צײַטזאָנע (אַטלאַס)

פֿאַר די ייִדיש־שרײַבערס פֿון יאָר 2100

אַן עסײ־פּאָעמע געשריבן אין יאַנואַר 2026

12:00

טײל פּאַסאַזשירן דרײען צוריק די זײגערלעך

בײַם אָפּפֿלי, אַנדערע בײַ דער לאַנדונג.

רובֿ פּאַסאַזשירן אָבער טראָגן מער נישט

קײן זײגערלעך און װאַרטן ביז די מאָבילקעס

פֿאַרבינדן זיך מיט דער נײַער צײַט.

די צײַט באַשטײט פֿון פֿאַרבינדונגען.

אױף די עקראַנען: מאַפּעס מיט גרענעצן.

אונטער די פֿענצטער: אַנאָנימע פּײזאַזשן.

אײן עראָפּלאַן מיט דרײַ צײַטזאָנעס:

אָפּשטאַם, צילאָרט און פֿלימאָדוס.

1:00

פֿעטער אַרטשיבאַלד דער אַװאָקאַט

גלײבט נישט אין זומער־זײגער.

אָפֿט קומט ער אָן אַ שעה פֿריִער

פֿאַר אַ זיצונג מיטן ריכטער.

זײַנע שפּעטע װעטשערע־געסט, װידער,

קריגן בלױז אַ שטיקל פּעקאַן־פּײַ.

לױט דער באָבען לײענט ער באַריכטן

הין און קריק, אױף זײַן הױדע־בענקל.

2:00

אין ברוקלין האָט די מאַמע ע״ה בדעה
צו שענקען מײַן זומער־לאַגער אַ זונזײגער,

גיט זי אַ קלונג רבֿ קונדא ז״ל,

דעם דירעקטאָר און דערצײלער.

צו קאַלקולירן אַן אַקוראַטן װײַזער־שאָטן

דאַרף מען קודם די פּינקטלעכע פּאָזיציע.

אפֿשר לעבן דער הײַזקע װוּ ער דערצײלט

יעדן שבת זײַנע אַלטע משפּחה־מעשׂיות?

דװקא דאָרט װוּ מיר קינדער פֿאַרלירן

נאָך מנחה דעם חשבֿון פֿון די שעהען?

3:45

כינע־צײַט װערט טראַנסמיטירט

פֿון צײַט־צענטער אױף באַרג לישאַן

פֿאַר אַ ראַדיאָ־עולם פֿון װיגורסטאַן

אַזש ביז כּמעט ביראָבידזשאַן.

צענטראַל־מערבֿ־אױסטראַליע־צײַט

¾8 שעה נאָך לאָנדאָן־װעלטצײַט

פֿירט זיך אין פֿינף אָפּרו־סטאַנציעס

אױפֿן שאָסײ פֿון קײַגונע קײן גרענעצדאָרף.

אַן אַטלאַנטישער קאָנטײנער־שיף

פֿאַרמאָגט מער נישט קײן שיפֿגלאָק.

דאָס באַשליסט בלױז הער קאַפּיטאַן

װען אַ נײַע צײַטזאָנע הײבט זיך אָן.

די אַװיאָנען פֿון „פּאַװע לופֿט“ טיקען

צום טאַקט פֿון די סטואַרד/קעס הערצער:

אָט פֿאַרלעשן זײ די קאַבינע־ליכט;

איצט פֿירן זײ דאָס שפּײַזװעגעלע.

4:00

אין „גאַלעריע צײַטזאָנע“ געדױערט

אַ מינוט כאָטש הונדערט סעקונדעס.

אַ באַזוכערין פֿון אױסלאַנד װערט אומזיכער:

אין װאָסער יאָרהונדערט איז זי אַרײַנגעפֿלױגן?

די װענט באַמאָלענע מיט אַלטנײַע אותיות,

אױסגעפּוצטע מיט חוצפּהדיקע אַנאַכראָניזמען.

אַ מאָל פֿאַרבעט מען געסט פֿון דער װײַטנס
אױפֿצוטרעטן װירטועל אױף דער לײַװנט,

נאָר ס׳איז שטענדיק שװער זיך צו אײניקן

אױף אַ סינכראָנישער שעה פֿאַרן זום־קלונג

װײַל טײל האַלטן די גאַלעריע פֿאַר פֿאַרבײַ,

אַנדערע דװקא פֿאַר דער צוקונפֿט.

