Uncategorized
Lorraine Hansberry’s second play had a white Jewish protagonist. Oscar Isaac and Rachel Brosnahan are reviving it.
NEW YORK (JTA) — Sidney Brustein, Jewish Hamlet?
Anne Kauffman thinks so. She made the comparison in a phone interview about the play she’s directing — a buzzy production of Lorraine Hansberry’s “The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window” that opened on Monday at the Brooklyn Academy of Music starring Oscar Isaac and Rachel Brosnahan.
“One artistic director who was thinking of doing this [play] was like, ‘You know, it’s not like he’s Hamlet, but…’ And I thought, well, no, actually I think he is like Hamlet!” she said.
She added another take: “I feel like he’s Cary Grant meets Zero Mostel.”
Hansberry saw just two of her works produced on Broadway before her death from cancer at 34 in January 1965. Her first, “A Raisin in the Sun,” which follows a Black family dealing with housing discrimination in Chicago, is widely considered one of the most significant plays of the 20th century. The other, “The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window,” ran for a few months in the fall of 1964 until Hansberry’s death and has only been revived a handful of times since, all outside of New York.
Now, the star power of Isaac and Brosnahan is driving renewed interest in the play, which deals with weighty questions about political activism, self-fulfillment in a capitalist world, and racial and ethnic identity — including mid-century Jewish American identity.
The Brustein character, as Kauffman alluded to, is many things. A resident of Greenwich Village deeply embedded in that historic neighborhood’s 1960s activist and artistic circles, he is somewhat of a creative renaissance man. At the start of the play, his club of sorts (“it was not a nightclub” is a running joke) called “Walden Pond” has just shuttered and he has taken over an alternative newspaper. As the script reads, Brustein is an intellectual “in the truest sense of the word” but “does not wear glasses” — the latter description being a possible jab at his macho tendencies. Formerly an ardent leftist activist, he is now weary of the worth of activism and a bit of a nihilist. He’s in his late 30s and is a musician who often picks up a banjo.
Brustein is also a secular Jew, a fact that he telegraphs at certain key emotional and comedic moments. Others, from friends to his casually antisemitic sister-in-law, frequently reference his identity, too.
At the end of the play’s first half, for example, Brustein brings up the heroes of the Hanukkah story in talking about his existential angst — and his stomach ulcer. He has become belligerent to his wife Iris and to a local politician who wants Brustein’s paper’s endorsement.
“How does one confront the thousand nameless faceless vapors that are the evil of our time? Can a sword pierce it?” Sidney says. “One does not smite evil anymore: one holds one’s gut, thus — and takes a pill. Oh, but to take up the sword of the Maccabees again!”
Hansberry’s decision to center a white Jewish character surprised critics and fans alike in 1964 because many of them expected her to follow “A Raisin in the Sun” with further exploration of issues facing Black Americans, said Joi Gresham, the director of the Lorraine Hansberry Literary Trust.
“The major attack, both critically and on a popular basis, in regards to the play and to its central character was that Lorraine was out of her lane,” Gresham said. “That not only did she not know what she’s talking about, but that she had the nerve to even examine that subject matter.”
Hansberry’s closest collaborator was her former husband Robert Nemiroff, a Jewish New Yorker whom she had divorced in 1962 but maintained an artistic partnership with. Nemiroff was a bit Brustein-like in his pursuits: he edited books, produced and promoted Hansberry’s work, and even wrote songs (one of which made the couple enough money to allow Hansberry to focus on writing “A Raisin in the Sun”). But Gresham — who is Nemiroff’s stepdaughter through his second marriage, to professor Jewell Handy Gresham-Nemiroff — emphasized that his personality was nothing like Brustein’s. While Brustein is brash and mean to Iris, Nemiroff was undyingly supportive of Hansberry and her work, said Gresham, who lived with him and her mother at Nemiroff’s Croton-on-Hudson home — the one he had formerly shared for a time with Hansberry — from age 10 onward.
Instead, Gresham argued, the Brustein character was the result of Hansberry’s deep engagement with Jewish intellectual thought, in part influenced by her relationship with Nemiroff. The pair met at a protest and would bond over their passion for fighting for social justice, which included combating antisemitism. The night before their wedding, they protested the execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, and they would remain highly involved in the wave of activism that blossomed into the Black-Jewish civil rights alliance.
