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Sophie is 85 and survived the Holocaust. Caroline is 29 and new to NYC. Here’s how they became fast friends.

(New York Jewish Week) – It’s a sunny Wednesday afternoon, and Sophie Turner Zaretsky has laid out a tray of fruit and cookies, eagerly awaiting her friend Caroline Crandell. When Crandell arrives at Zaretsky’s Upper West Side apartment, just a few minutes after their scheduled meeting time of 3 p.m., the two break into smiles and embrace.

The two women have been meeting every few weeks since the fall of 2022. Like any pair of friends, they discuss everything that’s going on in their lives and families, as well as current events and their favorite spots in the city. But unlike most friendships, there’s a 56-year age gap between the two: Zaretsky, a Holocaust survivor and retired radiation oncologist, is 85, while Crandell, a software engineer, is 29.

“We just talk,” Zaretsky told the New York Jewish Week as she poured tea for Crandell and a reporter. “Whatever comes into our head.”

“She knows all about my dating life,” Crandell added. “I get a lot of advice, which is helpful.”

The pair were matched through the “Caring Calls” initiative, a flagship program of the Wechsler Center for Modern Aging at the Marlene Meyerson JCC Manhattan on the Upper West Side. The program was created during the pandemic to help seniors combat isolation. It enlists some 130 volunteers to reach out to everyone over 70 who has attended any type of program or event at the JCC in recent years. Most of the check-ins happen over the phone: Volunteers call a few times a year to say hello and offer everything from tech support to grocery shopping assistance.

“We want to be there for our community as folks age,” Susan Lechter, the director of the Wechsler Center, told the New York Jewish Week. “No one should be lonely in this world. If we can make a difference in any way, we want to be there for our community.”

And some of these relationship blossom into something deeper. Seniors can request a “buddy” for regular phone calls; according to the Wechsler Center, there have been 140 “buddy” matches so far.

When Zaretsky first heard from Caring Calls last fall, she had a specific request: She wanted to be matched with a young person as a buddy. “I talk to old people and I’m tired of hearing about all the issues and problems with aging,” Zaretsky quipped. “I have my own issues; I don’t want to hear anybody else’s.”

Given that most of the Caring Calls volunteers are middle-aged or older adults, Lechter knew exactly whom to tap: Crandell, who was living by herself in a fifth-floor walkup on the Upper East Side, having arrived in New York via California during the Omicron wave of January 2022. In order to meet new friends, Crandell had enrolled in intramural soccer at the JCC, and she also had inquired about volunteer opportunities there.

“My family is very far away and I haven’t had any living grandparents for a long time. I didn’t know anyone when I moved here,” Crandell said, explaining her interest in the Caring Calls program. “I think it’s good to have different generations and different perspectives come together.”

Matched by Lechter, the pair first spoke in October of last year and they hit it off immediately. “I think we spoke for like an hour,” Crandell said, recalling how they bonded over their dislike of cooking and exercise. “By the end of the call we said to each other, ‘Let’s not do the call thing. Let’s meet up.’ I came over a few days later and we’ve been getting together every few weeks ever since.”

Turner Zaretsky and Crandell get together every few weeks at Turner Zaretsky’s Upper West Side apartment, pictured here on May 10, 2023. (Julia Gergely)

The particular afternoon of the New York Jewish Week’s visit, Crandell had brought over a new blend of tea to try. Over their beverages, the two women share lipstick and book recommendations, and swap stories about their childhoods — which were, not surprisingly, vastly different from one another’s.

Zaretsky, born Selma Schwarzwald in 1937, had grown up in hiding in Lvov, Poland; she and her mother posed as Catholics in order to avoid deportation to the Belzec killing center. She moved to England with her mother in 1948, when she was 10, and wasn’t told she was Jewish until she was a teenager.

“It was terrible,” she said of moving from Poland to England. “It’s very hard to be a refugee when you don’t know the language. You feel stupid. You don’t have the narrative. I didn’t have the narrative for England and I didn’t have the narrative for being Jewish.”

