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With ‘Let It Be Morning’ and ‘Cinema Sabaya,’ Israeli filmmakers are winning awards for portraying Palestinian stories
(JTA) — Years ago, the Israeli filmmaker Orit Fouks Rotem took a class led by director Eran Kolirin, best known as the maker of “The Band’s Visit.” This month, movies by both filmmakers are getting theatrical rollouts in the United States.
On a recent Zoom call, Palestinian author Sayed Kashua joked: “Was that his class — how to use a Palestinian story?”
Kashua was smiling on Zoom as he said it — he is, after all, known for his often fatalistic sense of humor, particularly when it comes to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. And the author had given his blessing for Kolirin to make an adaptation of his novel “Let It Be Morning,” and said he loved the final result.
But like most jokes, this one had a kernel of truth: Israel’s two most recent Oscar submissions, hitting New York’s Quad Cinema within a week of each other, both — to varying degrees — tell Palestinian stories.
“Let It Be Morning” is a dark comedy about an Arab Israeli village that has suddenly and with no explanation been cordoned off from the rest of the country by the Israeli military. This event forces its Palestinian residents, including a protagonist trying to return to his comfortable middle-class life in Jerusalem, to reckon with how their dignity as citizens has been denied to them by the mechanisms of the Israeli occupation. At the Quad, the film is accompanied by a retrospective of Kolirin’s work, including “The Band’s Visit,” the basis for the Tony Award-winning musical; the retrospective is sponsored by the Israeli consulate in New York.
The all-female cast of “Cinema Sabaya,” a mix of Jewish and Arab actresses, in a film directed by Orit Fouks Rotem. (Courtesy of Kino Lorber)
The following week will see the opening of Rotem’s film, “Cinema Sabaya.” It follows a group of eight women, some Jewish and some Arab and Palestinian, who bond with each other while taking a filmmaking class in a community center in the Israeli city of Hadera. Cast member Dana Ivgy, who plays the class’s instructor, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that the filming experience “felt like how living in Israel should feel,” adding, “We have more women in the film than in the Israeli government.”
Stylistically, the two films couldn’t be more different. “Let It Be Morning” is a tightly plotted narrative with boldly realized characters; almost all of its dialogue is in Arabic. “Cinema Sabaya” is a loose, heavily improvisational piece that is almost entirely set in one room, and is mostly in Hebrew (although in one tense early scene, the characters debate whether to conduct their class in Hebrew or Arabic). One is a dry, Kafkaesque satire; the other is an intimate, naturalistic drama.
But together, the films provide a snapshot of the delicate dance Israeli filmmakers must perform in the current climate. On the one hand, these art-house directors are being feted on the international stage for their empathetic storytelling that incorporates or even centers entirely on Palestinian characters. But on the other, they’re being attacked by government officials for their perceived insufficient loyalty — and their films’ very status as “Israeli” is being questioned, too, sometimes by their own cast and crew.
“Everyone can call it what they want,” Rotem said of her film. “I’m an Israeli and it’s in Israel, but I have partners who call themselves Palestinians, and some of them call themselves Arabs, and each one defined herself. I think it’s really how it should be.”
“A film does not have an identity,” Kolirin insisted in an interview with JTA. “It is a citizen of the screen.”
Eran Kolirin accepted the award for Best Director for “Let It Be Morning” at the 2021 Ophir Awards in Tel Aviv on October 5, 2021. (Tomer Neuberg/ Flash90)
Kolirin isn’t a fan of the label “Israeli film” in this case, even though that is how “Let It Be Morning” was categorized at its 2021 Cannes Film Festival premiere; its own press notes also list Israel as the “country of production.” That Cannes screening took place shortly after Israel’s deadly conflict with Hamas that killed more than 250 Palestinians in the Gaza Strip and around a dozen Israelis. The events turned Cannes into a political firestorm when the film’s Palestinian cast refused to attend the premiere.
“We cannot ignore the contradiction of the film’s entry into Cannes under the label of an ‘Israeli film’ when Israel continues to carry its decades-long colonial campaign of ethnic cleansing, expulsion, and apartheid against us — the Palestinian people,” the cast’s statement read in part.
“Each time the film industry assumes that we and our work fall under the ethno-national label of ‘Israeli,’ it further perpetuates an unacceptable reality that imposes on us, Palestinian artists with Israeli citizenship,” the statement continues, calling on “international artistic and cultural institutions” to “amplify the voices of Palestinian artists and creatives.”
Kolirin himself supported the cast’s action. He knew they were grieving over the outbreak of violence in Gaza and didn’t want to put themselves in a situation where “some politician is going to wave a flag over their head or whatever.”
