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Two Jewish Moral Worlds: What the Mamdani Election Reveals
New York City mayor-elect Zohran Mamdani holds a press conference at the Unisphere in the Queens borough of New York City, US, Nov. 5, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Kylie Cooper
When a single election lays bare a community’s conscience, it deserves more than punditry.
The recent victory of Zohran Mamdani in New York’s Democratic primary was more than a political surprise. It was a sociological revelation — a moment that exposed the moral divide within American Jewry and the fragility of its civic cohesion.
The Times of Israel exit poll tells the story plainly: roughly 63 percent of Jewish voters supported Andrew Cuomo, while a third backed Mamdani, the far-left candidate known for his fierce criticism of Israel and his support for the BDS movement. But the aggregate numbers obscure something more profound. Beneath the data lies a moral geography that splits the community itself; between Brooklyn’s progressive brownstones and Manhattan’s traditional bastions, between younger universalists and older particularists, between two rival moral languages of what it means to be Jewish in America.
In the brownstone belts of Park Slope, Prospect Heights, and Clinton Hill, Mamdani dominated. His margins in some precincts approached 90 percent. These are neighborhoods filled with young professionals, educators, and creatives: Jews who are largely non-Orthodox, highly educated, and politically left-leaning.
They belong to a generation whose moral formation occurred as much on social media as in synagogue pews. Across the East River, in Borough Park, Crown Heights, and the Upper East Side, Cuomo’s support exceeded 80 percent. These precincts are wealthier, older, and denser, with day-school graduates, Federation donors, and Israel mission alumni. One city, two moral worlds.
Political psychology offers a framework for understanding this divergence.
Jonathan Haidt and Jesse Graham’s Moral Foundations Theory describes human moral reasoning as rooted in several intuitive “foundations.” The first pair — Care and Fairness — orient toward empathy, equality, and the mitigation of harm. The second set — Loyalty, Authority, and Sanctity — prioritize group solidarity, respect for tradition, and the protection of what is sacred.
Liberals, Haidt’s research found, tend to emphasize the individualizing foundations of care and fairness; conservatives draw upon all five, including those that bind the group together. These moral instincts operate beneath conscious ideology, shaping the stories people tell about justice, duty, and belonging.
Applied to Jewish life, this model illuminates the Mamdani divide. The younger, Park Slope cohort embodies the individualizing moral style. Their Judaism is ethical universalism — a faith of empathy, repair, and inclusion. To them, Jewish history teaches solidarity with the marginalized, not tribal defense. Their political commitments — tenant rights, climate action, anti-racism, and Palestinian solidarity — feel like moral extensions of their Jewish conscience.
Supporting Mamdani, in this light, is not an act of betrayal but an act of consistency. The Upper East Side cohort, by contrast, lives in the binding moral register. Their Judaism centers on loyalty to the Jewish people, reverence for institutions, and defense of Israel as a sacred trust. When a candidate denounces Israel as genocidal, they hear not critique but violation. The vote for Cuomo was not a calculation of interests; it was an affirmation of covenant.
Survey data confirm that these moral worlds align with generational and institutional divides. Pew Research Center’s 2024 survey found that only 45 percent of Jews under 35 hold a favorable view of Israel’s government, compared with 64 percent among those over 50.
Yet nearly 90 percent across all ages still view the Israeli people positively, suggesting alienation not from Israel itself but from its political expression.
Pew’s 2021 study showed that 58 percent of American Jews feel emotionally attached to Israel, though that attachment rises to 82 percent among the Orthodox and drops below 60 percent among Reform and unaffiliated Jews. Twenty-two percent now believe the United States is too supportive of Israel — twice the share in 2013 — and that sentiment is concentrated among younger and unaffiliated
Jews. Another 2024 survey by the Benenson Strategy Group found that nearly four in five American Jews still feel close to Israel, and 72 percent say Israel makes them proud to be Jewish, yet 62 percent admit they “sometimes find it hard to support actions taken by Israel or its government.” The picture that emerges is not rejection but tension: enduring identity, waning confidence, moral ambivalence.
This moral bifurcation has deep civic consequences. For much of the 20th century, American Jews reconciled universal and particular obligations through robust institutions. Federations linked philanthropy for the poor to support for Israel. Synagogues fused civic virtue with covenantal belonging. Community centers cultivated the habits of service, dialogue, and shared space.