After attending medical school in England, Zaretsky moved to New York in 1963 for her medical residency at Montefiore Hospital in the Bronx, and found herself alone in a brand new city. In 1970, she married David Zaretsky.

Though the JCC initiative is the first time either Zaretsky or Crandell have participated in a formal matching program, Zaretsky has a history of “adopting” people who look like they might need it. A number of years ago at a dinner at the United Nations, which she attended in place of her son who often worked with the organization, Zaretsky was seated next to the ambassador from Malta. “He didn’t know people in New York, so being the Jewish mother that I am, I had to introduce him to everyone to make sure he could live a good life here,” she said. They’re still friends to this day, Zaretsky said, and she has been known to advise him on certain geopolitical issues when the General Assembly meets.

“I have found that young people nowadays are so educated and so aware, but they still need a little bit of TLC — at least this one does,” Zaretsky said, nodding towards Crandell. “But I do, too.”

Indeed, former U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy has described a “loneliness epidemic” that peaked, not surprisingly, at the height of the pandemic. Older adults, disproportionately women, have been especially vulnerable, although a Harvard studying 2021 found that older teens and young adults were the hardest hit by the social isolation brought on by the pandemic.

“I feel like in the society we live in right now, isolation and disjointed community is common,” Crandell said. “Everything’s online, every single person has been affected by technology and feeling pretty isolated, no matter what age. Any opportunity to meet people in person or just connect with someone goes a long way.”

This type of relationship is exactly what the program aims to achieve, said Lechter. “We were determined to create more intergenerational opportunities,” she said. “We’re hoping that it becomes more frequent.”

By the time Crandell needs to head to her soccer game, several hours have passed. “I come thinking I’m just stopping by, but it turns out we have hours of things we need to discuss,” Crandell told the New York Jewish Week. “I always lose track of time.”

Like any good Jewish mother, Zaretsky sends her off with a care package of snacks to take home and a plan for when they’ll meet up again — this coming Friday, for Shabbat dinner.


The post Sophie is 85 and survived the Holocaust. Caroline is 29 and new to NYC. Here’s how they became fast friends. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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In the most talked-about Epstein File exchange, a lesson in Yiddish

The tranche of documents known as the Epstein Files is full of odd, grammatically dubious, correspondence. Perhaps the most scrutinized exchange also contains a Yiddish word. Fittingly, for such a shande as Jeffrey Epstein, it’s a word for distress.

In emails from March 2018, the financier and convicted pedophile’s brother Mark opened a dialogue asking after Epstein’s health. Mark signed off by asking what “is your boy Donald up to now.”

This seems to be a reference to Donald Trump, then in his first term in office. Epstein responded the same day to inform Mark that Bannon (likely Stephen K. Bannon, onetime senior counselor for Mr. Trump) was with him. Things take a turn for the blue here, with Mark suggesting Epstein ask Bannon if “Putin has the photos of Trump blowing Bubba.”

Many on the internet have posited that Bubba was a nickname for former President Bill Clinton (Mark Epstein denied it was). Some also stated that Bubba was the name of a horse owned by Epstein’s accomplice Ghislaine Maxwell (Mark Epstein has said they weren’t referring to a horse).

What is undeniable is Jeffrey Epstein’s response to this inquiry about strange kompromat: “and i thought I had tsuris (sic).”

“Tsores,” most often transliterated as “tsuris” means troubles or woes. It is one of those Yiddish words that has entered into North American parlance, with Leo Rosten writing in The New Joys of Yiddish that it has “gained considerable vogue in theatrical and literary circles.”

Epstein, who grew up Jewish in Sea Gate, the heavily Jewish gated community in Brooklyn’s Coney Island, likely didn’t need to travel in that literary demimonde to have picked up on this word.

The wry note Epstein struck about his worries could be a reference to his own legal troubles (the emails came about a decade after his infamous plea deal, and a few months before the Miami Herald published its investigation into it). In March 2018 Trump was in the thick of the Russia investigation into interference into the 2016 election.