“Bob and Lorraine met and built a life together at a place where there was a very strong Black-Jewish nexus. There was a very strong interplay and interaction,” Gresham said. “I think Lorraine was very influenced by Bob’s family, the Nemiroffs, who were very radical in their politics. And so there was a way in which she was introduced to the base of Jewish intellectualism and Jewish progressive politics, that she took to heart and she was very passionate about.”
Robert Nemiroff and Lorraine Hansberry were married from 1953-62. They are shown here in 1959. (Ben Martin/Getty Images)
Hansberry didn’t hesitate to criticize Jewish writers who said controversial things about Black Americans, either. When Norman Podhoretz wrote “My Negro Problem — And Ours,” an explosive 1963 article in Commentary magazine now widely seen as racist, Hansberry responded with a scathing rebuke. She also sparred with Norman Mailer, who once wrote an essay titled “The White Negro: Superficial Reflections on the Hipster.”
Gresham said Brustein’s nihilism represents what Hansberry saw in a range of Jewish and non-Jewish white writers, whom she hoped could be kickstarted back into activism. But Hansberry also nodded to the reasons why someone like Brustein could feel defeated in the early 1960s, a decade and a half after World War II.
“You mean diddle around with the little things since we can’t do anything about the big ones? Forget about the Holocaust and worry about — reforms in the traffic court or something?” Brustein says at one point in the play to a local politician running as a reformer.
Daniel Pollack-Pelzner, a Jewish scholar of literature who has written on Hansberry, said the resulting Brustein character is a very accurate depiction of a secular Jew at the time — both keenly attuned to prejudice in society and also lacking some understanding of the experience of being Black.
“I was just intoxicated that Hansberry could conjure that world, both so affectionately, but also so clear-sidedly that it seems like she can see the limitations of all of the characters’ perspectives,” he said. “But she also represents them with sympathy and humor.”
Kauffman, who also helmed a revival of the play in Chicago in 2016, is impressed with how “fully fledged” the Brustein character is.
“Who are the cultural icons who have sort of articulated the Jew in our culture in the last 50 years or 60 years, you know?” she said. “Brustein is not a caricature of a Woody Allen character, he’s not even ‘Curb your Enthusiasm’ or a Jerry Seinfeld character. He’s a fully drawn character.”
Isaac, who is of mainly Guatemalan and Cuban heritage, has played Jewish characters before, including a formerly Orthodox man in an Israeli director’s remake of the classic film “Scenes From a Marriage.” In the lead-up to this play, he has largely avoided getting caught in headlines focused on the “Jewface” debate, over whether non-Jewish actors should be allowed to play Jewish characters on stage and screen.
But when asked about the responsibility of playing a Jewish character in a New York Times interview, Isaac referenced the fact that he has some Jewish heritage on his father’s side.
“We could play that game: How Jewish are you?” he said to interviewer Alexis Soloski, who is Jewish. “It is part of my family, part of my life. I feel the responsibility to not feel like a phony. That’s the responsibility, to feel like I can say these things, do these things and feel like I’m doing it honestly and truthfully.”
When Kauffman directed a version of the play at the Goodman Theater in Chicago in 2016, her lead actor had “not a single drop of Jewish heritage…in his blood,” and she said she had to convey “what anger looks like” coming from a Jewish perspective. Working with Isaac has been different — instead of starting at a base of no knowledge, she has been pushing for more of an Ashkenazi sensibility than a Sephardic one.
“I believe that his heritage leans, I’m guessing, more towards Sephardic. And mine is pure Ashkenazi,” she said. “We sort of joke: ‘[The part] is a little bit more Ashkenazi than that, you know what I mean?’ Like, ‘the violence is actually turned towards yourself!’”
—
The post Lorraine Hansberry’s second play had a white Jewish protagonist. Oscar Isaac and Rachel Brosnahan are reviving it. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
Daniel Patrick Moynihan and the Courage to Name Evil
Daniel Patrick Moynihan at the UN Security Council. Photo: Wiki Commons
On Nov. 10, 1975 — almost 50 years ago to the day — Daniel Patrick Moynihan did something that few diplomats or public figures would dare attempt today: he told the truth in public, when the world preferred a lie.
As the United States ambassador to the United Nations, Moynihan rose before the General Assembly to condemn Resolution 3379 — the infamous measure that declared Zionism to be “a form of racism and racial discrimination.”
Moynihan saw, with prophetic clarity, that this was no ordinary resolution. It was a calculated attempt to turn antisemitism into international law and an effort to delegitimize the Jewish people’s right to self-determination under the guise of anti-racism.
Moynihan warned plainly, “The United Nations is about to make antisemitism international law.”