Those integrative structures made it possible to balance empathy and loyalty within a single communal framework. But as institutional participation has declined, moral formation now occurs in fragmented spaces — online, on campuses, within activist networks — where individual conscience replaces institutional mediation. The result is that empathy and loyalty, once twin pillars of Jewish civic life, now compete rather than complement.
When moral authority fragments, politics becomes identity by proxy. The universalist moral vocabulary of younger Jews often renders Jewish power suspect; the particularist vocabulary of their elders renders dissent heretical. The two sides no longer disagree over policy; they inhabit different moral cosmologies. That is why the Mamdani election felt seismic to the Jewish community and New York City more generally. It revealed, not created, the split between what might be called the “individualizing Jew” and the “binding Jew” — one who sees Judaism as a moral compass for humanity, the other who sees it as the covenantal anchor of a people.
The consequences are not merely internal. A cohesive Jewish community has long served as a vital civic intermediary, connecting minority experience to national ideals. Fragmentation weakens that role. When a third of Jewish voters champion a candidate who accuses Israel of genocide and two-thirds recoil in outrage, institutional consensus becomes nearly impossible. Jewish organizations struggle to articulate shared positions on campus speech, antisemitism, or Israel policy because the moral foundations beneath those debates differ.
The binding moral language of loyalty and sanctity, once the lingua franca of Jewish life, now strikes many younger Jews as exclusionary or even coercive. Yet without it, solidarity itself erodes.
This tension certainly mirrors the broader democratic malaise. Across the West, younger generations are shifting from binding to individualizing moral frameworks — from “who we are” to “whom we protect.” That shift, born of compassion, often dissolves the collective bonds that sustain civic trust. The Jewish community’s fracture is thus a microcosm of the American one. If one of the nation’s most institutionally successful minorities cannot sustain moral coherence across generations, the prospects for the larger democracy are sobering.
Still, Jewish tradition offers a path forward. The Hebrew Bible itself balances competing moral imperatives: love the stranger (Care), pursue justice (Fairness), remember you were slaves in Egypt (Loyalty), honor your parents (Authority), and be holy (Sanctity). The moral genius of Judaism has always been its capacity to integrate rather than choose. A renewed Jewish civic life would recover that synthesis — not by diluting conviction, but by translating between moral dialects.
Doing so requires moral bilingualism. Jewish leaders must learn to speak both the language of empathy and the language of obligation. They must show younger Jews that loyalty need not mean blind allegiance, and show older Jews that care need not mean disavowal. Institutions that can bridge those vocabularies — pairing service projects with Jewish learning, coupling justice work with covenantal memory — will thrive. Those that cannot will wither into echo chambers. The task is to rebuild spaces where the moral foundations overlap, where the passion for fairness coexists with respect for continuity, and where dissent strengthens rather than fractures community.
The Mamdani election dramatized the challenge. It showed that American Jews are not divided between left and right so much as between two moral imaginations.
The future of American Jewish life — and perhaps something of American civic life itself — depends on reuniting those halves. The task is not to pick sides between the moral foundations, but to recover their harmony. That would mean re-embedding compassion within community and rooting loyalty in moral reflection. It would mean building institutions capable of moral translation rather than moral policing. It would mean acknowledging that Jewish flourishing and democratic stability alike require both conscience and covenant.
The Mamdani election did not create this divide, it exposed it. The challenge now is whether American Jews can build a third moral script, one that joins care to continuity, justice to responsibility, empathy to endurance. That work begins by recognizing that not all differences are merely moral styles. Mamdani’s campaign trafficked in ideas that crossed into antisemitism — denying Jewish self-determination, vilifying Israel as inherently criminal, and normalizing hostility toward Jewish identity itself.
A community committed to moral dialogue cannot ignore such realities; tolerance cannot mean the abdication of judgment. Yet if Jews can still hold fast to both conscience and covenant — defending themselves without surrendering compassion, seeking justice without erasing solidarity — they can model for the nation how moral diversity becomes democratic strength. Democracy, like Judaism, survives not on unanimity but on the hard, often uncomfortable work of moral conversation and that work begins with the courage to confront hatred without forfeiting humanity.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
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Israeli Attacked in Nepal as Tourists Shift to Safer Destinations Amid Rising Anti-Israel Hostility
Anti-Israel protesters march through the streets of the township of Lenasia in Johannesburg, South Africa, Oct. 6, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Ihsaan Haffejee
An Israeli tourist recounted being brutally assaulted in Nepal this week by a group of local men after they allegedly heard him speaking Hebrew — the latest in a growing string of violent incidents targeting Israelis abroad amid a broader surge in antisemitic hostility worldwide.
