Andrew Lapin
Leonard Cohen blended the sacred and the profane in his own search for a deeper meaning—finding truth in the Torah, yes, but also in sex, travel and the simple thrill of artistic creation.
Julie Gray
Lilly Gelman
pat lewis
With just under a year to go, Trump, and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, would really like to fit in another one or two major moves—a grand peace plan, greenlighting Israeli annexation of the Jordan Valley or the signing of a mutual defense treaty between the two countries.
The title of “biggest threat” to American Jews is hard to define or measure. And more importantly, it’s political. Most liberals would agree that anti-Semitism has reached new records under Trump and that the president’s response to the phenomenon has been less than adequate.
Smoke rises slowly from the locomotive’s chimney, hissing from the valves and swirling in clouds over the face of the train.
The first known bark mitzvah took place in 1958 in Beverly Hills, California.
Andrew Lapin
Jewishness is both unrelated to the Disney archive and, thanks to Walt Disney’s long-rumored yet long-denied anti-Semitism, inseparable from it.
He was incredibly picky. The photo album he made in the 1940s shows him dashingly handsome, in and out of New York City, in and out of baggy suits, Navy uniforms and bathing shorts, with girlfriends, pre-kiss, post-kiss. One annotation reads something like: “She had thoughts of marriage but he didn’t.” In his 30s, with two degrees and military service behind him, he was still in search of the perfect Jewish wife. This physicist, with a remarkably unique mind, drove his Kaiser to Manhattan from New Jersey on weekends to find her.
Lilly Gelman
