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Rachel Freier is one unusual woman: civil court judge, parademic, Hasid and mother of 6
Rachel “Ruchie” Freier was the first Hasidic woman to be elected a civil court judge in New York. That is just one of many accomplishments for this mother of six who blows away preconceived ideas about what religious Jews can accomplish in the secular world.
Freier also formed B’Derech, a nonprofit that helps provide education for adolescents in the Hasidic community. And she became a paramedic after she helped found Ezras Nashim, an all-women’s volunteer EMT service. What unites her various roles is a desire to serve God, she says, and that’s what keeps her rooted in her religious upbringing.
In our interview, she discusses the changing public perception of Hasidim and relations between religious and secular Jews.
There have been a string of books and TV series on Jews who have rejected Hasidism. What do you think of the negative portrayal of Hasidism in the media?
That’s a great question, and it’s always bothered me going back years ago. I think now that there’s so much social media and so much more access, Hasidim are coming forward and opening up. A little bit of that misunderstanding has been cleared. When people choose to be insular—and for good reasons—these are going to be the side effects of insularity. While there’s a lot of good to be done when you want to insulate your family and your children from outside forces, there’s some information that the outside should get to know.
You are the first Hasid to serve in many of your roles. Do you feel pressure to represent all Hasidim in public life?
I always make it very clear that I just speak for myself. But when I speak my own opinion, it opens up a lot of windows and doors that were shut previously. So, it wasn’t like some umbrella agency said, “Ruchie here is our representative. Listen to what she’s saying because she is the voice of the people.” No, and the fact that I’m not any official representative gives me much more latitude to sit down on the sofa and just talk and share things without thinking about what my boss wants me to say. I only have to answer to God.”
Are you stretching what is considered acceptable for women to accomplish in your community? And do you face any kind of backlash?
It depends on what capacity. I do many things in terms of serving in law and being a judge. I don’t have backlash for that. In my volunteer work, where I created a volunteer EMS agency for women, I have backlash. It depends on who you’re referring to because people have to understand that Hasidim are not monolithic. We don’t always agree on everything. And that’s perfectly fine.
You have six children, grandchildren, and a full career and public life. What is the secret to juggling it all?
One thing I have is a very supportive husband and a supportive mother. If you don’t have the support of your family, of your loved ones, then you’re really climbing an uphill battle. That’s what makes it possible. And the other thing is I pray a lot. I’m doing this with the intention only of creating a kiddush Hashem, to sanctify God’s name. That’s my only goal. I don’t do this for any financial gain. I do it because I feel that the more we understand each other, the more bridges can be made. I speak to diverse audiences, and they always say, by the time I finish speaking, that we have more in common that unites us than that which divides us.
That’s one of the themes of the Z3. What is the state of relations now between religious and secular Jews right now?
As time has gone on, and the Hasidim have multiplied and become a larger population, we’re more open to understanding that while we’re insular, there are segments of society that we can participate in. We see they have gone on to college and have gone out to work. They can’t be ignored anymore. Maybe in the past generation, we were dealing with Holocaust survivors, and they were happy just rebuilding and sticking together as a tight-knit community. Now, as third-generation Americans, we are participating more in the American system in a good way.
How does your background in Judaism impact the decisions you make in a legal setting?
What’s really interesting is the court itself is always looking for diversity on the bench, And the reason for that is to have a bench that’s more understanding of the people that we serve. Everybody’s a human being with their own unique background—whether it’s someone on the bench with a strong Jewish background or a Catholic background. The fact that I have a religious upbringing helps the bench with the Torah values of pursuing justice. And the Mishnah is replete with admonishing judges on how they have to behave. The religious values that I was raised with give me the foundation that I need to be the best judge that I can be.
You mentioned that you speak to a diverse group of people in your work. What do you think unites us all as Jews?