5:00

צײַטזאָנעס, אַזױ װי לשונות, קענען זיך

טוליען, איבערשנײַדן, אײַננעסטיקן:

צען שפּראַכן אין אײן צען־דירהדיקן הױז;

צען שפּרפּאַכן אין אײן מוח. פֿון דרױסן

באַמערקט אַ פֿאַרבײַגײער די פֿענצטער,

סײַ די ליכטיק װאַכע און סײַ די פֿינצטער

פֿאַרחלומטע. װאָסערע לשונות הערן זיך

דערינען? װיפֿל איז דאָרט דער זײגער?

איבער די הײַזער פֿליט אַן אַװיאָן

מיט פֿאַרמאַכטע פֿענצטער־רולעטן,

פֿאַרלאָשענע מאַפּעס און קאַבינע־ליכט—

נאָר עטלעכע פֿון אױבן באַלײַכטענע ביכער.

6:00

אױף דער אונטערבאַן־ליניע אַכט

מאָנטיק זעקס אַ זײגער אין דער פֿרי

– צענטראַל־אײראָפּע־צײַט, פֿאַרשטײט זיך –
פֿאָרט אײנער אַ מידער

אַהײם פֿון קיטקאַט־קלוב

לעבן אַ צװײטער אַ מידער

װאָס זי פֿאָרט צו דער אַרבעט.

7:00

די צװישן־צײַטזאָנעס שטרעקן זיך אױס

פֿון דרעמל־קנעפּל ביזן צװײטן װעקער

פֿון ליפֿט־קנעפּל ביז דער אָפֿענער טיר

פֿון שלום־עליכם ביזן ערשטן קוש

פֿון זײַ־געזונט ביז דער קאַלטער גאַס

8:00

„פּאַװע לופֿט“ באָט אָן פֿאַרבינדונגען

צו אַלע צײַטזאָנעלעך פֿון ייִדישלאַנד.

כאָטש געװיסע פֿליִען הײבן זיך אָן

אין שװער צו דערגרײכן יאָרן.

אַבי עס בלײַבט אונדז עפּעס

אַ פֿאַרבינדונג צװישן די דורות.

9:00

די געשיכטע פֿון כּלל־צײַטזאָנעס
איז אַ מעכטיקע משפּחה־מעשׂה

פֿון סינכראָניזירטע אימפּעריעס

מיט כּלערלײ קונציקע זײגערס:

60 מינוט אין אַ שעה לױט די בבֿלים

12 שעה אין אַ נאַכט לױט די מצרים

24 שעה אין אַ מעת־לעת לױט די גריכן

7 טעג אין אַ װאָך לױטן רױמישן קײסער

12 חדשים מיט קײסערלעך רױמישע נעמען

דער בריטישער פֿלאָט האָט באַזיגט

דעם זונפֿאַרגאַנג און יעדן מערידיאַן

מיט זײַנע כּסדרדיקע כראָנאָמעטערס

װאָס טראָגן לאָנדאָן־צײַט װײַט און ברײט

נאָר די טראַנסקאָנטינענטאַלע אײַזנבאַן

האָט געדאַרפֿט שאַפֿן צײַט־פֿאַרבינדונגען

צװישן די שיפֿן און די רעלסן און די פּײסאַזשן.

4 זאָנעס איבער אַלע באַזיגטע געביטן.

24 זאָנעס פֿאַראײניקטע מיט טעלעגראַפֿן.

אין װאַשינגטאָן האָט מען באַשטימט

אַז דער טאָג הײבט זיך אָן אין לאָנדאָן;

אין זשענעװע האָט מען פּראָקלאַמירט

די „װעלטצײַט“ לױט אַ גענױער סעקונדע

אַן אַטאָמיש געמאָסטענע אין פּאַריז

10:00

דער טאָג

לױט סװאַטש־

אינטערנעט־צײַט

הײבט זיך אָן

האַלבע נאַכט

לױט דער כּלל־צײַט

פֿון ביל, שװײץ

און צעטײלט זיך

אױף טױזנט „טאַקטן“

װעלכע גלײַכן

זיך פּינקטלעך

צו פֿראַנצײזיש־

רעװאָלוציאָנערע

דעצימאַלע מינוטן

די רעװאָלוציאָנערע

צײַט האָט טױזנטער

צײַטזאָנעס לױט דער זון
איבער יעדן דאָרף און שטעטל

סװאַטש־צײַט

פֿונדעסטװעגן

איז סינכראָניזירט

צװישן יעדן דופֿקדיקן געלענק

11:00

אין װאָרמס

טראָגט אַ ייִנגל אַ בוך.

גוּט טַק אִים בְּטַגְֿא.

זאָל „פּיפּער־

נאָטער לופֿט“

אים טראָגן בשלום

קײן מאָליעװ

און פֿון דאָרטן בשלום

קײן בערלין.