On Monday night, Almog Armoza, a 25-year-old Israeli tourist, was walking back to his hostel in Kathmandu — a capital city popular with Israeli travelers — when a group of unknown men reportedly struck him from behind with an iron rod.
“If I hadn’t managed to run, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be alive today,” Armoza told the Israeli news outlet Ynet. “If the first blow had knocked me out, it could have ended differently.”
According to the victim’s account, he was recording a voice message in Hebrew when a group of three to five men suddenly ambushed him.
One of the assailants then grabbed his jacket, and the group continued to beat him, leaving the victim with an open wound on his head.
“They chased me, but when they saw I was getting close to the entrance, where there is security, they ran off,” Armoza said.
He was later taken to a hospital, where he spent the night under observation due to his head wound and significant blood loss — causing him to miss his flight back to Israel.
He also said he reported the incident to police, noting that he did not believe the assault was an attempted robbery.
“My phone was in my hand, and they didn’t go for it,” Armoza said. “I have traveled the world for three years. This isn’t how robberies are done. The level of violence was meant to kill.”
This latest incident comes amid a global surge in antisemitism and anti-Israel sentiment since the Hamas-led invasion of and massacre across southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.
European Jewish communities in particular have been facing a surge in hostility and targeted attacks, including vandalism of murals and businesses, as well as physical assaults. Community leaders have warned that such incidents are becoming more frequent amid continued tensions related to the war in Gaza.
According to data from the Passport Card Index, Israeli tourists are increasingly choosing alternative holiday destinations amid a climate of growing hostility. Thailand has emerged as the top destination, rising from second place before the war, while the United Arab Emirates — previously number one — has fallen to fifth.
The data also highlights a surge in popularity for countries perceived as particularly friendly toward Israel: Hungary jumped from sixth to second place, the United States climbed from eighth to third, and the Czech Republic now ranks fourth.
By contrast, many Western European countries — including France, the United Kingdom, Germany, Spain, and Italy — have become largely off-limits for Israeli travelers.
Last month, a group of Orthodox Jewish American tourists was brutally attacked at Milan’s Central Station by a pro-Palestinian individual.
The victim, who was with a group of 10 Orthodox Jewish tourists visiting Italy, was checking the departure board when an unknown individual began harassing him.
The attacker then allegedly chased the victim while punching and kicking him and striking him in the head with a blunt metal ring.
During the attack, the assailant reportedly shouted antisemitic insults and threats, including “dirty Jews” and “you kill children in Palestine, and I’ll kill you.”
In September, a Jewish couple was walking through Venice in traditional Orthodox clothing when three assailants confronted them, shouted “Free Palestine,” and physically attacked them, slapping both.
This incident followed another attack on a Jewish couple in Venice the month before, when a man and his pregnant wife were harassed near the city center by three unknown individuals.
The attackers approached the couple, shouting antisemitic insults and calling the husband a “dirty Jew,” while physically assaulting them by throwing water and spitting on them.
Earlier this summer, a group of Israeli teenagers was physically assaulted by dozens of pro-Palestinian assailants — some reportedly armed with knives — on the Greek island of Rhodes.
This antisemitic incident took place after the Israeli teens left a nightclub, when a group of pro-Palestinian individuals followed them to their hotel and violently attacked them, leaving several with minor injuries.
In Athens, a group of pro-Palestinian activists vandalized an Israeli restaurant, shouting antisemitic slurs and spray-painting graffiti with slogans such as “No Zionist is safe here.”
The attackers also posted a sign on one of the restaurant’s windows that read, “All IDF soldiers are war criminals — we don’t want you here,” referring to the Israel Defense Forces.
Similar incidents of unprovoked violence and discrimination against Israelis or Jews perceived as being pro-Israel have been recorded across Europe and as far afield as Australia over the past two years.
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Antisemitic Attitudes at UPenn Still Beset Jewish Students, New Survey Reveals
People are walking on campus at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, PA, USA, on April 26, 2024. Photo: Bastiaan Slabbers via Reuters Connect
A significant portion of Jewish students at the University of Pennsylvania still find the climate on campus to be hostile and feel the need to hide their identity, according to a recent survey of Jewish undergraduates at the school.
The survey, conducted by Penn’s local Hillel International chapter, found that 40 percent of respondents said it is difficult to be Jewish at Penn and 45 percent said they “feel uncomfortable or intimidated because of their Jewish identity or relationship with Israel.”