What’s more, he said, the status of “Let It Be Morning” as an “Israeli” film, despite the fact that around half the crew was Palestinian, was not his decision: “The film was not submitted to Cannes as an Israeli film,” he said. “You know, you fill in the form: ‘Which were the countries that gave money?’” In this case, the answer was Israel and France.
Most of the cast later did not attend the Ophir Awards ceremony, Israel’s equivalent to the Oscars voted on by its filmmaking academy, where “Morning” won the top prize (which automatically made it Israel’s Oscar submission for that year). In solidarity at the awards, Kolirin read aloud a statement from his lead actress, Juna Suleiman, decrying Israel’s “active efforts to erase Palestinian identity” and what she called “ethnic cleansing.”
Orit Fouks Rotem (Courtesy of Kino Lorber)
“Cinema Sabaya” hasn’t played host to as much offscreen controversy, but its vision of Israeli multiculturalism is still inherently political. Rotem’s mother is a local government adviser on women’s issues in Hadera, and the film was inspired by her experience participating in a photography class designed to unite Jewish and Arab women. Rotem herself later led filmmaking classes in a similar vein as research for “Sabaya.”
In the film, Ivgy’s character, who is modeled on Rotem, instructs her class to film their home lives, while secretly hoping to make a movie from their efforts. When her desire to do so is revealed, the women in the class feel betrayed: They thought they were just making films for themselves, not for their stories to be told by someone else.
Similarly, Rotem said that working with Arab and Palestinian actresses made her “aware to the fact that I can’t really tell their story.” Her solution was to allow the performers — some of whom are well-known activists who had to think twice about appearing in an Israeli movie — to voice their own opinions, and to establish the necessary trust to allow them to be unscripted on camera.
She theorizes that “Cinema Sabaya” has been so well received in Israel because “it doesn’t say ‘occupation, occupation, occupation.’ It says ‘humanity,’ so people are less afraid.” (She also noted that, in real life, the women who attended her filmmaking classes bristled at her initial suggestion to make a documentary about them, telling her to fictionalize their stories instead — which she did.)
Lately the Israeli government has a tendency to view its filmmaking class as agitators unworthy of national support, particularly when they make films criticizing the occupation. Former Culture Minister Miri Regev often disparaged films she thought were bad for Israel, including celebrated international hits such as “Foxtrot” and “Synonyms.” Her current successor, Miki Zohar, has already threatened the makers of a new documentary about the West Bank city of Hebron, saying the movie smears the military and that the directors might have to return government funds.
In recent years, Israel’s culture ministry has pushed two new controversial proposals: a grant program earmarked for those who make films in settlements, which are considered illegal under international law; and a form pledging not to make films “offensive” to Israel or the military that filmmakers would be required to sign in order to apply for certain grants, which many directors have likened to a loyalty oath. For years, some of the country’s largest grantmakers have required applicants to sign a form promising to represent their projects as Israeli on the national stage.
There has also been an effort among some members of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s new right-wing government to end funding to public broadcaster Kan, which the country’s film industry views as another attack on its free expression.
“Kan has all this dialogue,” Ivgy said. “It has Jewish and religious and Arab and Palestinian, for kids and for grownups. And nothing is taboo there. I feel that it’s very dangerous to close that option down.”
Many Israeli filmmakers are fighting back. Hundreds, including Kolirin and Rotem, have refused to sign the ministry’s pledge, and many have also protested the settlement grant program. Nadav Lapid, one of the country’s most celebrated and outspoken directors, harshly critiqued government restrictions placed on his own work in the 2021 drama “Ahed’s Knee,” which went on to win a special prize at Cannes.
Kolirin said he had recently been on a call with several Israeli filmmakers looking to further organize against artistic restrictions, and that it had given him hope. “I had this feeling of some optimism, which I didn’t have for a long time,” he said. But he didn’t mince words when discussing Israel’s new governing coalition, which he likened to “a circus of mad dogs unleashed.”
Rotem said that the current government is “very, very bad and scary,” but that it has only strengthened her resolve to make political films.
“For me, it’s also political to show women in Israel in a deep way: I mean Arabs and Jews,” she said. “Because I don’t think there are enough films that are doing that.”
For Kashua, a veteran TV writer and opinion columnist, the question of identity in Israeli and Palestinian filmmaking is even more pronounced. After a long career of trying to write about the Palestinian experience in Hebrew as a way of reaching Israelis, he left Israel for the United States in 2014, becoming discouraged by an incident in which Jewish extremists burned a Palestinian teenager alive as revenge after Palestinian terrorists kidnapped Israeli soldiers. Now based in St. Louis, he has worked as a writer and story editor on Israeli series that center on both Palestinian and Jewish stories — including the global hit “Shtisel,” which focuses on haredi Orthodox Jews, and its upcoming spinoff, along with “Madrasa,” a young-adult series about a bilingual Hebrew-Arabic school.