זאָל ער זיך אַראָפּ־

לאָזן װי אַ ראָזשינקע

אױף טעמפּלהאָפֿער פֿליפֿעלד

און װײַטער לײענען דאָס בוך

אױף טראַמװײַ נײַנאונײַנציק

אַזש ביז צײַטזאָנע —

11:59

דאָס בוך גופֿא

איז אַ פֿליפֿאַרבינד

איבער לשון־צײַט,

אַ צײַטזאָנעלע

פֿון אױגן־

ציטערנישן

צװישן

אָט און

איצט.

אָט—

נאַט אײַך

די בילעטן.

מיר װינטשן אײַך

אַן אײַנגענעמע

רײַזע.

The post ‘Time Zone’ — poetry by Jake Schneider appeared first on The Forward.

Abe Foxman never texted me Shabbat Shalom, and he didn’t always answer my calls. I couldn’t blame him, because I was often looking for something more from Foxman than his comment on current events.

Foxman, who died on Sunday, was a consummate insider who had become troubled by what he viewed as the cowardice of the very Jewish establishment he helped create during his five decades at the Anti-Defamation League. This dynamic fascinated me, and I sometimes pressed him articulate these concerns more candidly. But Foxman didn’t want to become a gadfly following his retirement in 2015 and picked his words carefully.

Occasionally, though, his frustration slipped through.

When I asked him a few years ago about the boom in new organizations created to fight antisemitism — more than 75 nonprofits with that mission have been created since he left the ADL in 2015— he lamented that it had become much more difficult for legacy organizations to say no to donors with political agendas because they could now take their dollars elsewhere.

“I had rules,” Foxman said. “Maybe that’s why they’re able to raise more money than I could.”

The erosion of rules that had once governed American society alarmed Foxman because he recognized that it was those norms — political correctness, trust in the mainstream media, bipartisanship — that had protected Jews.

“Antisemitism has always been here,” Foxman said on Israel’s Army Radio in 2018, during Donald Trump’s first term as president and after the Charlottesville “Unite the Right” rally had opened the nation’s eyes to an emboldened antisemitic movement. “What has changed is a new permissiveness, a new legitimacy, a new emboldenment, as if it’s OK — or more OK — today to be an antisemite.”

Unlike many of the leaders who succeeded him atop the country’s most powerful Jewish organizations, Foxman drew a direct line between the rise of Trump and skyrocketing hostility toward Jews.

“Trump’s presidency — in spirit and in deed — has given succor to bigots, supremacists, and those seeking to divide our society,” Foxman wrote in his endorsement of Joe Biden. “He and his administration dehumanize immigrants, demonize the most vulnerable, and undermine the civility and enlightened political culture that have allowed Jews to achieve what no diaspora community outside Israel can claim in two millennia.”

Foxman slammed Jonathan Greenblatt, his successor at the ADL, and other Jewish leaders for failing to follow his lead during the campaign.

But Foxman had, in some respects, paved the way for the state of affairs that he later bemoaned.

Take his relationship with Fox News owner Rupert Murdoch, who he met in the shvitz during one of Foxman’s biannual visits to a spa for billionaires, where each week-long stay cost nearly $9,000, paid for by an ADL donor. “I have come to know the man, not his image,” Foxman said after presenting Murdoch with a leadership award in 2010.

When I asked Foxman whether he regretted feting the founder of Fox News, which had almost certainly contributed to the erosion of political correctness and trust in the media that he later lamented, he cryptically brushed aside the concern: “Fox wasn’t Fox back then.”

And Foxman could claim impunity when it came to countering antisemitism in the way that he saw fit.

After the ADL found itself embroiled in a scandal over its close monitoring of political activists in the early 1990s, including activists against South African apartheid who were also critical of Israel, a Washington Post reporter wrote that Foxman “testily argued” to him that the ADL “has a right to do whatever it must within the law to combat antisemitism,” including receiving files the police said were stolen from the FBI.

Foxman also lobbied Congress not to recognize the Armenian genocide, worried that doing so would endanger Turkey’s Jewish community and damage the country’s relationship with Israel, before eventually reversing course. And, in what became the central allegation in longstanding complaints from the left that Foxman had stoked Islamophobia, he insisted that it was offensive to build a proposed mosque near Ground Zero in Manhattan.

Foxman also deeply believed that Israel’s security was connected to the safety of Jews in the United States, and that animus toward Israel was often a veiled expression of animosity toward Jews, something he remained concerned about until the very end.

This willingness to play ball with billionaires and stake out controversial political positions intended to protect Jews or Israel — often blurring the line between the two — would help shape how the Jewish community evolved in the decades after Foxman became ADL director in 1987.