Meanwhile, the results showed a staggering 85 percent of survey participants reported hearing about, witnessing, or experiencing “something antisemitic,” as reported by Franklin’s Forum, an alumni-led online outlet which posts newsletters regarding developments at the university.
Another 31 percent of Jewish Penn students said they feel the need to hide their Jewishness to avoid discrimination, which is sometimes present in the classroom, as 26 percent of respondents said they have “experienced antisemitic or anti-Israel comments from professors.”
Overall, 80 percent of Jewish students hold that anti-Israel activity is “often” antisemitic and that Israel’s conduct in war is “held to an unfair standard compared to other nations.”
Franklin’s Forum said the survey results can help the university chart a path toward restoring a culture of tolerance and respect.
“Penn’s efforts to confront antisemitism, Islamophobia, and other forms of hate have lacked a clear baseline for measuring progress. This survey begins to fill that gap, offering the university a data-backed starting point for understanding Jewish life on campus,” its newsletter said. “This allows Penn to track what new initiatives are working, compare itself to national trends and peer institutions, build trust by showing measurable impact, and identify where progress is lagging.”
It added, “Data brings transparency and accountability, clarifying what is working and where more attention is needed. This survey provides a valuable baseline. Continued data gathering will be essential for Penn to track improvement, guide decision-making, and build a campus where Jewish students feel both proud of safe.”
The University of Pennsylvania emerged as a hotbed of campus antisemitism even before the phenomenon exploded nationwide in the aftermath of the Palestinian terrorist group Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, massacre across southern Israel, amid the ensuing war in Gaza.
In 2023, professor Huda Fakhreddine helped organize the “Palestine Writes Festival,” a gathering of anti-Zionists which featured Gaza-based professor Refaat Alareer, who said in 2018, “Are most Jews evil? Of course they are,” and Salman Abu Sitta, who once said in an interview that “Jews were hated in Europe because they played a role in the destruction of the economy in some of the countries, so they would hate them.” Roger Waters, the former Pink Floyd frontman, was also initially scheduled as a speaker, despite a documentary exposing his long record of anti-Jewish barbs. In one instance, a former colleague recalled Waters at a restaurant yelling at the wait staff to “take away the Jew food.”
That event prompted a deluge of antisemitic incidents at Penn, including Nazi graffiti and a student’s trailing a staffer into the university’s Hillel building and shouting “F–k the Jews” and “Jesus Christ is king!” overturning tables, podium stands, and chairs. Fakhreddine, who days after the Hamas-led Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel attended an on-campus rally in which a speaker castigated what he called “the Israeli Jew,” later sued the US Congress to halt its investigation of the incidents.
In 2024, the university pledged in a report on antisemitism that it would never again confer academic legitimacy to antisemitism and formally denounced the boycott, divestment, and sanctions (BDS) movement against Israel as “discriminatory” and “anti-intellectual.” The university also passed other policies aimed at protecting academic freedom and free speech from attempts to invoke them as justification for uttering hate speech and founded the Office of Religious and Ethnic Interests (OREI).
Recently, the American Association of University Professors (AAUP), the largest and oldest US organization for defending faculty rights, has been engaged in a fight over Penn’s efforts to combat antisemitism, arguing that a range of faculty speech and conduct considered hostile by Jewish members of the campus community are key components of academic freedom.
In a letter to the administration regarding antidiscrimination investigations opened by the OREI, the group charged that efforts to investigate alleged antisemitism on campus and punish those found to have perpetrated it can constitute discrimination. Its argument reprised other recent claims advanced by the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), notorious for its defense of Sharia law and alleged ties to jihadist groups such as Hamas, in a lawsuit which aims to dismantle antisemitism prevention training at Northwestern University.
“Harassing, surveilling, intimidating, and punishing members of the university community for research, teaching, and extramural speech based on overly broad definitions of antisemitism does nothing to combat antisemitism, but it can perpetuate anti-Arab, anti-Muslim, and anti-Palestinian racism, muzzle political criticism of the Israeli government by people of any background, and create a climate of fear and self-censorship that threatens the academic freedom of all faculty and students,” the AAUP said, threatening to scrutinize the university. “AAUP-Penn will continue to monitor reports related to OREI.”
Additionally, the AAUP described Penn’s efforts to protect Jewish students from antisemitism as resulting from “government interference in university procedures” while arguing that merely reporting antisemitism subjects the accused to harassment, seemingly suggesting that many Jewish students who have been assaulted, academically penalized, and exposed to hate speech on college campuses across the US are perpetrators rather than victims.
