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Orthodox Jews are scootering to synagogue. Will Shabbat ever be the same?
LOS ANGELES – For thousands of years, the Jews have walked. Dispatched by God to the promised land of Canaan, Abraham walked. When the Israelites became a nation in the desert, they camped, kvetched, warred, and worshiped, but mostly walked. And on Shabbat — when the Torah forbids riding horses, carriages, trains or cars — observant Jews have traditionally walked.
But when Ilana Jurkowitz and her two kids went to prayer services one recent Saturday morning, they did not walk. Nor, as Shabbat-observant Jews, did they drive. Instead, the trio made the mile-and-a-half trek to their Beverly Hills synagogue using a decidedly non-Biblical form of transportation: scooters.
They’re not alone. On Shabbat, the two-wheel, non-electric scooters — the kind you kick off to propel and brake by stepping on the back wheel — have in recent years become ubiquitous in Orthodox communities from LA to Miami Beach to the Five Towns. Kids and parents ride them to and from shul, tzitzit fringes flying in the wind, then to meals or playdates afterward. On long Saturday afternoons, Jewish teens cruise the streets on scooters like their California ancestors once did in classic cars.
Walking, it seems, has gone out of fashion, supplanted by what was once mainly a children’s toy. Sorry, Walter: These Jews do roll on Shabbos.
“We saw other people scooting and thought, OK, we need to start,” Jurkowitz said. “It makes it so much easier.”
For the Jurkowitz family, scooters cut what would be a 35-minute walk almost in half. Journeys the family wouldn’t dare take on foot — like the two-plus mile jaunt to Ilana’s parents — become manageable. “It extends the radius of the community,” she told me. For her kids, the scooters also signified maturity and taste. Seven-year-old Shylee Jurkowitz recounted her graduation from a three-wheel mini-scooter to the two-wheel model; Winston, 10, rocked a Transformers-themed helmet. Ilana, also wearing headgear, carried in a tote bag the straw hat she would wear in shul, and four-inch heels.
In Los Angeles, where electric scooters help residents and tourists alike navigate traffic congestion, the ascendance of kick scooters in Orthodox areas highlights the intersection of religious practice and 21st-century urban geography. As the Shabbat-observant population has surged — Orthodoxy being the fastest-growing Jewish denomination in the U.S. — neighborhoods like Pico-Robertson, where the Jurkowitzes live, have stretched the limits of walking distance. Factor in the heat and Shabbat formal attire, and long walks become a brutal proposition.
There’s just one catch. For all their analog simplicity — they contain no motor, battery, chains or gears — it’s not really clear whether scooters are a kosher Shabbat activity. I grew up in Pico-Robertson in the early aughts, when Razor scooters were a fad; I rode mine so much its orange foam handles turned auburn. But I distinctly remember my Modern Orthodox rabbi advising me that on Shabbat, I should leave my wheels at home — scootering, he said, was against the spirit of the Jewish day of rest. So what happened with everyone else?
Each Shabbat for the last several months, I’ve been putting that question to friends and strangers scootering on the streets of Pico-Robertson. The people I’ve spoken to — at least 30, including respondents to a survey I taped up on street corners — described a trend that speaks to climate and real estate, adolescence and parenting, gender and style, and ultimately the meaning of Shabbat itself.
Eventually I heard enough hype about scooters that I ordered one on Amazon; when the Jurkowitzes went to shul, I was rolling along with them.
Micromobility comes to the shtetl
As the Jurkowitz kids raced ahead, Ilana told me how they wound up living so far from shul.
Before they moved into their current home a little more than a decade ago, she and her husband Nick were living about a half-mile east of their synagogue, Beth Jacob Congregation. But with plans to grow their family, they were lured south by cheaper real estate. The Jurkowitzes’ block today would be considered the outskirts of Pico-Robertson; twenty years ago it might as well have been San Diego.
Initially, they walked, pushing their oldest in a stroller. “And then it just, you know, took a lot longer to get there,” Jurkowitz said. Putting the kids on scooters, she quickly learned, meant they could leave the stroller at home.
Shylee and Winston waited at the end of the block for us to catch up. There’d been some skinned knees and bloody elbows over the years, Ilana said, but nothing dramatic. (Other kids I spoke to weren’t so lucky — one teenager told me he’d broken his arm when his scooter plunged into a crack in the sidewalk and threw him off.)
Greater Los Angeles contains several Orthodox neighborhoods, of which Pico-Robertson is the largest. But since the early 2000s, the majority of them are bound by a single eruv, which is the ritual enclosure that allows observant Jews to bypass the prohibition of carrying objects in public on Shabbat. The ludicrously capacious LA eruv — bound by the 405, 10 and 101 freeways, it covers an area roughly the size of Washington, D.C. — allows people to scooter not merely between home and shul, but from one Jewish neighborhood to another.
One man I spoke to planned to scooter four miles that night from Pico-Robertson to his house in Hancock Park, an Orthodox neighborhood colloquially referred to by Pico’s Jews as “the other side of town.” Another rode to Pico from Chabad of Mount Olympus — a distance of more than five miles. The eruv meant these journeys have long been possible on Shabbat. But the scooters are making them almost routine, and in turn, challenging the paradigm of Orthodox community. Having to walk to synagogue on Shabbat has kept Jews living in close proximity for centuries; with a scooter, Orthodox Angelenos really can live anywhere in a 67-square-mile area.
For now, those crosstown treks — facilitated by dry weather, wide residential streets and the generally flat LA basin — represent the extreme in trip length. But they underscore the appeal of intra-community scoots like the Jurkowitzes’. Property values around the neighborhood’s edges have nearly doubled in the past decade, reflecting the increased demand from Orthodox families priced out of the core. Scooters don’t just help people get to synagogue faster; in some cases — especially families with kids — they are the difference between getting there at all or just staying home.
Of course, people do more than pray on Shabbat, and the turn to scooters had as many social motivations as religious ones. For older kids, having a scooter was the first whiff of independence, a status symbol that made you both taller and faster than your peers. And for younger adults, it was an antidote to Saturday doldrums.
Motti Zuker and Joshua Engelson, Orthodox millennials who I met up with one recent Saturday night, use their scooters less to pray than to meet friends and make afternoon plans. “If I was married and had a family, I wouldn’t,” Engelson told me. But as an older single, he said, “I need to move around places.” In other words, he’s shmooze-maxxing.