Israeli filmmakers choosing to center Palestinian stories can be its own radical political act, Kashua believes. He noted that the dialogue in “Morning” is almost entirely in Arabic, a language that Israel demoted from national language status in 2018 — doubly ironic as he had deliberately chosen to write his original novel in Hebrew.
“The idea that this film is ‘Israeli’ — it really contradicts the idea of Israel being a purely Jewish state,” Kashua said. He added that, while he had initially hoped a Palestinian director might have adapted his novel, he was ultimately happy with Kolirin’s approach.
“I truly love the movie, and it’s barely Orientalist,” he joked, echoing Palestinian-American intellectual Edward Said’s famous book about how a Western lens on Eastern cultures can be reductive and harmful. “Which is a big achievement for an Israeli filmmaker.”
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The post With ‘Let It Be Morning’ and ‘Cinema Sabaya,’ Israeli filmmakers are winning awards for portraying Palestinian stories appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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‘Sefer Elijah’ — probably the oldest proto-Ashkenazi text
ס׳איז מעגלעך, אַז מיר האָט זיך אײַנגעגעבן צו אַנטדעקן דעם עלטסטן פּראָטאָ־אַשכּנזישן טעקסט, אָנגעשריבן אינעם פֿריִיִקן 9טן יאָרהונדערט. דאָס איז דער אוראַלטער אַפּאָקאַליפּטישער מדרש „ספֿר אליהו‟, אַ ספֿר וואָס איז מיר שוין לאַנג גוט באַקאַנט.
געשען איז עס אַזוי: ווען איך בין ערשט אָנגעקומען קיין אַמעריקע אין 1998 — אין וויליאַמסבורג — האָב איך זיך אַ דריי געטאָן אין די אָרטיקע ביכער־קראָמען און געקויפֿט די גאָר אינטערעסאַנטע מדרש־זאַמלונג „ילקוט הרועים‟, באַגלייט מיט גלענצנדיקע הסכּמות (רבנישע באַשטעטיקונגען), אַז דער ספֿר איז אָנגענומען ווי אַ הייליקער, אַרײַנגערעכנט אַ רעקאָמענדאַציע פֿון דעם דעמאָלטיקן סאַטמאַרער רבין משה טייטלבוים זצ״ל.
די זאַמלונג באַשטייט על־פּי־רובֿ פֿון טיפֿע קבלה־טעקסטן און עטלעכע אַפּאָקאַליפּטישע מדרשים וועגן דעם קץ־הימים — דעם סוף פֿון די טעג, די צײַט וואָס משיח דאַרף קומען — בתוכם דעם „ספֿר אליהו‟. אָט דער ספֿר און נאָך עטלעכע אין דער דאָזיקער זאַמלונג שילדערן די ביאת־המשיח נישט ווי אַ פּלוצעמדיקן גליקלעכן סוף פֿון אַלע ליידן אין דער וועלט, נאָר ווי אַ שרעקלעכן פּראָצעס, באַגלייט מיט חורבֿות און שוידערס. נישט נאָר בײַ די קריסטן איז פֿאַראַן אַזאַ מין ליטעראַטור. בקיצור, שטייט אינעם „ספֿר אליהו‟ געשריבן, אַז ווען משיח וועט קומען, וועט ער צונויפֿברענגען אַלע צדיקים — בסך־הכּל 30 טויזנט — אין אַ הימליש אָרט ווײַט פֿון אונדזער ערד, וועלכע וועט פֿאַרברענט ווערן מיט אַלע אירע איבעריקע זינדיקע תּושבֿים.
די אמונה, אַז דער נײַער משיחישער צוקונפֿטיקער ירושלים וועט אַראָפּקומען פֿונעם הימל און אַז די שטאָט האָט ווייניק צו טאָן מיט דער הײַנטיקער ירשולים, איז אַמאָל געווען אַבסאָלוט נאָרמאַל בײַ ייִדן, בפֿרט אין דער אַשכּנזישער וועלט. רש״י האָט, למשל, אויך אַזוי געגלייבט. אין דער שפּעטערדיקער צײַט האָט הרבֿ צבֿי־הירש קײַדאַנאָווער, דער מחבר פֿונעם פּאָפּולערן מוסר־ספֿר „קבֿ הישר‟, וועלכן ער האָט אַליין איבערגעזעצט פֿון לשון־קודש אויף ייִדיש, אַזוי געשריבן אינעם פֿריִיִקן 18טן יאָרהונדערט.