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.
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Saul Rubinek plays a version of himself in ‘Playing Shylock’
דער מאָנטרעאַלער אַקטיאָר סאָל רובינעק האָט אַ סך װאָס צו דערציילן.
ער איז דערצו אויך אַ גרויסער מאמין אינעם כּוח פֿון דערציילן.
„דערציילן איז אַלץ,“ זאָגט ער.
טאַקע די פֿראַזע האָט רובינעק, בעת אַן אינטערװיו מיט מיר, אויסגעקליבן װי אַ פּרוּװ איבערצוזעצן דעם טיטל פֿון זײַן אויטאָביאָגראַפֿישן ראָמאַן, All in the Telling. אַרויס פֿון דרוק אין 2025, איז דער ראָמאַן אַ האַלב־פֿיקטיװע כראָניק פֿון זײַנע עטלערן, ביידע פֿון דער שארית־הפּליטה, און זײַנע פֿאַרװיקלטע באַציִונגען מיט זיי און מיט זייערע טראַװמאַטישע לעבנס־געשיכטעס.
דער טיטל װאָלט זיך אויך גוט צוגעפּאַסט צו זײַן אויפֿטריט אין דער מאָנאָדראַמע Playing Shylock („דאָס שפּילן שײַלאָק“), געשריבן פֿונעם קאַנאַדער דראַמאַטורג מאַרק לירין־יאָנג. די פּיעסע וועט מען שפּילן ביזן 7טן דעצעמבער אין פּאָלאָנסקי־שעקספּיר־צענטער אין ברוקלין.
במשך פֿון דער פּיעסע, דערציילט ער, פֿאַרציילט ער, רעדט ער זיך אַראָפּ פֿון האַרצן. און דער אינהאַלט פֿון זײַנע שפֿעדיקע רייד? אַ פֿיקטיװע, אַנולירטע אויפֿפֿירונג פֿון שעקספּירס „דער קויפֿמאַן פֿון װענעדיג“. במשך פֿון זײַנע צװיי שעה אויף דער בינע הערן מיר די צרות פֿון אַן אַקטיאָר, װאָס האָט געדאַרפֿט שפּילן די ראָלע פֿון שײַלאָק אין דער דאָזיקער פּראָדוקציע: צרות מיט די פּראָדוצענטן, מיטן הײַנטצײַטיקן אַנטיסעמיטיזם און שמאָלקעפּיקײט, און צרות מיט זיך אַליין — װײַל רובינעק שפּילט טאַקע אַ װערסיע פֿון זיך אַליין אין דער אויפֿפֿירונג.
די דראַמע איז אַ רעװידירטער נוסח פֿון אַ פּיעסע, „שײַלאָק“, װאָס לירין־יאָנג האָט צוערשט אָנגעשריבן אין 1996. (אַגבֿ, יוסף באָװשאָװערס באַקאַנטע ייִדישע איבערזעצונג פֿון דער פּיעסע, װאָס מען האָט אַ מאָל געשפּילט אויף דער צווייטער עװעניו, הייסט אויך „שײַלאָק“.) אינעם נײַעם נוסח פֿון לירין־יאָנגס װערק, שפּיגלט די פּיעסע אָפּ פֿאַרשיידענע פֿאַקטן פֿונעם הויפּט־אַקטיאָרס לעבן, און דער עולם װייסט קיין מאָל נישט װאָסער פּרט איז אַן אויסגעטראַכטער און װאָסערער איז טאַקע אַ טשיקאַװעס פֿון רובינעקס לעבן. אין דעם ליגט אַ סך פֿון דער פּיעסעס שפּאַנונג און אומזיכערקייט.
אין עטלעכע מאָמענטן, דעקלאַמירט רובינעק שײַלאָקס מאָנאָלאָגן אין דער שטים פֿונעם טאַטן — אַפֿילו אַ מאָל מיט אַ גמרא־ניגון („װער דען װאָלט געשפּילט שײַלאָק אַזוי?“ האָט ער מיך שפּעטער רעטאָריש געפֿרעגט). בײַם סוף פֿון דער פּיעסע, װאָס איז כּמעט אין גאַנצן אויף ענגליש, הערן מיר די באַרימטע רעדע „האָט דען אַ ייִד ניט קיין אויגן?“, דװקא אויף מאַמע־לשון.