And then, in words that still thunder half a century later, he declared: “[The United States] does not acknowledge, it will not abide by, it will never acquiesce in this infamous act … A great evil has been loosed upon the world.”
I frequently open lectures with that story. I tell my students and audiences that if they remember nothing else from my remarks, they should remember this: courage begins with naming things truthfully. It’s why Moynihan remains one of my heroes. At a time when global institutions and elite opinion had succumbed to moral cowardice, he reminded the world — and America — that truth is not negotiable.
The Corruption of Language
Moynihan once wrote, “Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, but not to his own facts.”
That line, often repeated but rarely understood, expressed his deepest conviction: that words must map to reality, not be twisted to serve ideology. When the United Nations turned Zionism — a movement of liberation — into a synonym for racism, it wasn’t merely lying about Israel. It was corrupting the moral language on which civilization depends.
That corruption of language is what Moynihan fought so fiercely against. His 1975 speech was not only about defending Israel; it was about defending truth. He understood that words matter; that they are the means by which we give order to the world around us, and that once institutions redefine words to suit politics, they lose moral legitimacy.
In Jewish terms, what Moynihan did that day was Kiddush Hashem, sanctifying the divine name by standing for truth before the nations. He refused to let a lie pass unchallenged, even when doing so made him unpopular among diplomats and intellectuals. For him, the duty to speak truth outweighed the instinct to please.
Echoes in Our Time
Half a century later, his words feel hauntingly relevant. The same moral inversion that he condemned at the UN now reappears across Western institutions.
On elite campuses, students chant that “Zionists don’t belong.” Faculty resolutions describe the murder of civilians as “resistance.” Jewish students are told that their identity is oppression and their longing for homeland a form of violence. The language of “decolonization” has become the new euphemism through which antisemitism cloaks itself in moral respectability.
Moynihan foresaw this. He understood that the battle for truth is never merely political; it is cultural and linguistic. His stand in 1975 was not only a defense of Israel but of liberal civilization itself.
As he argued, culture, not politics, determines the success of a society — yet politics can change a culture and save it from itself. At the UN, he embodied both truths and proved that culture and politics alike can be redeemed when courage and clarity converge.
Many in the diplomatic corps thought him reckless; others accused him of inflaming tensions. But Moynihan knew that civility without conviction is just another form of surrender.
In refusing to “tone down” his words, he restored to American diplomacy something that had been fading for years: moral seriousness.
On Dec. 16, 1991 — 16 years after his speech and in the wake of the Soviet Union’s collapse — the United Nations repealed that infamous resolution. The reversal did not erase the damage, but it vindicated his courage and exposed the Soviet motives he had identified all along.
Geopolitical Tensions Today
Today, Moynihan’s moral framework faces new tests as the Abraham Accords expand into uncharted territory. As debates swirl over bringing Kazakhstan into the Abraham Accords, commentators like Amit Segal argue the move has little to do with Israel and everything to do with containing Iran and Russia.
Kazakhstan, a Muslim-majority state and the world’s largest uranium producer, accounting for about 40% of global supply, sits in a crucial corridor between Moscow’s weakening sphere and Tehran’s growing ambitions. For Washington, its inclusion symbolizes an attempt to expand the US-Israel-Arab alliance into Eurasia — a rebuke to authoritarian revisionism.
But others, like Shay Gal, warn that such moves may blur the moral map Moynihan fought to preserve. By tethering Israel’s normalization efforts to a bloc still tied to Moscow and influenced by Ankara — a government that has positioned itself as Hamas’ diplomatic advocate — the United States risks trading moral clarity for geopolitical convenience.
Moynihan would have understood this tension. He knew that alliances built without a moral spine eventually fracture under pressure. As historian Gil Troy recently wrote, Moynihan “backed Israel for reasons that had almost nothing to do with it.” He was defending the West’s moral vocabulary from Soviet distortion — the same “totalitarian mind” that “reeked of the totalitarian state.”
That distortion is visible today when democracies hesitate to call terrorism by its name or confuse appeasement with diplomacy. Whether in the UN, universities, or Washington’s corridors of power, the temptation to “tone down” the truth — to be “polite” in the face of lies — remains.
Moynihan mocked that instinct in 1975: “What is this word ‘toning down’; when you are faced with an out-right lie about the United States and we go in and say this is not true. Now, how do you tone that down? Do you say it is only half untrue?” he asked. “What kind of people are we? What kind of people do they think we are?”