Though Shabbat-observant themselves, he and Zuker sometimes attend Jewish Friday night functions where most of the other guests drove. Self-conscious of their garishly unsexy devices — Engelson called it “social suicide” to be caught with one at his age — the two have turned their foldable off-brand scooters into a kind of ironic shtick.
“My go-to thing when I introduce myself is I’ll say, ‘Yeah, it’s the vintage model,’” Zuker said with a grin. He’d used that line on me a few days earlier, when I flagged him down on my walk home from Friday night dinner.
Pumping the brakes
So many yidden breeze by you on scooters in Pico-Robertson that it can be easy to forget how many people object to them. What reminded me was the experience of riding one myself. After services ended at Beth Jacob, I grabbed my ride from a rack in the alley behind the shul and kicked off toward my usual religious haunts. As I hurtled past my coreligionists on the sidewalk, it seemed they were looking at me with a mix of bemusement and contempt. My “Good Shabbos” greetings went ignored.
There is nothing in the Torah that overtly forbids riding a scooter on Shabbat. Instead, scooters fall into the gray area of Shabbat prohibition known as uvda d’chol, or “weekday activity.” Uvda d’chol encompasses activities not explicitly prohibited on Shabbat but which are discouraged — as my rabbi did 25 years ago — because they undercut the notion of the Jewish day of rest. The Talmud specifies modes of transportation as an example: The way one gets around on Shabbat, it instructs, should not be the same as how one travels during the week. (The Shulchan Aruch, a 16th-century legal compendium, forbids running on this basis.)
A scan of Orthodox commentary in the last five years seems to reflect consensus that scootering on Shabbat is improper for this reason. An article on the website of the Orthodox Union, the organization to which most Modern Orthodox synagogues belong, and various lectures about scooters on Orthodox learning library YUTorah, declare scootering uvda d’chol.
But uvda d’chol is an evolving designation, determined not by mere rabbinic mandate but also by community habit. And something unusual occurs in the sources discussing scooters: The rabbis tend to concede it’s happening anyway. Rabbi Aryeh Lebowitz, a rosh yeshiva (senior rabbinic scholar) at Yeshiva University who leads a synagogue in Long Island, said in a lecture last year that he once forbade his son from scootering places on Shabbat, a stringency not abided by the boy’s friends.
“But then the yeshivish community moved in, and they’re all on scooters,” said Lebowitz, referring to a more strictly religious crowd. “The adults are on scooters. So now, people in my shul say, ‘How do I tell my kids not to?’”
According to at least one halachic authority, however, kids are in the clear. Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon, an influential Orthodox legal scholar based in Israel, permits children scootering on Shabbat because it is a leisure activity, rather than a form of transportation. And he says that in communities where families live far from their synagogue, adults, too, should not be prohibited from scootering to get there — just as the Shulchan Aruch grants an exception for adults to run to shul, because it facilitates the mitzvah of prayer.
In any event, most riders I spoke to weren’t considering it a gray area at all. To Ilana Jurkowitz, scootering wasn’t a thing she did during the week — so how could it be considered a weekday activity? The upsides, on the other hand, were obvious: They made shul more accessible to the whole family, deepened friendships, and enabled her kids to spend more time with their grandparents.
She had not seen a need to consult her rabbi, she said, because so many other families at her shul were doing it first.
“I’ve just looked at the community and seen it as an adopted mode of transportation, and so kind of went with that,” Jurkowitz said. “I guess I felt like if there was an issue with scooting on Shabbat, knowing that so many do it, that the rabbis would address it.”
At least one Pico-Robertson rabbi had tried to ban scooters from his shul. In an interview, he compared their appeal to that of cars in the Conservative movement, which in 1950 permitted driving on Shabbat only for the purpose of getting to services. “Ultimately, it was exactly this — that, ‘Well, people are living far away, so they have to come on Shabbos,’” said the rabbi, who asked to remain anonymous. “Then people kept going further away, and then the whole community, the sense of community faded.”
Others I spoke to shared his sentiment, but few were willing to say so publicly; two local pulpit rabbis I reached out to for this piece declined to speak at all about the topic.
The rabbi who banned the devices empathized with those colleagues. A rabbi’s imperative, he noted, is to set rules his congregation can follow. Taking a position against an activity that is already accepted community practice may only serve to undercut their authority on everything else.
“The reality of the situation regarding scooters,” he said, “is that it’s not where they want to make their battles.”
Day of leisure or day of rest?
There’s an adage in the Talmud that a man is blessed for every step he takes to reach his synagogue — the longer the walk, the greater the reward. But the heavenly incentives, it turned out, shrank in the glare of Los Angeles sun.
Scooter riders cited fatigue, the heat and time commitment as the main reasons they didn’t want to walk. The first two factors went together; Los Angeles now experiences roughly nine to ten more days per year when temperatures hit 90°F or higher compared to two decades ago. In the parts of Pico-Robertson where the Orthodox community has expanded more recently, shade is in short supply.
But people’s resentment of time wasted on foot may say as much about modern social anxieties as it does about the built environment. Whether shul-hopping singles or families of five, people wanted to squeeze more out of the day of rest.
When I was flitting around town on my blue Razor, my Shabbat itinerary became more ambitious. I timed myself riding from Beth Jacob to another synagogue, then headed to lunch on the eastern edge of Pico-Robertson. From there I swung over to my folks’ for dessert, then kick-pushed another 1.4 miles back southeast to my apartment. By nightfall, and without ever leaving Pico-Robertson, I had scootered just under seven miles. I am confident I have never walked that much on one Shabbat; realizing that, I wondered whether that was a sign I had altered something essential about it.
Wisely, I did not reach out to my childhood rabbi until after I completed my experiment; Rabbi Yosef Kanefsky, who today holds the same position as senior rabbi of B’nai David-Judea, had not changed his stance on scooters since I first sought his counsel some 25 years ago. “I’m glad that I’m consistent,” he said when I shared the memory.
Kanefsky, who recently relayed Rimon’s teachings to congregants, said that enabling more children and parents to get to shul was an important consideration in permitting scooters. But he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the activity more broadly. He recalled the instruction Moses gives the Israelites not to collect manna on Shabbat. “Shvu ish tachtav,” Moses tells them: Stay put.