„אין זײַן ספּעציפֿישקייט, װערט ייִדיש אוניװערסאַל,“ זאָגט רובינעק, װאָס האָט אויך געשפּילט אויף ייִדיש אינעם פֿילם Shttl („שטטל“, 2002) און די ראָלע פֿון הירש ראַסיינער (אויף ענגליש) אינעם פֿילם The Quarrel (די קריג, 1991), באַזירט אויף חיים גראַדעס דערציילונג. „אין זײַן ספּעציפֿישקייט װעגן אונדזערע איבערלעבונגען װי מענטשן, װי ייִדן, קענען מיר זיך ׳האַלטן בײַ די הענט׳ מיט דער גאַנצער װעלט.“
טיילװײַז האָט דער אַקטיאָר טאַקע דורכגעפֿירט דעם שמועס מיט מיר אויף ייִדיש, װאָס, ער איז מודה, קומט אים אָן שװערלעך, נאָר װאָס ער האָט בײַ זיך „נישט אין קאָפּ, נאָר אין האַרצן.“
איך האָב אים געפֿרעגט, צי ער פּרוּווט טאַקע פֿאַרגופֿן אין דער פּיעסע די אינטאָנאַציעס און זשעסטן פֿונעם טאַטן?
„איך האָב אַפֿילו ניט געדאַרפֿט פּרוּװן. אַלע קינדער קענען נאָכמאַכן זייערע טאַטע־מאַמעס,“ האָט ער געזאָגט. „דאָס גאַנצע לעבן האָב איך געזען װי דער טאַטע טרעט אויף פֿאַר משפּחה און פֿרײַנד. אַ נאַטירלעכער דערציילער איז ער געװען.“
מאַכט דער רמב״ן: „מעשׂה אָבֿות סימן לבנים“ — די טאַטן פֿון די עלטערן און די עלטערנס עלטערן זאָגן פֿאָרויס דאָס לעבן פֿון די קינדער.
רובינעקס טאַטע, ישׂראל רובינעק, אַ געבוירענער אין לאָדזש, האָט אָנגעפֿירט מיט אַ טעאַטער־טרופּע אין די־פּי־לאַגער פֿערנװאַלד, אין בײַערן. רובינעק איז טאַקע געבוירן געװאָרן אין דער זעלבער נאַכט, וואָס דער טאַטע איז דאָרט אויפֿגעטראָטן ווי דער גולם אין לייװיקס באַרימטער דראַמאַטישע פּאָעמע, אין 1948.
אָט דער צופֿאַל, דאָס געשעעניש, שמעקט מיט באַשערטקייט, מיט הייליקייט אַפֿילו. די אָ הייליקייט באַמערקט רובינעק אין משך פֿון „דאָס שפּילן שײַלאָק“, אין איינער פֿון דער פּיעסעס שטאַרקסטע רעפּליקן:
„איך האָב קיין מאָל ניט געגלייבט אין גאָט. איך גלייב אין דעם, אין טעאַטער. דאָס איז הייליק.“
אָבער אויך אין ייִדיש גלייבט ער. „ייִדיש, װי טעאַטער, איז קאָמונאַל — און איז הייליק,“ האָט ער מיר געזאָגט. „װי לאַנג האָט מען געזאָגט אַז טעאַטער איז טויט? אַזוי אויך מיט ייִדיש.“
דער אַקטיאָר זאָגט אַז עס גלוסט זיך אים איצט שפּילן אין ייִדישן טעאַטער, און ער האַלט אין אַרומרעדן מעגלעכע פּראָיעקטן.
אויך מיר, סײַ צוקוקער סײַ מיט־אַרטיסטן, קוקן אַרויס אויף דעם — אויף נאָך אַזאַ קאָמונאַלער, עקסטרע־הייליקער איבערלעבונג אין טונקעלן טעאַטער־זאַל, װוּ גאָר ניט איז ניט קאָנקרעט און קלאָר.
װי רובינעק זאָגט אין דער נײַער אויפֿפֿירונג, מיט פֿאַררייטלטע באַקן און שטאַרק אַקטיװירטע ברוגז־מוסקלען: „דער טעאַטער איז ניט קיין safe space (געזיכערט אָרט).“
דאָס הייסט, דער טעאַטער איז פֿאָרט אַ פֿאָרום פֿאַר פֿראַגעס, חילוקי־דעות, און גײַסטיקן געראַנגל.
זאָל זײַן אַזוי.
די פּיעסע וועט מען שפּילן ביזן 7טן דעצעמבער אין פּאָלאָנסקי־שעקספּיר־צענטער אין ברוקלין. צו קויפֿן בילעטן גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ.
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