If you recall, at the time there was discussion that Russia might have a “pee tape” of the president. That’s a lot of tsores to deal with, though Trump, for his part, likes a different kind of Yiddish word.

The post In the most talked-about Epstein File exchange, a lesson in Yiddish appeared first on The Forward.

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When Jews really did wage a ‘war on Christmas’

(JTA) — On a frigid winter’s day in 1906, tens of thousands of Jewish parents in New York’s Lower East Side and Brooklyn kept their children home from school.

It wasn’t a snow day, but a protest: Activists and the Yiddish press had called for a boycott of the Christmas assemblies and pageants that they knew Jewish children would be obliged to attend on the day before the holiday.

“Jews Object to Christmas in the Schools,” blared the New York Times. The Brooklyn Eagle warned that “agitators” sought to rob Christian children of their traditions. The boycott was, depending on the source, a valiant cry for religious freedom, or the first shot in the 100-year-plus “war on Christmas.”

The episode is the subject of historian Scott D. Seligman’s new book, “The Great Christmas Boycott of 1906,” which reconstructs how a seemingly local dispute in one Brooklyn school exploded into a test case for religious freedom and civic belonging.

More than a century later, Seligman suggests, the issues it raised — over religion in public schools and the boundaries of church and state — remain strikingly familiar.

“As soon as I stumbled on the story, I knew there’d be a book,” said Seligman, who grew up in Newark, New Jersey, in the 1960s, when schoolchildren were still made to recite the Lord’s Prayer. “I was that kid in public school who always wondered why we were praying like Christians, and even why Christmas was a legal holiday.”

The book is the third installment in what’s become a trilogy about Jews engaged in mass action during the first part of the 20th century. “The Great Kosher Meat War of 1902” (2020) recalled a successful consumer uprising led by Lower East Side Jewish women fed up with the high cost of beef. In “The Chief Rabbi’s Funeral” (2024), Seligman explored how a vicious anti-Jewish riot on the Lower East Side led the city’s fractious Jewish community to organize as never before.

In practical terms, the Christmas boycott accomplished little, and even led to an antisemitic backlash. But it set a precedent for Jewish civic activism — and for a broader national debate about religion in public education that would stretch into the 21st century.

The spark came a year earlier, in December 1905, at Public School 174 in Brownsville. The Brooklyn neighborhood was a dense warren of immigrant Jews, many newly arrived from Eastern Europe, who eagerly sent their children to the public schools that were being filled nearly as fast as they could be built or renovated.

“The Catholics gave up on the public schools as irredeemably Protestant. The Jews loved public schools — they were a ticket to acculturation and advancement in a way they’d never had in the old country,” said Seligman. “All they wanted was to get the religious influence out.”

In a school assembly the day before Christmas, F. F. Harding, the school’s Presbyterian principal, read aloud from a text called “Gems of Wisdom from Bible Literature and Proverbs” and then addressed his 500 pupils, nearly all Jews.

“Now, boys and girls,” he said, “at this time of year I want you all to have the feeling of Christ in you. … Be like Christ.”

That message did not sit well with Augusta (“Gussie”) Herbert, a 14-year-old seventh grader. The daughter of a Jewish lawyer, Herbert stood up in front of the assembled students and asked why the Christian religion was being taught in a public school.

Her boldness shocked classmates and administrators alike. But she wasn’t alone. Dozens of Jewish children went home and told their parents that Christmas hymns and Bible readings had been part of their school day. Within days, Brownsville’s Jewish community was in an uproar.

Herbert’s father, Edward Herbert, brought the matter to Albert Lucas, a 47-year-old English-born activist who served as secretary of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America.

Lucas, born Abraham Abrahamson in Liverpool, was already a veteran of Jewish communal battles. He had led campaigns against Christian “settlement houses” that sought to convert Jewish children with free meals and holiday gifts. To him, the creeping Christianization of public schools was a subtler but equally serious threat.

“Lucas believed the schools were the front line in preserving Jewish identity in America,” Seligman said. “He saw it as his duty to protect children from being made to feel like second-class citizens.”