“Filling our day with busyness, that’s what the other six days are for,” Kanefsky said in an interview. “We fill our schedule with busyness, and Shabbat is intended to be a day of non-busyness. ‘I got places to go. I got things to do. I can’t stay here too long’ — that’s really what we’re supposed to take a break from.”
Perhaps the best case to be made against scootering, then, is not that it feels like a weekday activity; it’s that walking — even or especially a distance you’d rather drive — feels like a Shabbat activity.
But the debate around scooters isn’t just about scooters. The deeper matter, Kanefsky said, is that as technology has become more advanced, more and more things we would intuitively consider Shabbat-violating actually fall into uvda d’chol rather than clear Biblical prohibitions. Lighting a candle on Shabbat is Biblically prohibited, but turning on an LED light? That’s probably uvda d’chol. Same goes for a smartphone, getting in a short-distance Waymo or talking to Alexa.
This is not to say that permitting scooters on Shabbat means allowing Snapchat, too. But scooters do expose an unavoidable fact about Shabbat in the 21st century and beyond: It will ultimately reflect how communities define uvda d’chol for themselves.
“We need this category, desperately,” Kanefsky said. “If we have the opportunity to be a little more conservative with this category — literally to conserve it — I think that’s in our interest. Because — well, just imagine a Shabbat in which everyone’s phone is on, everyone’s computer is on, and everyone’s taking their EV to shul. That’s the future if uvda d’chol disappears as a category altogether.”
Until then, the scooters roll on. The last person I interviewed for this story was the kid who broke his arm — 14-year-old Natan Wintner, a rising high school freshman. Wintner rounds up what he called “a little Jewish scooter gang” most Shabbat afternoons — five to ten guys bouncing from house to house to pass the time. Girls did this too in their own groups, Wintner said; for him it was “having our bro time.”
Wintner’s dad grew up on the other side of town, back when scootering on Shabbat was a clear no-go. But in a sign of the changing times, Natan got his first scooter when he was 5 and — save for the broken arm a few years ago — has been riding it ever since.
He expects to grow out of the Razor someday. “I do view it as somewhat childish,” he said. But when he sees parents scootering with their kids, he begins to imagine an older version of himself grabbing the handlebars again.
“I think I speak for most kids when I say that walking isn’t really fun,” he said. “Just being able to push yourself off a scooter and give yourself a little less to do, it really makes a big difference for kids. And it’s just more fun, you know? You get to gain speed.”
The post Orthodox Jews are scootering to synagogue. Will Shabbat ever be the same? appeared first on The Forward.
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Author R.F. Kuang addresses backlash over Israeli character in newest book
The bestselling author R.F. Kuang has broken her silence over backlash to the inclusion of a minor Israeli character in her newest novel, Taipei Story.
The book, published last week, follows a Chinese-American student, Lily Chen, who studies abroad in Taipei hoping to reconnect with her cultural roots and perfect her Mandarin. But she quickly finds that bridging the gap between her Chinese heritage and American upbringing will be more difficult than she imagined.
In May, before the book was published, an excerpt from Taipei Story which included the unnamed Israeli character was leaked online. In a scene that lasts barely two pages, Lily attends a concert featuring a pianist “from Israel” who is described as “a big deal.” The vignette has little bearing on the plot beyond showing how Lily finds catharsis in the music.
Social media critics accused Kuang — who has previously donated special editions of her books to raise money for humanitarian relief organizations in Gaza — of “normalizing Israel” by depicting an Israeli character in a positive light. The topic trended on BookTok (for the uninitiated, TikToks about books), with some users calling on readers to cancel their preorders of the novel and bombard Taipei Story’s GoodReads page with one-star ratings. (So-called “review-bombing” violates GoodReads guidelines.)
Kuang did not comment on the social media-fueled controversy for months.
But in an interview with USA Today and at a book tour stop last week at Sixth & I, a historic Washington, D.C. synagogue, Kuang pushed back on her critics, saying the backlash reflected a misinterpretation of the passage. Video from the event was posted to TikTok, and the Forward independently confirmed with Kuang’s publisher that the recording accurately captured her remarks.
“I want to read charitably the person who’d seen the words ‘Israeli pianist’ and immediately been so afraid that this book was condoning these practices,” said Kuang, who didn’t specify what “these practices” referred to in the clip. “But the fact of the matter is that’s just not what that scene does. That’s not how it was intended, and that’s not how it reads.”
Kuang seemed to say that the scene, which takes place as Lily is in the midst of a personal cultural identity crisis, was actually commentary on the political dynamics underlying cultural encounters.
“I instead wanted to invite the reader to ask questions about what’s going on in this scene, what is this character noticing based on what we know about where she comes from, in the position of an arrogant American study abroad student,” Kuang said. “This scene raises a lot of questions about who gets to move through the world, who is received in what ways, what are geopolitics that undergird something as innocent as a concert.”
The subtext
Kuang, a PhD student at Yale in East Asian Languages and Literatures, has made a name for herself writing critiques of colonialism, imperialism and racism. She has also engaged politically beyond her written work, participating in the charity auction “Unbound for Gaza” in Sept. 2025. A few months later, she withdrew from a literary festival in the United Arab Emirates, citing her support for the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement’s call to boycott the UAE for allegedly supplying weapons to paramilitary groups in the brutal Sudanese civil war.
Kuang’s historical fantasy novels, Babel, or the Necessity of Violence and The Poppy War trilogy, take on British imperialism and the legacy of the Second Sino-Japanese War. Kuang’s foray into literary fiction, Yellowface, critiques cultural appropriation through a satirical account of a white author who passes off her dead Chinese friend’s manuscript as her own.
Taipei Story is an inner monologue that toggles between the narrator’s mundane problems — boy trouble, mosquito bites, unbearable heat — and her musings on colonialism and geopolitics.
Lily notices the “ghosts of Japan everywhere” — remnants from the Japanese occupation of Taiwan following its defeat in the First Sino-Japanese War.
Yet Lily also acknowledges Taiwan doesn’t fit neatly into the framework she learned in history class that “colonialism was bad,” noting that Taiwan never experienced a “decolonial transition” and remains caught between the influence of China and the U.S.
“Taiwan had only ever been passed from occupier to occupier — indeed, to Taiwan’s indigenous peoples, the Han Chinese themselves were occupiers,” Kuang writes. “So who was I to say any occupier was better than the last?”
