Friday, September 4, 2020

Oyneg Shabes Kveln

2020 marks 100 years since the great Yiddish folk poet Mordkhe Gebirtig published his first collection of poems, a slim booklet called Folkstimlekh Lider (Popular Songs). Between then and his murder in the Krakow ghetto in 1942, Gebirtig wrote countless poems, many of which were instantly transformed into timeless 'folk' songs. 

Kleyner yosem (Little Orphan) was one of the poems in that first collection. The poet speaks from the point of view of a dead father seeing his child cry. Don’t cry too much now, he warns, because you will need those tears later on:

 

Veyn nisht kleyner yosem. 

Shpor di trern khotsh dikh kvelt, 

vayl dos lebn hot nor tsores, 

oy, vi shlekht ven trern felt.

 

(Don’t cry little orphan.
Spare the tears although you suffer 

Because life has only misery.
Oy, how terrible it is when tears fail.)

 

In A Malekh vert geboyrn (An Angel is Born), a little boy contemplates his dead father, now playing with angels. 

 

s’badinen di malokhimlekh 

dem tatn in gan eydn, 

un der tate kvelt fun zey
vi er fun mir flegt kveln?


(The little angels are attending 

Father in Paradise

And father takes pleasure in them

Just as he used to take pleasure in me?)

 

Both poems feature orphans (yesoymim) and that’s no coincidence. In 1920 Gebirtig had finished five years service in the Austro-Hungarian military. Gebirtig was born in Krakow in 1877, when Galitsye was part of the Austrian empire. WWI and the Russo-Polish War (1919) (as well as pogroms and other mayhem of the Russian Civil War) had created tens of thousands of Jewish orphans.



  

This January 1918 poster advertises a Historical Concert for the Benefit of Widows and Orphans, those left behind by Austro-Hungarian soldiers killed in WWI. 

 

What’s interesting is how both poems employ the verb kveln, in starkly different ways. The departed father of A Malekh vert geboyrn is now with the angels, where he kvels from them, just as he used to kvel from his son (or so the son hopes.) If you asked any American Jew how to kvel, the answer no doubt would be the usage here: swelling with pleasure, especially as regards one’s children. 

 

But in Kleyner yosem, we see a very different, indeed, antithetical meaning of kveln. The dead father says to his son, Shpor di trern khotsh dikh kvelt, spare your tears, though you suffer [dikh kvelt.]

 

It turns out that Yiddish contains these two distinctly antithetical connotations for kveln/to kvell. The first relates to swelling or gushing, either literally or figuratively. The second means to torture or suffer. Kveln (to kvell) is in fact a contronym, a word which comprises two opposite meanings (other examples in English being cleave and sanction.) How did this odd situation come about?

 

It seems that in Middle High German (the common ancestor of both modern German and Yiddish) quellen meant to soak or swell. Separately, the Middle High German qual meant torment or pain and the related queln means to be in violent pain. Two different words, but in Yiddish they both came to be pronounced and spelled the same way, קוועל(ן)/kveln.

 

In Yiddish, both meanings are utterly commonplace, as demonstrated in the above Gebirtig poems. But in English, the second, more uncomfortable kvel is entirely absent. Kvell has become a quintessential Yinglish word, signifying everything cozy and right within the American Jewish habitus. The fact that there’s a popular Jewish parenting site called Kveller (with no asterisk to disambiguate this kvell from its evil twin) speaks for itself.

 

In February 2020, Kveller dedicated a whole article to the art of kvelling


Kvelling is not boasting or bragging; it’s quieter. It’s the pride you feel when you witness your older child patiently helping the younger one finish a puzzle. It’s also the satisfaction you feel because it means they might have been listening to you after all.” But kvelling isn’t limited to your own kids. Kvelling can be communal: seeing a bat mitzvah girl at the bima or a Jewish celebrity being excellent in the public eye. A good kvell is low key because it avoids attracting the attention of the evil eye (ayin-hore.)

 

A month later, I got an email ad with the subject line: “It will make you kvell.” The advertisement was for the UCLA American Jewish Music Festival, an “exploration of diverse musical styles of the American Jewish experience.  From classical to klezmer, tango to Middle Eastern, bluegrass to Broadway…” As a person who adores Jewish music, it sounded like a great time. But I didn’t see what about that lineup would make me kvell, in the American sense, that is.

 

I have no idea what the marketers were thinking when they wrote the email, but just beyond our usual sightline is the possibility for a more complex kvel, one more connected to the body, one perhaps suited to a whole day dedicated to the particular pleasure of live music.

 

I wrote about adult kveling in my Valentine’s Day Golden City column this year, and specifically, Celia Dropkin’s Yiddish poem ‘Suck’ 

 

Du kvelst, ikh kvel.
Es kvelt in undz der got,
Vos makht fun alts a tel,
Vos veyst nisht fun farbot
.

(You swell, I swell
Within us swells a god
Which makes of everything a ruin
And knows nothing of forbidden.)