Foxman achieved his towering status partly through his gravitas and charisma, what Nicole Mutchnik, chair of the ADL board, referred to as his ability to be a “warm friend, advisor, spirited antagonist and hugger — all over lunch.”

But I suspect it also had to do with his ability to maintain what has become an untenable political stance: a deep belief that Jews must fight for civil rights without giving up particular Jewish concerns around Israel and antisemitism.

This meant investing in the ADL’s civil rights portfolio — voting rights, immigration, racial justice, LGBTQ equality — even as he defended Israel in ways that rankled many liberals inside and outside of the organization.

And it meant becoming a forceful voice against both Trump and Israel’s far-right turn in recent years, even as he complained about what he viewed as unfair criticism of AIPAC by progressives and Democratic politicians drifting away from support for Israel in recent interviews.

Foxman shared this commitment to both liberalism, and a connection to Israel that at least sometimes conflicts with that liberalism, with a plurality of American Jews giving the ADL arguably the strongest claim of any legacy organization that it actually represented the American Jews it claimed to speak for.

But despite Foxman’s success — praise for his legacy came from wildly diverse corners of the Jewish community — the current crop of Jewish leaders have not adopted his politics.

The largest establishment organizations, including the current iteration of the Anti-Defamation League, seem to have determined that a wider-ranging commitment to civil rights advocacy and vocal opposition to Trump is a nonstarter if they intend to continue advocating for Israel, at a time when much of the Democratic Party has turned actively hostile to the Jewish state.

Meanwhile, the progressive Jewish groups who remain most committed to civil rights work have largely abandoned Zionism as part of their missions.

This may be a more honest form of Jewish politics than what came before. But it has also left many Jews feeling politically homeless and played into the erasure of a political center that Foxman, and no shortage of Jewish historians, have insisted is integral to Jewish safety.

“We do well when we’re in the center,” Foxman told me shortly after I started this job. “And there is no center today.”

The post Abe Foxman built the Jewish establishment. He died troubled by what it had become appeared first on The Forward.

VIENNA — Lisa Wegenstein is putting shakshuka on the menu. She hopes it won’t get her any hate.

Wegenstein, 59, runs Kantine, a laid-back café and bar in Vienna’s Museumsquartier, a hip museum area next to the historic inner city. Kantine has been a local staple for the past 23 years, with a generous cocktail happy hour, a stylish indoor bar and cozy tables in the backyard. And since May 4, it has sported a purple-and-blue sticker for the Eurovision Song Contest on the glass door, with an Israeli flag on each side.

Kantine is one of the 21 temporary “Eurofan Cafés” across Vienna. From May 12 to 16, the ESC will take place in the city, after Austrian sopranist Johannes “JJ” Pietsch won last year’s competition in Basel, Switzerland. Eurovision is Europe’s glitzy song contest: think American Idol meets the Olympics. It’s popular: 80,000 guests are expected to come to Vienna for the event — which features two semi-finals and a grand finale — planning to watch the shows and celebrate at public viewings, parties and cafés.

Vienna’s coffeehouse culture was enshrined as an intangible cultural heritage by UNESCO in 2011. This is why the ORF, Austria’s public broadcaster — which this year organized the ESC — has come up with a plan, together with the association of Viennese coffeehouse owners: Different cafés “adopt” participating countries and their fans, hosting cultural programs and adapting the menu. Originally, no cafés were assigned to adopt Israel — the only competing country left behind.

Behind the seemingly small incident brews a massive debate. The anxieties that Israel’s participation has caused have implications far beyond the ESC’s fan base. Vienna’s authorities are on high alert, fearing protests and terror attacks. With the contest taking place in a city that once had a sizable Jewish community, it once again raises uncomfortable questions about the thin line between political protest and antisemitism.

“That’s a scandal,” Lisa Wegenstein, who is the founder of an annual human rights film festival, remembers thinking when she heard that Israel had no café. Her maternal grandfather is Jewish, and while she only found out about her Jewish heritage as a teenager, she sports a massive gold “chai” on her chain.

“I wanted to stand up against antisemitism,” she says. So she volunteered to host Israel at Kantine.

Controversy amid celebration

Israel’s participation in the song contest has long caused controversy, especially since the Hamas massacre of Oct. 7, 2023, and the subsequent war in Gaza. Last year, Israeli participant Yuval Raphael, herself a survivor of the Nova music festival massacre, triggered anti-Israel demonstrations on the streets of Basel. In 2024, Israeli singer Eden Golan was only able to leave her Malmö hotel in disguise for the same reason. 2024’s winner, Swiss singer Nemo returned their trophy in December 2025 in protest against Israel’s continued participation in the contest.