What unites us, first of all, is our heritage, that we’re one nation. And no matter how you look at another person, at the end of the day, that’s one very important part that unites us. But what happens is there’s so much fluff that gets in the way. The typical thing that I’m going to hear from anybody who doesn’t really know Hasidim is, “They don’t work.” I know so many people who really work hard to make a living. It’s one of these statements that have been passed down for decades. They also say, “They don’t like us. They hate us.” How do you know? You ever invite someone to your home for a Shabbos dinner and try to be friendly? Maybe if you were friendly, you’d get a different reaction. Sometimes, stereotypes and politics get in the way. That’s why I like the Z3 concept. Take them out of where they’re always sitting, put them in a different place, put them together, and say, “Talk. Just start talking.” And it may just change the way you think.
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The post Rachel Freier is one unusual woman: civil court judge, parademic, Hasid and mother of 6 appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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NYU student draws hate crime charges for flying flag with swastikas, Star of David over campus building
(New York Jewish Week) — A New York University student is facing hate crime charges for allegedly raising a flag depicting a Star of David, two swastikas and the letters “NYU” over a university building during commencement last month.
Alexander Stepnowsky, 23, of Fairfield, Connecticut, was arrested Tuesday afternoon on the Lower East Side of Manhattan and charged with one count of hate crime burglary, two counts of aggravated harassment and one count of criminal trespassing in a hate crime, according to the New York City Police Department.
An NYU spokesperson said Stepnowsky would also face discipline from the university.
“The symbols that were represented are antisemitic and hateful to every person of conscience; this appalling act violated our sense of community and solidarity,” said the spokesperson, Wiley Norvell. “In addition to criminal proceedings, we will immediately pursue our disciplinary procedures, which carry the most severe consequences.”
The arrest comes as NYU has faced heightened scrutiny over antisemitism and anti-Israel rhetoric on its campus in recent years. In 2024, the school revised its hate speech policy to define slurs against “Zionists” as potentially in violation of its harassment code. During this year’s commencement, the school withheld the diploma of student who used his address to accuse Israel of genocide.
The flag depicting the swastikas flew briefly over the roof of New York University’s Steinhardt building, named for the major Jewish philanthropists Michael and Judy Steinhardt, during the school’s commencement on May 13.
Michael Steinhardt is a co-founder of Birthright, the organization that underwrites free trips to Israel for young Jewish adults.
Stepnowsky pleaded not guilty at his arraignment Wednesday and was released without bail, according to CBS News.
The office of Stepnowsky’s lawyer, Vickie Mwitanti, declined to comment.
The post NYU student draws hate crime charges for flying flag with swastikas, Star of David over campus building appeared first on The Forward.
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Research studies in Yiddish by noted historians, now in English
מיט װאָס זײַנען די היסטאָרישע פֿאָרשונגען אױף ייִדיש אַנדערש פֿון די, װאָס זײַנען אָנגעשריבן געװאָרן אױף אַנדערע שפּראַכן? ווי עס שרײַבט ד״ר מאַרק סמיט, דער רעדאַקטאָר פֿון דער אַנטאָלאָגיע „דאָס בּױען און טרייסטן אַ פֿאָלק: ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע היסטאָריקער אין זײערע אײגענע װערטער“, איז דער פֿאָקוס פֿון די ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע פֿאָרשונגען געװען אױף די אינערלעכע זײַטן פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן.
דערצו נאָך, שרײַבט סמיט, איז זײער קוק אױף דער ייִדישער געשיכטע כּסדר געווען פּאָזיטיװ, „להיפּוך צו די אַנדערע היסטאָריקער, ייִדן און ניט־ייִדן, װאָס האָבן אין זײערע שטודיעס באַטאָנט יסורים און רדיפֿות פֿון ייִדן“.
די אַנטאָלאָגיע נעמט אַרײַן 49 אױסצוגן פֿון ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע היסטאָרישע װערק. דאָס רובֿ פֿון זײ שטאַמען פֿון דער ערשטער העלפֿט פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט.