Lily is also grappling with her own sense of being an outsider in Taiwan — a country her parents, who are from mainland China, have never visited. She hopes that learning Mandarin will help her reclaim a connection to her family’s past, but her grandfather’s death forces her to confront how much of that past she never really knew.
It’s against this backdrop that, roughly three-quarters of the way through the book, the unnamed Israeli pianist comes on stage. The reader is given only a few details about him: It was “his first time in Taiwan,” and he was “a dour-faced man who did not so much as crack a smile as we applauded.”
Later, Lily returns to the concert hall. She remarks that “the audience was not always as well behaved as they had been for the Israeli pianist. That had been a special occasion, it turned out. I rarely saw foreigners in the concert hall after that. Never again did I see a full house.”
Some online have suggested that the scene is “an allegory for the issue of watching Israeli occupation unfold.” Others read it as a commentary on the prestige afforded to foreign artists while Taiwanese artists are overlooked — and, by extension, on which conflicts around the world command our attention. Or perhaps the pianist’s nationality is significant simply because the narrator has a habit throughout the novel of identifying people by where they are from: “an Italian undergraduate,” “a German girl,” a “Hong Kong director.”
If the scene is meant to carry a hidden meaning, Kuang isn’t spelling it out.
Kuang told USA Today she was getting more comfortable moving away from “didactic” modes of storytelling, leaving room for readers to interpret for themselves.
“The risk of that,” she said, “is somebody runs away with the total opposite conclusion of what you’re putting on the page.”
The post Author R.F. Kuang addresses backlash over Israeli character in newest book appeared first on The Forward.
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How can Yiddish fans in Israel benefit from the growing Yiddish scene abroad?
דער הינטערגרונט
די באַציִונגען צווישן ייִדיש-אינסטיטוציעס אין ישׂראל און אין אַמעריקע איז אַ בכּבֿודיקע, אַקטועלע טעמע וואָס דאַרף הײַנט באַהאַנדלט ווערן מיט אַ פֿרישן צוגאַנג. אויף אַלע אַנדערע געביטן ווי זיכערקייט, ווירטשאַפֿט, געזונט און אַקאַדעמיע קאָן מען פֿעסטשטעלן אַז די אָ באַציִונגען זענען ברייט פֿאַרנעמיקע און מ׳קאָן אַפֿילו צוגעבן אַז די שטיצע פֿון אַמעריקאַנער ייִדנטום לטובֿת ישׂראל איז אין אַזאַ מאָס, אַז מ׳וואָלט זיך נישט געקאָנט פֿאָרשטעלן ווי אַ סך פֿון די אינסטיטוציעס וואָלטן פֿונקציאָנירט אָן דעם ריזיקן פֿינאַנציעלן אָנשפּאָר אויפֿן אַמעריקאַנעם ייִדנטום.
און ווי אַזוי זעט עס אויס אויפֿן געביט פֿון ייִדישע קולטור-באַציִונגען? וואָס שייך אַקאַדעמישע אויסטוישן און צוזאַמענאַרבעט אויף וויכטיקע אונטערנעמונגען אין אַמעריקע און אין ישׂראל איז דער מצבֿ אַ נישקשהדיקער. מע קאָן צוגעבן אַז דער תּחום נעמט אַריין אין פֿאַרלויף פֿון די יאָרן אַ פּאָר הונדערטער אַקטיווע אַקאַדעמיקער און אַוואַנסירטע סטודענטן.
ווען מיר טראַכטן זיך אָבער אַרײַן אין דער פֿראַגע, וואָס געשעט מיט דער ברייטערער געזעלשאַפֿט, איז דער מצבֿ אַ גאָר סטאַטישער. דאָס איז אַן אויסדרוק פֿון אַ גאָר באַגרענעצטער, לאָקאַליסטישער באַציִונג צו דעם פֿענאָמען פֿון ייִדישער קולטור אין אירע פֿאַרשידענע אויסדרוקן. אָט די פֿעסטשטעלונג איז גילטיק נישט נאָר לגבי אַמעריקע און ישׂראל, נאָר אויך לגבי אַ סך אַנדערע ייִשובֿים איבער דער וועלט. אין ישׂראל, אויסער דעם אָרטאָדאָקסישן סעקטאָר, זענען מסתּמא כּמעט אַ מיליאָן תּושבֿים אין די לעצטע פּאָר יאָר אַרײַן אינעם קרײַז פֿון ייִדיש-טעטיקייט אַ דאַנק דער אַקטיווער מעדיאַ, פֿייסבוק, פֿילמען און ייִדיש-קרײַזן. אַ ביסל אונטער דעם ראַדאָר, געניסט מען פֿון קונסט, הומאָר, כּלי־זמר-מוזיק. און די צאָל וואַקסט פֿון יאָר צו יאָר. קיין אַנקעטעס האָט מען ביז איצט, צום באַדויערן, נישט געפֿירט — דער עסטאַבלישמענט האָט קיין אינטערעס נישט אין אָט דער דערשײַנונג — און ס׳איז אַ שאָד, ווײַל אויב מ׳וואָלט געקאָנט באַקומען אָביעקטיווע באַווײַזן דערפֿון וואָלט מען געקאָנט נאָכפֿאָלגן די אָ פּראָצעסן און פּרוּוון ווירקן אויף זיי.
דער ברייטער, שוואַך אָרגאַניזירטער ציבור וואָס איז גענייגט צו ייִדיש, ווייסט אַפֿילו נישט, אַז אין 1996 איז אין לאַנד אָנגענומען געוואָרן דאָס געזעץ אויפֿצושטעלן „די נאַציאָנאַלע אינסטאַנץ פֿאַר ייִדישער קולטור“ וואָס איז גאָר טעטיק הײַנטצוטאָג, כאָטש, צום באַדויערן, מיט אַ מינימאַלן בודזשעט. דער דאָזיקער ציבור איז גלײַכגילטיק און כּמעט אין גאַנצן אומבאַוווּסטזיניק פֿון וואָס עס קומט פֿאָר אויפֿן געביט פֿון ייִדיש אין אַמעריקע און אַנדערע לענדער. ספּאָראַדיש, ווען די מעדיאַ גיט איבער וועגן אַ פֿעסטיוואַל, אָדער וועגן אַ קינסטלער וואָס האָט אַרויסגעגעבן אַ קאָמפּאַקטל, הערט מען עפּעס. אָבער דאָס איז אַ טראָפּן אין ים און מען ווייסט גאָרנישט פֿון דער וואַקסנדיקער, קוואַליטאַטיווער ייִדיש-טעטיקייט אין אויסלאַנד. ס׳איז לײַכט זיך פֿאָרשטעלן אַז אַזוינס געשעט אויך אין אַמעריקע און איבער אַנדערע קהילות. גאָר אַנדער איז דער מצבֿ לגבי דער טעמע פֿון חורבן, אָבער דאָס דאַרף נישט גערעכנט ווערן, ווײַל מיטן לערנען די געשיכטע פֿונעם חורבן באַנוצט מען זיך מיט אַ צאָל שפּראַכן ווי ענגליש, רוסיש, שפּאַניש, דײַטש וכדומה אָן זיך אָפּשצוטעלן און אַרײַנקלערן אין דער ראָלע פֿון ייִדיש, ייִדישער קולטור און אַשכּנזישן באַוווּסטזיין.