דער „ספֿר אליהו‟ בלײַבט כּמעט אומגעפֿאָרשט. הלל ניומאַן, אַ היסטאָריקער פֿונעם חיפֿהר אוניווערסיטעט, האָט באַמערקט, אַז דער דאָזיקער מדרש קלינגט ענלעך אויף דער קריסטלעכער אַפּאָקאַליפּטישער ליטעראַטור. עטלעכע אַנדערע פֿאָרשער האַלטן, אַז ס׳איז אָנגעשריבן געוואָרן בײַם אָנהייב פֿון דער איסלאַמישער תּקופֿה. לאָמיר זיך אָבער אַרײַנקוקן אין געוויסע פּרטים, וואָס די פֿאָרשער האָבן פֿאַרקוקט — און וואָס איך האָב אַליין ערשט באַמערקט נישט לאַנג צוריק.
אין אַ סך מדרשים ווערט דערמאָנט דער אַנטי־משיח מיטן נאָמען אַרמילוס. אין „ספֿר אליהו‟ ווערט אָבער זײַן נאָמען אויסגעלייגט ווי „הרמלת‟. ווײַזט אויס, אַז בײַ דעם מחבר האָט אַ תוו געקלונגען ווי אַ סמך, און דער הא איז בײַ אים געווען שטום. דעם נאָמען פֿונעם פּערסישן מלך אַרתּחשסתּא שרײַבט ער אויך ווי „הרתּחשסתּא‟. עס ווערט דערמאָנט עפּעס אַ ים־מאָנסטער — „גיגית‟; ווײַזט אויס, מיינט עס gigas אויף לאַטײַניש, אַ ריז. אַזאַ אַרויסרייד האָט געקאָנט נאָר זײַן בײַ פּראָטאָ־אַשכּנזים, וועלכע האָבן גערעדט אויף אַלט־פֿראַנצויזיש (צי, מעגלעך, אויף עפּעס אַ געמישטן דיאַלעקט, וווּ קיין הא־קלאַנג איז נישט געווען).
אינעם דאָזיקן מדרש שטייט געשריבן, אין געוויסע ווערסיעס, אַז די מלחמות פֿאַר דער ביאת־המשיח וועלן אָנהייבן די מלכים קוסטנטנוס און קרטילוס. אַזוי שטייט אין יהודה אבֿן־שמואלס (יהודה קויפֿמאַנס) זאַמלונג „מדרשי גאולה‟. אינעם חסידישן ספֿר, וואָס איך האָב, ווערט דערמאָנט נאָר „קירטלוס‟. ס׳איז קלאָר, מיין איך, אַז דאָ גייט די רייד וועגן דעם ביזאַנטישן מלך קאָנסטאַנטין דעם זעקסטן, מיט וועלכן קאַרל דער גרויסער האָט געוואָלט זיך מזווג זײַן, כּדי צו שאַפֿן אַ פֿאַראייניקט וועלט־מלכות, דורכן זיווג מיט קאָנסטאַנטיס מאַמע אירענע. קאָנסטאַנטינען האָט מען געשדכנט מיט קאַרלס טאָכטער ראָטרודע. אויב די דאָזיקע שידוכים וואָלטן געלונגען, וואָלט דעמאָלט אויפֿגעשטאַנען אַ נײַע גלאָבאַלע רוימישע אימפּעריע. קאַרל דער גרויסער האָט זיך אָבער סײַ־ווי־סײַ געהאַלטן פֿאַר אַ נײַעם רוימישן אימפּעראַטאָר. דער פּויפּסט לעאָן דער דריטער האָט אים געקרוינט מיט אַזאַ טיטל אין יאָר 800.
הגם קאַרל דער גרויסער האָט דערלויבט ייִדן צו וווינען אין זײַן קיניגרײַך און פֿאַרפֿלאַנצט דערמיט דאָס קערנדל פֿון דער אַשכּנזישער ציוויליזאַציע, ווערט אין אַ סך אַלטע מדרשים פֿאָרויסגעזאָגט, אַז די חבֿלי־המשיח, די צרות פֿאַר משיחס קומען, וועלן זײַן פֿאַרבונדן מיט רוים; דערפֿאַר האָבן ייִדן אויפֿגענומען זײַן אימפּעריע ווי אַ סימן פֿון אַפּאָקאַליפּטיש־משיחישע געשעענישן.
קאָנסטאַנטין דער זעקסטער איז געשטאָרבן בערך אין 805 (לויט אַנדערע קוואַלן אין 797) און קאַרל דער גרויסער — אין 814. באַקומט זיך, אַז דער „ספֿר־אליהו‟ מוז געהערן צו דער תּקופֿה, ווען זיי האָבן ביידע נאָך געלעבט.