Lucas wrote to the city’s superintendent of schools, William Henry Maxwell, who had already issued a circular in 1903 reminding principals that “hymns containing reference to the tenets of any religious sect are out of place in unsectarian schools.” But enforcement was lax, and many teachers — Jewish and Christian alike — ignored the rule.

When word of Harding’s assembly reached Lucas, he pounced. Within two days, a petition circulated in Brownsville accusing the principal of “systematically Christianizing” Jewish children. The Hebrew Standard and Jewish Comment denounced the “proselytizing” in public schools, while the Brooklyn Eagle, the borough’s popular daily, defended the principal as merely promoting “good morals.”

In an unprecedented move, the Board of Education held a public hearing to weigh charges that a school principal had promoted religion. It drew a raucous crowd of 1,500.

The hearing revealed sharp divisions even within the Jewish community. Some defended Harding as a well-meaning educator; others accused him of deliberately blurring the line between civic virtue and Christian faith. In the end, the board gave Harding a slap on the wrist, in what Seligman calls “an early Easter gift.”

For Lucas and the Orthodox Union, the Harding verdict only confirmed that quiet lobbying wasn’t enough. They began to organize Jewish parents directly.

Their campaign reflected the broader social tensions of the time. Progressive reformers such as Superintendent Maxwell believed that public schools were engines of “Americanization,” meant to instill not only English and arithmetic but also civic and moral values. For many teachers, “being a good American” was synonymous with “being a good Christian.”

At the same time, America’s Jews were divided along class and ethnic lines. Uptown, German-born Jews — who had arrived decades earlier — feared that the noisy protests of their Yiddish-speaking coreligionists would jeopardize their own fragile acceptance. Downtown, newer immigrants saw those elites as assimilationist and out of touch.

By December 1906, with no change in policy, the Orthodox Union and the Yiddish press decided to act. Two newspapers — the Morgen Zhurnal and the Yidishes Tageblatt — called on Jewish parents to keep their children home on Dec. 24, when schools would hold Christmas exercises.

By most accounts, the response was overwhelming. In the Lower East Side and Brownsville, entire classrooms emptied out. Contemporary estimates suggested that between one third and twothirds of Jewish students were absent from heavily Jewish districts — perhaps 20,000 to 25,000 children citywide.

Anti-Jewish letters to the editor poured in, accusing the protesters of trying to “Judaize” the schools and “destroy” America’s Christian heritage. Protestant ministers accused Jews of ingratitude. Editorials described them as “latecomers, tolerated guests in a Christian country.”

Not all Jews supported the boycott. Abraham Stern, a German-Jewish member of the Board of Education, called the protesters “agitators” and said their actions lacked “the support of the more intelligent Jews of the city.”

Julia Richman, the city’s first female district superintendent — herself a Jewish reformer — said Christmas was both “religious and national” and should not be barred from schools “so long as it is not sectarian.”

Even some Reform rabbis dissented, including Judah L. Magnes of Temple Emanu-El, who favored cultural coexistence over confrontation.

But among the Yiddish-speaking press, the boycott was a point of pride. “Never before,” wrote one editor, “have Jewish workers stood up so boldly for their rights as Americans.”

Lucas and the boycotters were able to point to the New York State Constitution, which explicitly prohibited the use of public funds for schools teaching “the tenets of any religious sect” — a legacy of the long conflict between a Protestant establishment and Catholics.

But if law was on the side of the Jews, Seligman said, “the politics was not.” The Board of Education, caught between outraged Christians and emboldened Jews, eventually let the matter drop.

“At the end of the day, if you’re pushing for minority rights, you’re not going to get a lot of help from elected officials. Your best bet is always going to be the courts,” said Seligman.

By 1907, with no appetite for another boycott, the Orthodox Union’s activism around the issue waned. Hymns with religious themes were discouraged but not banned. Trees and wreaths returned to classrooms.

“The hot potato,” Seligman said, “remained in the laps of the school principals.”

It would take until the 1960s, with the Supreme Court’s Engel v. Vitale decision, for school-sponsored prayer to be declared unconstitutional. Even then, Seligman notes, “Christmas programs persisted, largely unchallenged.”