וואָס טוט מען כּדי צו פֿאַרבעסערן די לאַגע?
היות ווי כ׳בין אַ תּל-אָבֿיבער איז מיר לײַכטער אָנצוהייבן פֿון מײַנע אייגענע קאַנטן און פֿאָרלייגן אַן אַרבעטס-פּלאַן כּדי משפּיע זײַן אויפֿן ענגן, היגן לאָקאַליסטישן ייִדישיזם און פּרוּוון עס אויפֿלעבן. און די לייזונג איז אַ פּשוטע. וואָס מער די אינסטיטוציעס אין וועלכע כ׳בין טעטיק וועלן פֿאַרשפּרייטן ידיעות פֿון וואָס ס׳קומט פֿאָר אין דער ייִדיש-וועלט אין אַמעריקע און אַנדערע לענדער דורך אַלע קאָמוניקיר-מיטלען וואָס מיר האָבן, וועט דער עולם אין ישׂראל, דווקא דער טייל וואָס איז שוין נאָענט צו ייִדיש, אַנטפּלעקן פּלוצעם אַז מיר זענען אַ טייל פֿון אַ ברייטער און רײַכער ווירקלעכקייט. עס וועט אָפּשאַפֿן ס׳געפֿיל פֿון איזאָלאַציע און פֿאַרשטאַרקן ס׳געפֿיל פֿון אָנגעהעריקייט צו אַנדערע קהילות מיט טיפֿע אַשכּנזישע וואָרצלען (נישט נאָר דורכן חורבן.) תּכלית הייסט עס, מיר זאָלן אין ישׂראל פֿאַרשפּרייטן דעם פֿאָרווערטס, ווי אויך די פֿילצאָליקע פּראָגראַמען פֿון ייִוואָ, אַרבעטער-רינג, ייִדיש-בוך-צענטער אאַז״וו, נישט ווי עפּעס וואָס איז ערגעץ-וווּ ווײַט פֿון אונדז, נאָר ווי אַ ווירקלעכקייט וואָס געהערט צו אונדז. מיר נעמען אויף אַלע ייִדישע איבערלעבונגען פֿון אויסלאַנד און מיר ווילן אַז דער ישׂראלדיקער ציבור זאָל אויך געניסן דערפֿון.
שטעלט זיך די פֿראַגע, אין וועלכער מאָס וועט אָט דער צוגאַנג נישט זײַן אויפֿן חשבון פֿון אונדזערע אייגענע טעטיקייטן און ידיעות וואָס מיר מוזן כּסדר פֿאַרשפּרייטן כּדי צוציִען אַן עולם? מע דאַרף געפֿינען דעם גלײַכגעוויכט און לייזונגען כּדי דעם ים פֿון ידיעות זאָל זײַן אויסגעסדרט און דינען די אינטערעסן פֿון יעדן איינעם. צומאָל דאַרף מען זײַן אויסקלײַבעריש און געפֿינען די ריכטיקע מאָס און דעם ריכטיקן ווינקל פֿאַר יעדן תּוכן. דער פּועל-יוצא פֿון אַזאַ שפּאָגל־נײַער סטראַטעגיע וועט העכערן די נײַגעריקייט, די בילדונג און אַקטיוויזם פֿון אונדזערע אָרטיקע מענטשן. זיי וועלן וואַקסן אין צאָל און זיך אַנטוויקלען אויף אַ מער שעפֿערישן אופֿן. ס׳איז אַ סך עפֿעקטיוועער ווי זאָגן „ישׂראלים, זײַט נישט קיין פּראָווינציעלע ייִדישיסטן. ווערט גלאָבאַלע ייִדישיסטן.“ נאָר דאָס קאָן נישט זײַן. ס’קאָן נישט זײַן געצוווּנגען. מען דאַרף ברענגען אין מויל אַרײַן פֿון פּובליקום די אַלע צוציִענדיקע דערשײַנונגען וואָס קומען פֿאָר אין אַמעריקע און איבעראַל. אַזוי אַרום וועלן די ישׂראלים ביסלעכווײַז לאַנדן אויפֿן באָדן פֿון רעאַלן, לעבעדיקן ייִדישיזם פֿון אונדזערע טעג.
פֿון אַ שלל ידיעות ביז אַ בשותּפֿותדיקן הויפּט-באַגריף
אינפֿאָרמאַציעס און פּראָגראַמען זײַנען נישט גענוג. מע מוז אײַנפֿירן פֿרישע באַגריפֿן וועלכע סדרן אויס די אַלע דערשײַנונגען און גיבן זיי אַ ווערט פֿאַרן יחיד. ווען די אָפּנעמערס פֿון אַזוי פֿיל אינפֿאָרמאַציעס אין אייגן לאַנד און אויך פֿון אויסלאַנד וועלן באַגרײַפֿן די ברייטע דימענסיע אין וועלכער זיי טרעטן אַרײַן, וועלן די באַגריפֿן אַשכּנז, איר געשיכטע און ווערטן, פֿאַרוואַנדלט ווערן אין אַ ממשותדיקן יש וואָס יעדער איינער, וווּ נאָר ער געפֿינט זיך, קאָן פֿאַרקערפּערן אין דער טאָג־טעגלעכקייט. ס׳דאַרף פֿאָרקומען אַן אידענטיטעט-מעטאַמאָרפֿאָזע; אַנדערש וועט דער רעזולטאַט בלײַבן גאַנץ כאַאָטיש, אַפֿילו קאַרנאַוואַליש.
