of the world has encountered a very different Israeli stereotype in recent years. Israelis have increasingly become symbols in arguments about war, occupation, nationalism and international law. Israel itself has become increasingly isolated, and Israelis have experienced insults and worse while traveling abroad.
October 7 added another layer to the picture. The country that had spent decades cultivating an image of military competence suddenly had to confront an astonishing failure of intelligence and security. The image of the Israeli who always knows what to do became harder to sustain when the country itself had been caught so badly unprepared.
And Israel has been widely and wildly vilified around the world – by the far left, by the far right, by antisemites of every stripe and activists who have made Zionism a dirty word and have turned Israel into an avatar for everything that is wrong in the world.
Then came the FlyDubai flight.
The flight’s landing in Israel was top news all over the world. CNN reported the event as a miraculous act of heroism. Even The Guardian, not known for its pro-Israel coverage of late, gushed about the “daring rescue.”
That may explain why Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu moved so quickly to meet the returning passengers. Whatever one thinks of Netanyahu’s politics, his instincts for symbolism are unusually sharp. For a man far behind in the polls ahead of Oct. 27, it was a godsend. He understood the importance of attaching himself to bravery.
There is an old Israeli sensibility that can be difficult to explain to people who have never lived there. It combines self-confidence with improvisation, anxiety with humor and a stoicism before dire circumstances.
The Flydubai passengers offered a particularly vivid demonstration of that quality.
But there is a larger lesson here, although it is a modest one. Countries become caricatures when their people are reduced to the arguments surrounding them. Israelis have been seen increasingly through the prism of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and sometimes through the actions of the government that happens to represent them. A plane full of passengers offers a different perspective.
They were scared. They were ordinary. They were resourceful. Some of them were brave. And the world was reminded of another side of Israel.
The post For a few terrifying minutes, Israelis were heroes again appeared first on The Forward.
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Ohio GOP gubernatorial nominee appeared at church whose pastor called modern Judaism ‘fake’
Vivek Ramaswamy, the Republican nominee for governor of Ohio, campaigned twice at a church whose pastor compared COVID-era restrictions to Nazi Germany and whose members took part in a protest outside the home of a Jewish state lawmaker who described it as an antisemitic act of intimidation.
Ramaswamy, 41, is running against Amy Acton, a Jewish Democrat who faced antisemitic attacks and Nazi comparisons while serving as Ohio’s health director during the COVID-19 pandemic.
The Republican candidate most recently appeared on May 21 for a campaign event at Liberty Valley Church in Northfield, which describes itself as a “Bible-Believing Non Denominational Patriotic Church,” for a discussion about “The Future of Religious Liberty.” Ramaswamy appeared alongside the church’s pastor, the Rev. Jeff Tauring, who has preached there for more than two decades, according to the church’s website.
The church drew attention in 2021 after several members showed up outside the home of Casey Weinstein, a Democratic state representative who is Jewish, during protests over the coronavirus restrictions. Weinstein described it as a “show of force” intended to intimidate him and said the explicitly Christian messages — including a “kneel before the cross” banner and a call to “make Casey Weinstein be better” — directed at the home of a Jewish lawmaker made the demonstration antisemitic
Tauring, in an interview with the Cleveland Jewish News at the time, denied that the demonstration was antisemitic or intended to intimidate Weinstein, saying his church supported Jews and Israel. But he added that it was an obligation of his congregation to speak out, likening the vaccine mandates and other government health policies to the policies of the Nazi regime that preceded the Holocaust. “We feel like if somebody would have stood up for the Jews earlier, and it should have been the church, if they would have done that earlier,” he said, “I’m not sure if the catastrophe would have happened.”
Earlier this year during a sermon, Tauring described the modern practice of Judaism as “fake” and called Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu a ”wicked person” because “he doesn’t believe in Jesus Christ and he should.”
At the Ramaswamy event in May, Josh Mandel, a Jewish ally of the pastor who campaigned on “Judeo-Christian values” during his failed Senate bid against JD Vance in 2022, told the audience that Ramaswamy would govern according to the values practiced inside the church.
“I know Vivek. He’s not just going to campaign in churches once he’s governor; he’s going to keep coming back,” Mandel said, according to a recording of the event obtained by the Forward. “And he’s going to govern based on what is worshiped right here in this church.”
Ramaswamy also appeared at the church last December.
In an interview on Wednesday at the campaign’s request, Mandel said he organized the event at the church and described the pastor and Ramaswamy as great friends of the Jewish people.
He wasn’t familiar with the pastor’s past remarks and didn’t address them when the Forward shared them.
Mandel shared a clip of Ramaswamy answering a question at the event about antisemitism, in which he called it a “cancer” in society and said it must be confronted on both the left and by “some people who claim to be on the right.”
“I think that a society that turns towards blaming a successful group of people in our country and in many other cultures in our history is a society that actually is allergic to success,” Ramaswamy said at the town hall. “And a society that is allergic to success, a real victim of that is not just the Jewish people — who are the recipients of that hatred. The real victim is the entire society itself, because it is a cancer that will eat that nation from within.”
Ramaswamy’s complicated record with Jewish voters
Ramaswamy, a biotech entrepreneur who has never served in public office, has had his own complicated relationship with Jewish voters and has taken controversial positions on Israel.