 

“The narrator of the poem asks her lover to nail her to a cross, to consume her, to suck every drop from her and walk away. She rhymes krayts (cross) with rayts (sex appeal) to astonishing effect.

 

In American-Jewish English, kvell has been shrunken down in connotation, reduced to taking pride in one’s children or its association with motherhood more generally. Dropkin infuses kvel with a much more primal vulnerability, one in which kvel may mean an uncontrollable gushing, of desire, of emotion, of the stickiness of human procreation. Kveln also carries a paradoxical second meaning, to torment or torture, introducing a masochistic question to the verse.”

  

How then to translate Dropkin’s ‘kvel’? For my own translation, I liked the mamoshesdik (substantial) tumescence of ‘swell.’ But even ‘swell’ loses the erotic dampness of kveln’s connotations of ‘gushiness.’ And forget about prudish male translators of the past who tried to give us ‘overjoyed’ for Dropkin's ‘kveln.’ GTFO, Seymour. Not every Yiddish poem is destined for the front of the family fridge.

 

I had to laugh when a few weeks ago, in the midst of our long national nightmare of toxic masculinity, for a few moments the whole country was talking about feminine erotic pleasure. Two of the biggest names in hiphop today, Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion released their new single, WAP (Wet Ass Pussy). The “radio-friendly” edit was changed to “Wet and Gushy,” perhaps the only cleaned up single version to end up that much filthier than the original.

 


The nation’s (mostly male) pearl-clutchers were predictably alarmed at two women baldly insisting on their own pleasure, and profiting from it, too. According to them, Cardi and Meg had done nothing less than “set the entire female gender back by 100 years…” 

 

Dropkin, too, had her share of pearl-clutchers. Reviewing Dropkin’s sole published collection of poetry in 1935, the most important literary critic of the day, the writer now known as Samuel Charney dismissed Dropkin’s work as insufficiently political: “it irks me that [Dropkin] included in her books things that were important only for her, and not for the reader.” Even Charney, a sensitive reader who himself pioneered a Yiddish literary theory which centered female readers, even he couldn’t imagine the female readers who would find female pleasure “important.” 

 

Dropkin’s vision of the feminine kvel was, to say the least, ahead of its time, unlimited as it was by male, or American, ideas of appropriateness, whether literary or otherwise. Her poetry imagined a female subject whose kvel was not passive, not centered on the achievements of her family, or her community. Dropkin’s kvel was a messy flood of feeling which could not be contained by either pleasure or pain, one which, you might say, demanded a bucket and a mop. If, as Kveller tells us, anyone can (and should) master the art of kvelling, Celia Dropkin challenges us to expand the boundaries of the word itself, to begin to reclaim the mess and contradictions of Jewish-American life which defy translation.

Thursday, August 20, 2020

Honey on the Page on the Screen

For the last year or so I've been yelling (in print) about how good my friend Miriam Udel's new book, Honey on the Page, is going to be, once it's actually published and available for purchase. (I've had special insider access for a while, which is why I've been blabbing about it so much.) Honey on the Page is a collection of all new translations of classic Yiddish literature for children, with Miriam's brilliant context and framing for the adults.

And now, to celebrate the book's upcoming publication, YIVO has asked me to moderate an event about Yiddish children's literature with Miriam, called 'Yiddish Children's Literature Today'. On October 7, Miriam and I will be joined by Jennifer Young and Naomi Seidman to talk about pedagogy, ideology and the future of Jewish kid lit. It's a real dream team of writers and educators and I think it's going to be a lot of fun. And I hope you'll tune in!



Sunday, May 24, 2020

Warsaw: A City Divided

Just a quick note to let you know that you can now watch Warsaw: A City Divided in a couple different ways, including streaming on Amazon. Last fall, on the 80th anniversary of the Nazi invasion of Poland, I reviewed the film for the Jewish Review of Books. The Warsaw Ghetto was the largest ghetto established by the Nazis and one of the first in Poland, holding over 400,000 Jews, almost 100,000 of whom died inside it.

"Today, only a few scattered pieces of the ghetto walls that imprisoned them still stand, including fragments between properties as well as the sections of the wall that are were part of buildings.
Unlike Auschwitz or Dachau, the Warsaw Ghetto cannot be visited in any meaningful way. And yet, the ghetto looms large in Holocaust memory. The uprising there in 1943 is still the most famous act of modern Jewish resistance. In addition to Yom HaShoah, many Jews, especially those with family connections to the Warsaw Ghetto, observe April 19, the date of the beginning of the uprising, as a sacred day.
...
Though the movie makes effective use of Nazi archival materials, they never take over the film. Indeed, A City Divided is one of a handful of new documentaries that focus less on describing the crimes of the Nazis and more on the experience of the victims. These films are reshaping not just what we know about the Holocaust, but how we know it. A City Divided also joins A Film Unfinished (2010) and Who Will Write Our History (2018) as a sort of Warsaw Ghetto trilogy. Although they were produced and directed by different teams, all three have archival footage and written documents at their center. Viewers can examine the same “story” through three different lenses—German, Jewish, and Polish.    
...
There’s a remarkable moment at the end of A City Divided. The Chief Rabbi recalls how one day a resident of the Muranow neighborhood built on top of part of the ghetto came to him for help. “There are spirits in my apartment, can you do something?” Finding restless ghosts at the site of the former ghetto is almost too on the nose. And yet, we often see ghosts because we need to see ghosts."