למשל, ס׳איז שיין וואָס דער ייִוואָ און אפֿשר אַ געוויסער אוניווערסיטעט לייגן פֿאָר דעם סטודענט און דעם אַלגעמיינעם ציבור פּרטימדיקע פּראָגראַמען וועגן דער אַשכּנזישער ציוויליזאַציע. פּרעכטיק! נאָר וואָס? די אָ פּראָגראַמען באַנוגעגען זיך דערמיט און ציִען נישט צו צו דער עיקר־פֿראַגע, וואָס טוט מען הײַנט מיט אָט דער ציוויליזאַציע? וואָס איז די אַחריות פֿונעם יחיד, פֿון דער משפּחה? ווי אַזוי גיט מען איבער דעם ייִדישן לשון צוזאַמען מיט אַ ברייט-פֿאַרנעמיקן געדאַנק וואָס ענטפֿערט אויף אַ סך פֿראַגעס, גיט אַ געפֿיל פֿון אָנגעהעריקייט און אינספּירירט צו נײַע, שעפֿערישע מעשׂים.
נאָך אַ ביישפּיל. דער אַרבעטער-רינג אין ניו-יאָרק, מיט אַלע זײַנע פֿיליעס אין פֿאַרשידענע שטעט, פֿירט דורך ערנסטע פּראָגראַמען זיך צו לערנען מאַמע-לשון, פֿײַערן יום-טובֿים און אויך, לויט זייער וועלט-אָנשויונג, אַנטוויקלט אַ געזעלשאַפֿטלעכן אַקטיוויזם וואָס שפּיגלט אָפּ די ווערטן און בירגערלעכע התחייבֿות כּלפּי דעם לאַנד וווּ ייִדן געפֿינען זיך. די דאָזיקע שטעלונג ווערט ליידער נישט דערגאַנצט מיט אַן ערנסטן אַקטיוויזם לטובֿת דער אייגענער ייִדיש-אַשכּנזישער אידענטיטעט. דעריבער איז זײַן השפּעה אויפֿן אַלגעמיינעם אַמעריקאַנער ייִדנטום זייער אַ באַשיידענער. אויך דער פֿאָרווערטס, וואָס שפּילט אַ צענטראַלע שליחות אין צונויפֿברענגען ענגלישע און ייִדישע לייענערס פֿון אומעטום, טוט עס אָן דעם ציל צו אַקטיווירן די רײַכע קוואַלן פֿון דער אַשכּנזישער אידענטיטעט. עס באַקומט זיך, ווי אַ האַלבע אַרבעט און מען מוז טראַכטן וואָס דאַרף דרינגענדיק געטאָן ווערן כּדי איר השפּעה זאָל וואַקסן און ווערן מער רעלעוואַנט.
אַ לעצטער בײַשפּיל. וואָס קאָן זײַן שלעכט, אויב דער YBC אין אַמהערסט וועט זיך פֿון צײַט צו צײַט דערלויבן איבערזעצן אויף ענגליש אויסגעקליבענע ווערק פֿון הײַנטיקע ייִדישע פּּאָעטן און שרײַבער פֿוֿן פֿאַרשידענע לענדער? פֿאַראַן אַ חשש צוליב די האָנאָראַרן וואָס מ׳וועט די מחברים דאַרפן צאָלן? כ’מיין אַז דער YBC איז שוין גובֿר געווען אויף מער ערנסטע, פֿינאַניעלע פֿאַרמעסטן. ס׳וועט אויך זײַן יושרדיק כּלפּי די מחברים וואָס זייערע ווערק ן זענען נישט זוכה צו קיין סטימול אָדער וועלכע-עס-איז סטיפּענדיע.
אויסווירקונג אויפֿן אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישיזם
אין מאָמענט ווען ייִדיש-אינסטיטוציעס אין אַמעריקע וועלן עפֿענען אַ פֿענצטער צו דאָס וואָס געשעט אויפֿן געביט פֿון ייִדיש אין ישׂראל און אין אַנדערע לענדער, וועט עס בהדרגהדיק פֿאַרבעסערן דעם מצבֿ און באַרײַכערן זייער אייגענע טעטיקייט. ס׳רעדט זיך נישט וועגן פֿאַרקלענערן איין פֿאָקוס אויפֿן חשבון פֿון צווייטן, נאָר גיכער וועגן שאַפֿן אַ נײַעם פֿאָקוס וואָס וועט נערן דעם נײַגער פֿון די אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישיסטן. דאָס וועט עפֿענען אַ ריזיקן פּראָצעס פֿון קעגנזייטיקייט. אַנדערש באַקומט זיך, אַז די הײַנטיקע ייִדיש-טעטיקייט באַקומט אַן עליטיסטישן פּראָפֿיל, און ווען מ׳ווענדט זיך שוין יאָ צו ברייטערע קרייזן פֿון דער באַפֿעלקערונג איז עס על-פּי-רובֿ מיטן פּנים צו דער פֿאַרגאַנגענהייט. הײַנט רעדט מען אָפֿט אין אַלגעמיינע, כּוללדיקע באַגריפֿן, נאָר ס׳איז נישט פֿאַראַן אַ קלאָרער אַדרעסאַנט, דאָס הייסט די אַשכּנזישע-אַמעריקאַנער ייִדן און וואָס דערוואַרט מען פֿון זיי.