During his 2024 presidential campaign, Ramaswamy broke with much of the Republican field by proposing that the United States eventually phase out its annual $3.8 million military assistance to Israel after the current agreement expired in 2028. He later softened that position, telling the Forward that aid should end only when Israel was strong and secure enough that it no longer needed American assistance.
Aligned with the “America First” worldview, Ramaswamy developed close relationships with figures like Tucker Carlson, the former Fox News host who has promoted antisemitic tropes and conspiracy theories, associated with white nationalists, and called for stripping citizenship from Americans who served in the Israeli army. Ramaswamy was reportedly on a shortlist to become secretary of state in Donald Trump’s second administration, supported by Donald Trump Jr., tech billionaire Elon Musk and Carlson.
Ramaswamy, a Hindu who was a member of Shabtai, a Jewish leadership society at Yale founded in 1996 as an alternative to the “secret societies” at the university, also faced criticism from Jewish groups for appearing on a podcast hosted by Albert Faleski, known online as An0maly, who had promoted antisemitic stereotypes and conspiracy theories. Ramaswamy told the Forward at the time that he had not known about the host’s statements before appearing on the show and argued that speaking with someone did not amount to endorsing that person’s views.
Jewish conservatives and Republican officials have spent much of the past year publicly confronting antisemitism within parts of the MAGA movement, particularly the growing influence of Carlson, Nick Fuentes and other online personalities who attack Israel and traffic in antisemitic conspiracy theories. An increasingly vocal faction on the far right has made Christian nationalism and antisemitism central to its politics.
Acton’s experience with antisemitism
The tension is particularly relevant in Ohio, where Ramaswamy is running against a Jewish Democrat who has spoken openly about her faith and has faced antisemitic attacks. If elected, Acton would become Ohio’s first Jewish governor.
While serving as Ohio’s health director during the COVID-19 pandemic, Acton became a target of antisemitic abuse and Nazi comparisons as she enforced the state’s public health restrictions.
Earlier this month, an armed man lunged toward Acton while she was speaking at a campaign event. The suspect, Partick Havas, was charged with assault, disorderly conduct and inducing panic. Authorities did not specify whether they believed the incident was motivated by antisemitism. Ramaswamy’s campaign condemned the episode, calling political violence “completely unacceptable.”
While the state has been governed by a Republican since 2021 and has been leaning GOP in recent elections, recent polls show Acton expanding her lead over Ramaswamy.
The post Ohio GOP gubernatorial nominee appeared at church whose pastor called modern Judaism ‘fake’ appeared first on The Forward.
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What is flydubai and will it continue to link Israel and the Emirates?
(JTA) — TEL AVIV – The apparent hijacking attempt aboard flydubai Flight 1073 has put a spotlight on the Emirati airline, which has become a main air link connecting Israelis to the rest of the world.
The incident could also test the relationship between Israel and one of the airlines that has come to symbolize the ties forged by the 2020 Abraham Accords, in which the United Arab Emirates was one of a small number of Arab countries that recognized Israel.
Flydubai, a Dubai government-owned airline, began operating in 2009 and launched regular flights to Israel in 2020, shortly after the UAE and Israel established diplomatic relations.
When war broke out in Israel in October 2023, many foreign airlines suspended flights to the country for extended periods. Flydubai and other UAE airlines continued operating flights to and from Israel through much of the conflict, providing an important connection for Israelis seeking to travel abroad at a time when international air service to the country was severely reduced.
The airline has also become an important hub for Israelis traveling beyond the UAE itself. Through Dubai, passengers can connect to destinations across Asia, Africa and other regions. The airline operates dozens of flights between Tel Aviv and Dubai each week.
According to Ben Gurion Airport data for August, flydubai carried roughly 90,000 passengers during the month. Since the beginning of 2026, more than 420,000 passengers have flown with the airline to or from Ben Gurion, accounting for roughly 4% of the airport’s international passenger traffic and placing it third among international airlines operating at the airport by passenger volume.
The incident aboard Flight 1073 could now put that relationship under scrutiny.
Israel’s Transportation Minister Miri Regev has reportedly asked Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to immediately suspend flydubai flights to Israel until the circumstances of Wednesday’s incident are clarified, according to Israeli news outlet Ynet.
Regev said flydubai had violated the countries’ aviation agreement, which she described as requiring pilots operating flights to Israel to be citizens of countries with which Israel maintains diplomatic relations. Israeli and international media have reported that the co-pilot who instigated the incident was an Omani national.
Former Israeli Ambassador to the UAE Amir Hayek pushed back against calls to suspend the flights, however. In a post on X, Hayek wrote that flydubai and Etihad were the only two airlines in the world that continued flying to Israel “even during the most difficult times,” and argued that the UAE and the airline should be allowed to fully investigate what happened rather than face action based on speculation.
“I trust them,” he wrote.
The episode comes as Flydubai continues to expand its global network. The airline said this month that it was operating an average of 2,200 flights a week and serving more than 125 destinations in 56 countries. Its partnership with the major airline Emirates gives passengers access to a combined network of more than 214 unique destinations in more than 100 countries, with more than 4,600 possible connections through Dubai.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post What is flydubai and will it continue to link Israel and the Emirates? appeared first on The Forward.