Seligman ends his book by drawing a line from 1906 to today. America’s Jewish population, he notes, is more assimilated and less religious than it was in Lucas’s day. But even as the number of self-identified Christians has been shrinking, Christian nationalists are louder and more politically powerful. And the Supreme Court, increasingly sympathetic to religious expression, has eroded some of the wall between church and state that figures like Lucas fought to preserve.

Jews, writes Selgiman, “are ostensibly in more or less the same position   in which the New York Board of Education left them in 1907: forced to accept celebrations of a holiday in which they do not believe in the public schools attended by their children, paid for in part by their tax dollars.”

For Seligman, the lesson of 1906 is less about Christmas than about vigilance. The false accusation of a “Jewish war on Christmas,” he writes, “is as inevitable today as it was in 1906 — if not more so.”

And Gussie Herbert’s defiant question — “Why are you teaching the Christian religion in a public school?” — still echoes, more than a century later, whenever Americans debate where faith ends and the public square begins.

The post When Jews really did wage a ‘war on Christmas’ appeared first on The Forward.

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Trump can’t levy antisemitism fines against the University of California, judge rules

(JTA) — A federal judge has indefinitely barred the Trump administration from leveling a fine in excess of $1 billion against the University of California system for failures in addressing campus antisemitism.

Calling the administration’s strong-arming of the UC system “coercive and retaliatory,” U.S. District Judge Rita Lin in San Francisco ruled that federal investigators had failed to follow standard protocol for Title VI civil rights investigations.

Lin’s preliminary injunction came as the UC system continues to negotiate a planned settlement with the administration related to antisemitism investigations.

Much of the Trump administration’s case against UC involves UCLA, which in the aftermath of the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attacks became a hotbed of campus conflicts over Israel. Student protesters barred “Zionists” from entering certain sections of campus; brawls also broke out with pro-Israel counter-protesters. The university settled with a group of Jewish students this summer, but Trump has continued to push aggressive fines over the objections of a contingent of its Jewish community.

A growing number of other universities, including, most recently, Cornell and the University of Virginia, have also signed deals with Trump to preserve federal funding and end antisemitism investigations. UC leaders have said the Trump-imposed fines are an existential threat to the school. A federal judge had previously ordered the reversal of Trump’s funding freeze to Harvard for similar stated reasoning around antisemitism.

University staffers and academic groups had sued the administration, saying that Trump’s actions were already having a punishing effect on their First Amendment concerns.

“Rooting out antisemitism is undisputedly a laudable and important goal,” Lin wrote in her decision. “However, the unrebutted evidence shows that the Task Force Agencies and the Funding Agencies have gone well beyond that stated purpose.”

Lin continued, “The record shows that Defendants engaged in a concerted policy to use allegations of antisemitism to justify funding cancellations, when their intent is to coerce universities into purging disfavored ‘left’ and ‘woke’ viewpoints from their campuses and replace them with views that the Administration favors.”

In a New York Times story this week about staffers who recently resigned or were fired from the Justice Department, a former lawyer in the Civil Rights Division, Ejaz Baluch, said his colleagues found that pro-Israel professors at UCLA were harassed and the school’s complaint process was flawed. But Baluch felt the fine sought by the administration was disproportionate. “We thought, $1 billion? They are making that up out of thin air,” said Baluch. “There is no way the damages we found added up to anything like that amount.”

Lin’s ruling also came amid a growing antisemitism controversy on another UC campus. UC Berkeley protesters last week chanted “Zionists out” and “Free Palestine,” with some wearing keffiyehs, as part of a larger demonstration against an event staged by right-wing group Turning Point USA, the group founded by slain conservative activist Charlie Kirk. At least four people were arrested during the protests, with injuries also reported. One Jewish UC Berkeley student told the Jewish News of Northern California she was targeted with antisemitic taunts from protesters.

On Monday the Justice Department and the FBI launched an investigation into the protests.

The post Trump can’t levy antisemitism fines against the University of California, judge rules appeared first on The Forward.

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