די טעקסטן זײַנען צעטײלט אין זיבן טעמאַטישע אָפּטײלן, װאָס שפּיגלען אָפּ די הױפּט־ריכטונגען פֿון פֿאָרשונגען: ייִדישע קהילה־אױטאָנאָמיע; קולטור, עקאָנאָמיק און געזעלשאַפֿט; באַציִונגען מיט די אַרומיקע אומות־העולם; ייִדישע ליטעראַטור; פּרעסע און קאָמוניקאַציעס; ייִדישע דערציִונג, און ביכער־רעצענזיעס.
יעדער אָפּטײל באַהאַנדלט די געהעריקע טעמע כראָנאָלאָגיש, פֿון פֿריִערע צײַטן ביזן חורבן. אַזױ באַקומט דער לײענער אַ ברײטן באַגריף פֿון דער היסטאָרישער אַנטװיקלונג פֿון יענעם אַסקעפּט פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן.
דער ענין פֿון דער ייִדישער אױטאָנאָמיע האָט לעצטנס אַרויסגערופֿן אַ נײַעם אינטערעס מצד די קעגנערס פֿון מדינת־ישׂראל און איר פּאָליטיק. אַ סימן איז דער גרױסער דערפֿאָלג פֿון מאָלי קראַבעפּלס בוך װעגן דעם בונד, װאָס טענהט, אַז די פּראָגראַם פֿון דער נאַציאָנאַל־קולטורעלער אױטאָנאָמיע איז געװען בילכער פֿונעם ציוניסטישן פּראָיעקט פֿון ייִדישער מלוכישקײט.
דער גײַסטיקער פֿאָטער פֿון דער פּאָליטישער פּראָגראַם פֿון ייִדישער נאַציאָנאַל־קולטורעלער אױטאָנאָמיע אין גלות איז געװען דער היסטאָריקער שמעון דובנאָװ, וואָס איז, אַגבֿ, ניט געווען קײן בונדיסט, נאָר אַן אָנפֿירער פֿון דער ליבעראַל־דעמאָקראַטישער פֿאָלקספּאַרטײ.
די אַנטאָלאָגיע עפֿנט זיך מיט פֿראַגמענטן פֿון זײַן איבערזיכט „אױטאָנאָמיע אין דער ייִדישער געשיכטע“ אינעם ערשטן באַנד פֿון דער „אַלגעמײנער ענציקלאָפּעדיע“, װאָס איז אַרױס אין פּאַריז אין 1934.
װי אַ היסטאָריקער, האָט דובנאָװ געװאָלט אײַנװאָרצלען ייִדישע פּאָליטיק אינעם ייִדישן עבֿר. ער האָט געפֿונען אַ היסטאָרישן מוסטער פֿאַר דער מאָדערנער ייִדישער אױטאָנאָמיע אינעם „װעד ארבע אַרצות“ (ראַט פֿון די פֿיר לענדער), דעם הױפּט־אָרגאַן פֿונעם פּױלישן ייִדנטום אינעם 17טן און 18טן יאָרהונדערט.
אָבער װי עס האָבן דערװיזן אַנדערע היסטאָריקער, אַזעלכע װי ישׂראל סאָסיס, רפֿאל מאַלער און יצחק (איגנאַצי) שיפּער, האָט דובנאָװ שטאַרק אידעאַליזירט די ראָלע פֿונעם װעד.
דער װעד איז, דער עיקר, געװען פֿאַרטאָן אין זאַמלען געלט פֿון ייִדישע קהילות אױף צו שטיצן די אײגענע פֿירערשאַפֿט און צעטײלן כאַבאַר צו פּױלישע מאַגנאַטן. בלױז אַ פּאָר פּראָצענט פֿונעם בודזשעט האָט דער װעד אױסגעגעבן אױף די נױטן פֿונעם כּלל.