He asked that question then. We should ask it again now.
The Lesson for Us
In my lectures, I tell students and audiences that moral courage isn’t about volume or virality. It’s about standing for something when every incentive points the other way. Moynihan didn’t posture. He told the truth in an unfriendly room — and did it with moral gravity. His example reminds us that education and citizenship alike begin with facts, not feelings, and that democracy cannot endure if we lose the courage to call things by their right names.
When Moynihan declared that “a great evil has been loosed upon the world,” he wasn’t speaking only of 1975. He was naming a permanent temptation: to believe that truth is negotiable, to mistake moral complexity for moral cowardice.
Moynihan’s life proves that civic courage and Jewish moral witness are inseparable. The fight against the world’s oldest hatred is not only Israel’s fight — it is the test of whether the West still believes in truth itself.
When the powerful grow timid and relativism reigns, we must remember Moynihan’s example: a man who refused to be silent while the world applauded a lie.
Because when a great evil is loosed upon the world, truth must be spoken aloud. Daniel Patrick Moynihan did just that. And that is why, half a century later, I begin my classes with his words and count him among my heroes.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
Uncategorized
Iran Built Nuclear Weapons Instead of Desalinization Plants — Now There Is a Water Shortage
Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei speaks in a televised message, after the ceasefire between Iran and Israel, in Tehran, Iran, June 26, 2025. Photo: Office of the Iranian Supreme Leader/WANA (West Asia News Agency)/Handout via REUTERS
“Water water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink” — from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner — is a suitable motto for the Islamic Republic of Iran.
With the Persian Gulf in the southwest, the Sea of Oman in the south, and the Caspian Sea (an inland brackish water lake) in the north, Iran is surrounded by water — yet there is very little to drink. Iran’s experts, of course, blame Israel and the US for manipulating the weather and causing a drought so severe that the Islamic Republic’s president says he may “have to evacuate Tehran.”
If only Iran’s Mullahs had spent their money on desalination plants instead of nuclear facilities, the people of Iran would not be facing death from dehydration.
According to a new report by the Middle East Forum, Iran is at the precipice of “water bankruptcy” stemming from “the regime’s profound failure to adapt in a region where other arid states have successfully implemented sustainable water management strategies.” Whereas its neighbors have long planned for the absence of rainy days, investing in the infrastructure to provide water for its subjects, the Islamic Republic has wasted all its resources foolishly pursuing nuclear weapons.
Kuwait built eight desalination plants that provide 93% of the necessary drinking water to its 5 million people. Qatar built 109 desalination plants that provide 48% of the drinking water to its 3 million people, and the UAE built 70 plants that provide 42% of its drinking water for 11 million people. Saudi Arabia, the world’s largest producer of desalinated water, built 30 “super plants” that provide more than half of drinking water to its 34 million subjects.
Iran’s desalination plants, however, provide a mere 3% of the potable water for its 92 million thirsty people. It was one of the last nations in the Middle East to begin installing desalination plants, and they are small and inefficient, mostly relying on old technology and antiquated methods. In spite of Iran’s efforts to ramp up its desalination capabilities, the situation is dire.
Blinded by its nuclear ambition and hatred of Israel and the US, Iran has unwisely spent its money on expensive nuclear reactors and even more expensive nuclear bombmaking.
In the US, where environmental and regulatory fees inflate the prices, a nuclear reactor costs billions of dollars. The newest one in the US is the Vogtle nuclear power plant in Georgia, which has cost approximately $30 billion. In Iran, we can assume that the total price tag is lower, but the added expenses of burying facilities deep underground probably make the total roughly the same.
On top of the money Iran has spent on nuclear reactors, it has also spent untold billions on enrichment facilities, many of them also subterranean. It has spent liberally on research and development into trigger systems and the ballistic missiles to deliver bombs.
By contrast, a desalination plant costs in the millions of dollars. In 2010, Texas put the price tag at $658 million for a 100 MGD desalination plant. Today, a desalination plant might run $1 billion. That means that for every $20 billion-dollar nuclear site it built, Iran might have built 20 state-of-the-art desalination plants.
Without a steady supply of desalinated sea water, Iran has resorted to unsound policies to provide potable water, causing great harm to the land. These policies have led to drastic groundwater depletion, according to the Middle East Forum report, causing Iran’s cities to literally sink into the ground due to “aquifer compaction,” putting the nation well along the path to “aquifer death.”