וואָס עפּעס „קרטילוס‟? פֿאַרוואָס איז קאַרלס נאָמען אין אונדזער ספֿר אַזוי פֿאַרקריפּלט געוואָרן? ס׳קען זײַן, אַז אין זײַן אייגן לאַנד וואָלט געווען וויכטיק אויסצובאַהאַלטן זײַן נאָמען, די קריסטן זאָלן נישט וויסן, אַז בײַ ייִדן גייט אַרום אַזאַ געהיימער קלאַנג, אַז דער קיניג וועט מיט זײַנע מלחמות גורם זײַן די ייִדישע גאולה. מע קען זיך אַפֿילו משער זײַן, פֿאַרוואָס מע האָט אויסגענוצט אַזאַ שיפֿער: די אותיות טית און יוד קאָנען זײַן ראָשי־תּיבֿות פֿון זײַן טיטל imperator terrae.
ס’איז וויכטיק צוצוגעבן, אַז געוויסע קריסטלעכע שרײַבער האָבן געגלייבט, אַז קאַרל דער גרויסער וועט זיך אומקערן איידער יעזוס וועט זיך באַווײַזן צום צווייטן מאָל. אַזוי האָט געשריבן אינעם 11טן יאָרהונדערט דער מאָנאַך אַדעמאַר פֿון לימאָזש, פֿראַנקרײַך. אויב אַ טייל ייִדן האָבן געגלייבט אין עפּעס ענלעכס, וואָלט מען געקאָנט פֿאַרשרײַבן דעם „ספֿר אליהו‟ נאָכן טויט פֿון קאַרל דעם גרויסן.
ואַחרון אַחרון חבֿיבֿ, דער סטיל פֿונעם „ספֿר אליהו‟ איז וווּנדערלעך ענלעך אויף דער אַלט־בײַערישער אַפּאָקאַליפּטישער פּאָעמע Muspilli, פֿונעם 9טן יאָרהונדערט, וווּ דער הויפּטהעלד איז אויך אליהו הנבֿיא. עטלעכע שטיקלעך פֿון ביידע טעקסטן קלינגען כּמעט אידענטיש. ווײַזט אויס, אַז אונדזער מדרש געהערט טאַקע צו דער תּקופֿה פֿון קאַרל דעם גרויסן — צי, אפֿשר, מיט אַ דור־צוויי שפּעטער — ווען אַפּאָקאַליפּטישע געדאַנקען זענען געווען פֿאַרשפּרייט אויך בײַ די קריסטן.
דער אימאַזש, אַז דער אייבערשטער וועט אַוועקטראָגן די צדיקים אין עפּעס אַ הימלישער וועלט, ווען די גאַנצע ערד וועט ברענען, קלינגט ממש ווי דער גערמאַנישער מיטאָס וועגן דעם ראַגנאַריאָק, דעם סוף פֿון דער וועלט, אָפּגעשפּיגלט אויך אין Muspilli.
באַקומט זיך, אַז ייִדן אין דײַטשלאַנד האָבן נאָך מיט 1200 יאָר צוריק אַרויסגערעדט דעם תוו ווי „ס‟. צי האָבן אַ טייל פֿון זיי דעמאָלט שוין גערעדט אויף דײַטשיש, נישט אַלט־פֿראַנצויזיש? אין 838 האָט דער פֿראַנקישער גלח באָדאָ זיך מגייר געווען; זײַן ייִדישער נאָמען איז געווען אליעזר. ער האָט געדינט אינעם הויף פֿון קאַרלס זון לויִס דעם ערלעכן. ווײַזט אויס, אַז אַרום יענעם דײַטשיש־רעדנדיקן גלח איז שוין געווען בנימצא אַ גענוג גרויסע ייִדישע סבֿיבֿה, וועלכע האָט משפּיע געווען אויף זײַן באַשלוס צו ווערן אַ ייִד. אויף וועלכער שפּראַך זיי האָבן גערעדט, ווייסן מיר נישט גענוי, צום באַדויערן.
דער „ספֿר אליהו‟ איז, ווײַזט אויס, דער עלטסטער אָפּגעהיטער פּראָטאָ־אַשכּנזישער קוואַל. ביזן 11טן יאָרהונדערט איז אין ארץ־אַשכּנז בכלל נישט געווען באַקאַנט די גמרא. ווי מע זעט פֿון די אַשכּנזישע ספֿרים, אַז אַפֿילו שפּעטער זענען בײַ מיסטיש־געשטימטע דײַטשישע ייִדן געווען גאָר וויכטיק — אפֿשר, נאָך וויכטיקער ווי די גמרא — פֿאָלק־מעשׂיות, שפּרוכן און סגולות, וכּדומה. אַז זיי האָבן געשילדערט די ביאת־המשיח ווי אַ כּמו־קריסטלעך אַפּאָקאַליפּטיש געשעעניש, אויסגעמישט מיט אימאַזשן פֿון גערמאַנישער מיטאָלאָגיע, איז נישט קיין גרויסער חידוש. דער דײַטשישער פֿאָלקלאָר פֿאַרנעמט אַ גרויס אָרט אין דער אַלט־ייִדישער ליטעראַטור, ווי אויך, ווייניקער, אין ערנסטע ספֿרים. אַז אַזאַ קולטור־סינטעז האָט זיך שוין אָנגעהויבן אינעם 9טן יאָרהונדערט איז אָבער יאָ אַ חידוש.