צום סוף האָט דער װעד ן באַנקראָטירט צוליב די ריזיקע חובֿות צו קאַטױלישע קלױסטערס. אין 1764 האָט דער פּױלישער סײם (פּאַרלאַמענט) ליקװידירט דעם װעד און באַשלאָסן צו זאַמלען שטײַערן פֿון ייִדן אױפֿן מאָדערנעם שטײגער, פֿון יחידים אַנשטאָט קהילות.
דער ערשטער טײל פֿון בוך ענדיקט זיך מיטן קאַפּיטל, ייִדישע ׳אױטאָנאָמיע׳: די יודענראַטן אונטער דער נאַציסטישער אָקופּאַציע“. דאָס איז אַ קאָמפּילאַציע פֿון דרײַ אַרטיקלען פֿון ישעיהו טרונק, װאָס אַנטפּלעקט װי זײַן נעגאַטיװע אָפּשאַצונג פֿון יודענראַטן איז געװאָרן מילדער מיט דער צײַט. ער האָט דערזען אַז אײניקע אָנפֿירער פֿון יודענראַטן האָבן טאַקע געפּרוּװט העלפֿן ייִדן אין די געטאָס.
גענומען אין אײנעם, װײַזן די דאָזיקע קאַפּילטען, אַז ייִדן האָבן קײן מאָל ניט געהאַט קײן פֿולע פּאָליטישע אױטאָנאָמיע. די חױפּט־פֿונקציע פֿון דער ייִדישער קהילה־אױטאָנאָמיע איז געװען אונטערצושטיצן באַציִונגען מיט דער הערשנדיקער מאַכט.
דאָס רובֿ אױסגעקליבענע טעקסטן באַהאַנדלען טעמעס, װאָס האָבן צו טאָן מיטן ייִדישן כּלל אָבער ניט מיט חשובֿע יחידים. און װען עס גײט די רײד טאַקע יאָ װעגן יחידים, זײַנען דאָס כּסדר געװען כּלל־טוער. למשל פֿיליפּ פֿרידמאַנס אַרטיקל דערצײלט װעגן דעם גאַליציאַנער משׂכּיל יוסף פּערל (1773־1839), דעם גרינדער פֿון דער ערשטער מאָדערנער ייִדישער שול אין טאַרנעפּל (הײַנט אין אוקראַיִנע) אין 1813.
עס פֿעלן דאָ אָבער װיכטיקע היסטאָריש־ביאָגראַפֿישע פֿאָרשונגען װעגן אײנצלנע ייִדישע שרײַבער, דיכטער, אַקטיאָרן און קינסטלער. דער דאָזיקער בלױז שפּיגלט אָפּ דעם רעדאַקטאָרס קוק אױף ייִדן אין מיזרח־אײראָפּע װי אַ „נאַציאָנאַלער גרופּע, װאָס װערט באַשטימט דורך דער בשותּפֿותדיקער געשיכטע און קולטור“. אַזױ באַקומט זיך, אַז די היסטאָרישע ראָלע פֿון אַ יחיד, אַפֿילו אַזאַ גאון װי מענדעלע מוכר־ספֿרים, איז ניט זוכה אַ ספּעציעלן קאַפּיטל.
די צװײ צענטערס פֿון ייִדישער היסטאָרישער פֿאָרשונג צװישן די בײדע װעלט־מלחמות זײַנען געװען אין פּױלן און אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. אין די 1920ער יאָרן האָבן בײדע צענטערס נאָך געקענט אונטערהאַלטן קאָנטאַקטן. אין די 1930ער יאָרן איז דער אידעאָלאָגישער און פּאָליטישער דרוק מצד דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד געװאָרן אַ סך האַרבער, און מען האָט שױן מער ניט געקענט שאַפֿן װערטפֿולע און אָריגינעלע היסטאָרישע װערק. אַזױ איז געװען דער גורל פֿון סאָסיס, װעלכער איז אַרױסגעטריבן געװאָרן פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ אין 1931 און האָט פֿאַרלױרן זײַן שטעלע אין דער װיסנשאַפֿט־אַקאַדעמיע פֿון בעלאַרוס.