Of course, the Islamic Republic will never acknowledge the folly of its ways. Instead, it will continue to blame the US and Israel, where five major desalination plants provide 80% of the nation’s drinking water.
The irony of Iran’s situation is that the entire world would step up to help the people of Iran avoid impending disaster were their nation not run by a bellicose government motivated by hatred. And Israel — the object of that hatred — would be among the nations most willing to help.
Chief Investigative Project on Terrorism (IPT) Political Correspondent A.J. Caschetta is a principal lecturer at the Rochester Institute of Technology and a fellow at Campus Watch, a project of the Middle East Forum where he is also a Milstein fellow. A version of this article was originally published by IPT.
Uncategorized
Jews Across the World Are Repeating the Mistakes of the 1930s
A shop damaged in Magdeburg, Germany, during Kristallnacht. Photo: Wikimedia Commons
In August 1933, only months after Hitler rose to power, a chilling article appeared in the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. Dr. Max Naumann, a proud German patriot and the founder of the Verband nationaldeutscher Juden — the Association of National German Jews — declared his unwavering loyalty to the Nazi government. Even as Jewish livelihoods were being dismantled and the beginnings of the Holocaust were in place, this group of proper, fancy German Jews insisted that Jews had nothing to fear if they behaved correctly, shed their national identity, rejected Zionism, and embedded themselves wholly within German society.
But history was about to deliver its verdict.
This is the story of a worldview that has reappeared across Jewish history again and again: the belief that if Jews abandon their nationalism, and appease their oppressors, they will be spared. They condemned the very concept of Jewish self-defense.
The existence in Germany of Betar, a Zionist movement founded in 1923, presented an ideological threat to this worldview.
Betar youths sang Hebrew songs, carried themselves with discipline, and insisted the Jewish people were a nation with a destiny. In the eyes of people like Naumann, Betar represented a dangerous idea: that Jews could survive only by standing as a proud, independent people — not by pleading for acceptance. History proved Betar right.
At first glance, one could treat Naumann as a figure locked in the past, but his story remains painfully relevant today. Across the Diaspora, Jewish communities are living through a renewed wave of open antisemitism not seen in generations. And how does a certain segment of world Jewry respond?
With fear. With appeasement. With approximately 33 percent of New York City’s Jews voting for Zohran Mamdani. They repeat the same delusions Naumann preached: that appeasement will earn respect, that silence will earn safety, that bowing one’s head will spare us.
We know where that path leads.
One of the most important lessons of the Holocaust — and indeed of all Jewish history — is that Jews need to fight back. This truth remains unchanged today. And just like in 1933, the Jews most desperate to blend in, the ones who insist “We’re not like those other Jews,” will end up being persecuted and targeted by those they try to appease.
This is the moment when we must remember the Zionist leader who founded Betar, Ze’ev Jabotinsky. Jabotinsky believed that every Jewish person must stand tall, walk with pride, and never bow their head. Jabotinsky taught that Jewish dignity must never be surrendered, and that Jewish self-defense and a Jewish state is the only real guarantee of Jewish safety.
In the 1930s, Jabotinsky warned that Europe was becoming unsafe for Jews. Most of world Jewry dismissed his most dire warnings of death as hysteria.
Today, not a single one of the mainstream Jewish leaders of the Diaspora is talking about aliyah, the process of Jews immigrating to Israel.
Across the Diaspora, Jewish communities cling to institutions that no longer protect them, governments that no longer defend them, and illusions that no longer serve them. They dedicate themselves to endless dialogues with activists who openly seek their destruction. They send letters, petitions, pleas, and polite condemnations, all while their enemies march in the streets and terrorize their children on campus.
This is a Naumann mindset reborn. And just like in 1933, it is a deadly delusion.
World Jewry has failed to learn the most basic lessons of Jewish history. The lesson that no society, not even the most enlightened, guarantees Jewish safety. The lesson that Jewish security cannot depend on the goodwill of others.
And the only difference between then and now is the Jewish State.
At a time when New York, London, Toronto, Paris, Melbourne, and Johannesburg are becoming unsafe for Jews, Israel is thriving. Our cities — Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Raanana, Herzliya, Haifa — are full of innovation, culture, Jewish life, and Jewish safety. Hebrew is spoken without fear. Soldiers protect us. Our national institutions — flawed as they may be — defend us. The Diaspora is in deep trouble, in part because many Jewish leaders abroad, like Naumann in his time, are enemies of the Jewish people.
Ronn Torossian is an Israeli-American Jewish communal leader and entrepreneur who lives in Israel.