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Roy Lichtenstein was far more than just a copyist, Roy Lichtenstein was far more than just a copyist
It’s easy to understand why the new Roy Lichtenstein exhibit at the Whitney Museum foregrounds the issue of copying, even to the extent of embracing it. Lichtenstein was — as his “Image Duplicator” from 1963 (included prominently here) shows — a constant and avowed copier. That’s by no means all he did, but he was famous for taking comic book art and making it epic. The issue was publicly and recently revisited by James L. Hussey and Jesse Finley Reed in their 2023 documentary Whaam! Blam! Roy Lichtenstein and the Art of Appropriation, in which researcher David Barsalou found hundreds of images which Lichtenstein used as source material.
Just for the sake of an in-your-face example of duplication, the Whitney owns the study for his massive 1964 World’s Fair mural “Girl in Window.” In addition to displaying that image in the exhibition gallery, the museum has mounted a spectacular replica of it on the outside of the building that is almost twice the size of the original. The 32-foot reproduction demonstrates the radical difference in scale between a comic panel and the monumental installation. It also has the effect of encouraging tourists on the High Line to visit “Roy Lichtenstein: Like New.”
The copying doesn’t stop there, it goes on and on. The most striking of the several works in the exhibition that were inspired by Lichtenstein’s practice comes from artist Alex Da Corte (also one of the curators). His large outside artwork “Hot Dog With Ketchup” traces directly back to Lichtenstein’s much smaller 1964 “Hot Dog.” Though the other work is smaller and located inside, Da Corte’s benefits from size, color, condiment, and location — his work sits opposite the hot dog vendors that cater to Whitney visitors and High Line walkers.
What the Whitney doesn’t mention, in its consideration of Lichtenstein’s art in the era of AI appropriation and TikTok culture, is that the mid-20th century was a time when people were already worried about copies. Jews and antisemites especially were extremely concerned with what it meant to take one thing and reproduce it. The question of mass production, reproduction and art had reached America as early as in 1917, when Marcel Duchamp took a mass-produced urinal and submitted it upside-down for a show in New York as “Fountain.”
That was already about a decade after the antisemitic Austrian politician Hermann Bielohlawek — a member of the Vienna City Council and ally of the Nazi-forerunner Karl Lueger — said “Culture is what a Jew copies from another.” (“Kultur ist was ein Jud’ von anderen abschreibt,” as quoted in David Nirenberg’s Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition.) Once the slow trickle of emancipation legislation acknowledged that Jews should have the same rights as other citizens and were legally part of the European body politic, racist cultural arbiters were invested in disallowing them from European culture as an ersatz people just copying “real” Europeans.
So, yes, Lichtenstein owes a lot of his understanding of perception and practice to his professor Hoyt L. Sherman and the Flash Lab at Ohio State University, but the idea of aping and shaping culture from ready-made images is a larger topic. Perhaps too, it was a topic for which America — not immured in canonical European Christian art — had a specific role to play. When I arrived in the country late in the last millennium I was amazed that cooking recipes listed ready-made ingredients like cans of mushroom soup. But maybe there’s a liberation in that.
By Duchamp’s time, culture had crashed through the walls of decorum, but in the generations between him and Lichtenstein, technology had also moved on. While Lichtenstein was at grade school on 89th Street on the Upper West Side, Walter Benjamin was writing his prescient, seminal 1935 essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproducibility,” which discusses, among other things, how contemporary image reproduction undermines the almost religious nature of art: Viewing a postcard of the Mona Lisa is not the same as experiencing it in person.
By taking ready-made images of everyday life from tins, comics, or — in one particularly heavy-handed instance — from Erle Loran’s book Cezanne’s Composition and pulling them back into the realm of art, Lichtenstein was joining an established conversation in parallel with the other preeminent Pop Artist, Andy Warhol. But, unless you are on the 7th floor where the museum is displaying Family Album, a small Warhol show, don’t mention that other “W” word at the Whitney this fall: The museum has gone big for this show. “Like New” is the first New York Lichtenstein retrospective it over 30 years, it is his centenary show (though three years late because of COVID), and Roy is the hometown hero, so gentrified downtown is all “L” all the time.