אין פּױלן, להיפּוך, איז אױפֿגעקומען אַ נײַער דור ייִדישע היסטאָריקער, אַזעלכע װי רפֿאל מאַלער, עמנואל רינגלבלום און פֿיליפּ פֿרידמאַן, װאָס האָבן שטודירט געשיכטע אין פּױלישע אוניװערסיטעטן און האָבן געקענט דרוקן זײערע װערק אין אַקאַדעמישע זשורנאַלן אױף ייִדיש און פּױליש.
אינעם װאַרשעװער געטאָ האָט רינגלבלום אָרגאַניזירט דעם היסטאָרישן אַרכיװ „עונג־שבת“, װאָס האָט געזאַמלט מאַטעריאַלן װעגן דעם לעבן און טױט אינעם געטאָ. ער און כּמעט אַלע מיטאַרבעטער זײַנע זײַנען אומגעקומען אינעם חורבן.
די, װאָס האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן – מאַלער, פֿרידמאַן, טרונק און אַנדערע — האָבן ממשיך געװען זײער אַרבעט, לכתּחילה אין פּױלן און שפּעטער אין אַמעריקע אָדער ישׂראל. דאָרט האָבן זײ געאַרבעט דער עיקר אין ייִװאָ און יד־ושם, און זײער פֿאָרשערישע טעמע איז געװאָרן דער חורבן.
מאַרק סמיט האָט אָנגעהױבן זאַמלען מאַטעריאַלן פֿאַר דער אַנטאָלאָגיע מיט צװאַנציק יאָר צוריק. די ייִדישע אָריגינאַלן פֿון װערטפֿולע היסטאָרישע װערק זײַנען צעזײט און צעשפּרײט איבער אַלטע צײַטשריפֿטן, װאָס לרובֿ זײַנען זײ ניט צוטריטלעך עלעקטראָניש. די אַנטאָלאָגיע אַנטפּלעקט די דאָזיקע רײַכע ירושה פֿאַרן ברײטערן עולם לײענער, און זי װעט זײַן ספּעציעל ניצלעך פֿאַר לערער און סטודענטן פֿון ייִדישער געשיכטע.
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In the course of his 104 years, he resisted the Nazis, fought against blood libel and became a towering Jewish intellectual
Today, in a public ceremony held at Les Invalides, President Emmanuel Morin led the French Fifth Republic in paying its last respects to one of the nation’s great public figures, Edgar Morin, whose 104 years spanned the Third and Fourth Republics as well. He was a sociologist, philosopher, writer, film director and screenwriter. But Morin’s real profession was as an intellectual.
There is a vast literature on the character and career of the French intellectual — much of it written by intellectuals — just as there is much disagreement on when this social type first appeared. Some historians reach back as far as the Enlightenment and the role played by les philosophes like Voltaire in their struggle for political liberty and religious toleration, while other historians argue that the modern intellectual burst onto the scene more than a century later with the Dreyfus Affair.
It was at that pivotal moment in late 19th century France that the word “intellectuel” gained currency. Used as a term of scorn by antisemites like Maurice Barrès, they believed Captain Alfred Dreyfus was guilty of treason precisely because he was Jewish. As for those “intellectuals” who defended Dreyfus, Barrès dismissed them as “aristocrats of thought who boasted they did not think like the vile crowd.” Yet those same intellectuals, led by the novelist Émile Zola, gladly embraced the description. Convinced that objective reason and truth made Dreyfus’ innocence clear, they believed, as Zola famously declared, that “truth is on the march.”
But, as Morin always insisted, truth is complex. So, too, was his career, which in many ways reflects the origin story of the French intellectual. Born as Edgar Nahoum in Paris in 1921, his parents were Jewish immigrants from Salonica, a city that had been home to Greece’s largest Jewish community until World War II. (Nearly 90% of the community, some 54,000 men, women, and children were eventually murdered in Nazi death camps.) A precocious student, Nahoum spent his days in libraries studying German philosophers like Hegel and his nights in cinemas studying French films directed by the likes of Marcel Pagnol.