די וואָרצלען פֿון אָט דער פּראָבלעמאַטיק ליגן אין דער טראַדיציאָנעלער אידעאָלאָגיע פֿון ייִדישיזם. היסטאָריש האָט זיך די אָ אידעאָלאָגיע אַנטוויקלט צוזאַמען מיטן באַגריף פֿון וועלטלעכקייט. די פֿירנדיקע כּוחות פֿון ייִדישיזם — בכלל, נישט נאָר אין אַמעריקע — האָבן זיך דערווײַטערט פֿון דער אָרטאָדאָקסיע און אויסקריסטאַליזירט אַן אידעאָלאָגיע וואָס שפּיגלט אָפּ ס׳ייִדישע לעבן זינט דער השׂכּלה ביזן סעקולערן ייִדישיזם וואָס הערשט הײַנט. און דאָס איז זײַן שוואַכקייט. דער כּוח פֿון דער אַשכּנזישער וויזיע שטעקט אין דעם, וואָס עס ברענגט צוזאַמען רעליגיע און וועלטלעכקייט, און שטיצט זיך נישט נאָר אויף מאָדערנאַ. דאָ ליגט דער הויפּט-מכשול וואָס באַשווערט די ייִדישיסטן זיך באַוועגן אויף די גאָר ברייטע שליאַכן פֿון אַשכּנז. אמת איז, אַז עס הערשט נישט הײַנט צווישן די ייִדישיסטן די אַקטיווע אַנטי-רעליגיעזקייט ווי אַ מאָל. אָבער דאָס מיינט נאָך נישט אַז ער האָט דערגרייכט די רײַפֿקייט צו אַקצעפּטירן אַלע טיילן פֿון ייִדישן קיום ווי זייער אייגענע קולטור־ירושה. אַ ייִד קאָן דערקלערן אַז ער איז אַ סעקולערער און דערצו אויך אונטערשטרײַכן די וואָגיקייט פֿון רעליגיע אין דער ייִדישער געשיכטע און אין זײַן הײַנטיקן באַוווּסטזיין.
דער ייִדישיזם אין אַמעריקע פֿאַרמאָגט שטאַרק אײַנגעפֿונדעוועטע אינסטיטוציעס. דאָך פֿעלט אים אַ ברייטער געוועב מיט פֿעדערלעך וואָס זאָל אים פֿאַרבינדן מיט ברייטע ייִדישע קהילות, סײַ אין אַמעריקע און סײַ איבער דער וועלט. ווען דער ייִוואָ איז אין ווילנע געשאַפֿן געוואָרן אין 1925 האָט ער פֿאַרמאָגט די העכסטע אינטעלעקטועלע כּוחות פֿון ייִדישיזם און גלײַכצײַטיק איז ער געווען געקניפּט און פֿאַרבונדן מיט הונדערטער קהילות איבער אייראָפּע. כּדי עפּעס ענלעכס זאָל איצט אויפֿקומען, מוז דער ניו-יאָרקער ייִוואָ אָנהייבן באַטראַכטן דעם מצבֿ אַנדערש, און צו דעם וואָס ווערט שוין געטאָן אויף די געביטן פֿון פֿאָרשונג, לימוד, השׂכּלה און קונסט, אַנטוויקלען אויך אַ סענסיטיווקייט צו אַלע געזעלשאַפֿטלעכע- און קולטור-דערשײַנונגען וואָס קומען פֿאָר אויפֿן געביט פֿון ייִדיש אין ישׂראל און איבעראַל.
לאָמיר האָפֿן אַז אַ נײַע דינאַמיק וועט זיך אין דער נאָענטער צוקונפֿט אַנטוויקלען און פֿון אַלע מעגלעכע ריכטונגען וועלן מיר זײַן עדות צו אַ גרויסן צונויפֿגאָס פֿון שטרעמונגען, און אַ מער אָנזעעוודיקער שעפֿערישקייט פֿון דער ייִדיש-קולטור אין אַ וועלט-מאָסשטאַב.
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The cancellation of Macklemore: A Yom Kippur reflection
In the Jewish calendar, this week is dedicated to reflection, introspection, and review of one’s thoughts and actions. The shofar has been sounded on Rosh Hashanah; Yom Kippur is on its way. Whether in traditional, theistic forms or less traditional, psychological ones, the Jewish tradition invites us to look inward.
It is in that spirit that I am reflecting on the latest tempest in the American Jewish teapot: the decision of billionaire Robert Kraft to ban the rapper Macklemore from performing at his stadium because of a statement he made onstage in support of Palestine — a decision echoed by other politically conservative stadium owners, which in turn caused superstar Ed Sheeran to boot Macklemore from his latest tour.
To be sure, this is hardly the most important chapter of the Israel/Palestine story. Just this week, bombs are still falling on Gaza, B’Tzelem released a must-read new report on Israel’s eliminationist policies in the West Bank, and an actual neo-Nazi is likely to win a seat in the Florida house of representatives. If anything, Macklemore’s cancellation will probably have a net-positive ‘Streisand Effect’ on his well-past-its-prime career.
But this relatively small controversy is nonetheless a fascinating prism on how we see differently, hear differently, and talk past one another on moral, political and ultimately spiritual matters of importance. And that has much to do with the themes of the Days of Awe.
My focus is not on who was right. Ultimately, I think Macklemore’s comments were lacking in depth and sophistication, but clearly not “hate speech,” which is how Kraft — the self-appointed macher of the widely-mocked ‘Blue Square’ anti-antisemitism campaign — described it. And I will explain why I believe that to be the case.
But I also don’t believe Kraft’s actions to be in bad faith. It is possible that he is simply using his wealth and power to ban political speech that he doesn’t agree with. And in practice, that is what he has done. But reviewing his comments, and those of friends of mine on social media, I am inclined to take Kraft and my friends at their word: that they experience Macklemore’s words as hateful. And because I disagree with that, I’m interested in why.
The rapper’s entire statement took two minutes. I encourage you to watch it now, since the tone and context are important, and since it’s faster to watch than to read:
A full transcript is here.
Two other bits of context, not present in the vieven if no such threat was present in that moment, video are relevant: First, images from the Gaza war were projected on a screen behind him, and second, back in 2014, Macklemore once wore a costume that looked, to many of us, like an antisemitic caricature, though he issued a persuasive (to me) and detailed apology, saying that this was not intentional.
In response, Kraft issued a (longer) statement saying that his venue, Gillette Stadium,
has a longstanding commitment to providing a welcoming environment for all guests and ensuring that events held at our venue do not provide a platform for hate speech. Based on Macklemore’s recent actions, material shared from the stage during Ed Sheeran’s shows in New Jersey, and a broader history of antisemitic rhetoric and imagery that we believe has been deeply offensive and hurtful to the Jewish community, we determined that his participation in the September 25th and 26th concerts at Gillette Stadium would cross that line.
Kraft added that his decision “is not about diminishing the suffering of innocent Palestinians or denying anyone the right to advocate on their behalf… but only sharing selective information and ignoring the actions of Hamas is not honest and only advances more divisiveness and hate… I would welcome the opportunity to sit down with Macklemore and discuss the facts, because ultimately our goal is the same — peace for all people, an end to suffering, and an end to all hate.”