After JJ won last year, he said in an interview that he’d rather not have Israel join the contest in Vienna. Spain, Ireland, Slovenia, Iceland and the Netherlands are not participating this year in protest against Israel’s involvement.

Vienna has enhanced security measures for the main event venue, Stadthalle, which has space for up to 10,000 people. A massive demonstration against Israel is scheduled for May 16, the day of the finals, in central Vienna. On May 15, a “song protest” will take place in the Prater, a park close to the inner city. The event will also commemorate Nakba Day, the organizers have said.

Wegenstein has had talks with the security team of the Museumsquartier and the police. She‘d rather not share any details. “Maybe we’ll be overrun, maybe we‘ll be boycotted,” she said, “I have no clue.”

Rising antisemitism

Austria is walking a thin line. The country‘s history weighs heavily on its handling of Israel-related issues: Long deemed Hitler’s first victim — it became part of Nazi Germany in 1938 — it was only in the 1990s that the country admitted to its complicity in the Holocaust.

That catastrophe decimated Austria’s Jewish community. Up until 1938, more than 200,000 Jews lived in Austria. Jews made up 10% of Vienna’s population. Today, there are around between just 10,000 and 15,000 Jews in Austria. Almost all of them live in the capital. Jewish institutions were heavily guarded even before the Oct. 7 attack; antisemitism has spiked even further since that day.

Roughly three-quarters of all incidents are Israel-related antisemitism, according to the Israelitische Kultusgemeinde, Austria’s Jewish community.

“I wasn’t surprised by the protests against Israel’s participation in the ESC,” said Isolde Vogel, who researches antisemitism at the Documentation Center of Austrian Resistance, a scientific organization researching fascism and its consequences in Austria. “The protests are not about criticising politics or the military, but about demonization fantasies. Israel isn’t a regime that can be equated to Russia.”

She added that KAN, Israel’s public broadcaster — which organizes Israel’s participation in Eurovision — is not close to the government, but independent.

“Excluding Israel would be the end of the independence of KAN,” says Alkis Vlassakakis. He has just given an almost two-hour tour through a temporary exhibition about Eurovision, which he co-curated at QWien, a small museum focused on queer topics.

Vlassakakis, 61, who was born in Greece, is an artist, actor, and die-hard Eurovision fan. He wears a black t-shirt that says “Merci chéri”, the title of a song by Austrian singer Udo Jürgens, which led to Austria’s first Eurovision victory in 1966. “Merci chéri” is also the name of Vlassakakis’ podcast, which he has been hosting together with the former Green party politician Marco Schreuder since 2019.

A mirror to society

It’s no coincidence that the song contest has become a queer fan favorite.

Maybe it’s because of the flamboyance and the cheesy tunes, maybe because of the message of love, tolerance and fun. In 1961, French singer Jean-Claude Pascal won the contest with the song “Nous les amoureux” about a secret love. “Was it a Romeo-and-Juliet-type story? A love story across classes? Or a queer story? You can read into it what you want,” explains Vlassakakis, who is openly gay. “The contest has always mirrored what is possible in society.”

In a somewhat ironic twist of history, the first transgender singer to win the ESC was the Israeli singer Dana International, who brought the ESC to Tel Aviv in 1999, accelerating a cultural shift within Israel that made Tel Aviv a destination for LBGTQ+ tourists.

If this year’s Israeli entry, 28-year-old French-Israeli Noam Bettan, were to win, would young queer Eurovision fans come and celebrate in Tel Aviv of 2027?

Probably not — at least not all of them. The queer community is experiencing a generational shift, Vlassakakis observed. There are younger people who have joined the protest movement, boycotting ESC events because of Israel’s participation. One popular queer ESC event is not taking place this year, officially due to security concerns.

“I hope that afterwards we’ll say that we didn’t need all the security measures,” Lisa Wegenstein of Kantine said. Right now, she’s focusing on fine-tuning her cafe’s cultural program — which will include readings, as well as musical performances by mostly Jewish local artists — and organizing people to hang around and engage in calm, meaningful debates about Israel, if necessary. Think a low-key, voluntary “awareness team.”

The Viennese Jewish community has been very supportive, she says. “Some have asked if they should come and help in the kitchen.”

Wegenstein rejected the offer, because her kitchen is too small. She also still needs to find a suitable shakshuka recipe. What if the guests don’t like the Israeli eggs-in-tomato-sauce brunch staple? That, at least, is the kind of hate she can deal with.

The post Clashes over Israel again define Eurovision — this time under the shadow of the Holocaust appeared first on The Forward.