Yet everything changed, including his name, come France’s defeat and occupation by Nazi Germany in 1940. Making his way to the Unoccupied Zone, the 20-year-old Nahoum, who had been a pacifist before the war, soon joined both the banned Communist Party and the French Resistance. By 1944 and liberation, Nahoum had not only become a lieutenant in the Free French Forces, but due to a typo that turned his combat pseudonym “Manin” into “Morin,” the young man was renamed. In fact, he was remade. “What would we have been without the Resistance?” Morin later wondered. “It was thanks to the Resistance that we were given a life.”
And what a life it turned out to be. In 1951, the rebellious Morin, who was outraged by the Soviet show trials, was invited to leave the French Communist Party. At the same time, though he did not have a graduate degree, Morin was nevertheless invited — thanks to the recommendations of the philosophers Vladimir Jankéklévitch and Maurice Merleau-Ponty — to join the prestigious National Center for Scientific Research in Paris in 1950. It was there that he launched a career that fused his academic interests as a sociologist with journalism.
For the next three quarters of a century, Morin seemed to be everywhere all at once. (When I lived in France, I had the impression that, whether on the shelves of bookstores, pages of newspapers, or sets of television shows, I was always bumping into him.) When he was not being interviewed in documentaries, he was making them; when not publishing one of his more than 40 books, he was reviewing books written by others; when seismic events occurred, he was there before anyone else — and got a book out faster. And the books, the work of an intellectuel engagé, were often themselves events that left their mark on Morin’s contemporary audience and future scholars.
One of the most notable of these is La Rumeur d’Orléans, or Rumor in Orléans. In May, 1969 — just one year after the student rebellions that had swept across France (and about which Morin had already published a book) — a rumor started to sweep across the small city of Orléans, famous for being defended against the English by Joan of Arc in the 15th century. The rumor that took flight in Orléans in 1969 — a variation of the blood libel against Jews — was as old as Joan’s achievement. In the dressing rooms of several local clothing stores, so the rumor went, young women were being drugged and sex trafficked. Moreover, the owners of all these stores were, of course, Israëlites (the frequent moniker for French Jews since the 19th century.)
That there was not a single reported case of a missing, much less abducted, woman had little effect on the crowds that gathered outside these stores. As the crowds grew, along with the fear of the store owners and their staffs, the news media picked up on the event. Politicians and pundits expressed outrage and confusion over the rumor — how could this be possible just a quarter-century after Auschwitz, they asked — and the police began to investigate. They could not find a single culprit.
Within weeks of the news reaching Paris, Morin had collected a half-dozen colleagues and set up shop in Orléans to make sense of the rumor. The team, who described their work as la sociologie événementielle, or “event-based sociology,” interviewed locals, met with officials, and rifled through archival documents. Their conclusion reflected a truth dear to Morin: the complexity of any single event. By complexity, Morin did not mean “complicated,” a word we often use when we refuse to engage a subject. Instead, a complex event spans not only the many factors that made this event possible, but also encompasses the way in which our own theories and thoughts alter our understanding of the event. This complex event, Morin concluded, was partly the work of rapid modernization and the great changes it wrought: urbanization, consumerism, and sexual rebellion. It was as if, one historian remarked, “miniskirts were taking people back to the Middle Ages,” and back to the Jew as the traditional scapegoat for these vast social and economic disruptions.
But only partly. The man who described himself as “Judeo-Gentile” always insisted that events often take not just ordinary folk, but also specialists by surprise. Just as no one predicted France’s defeat in 1940, Morin never thought he had the courage to become a resistance fighter. Yet he did. This is a lesson in humility, of course, but also a lesson in humanity. “Let us make our way in uncertainty,” Morin always insisted, “but also in fraternity.” If only we could make this motto our own.
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