The closest the exhibition comes to including Warhol is displaying “Laughing Cat,” a 1961 painting that Lichtenstein included in a trade (with other art) for portrait commissions from his Pittsburgh peer in 1975. Little seen in the past 50 years, Lichtenstein’s “Laughing Cat” sits next to “Engagement Ring: just as it did in his breakthrough 1962 show at the Leo Castelli Gallery. At the press presentation, curators Da Corte and Meg Onli expressed their appropriate pride at recreating that show in a room inset into the spacious Whitney galleries.
It’s both breathtaking to be taken back to 1962 and also retro fun. Though it’s an actual reproduction of the gallery, the reproduced studio is radically different from the original, not just because it’s 64 years on and this time the setting is a museum, rather than a for-profit art gallery. But also, relatedly, because these pieces of art are not new but proven, even iconic. It’s worth comparing the Castelli Gallery to The Cavern where — at almost the same time as that show — four young Liverpudlians were working out the kinks in “Love Me Do,” one of their first songs fashioned from the chords of the American rock and R&B covers they loved.
Is any of this “Like New” as the title of the exhibition would have it? Certainly not in the sense that nothing in seeing this massive and beautifully spaced retrospective is like seeing the work as it was freshly made. Even the inclusion of four just-painted life-size murals, beginning with the bright, audacious Greene Street mural as you enter the exhibit does not make it “like new.”
However, the title works in the intended sense that Lichtenstein made existing things seem “like new.” He took ready-made images and techniques from the market and the culture around him and — to use the word coined by Viktor Shklovsky in the decade before Lichtenstein’s birth — “defamiliarized” them. So, in the sense that both Lichtenstein and the curators are presenting common, everyday, iconic things in an unfamiliar or strange way — yes.
The issue of copying is, to my mind, relatively trivial. AI has effectively stolen all the words and images that have ever been made without any compensation for the creators while using those words and images in exactly the same way that the creators intended them. Lichtenstein transformed the work he found.
In its review of Hussey and Reed’s film, the Guardian quoted Michael Daley, a cartoonist, talking about the feelings of those artists whose images Lichtenstein used: “Comic book artists are rightly aggrieved. Aside from outright plagiarisms, technically and artistically, they are generally far better draughtsmen than Lichtenstein.” But the review goes on to cite the authoritative answer of Bradford R Collins, author of Pop Art and professor of art history at the University of South Carolina. He defended Lichtenstein: “It’s not plagiarism. It’s appropriation,” he wrote. “With plagiarism, you’re stealing somebody’s work and using it for the same purpose they did. If Lichtenstein made comic books out of it, that would be stealing. But appropriation means you’re taking something and reusing it for a very different purpose, taking something out of a comic book and making it into a painting….I can understand why [Hy] Eisman [another cartoonist] would feel angry. I would feel the same way. But artistically, it’s not plagiarism.”
What’s perhaps more interesting about this is what came out of the experiment? What is of worth and what is of value? By taking us from the source material to an incredible array of Lichtenstein’s art, to art that uses Lichtenstein himself as a starting point, the curators give us space to ask those questions. They have seriously and playfully recreated the Castelli gallery, presented an Artist’s Studio (riffing off Lichtenstein’s series of the same name, itself an homage to Henri Matisse’s l’Atelier Rouge), dedicated an entire room to Lichtenstein’s only movie (Three Landscapes), an oval space to his Mirror series, and a large wall to his Rouen cathedral series that made Claude Monet pop in many senses of the term. They have stunningly displayed “Sunrise” (1965) in front of a vast window where the sun sets into the Hudson.
For my part, I don’t particularly consider Lichtenstein one of the true Greats. And, not least because of its tendency to drift into the spectacular or decorative, Pop Art often seems to lack substance. But that’s a matter of taste. I thoroughly enjoyed my 90 minutes at ‘Like New’ and, for the next seven months at least, can’t imagine a better place to go and argue about the significance of 20th century art.
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They want Jewish life without Zionism. Now they’re building the institutions to match.
(JTA) — One year after Jewish Currents editor-at-large Arielle Angel called for “new Jewish institutions” that have no attachment to Israel or Zionism, more than 100 Jews crammed into a Victorian house-turned-event space in central Brooklyn in hopes of creating them.
The event was billed as a bootcamp for people hoping to get fledgling Jewish groups off the ground. Sessions focused on topics like staffing and funding, as well as discussions about who, exactly, is welcome in a space that is “anti-Zionist,” “non-Zionist,” “diasporist” and the like.
Many of the groups represented on Monday were minyans, which host prayer services in locations like people’s apartments or community spaces. They sought practical guidance for building their institutions, but also for defining who to welcome as their ranks expand.
“If we’re doing things right,” Angel said, “many of these small minyans will be synagogues in a few years.”