I admit, my first response was amazement that any reasonable person could find what Macklemore said to be antisemitic. He spoke only about Israel’s actions, not its existence. He didn’t attack Zionism. He specifically distinguished between Israel and Jewish people. What more could he do?
Sure, the statement had its shortcomings. It didn’t mention Oct. 7 or condemn Hamas. It didn’t forcefully condemn antisemitism, or emphasize that strong criticism of Israel should not be taken out on Jews. The guy is a rapper, not a politician — even when he says nice things (e.g. the 2012 song “Same Love”), he’s often been clunky about it.
But hate speech?
Kraft didn’t really elaborate into what, exactly, ‘crossed the line’ for him. The best I can find in his statement is “only sharing selective information and ignoring the actions of Hamas is not honest and only advances more divisiveness and hate.” That seems preposterous to me. Maybe Macklemore’s statement was incomplete, but that doesn’t make it hate speech.
Others, in my own social media feed, have been more articulate. Echoing the statements of several prominent rabbis, some said that Macklemore’s uses of ‘apartheid’ and ‘genocide’ are themselves so inaccurate, extreme and vitriolic as to themselves be antisemitic. Others referred to the 2014 incident. Some even argued that saying ‘Free Palestine’ is equivalent to saying ‘Destroy Israel.’
To me, the most trenchant criticisms focused on context. Imagine, one person said, what it would be like to be a Jewish person in the stands, suddenly confronted with political speech that has been used to incite violence against Jews; even if no such threat was present in that moment, it’s easy to imagine being scared by it. One friend of mine pointed out that this wasn’t even Macklemore’s show; it was an opening act for Ed Sheeran, who is relentlessly apolitical. The comments would’ve been a surprise, even a shock.
These comments point to the real issue here, which is American Jewish pain and fear. And there are many sides to this experience.
On the one hand, I get it. I have personally experienced this sense of unsafety and exclusion in queer spaces where I have been confronted with much farther-left statements than Macklemore’s. I’ve heard calls for Zionists (whatever that word means) to be banned from my queer community, even expelled from queer spaces. I’ve heard (and written about) the most incendiary possible rhetoric directed at Israel, full of self-righteousness, certitude and rage. And I’ve seen a lack of accountability for the stochastic terrorism that language represents, including from the mayor of New York City.
On the other hand, I also know that the censure is one-sided. At the recent ‘Jewish American Summit,’ a speaker made wildly bigoted, anti-Muslim comments and was applauded by the crowd; no condemnation followed, even from the ADL, which cosponsored the event. Pro-genocide minister Itamar Ben Gvir shared an AI video of Palestinians being marched, concentration-camp-style, into an Israeli jail, where they emerge starved an emaciated; mission accomplished, Ben Gvir crowed. Crickets from the Jewish Establishment.
Mayor Mamdani was criticized for not marching in the Israel Day Parade, and then Bezalel Smotrich, who has unambiguously called for genocide against the Palestinian people, was welcomed by it. A relatively anodyne pro-Palestinian statement by a rapper is grounds for national cancellation, but calls for mass expulsion (or murder) by people without actual power are part of the ‘big tent.’
Some in the community have been clear on this: They are going to support the Jewish state because that is what good Jews do. So, yes, there’s a double-standard, they might reply, because one person is attacking us and the other is not.
Admittedly, there is ample Jewish textual support for this position. But there are plenty of proof-texts I can bring for the opposing point of view: that we must judge people fairly, that all humans are created in the image of the Divine, that being biased toward our own group is a shortcoming, not a virtue. And that when injustices are committed, even by those who are in our community, it is our duty to oppose them.
The Torah doesn’t say “justice, justice shall you pursue — except when it comes to Jews versus Palestinians.”
Most importantly, just because words can make us feel scared, angry, attacked, or unsafe does not mean that they constitute hate speech. This is what Kraft and others like him seem unwilling to see: that we can feel attacked without actually being attacked. That words can be painful but not hateful.
Admittedly, the ‘wokeness’ of the early 2020s has played a role in this confusion. At the peak of that period, we were told that impact mattered more than intent — that even if a comment were made innocently, if it caused someone to feel unsafe, it was deserving of censure. And then, in 2023, many Jews picked up the same thread. Sure, “From the River to the Sea” could be interpreted in a benign way (e.g. as wanting freedom for all people in the area) but if I hear it as a call for annihilating Israel and/or the Jews, then the phrase is hate speech.
But this principle was always misguided. People can say difficult, disagreeable, and wrong things without those things being actual hate speech. People may perceive threats without there being actual threats.
This is not unique to Israel/Palestine, or to politics. Fear and anger can block the better angels of our nature. I struggle with this every day; if there is one theme that recurs every Yom Kippur, it is working with anger and reactivity in my own life. Might that not apply to our public as well as our private lives? Is what seems like ‘righteous indignation’ sometimes just… indignation?
In fact, maybe some of the reason I feel unsafe is that I know that Israel has behaved in appalling and immoral ways, and I feel implicated by it. I grew up loving Israel, and it has been painful to watch its decline into vulgar, jingoistic and often racist ethno-nationalism. But that pain might not be a bad thing. On the contrary, it merits some reflection on the Day of Atonement.
As Yom Kippur insists, we can do better than reacting, half-unconsciously, to our emotional perceptions. As Viktor Frankl famously said,
Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.
Teshuvah, the Jewish practice of ‘repentance’ and return, is designed to enlarge that space, to grow our capacity for freedom. We can do better, teshuvah insists.
I believe Robert Kraft, and many of my own friends, sincerely feel threatened by statements like Macklemore’s. I have felt similarly, at times, myself. But without more evidence (and one idiotic act in 2014 is not that), we owe it to one another and to the hope of a civil society to pause in that space between stimulus and response, and reflect on what is really being said.
What I see is a celebrity championing the cause of an oppressed population. He is misguided in various ways, but he is coming from a place of genuine concern, not bigotry. Would not the better response have been for Kraft to invite him into a conversation first, rather than campaign to have him banned across the country? Had Kraft done better here, might Macklemore also have done better in the future, even if the two continue to disagree?
This incident will likely not be remembered much in the future. It is less important than a single life lost in Gaza or Israel. But it is a window into how our human capacities and failings perpetuate cycles of conflict and miscommunication. On Yom Kippur this year, I’ll be reflecting on how I am part of those cycles myself, and how I can do better. I invite you to join me.
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