Esti, 27, who declined to share her last name to maintain privacy, is involved in leading an anti-Zionist minyan in Brooklyn. She said she has heard from “so many” attendees that they were relieved to attend services in a space without an Israeli flag.
“People are like, ‘I never thought I could be in a Jewish space like this, I never thought I’d see queer people leading, I never thought I could be in a Jewish space where they’re saying Free Palestine,’” she said. The minyan averages about 50 attendees at Shabbat services, she said.
Some of the speakers at the workshop detailed how they have refused to compromise their organizations’ politics. One panel led by Rabbi Brant Rosen, who helped found the anti-Zionist synagogue Tzedek Chicago, and Rebecca Vilkomerson, the former director of the anti-Zionist group, Jewish Voice for Peace, focused on the process of setting an organization’s “political boundaries.”
Rosen spoke from his own experience, saying that Tzedek Chicago was presented as “consciously not an inclusive community.”
“In other words, this is what we stand for, it might not be for you, it might not be for everyone, and that’s OK. There are many places out there that you can choose,” he said. Rosen added that potential members were not forced to agree in order to join, but rather that they were faced with the question: “Given that these are our values, is this a community you want to belong to?”
Esti spoke to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency on the sideline of the Urbane Arts Club event, which JTA attended on the condition that attendees’ in-session remarks throughout the day were kept off the record, though panelists’ remarks were all on the record.
Americans’ support for Israel has dropped writ large amid its military campaign in Gaza and the war with Iran. A survey by the Jewish Federations of North America found that 37% of Jewish respondents said they identified as Zionist, while 7% labeled themselves anti-Zionist and another 8% said they were non-Zionist. Another 18% said they weren’t sure, while 30% said none of the labels described them.
According to an AP-NORC poll from earlier this year, support for Israel is a less significant component of younger Jews’ religious identity versus Jews older than 45.
“These groups are starting up because of demand,” Rabbi Alissa Wise told JTA.
Wise is a co-founder of the Jewish Diaspora Movement, the group behind Monday’s bootcamp, which is itself in its beginning stages. She has previously worked for JVPe and in October 2023 founded Rabbis for Ceasefire, which has protested for a Gaza ceasefire and an end to U.S. military aid to Israel.
While JVP “played a pivotal role in building Jewish life outside of Zionism,” Wise said there was still a major gap in religious and cultural Jewish institutions that reject Zionism.
In addition to the represented minyans, which facilitate prayer services, and the havurahs, which offer events such as Shabbat dinners and other holiday celebrations, Angel said some attendees were looking to start projects including summer camps, educational offerings and cultural projects such as theater collectives.
Jen Kaminsky, an attendee who is part of the Buffalo Jewish Collective’s leadership team, told JTA that her organization welcomes “a range of Jews, many of whom have not felt comfortable in legacy Jewish institutions.”
“We say that we welcome anti-Zionists and non-Zionists, and people who are questioning Zionism and people who have a range of relationships to Zionism,” Kaminsky said. “If you are comfortable with the values that we put out, or you’re comfortable being in a room where those values are the dominant values, we welcome you.”
Vilkomerson told the group that there should be an attempt to grow membership by engaging people closer to the center in “left-liberal coalitions,” but without making concessions on left-wing values. She put the concept into New York City political terms, pointing to the political alliance between the anti-Zionist Mayor Zohran Mamdani and the liberal Zionist Brad Lander.
“Brad, as a liberal Zionist, was able to partner with Zohran Mamdani — but Zohran set the terms of the campaign, not Brad,” she said.
Also on Monday, Lissy Romanow — a co-founder of the group IfNotNow, which describes itself as “anti-occupation” — gave a nuts-and-bolts session on the first steps of creating an organization, including how to concisely conceive of a group’s DNA and how to avoid burnout among volunteers.
As groups look to grow and achieve loftier goals like setting up permanent locations and hiring paid staff, one clear obstacle stands in the way: funding.
“There’s only so much money on the Jewish left,” Angel told JTA.
Any anti-Zionist group is highly unlikely to receive funds from one of the country’s many Jewish federations, which often maintain deep ties to Israel.
Three left-wing Jewish donors — Liana Krupp, Deborah Sagner and Kathleen Peratis — spoke on Monday about the limited landscape of funding for Jewish anti-Zionist organizations.
“If we don’t flip liberal Zionists we’re not going to grow, because that’s where the money is,” Peratis said.
Participants on Monday, whose groups are mostly volunteer-run, did not have any illusions about that landscape.
“For now, the goal is to keep doing Shabbat in a sustainable way on a regular basis,” Esti said. But she also shared her long-term vision.
“I think it would be amazing to have a brick-and-mortar shul, a place we could call our definitive home,” she said. “But that’s way, way far down the line.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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