You can now buy Warsaw: A City Divided on DVD from LOG TV or stream it via Amazon

Thursday, May 21, 2020

Shtumer Shabes Update

Alas, my dream of bringing Shtumer Shabes in front of a live audience is officially on hold for the foreseeable future. As I write this, all of New York theater is dark, a very scary thing for theater artists and lovers.

But if you're interested in learning more about Shtumer Shabes,  allow me to direct your attention to the following:

This week Alex Weiser had me as a guest for one of the YIVO lunchtime livestreams. This was a really fun - and brief! - chat.






One of the things Alex and I talked about was 'Shin is for Shtumer Shabes,' the April 29th livestream program the Shtumer Shabes cast did for the 14th Street Y in lieu of our staged reading. 'Shin is for Shtumer Shabes' was an Orson Welles-inspired show about making Yiddish theater, featuring a couple of very short excerpts of the play, as well as interviews with folks who have been carrying on the Yiddish theater tradition. 

We're all still figuring out these new virtual tools, so I hope you'll forgive the unpolished feel of the show.




And finally, if you haven't read the interview Miryem-Khaye Seigel did with me about the play, you can check it out here at the wonderful Digital Yiddish Theatre Project.

Monday, February 17, 2020

Shtumer Shabes/Silent Sabbath

UPDATE: Alas, New York theater is going dark as part of the effort to contain this [EXPLETIVE DELETED] virus. Our LABA FEST will not be going ahead during the first week of April but it looks like it will be rescheduled for May, mit gots hilf/God willing... I will post here as soon as we have the official rescheduled May date. 

In the meantime, you can read an interview I did about the play over at the wonderful Digital Yiddish Theatre Project.

If you've already bought your ticket GOD BLESS YOU. It looks like you'll be able to use that ticket for the rescheduled show. More information will be posted as soon as I have it.

I'm obviously very sad and disappointed to have to make this announcement, but I believe that our best hope of keeping this virus in check is by taking drastic measures now. Thank you and keep washin' those hands. -xxrokhl



Exciting news: My new play, Shtumer Shabes/Silent Sabbath, will have a one night, sneak preview performance on April 2. 

This year I have the good luck to be a LABA fellow at the 14th Street Y. My play will be part of the week-long LABA Fest, featuring a number of my talented colleagues.

If you're interested in seeing the play, get your tickets now. It's a small house and will probably sell out.




Shtumer Shabes: Presented by the Theater at the 14th Street Y

Sunday, February 2, 2020

Broadway Danny Gumby and the Yiddish Side of Eddie Murphy

I was at brunch today with my friend Ari and he mentioned an old Saturday Night Live sketch I had never seen. It's a What If scenario: what if a Jewish family like the Franks had been hidden in an attic in Amsterdam, but the people hiding them had never remembered to let them out. My jaw dropped as Ari described the premise, that the family was so annoying it wasn't worth it to the Dutch family living downstairs to free them. Yikes.

I was also intrigued when he mentioned that Eddie Murphy played one of the members of the Jewish family. I assumed he did it in white face makeup, similar to what he used for Coming to America, but no, it's just him, doing his thick as shmalts 'Yiddish' accent with a black satin yarmulke perched on his giant wig.  

When I went to find the clip on YouTube, though, I stumbled on something else. It's Eddie Murphy returning to Saturday Night Live in 1982, to promote his new movie, 48 Hours.

In the opening monologue, he tells the story of buying a house on Long Island. It's haunted by the ghost of the Jewish man who died there. The ghost turns out to have a special enmity for Eddie, and uses a Yiddish word to insult him which I won't spell out here.

Like a lot of words from that era, this particular word is now unacceptable, but back then, its use was utterly unremarkable. In my experience, the adults who used it did so, to be totally honest, in the same way they used the Yiddish words for 'gentile.'  Not so much as a pejorative, but to underline our own separateness from everyone else. Which is not to claim it wasn't used in a more overtly racist way, but only that that wasn't my experience.

I grew up on Long Island, and, to understand Long Island, you have to understand that it's one of the most segregated places in the country. Eddie Murphy grew up partly in Roosevelt, one of the few heavily African-American towns on Long Island. It wasn't always that way, of course. In the 1950s, rather than allow African-Americans into the neighborhood, almost all of the white residents sold their houses and took off, aka 'white flight.'

If you're a real Long Islander, you know that, aside from Eddie Murphy, the most notable product of Roosevelt* is Howard Stern. Stern claims his white, liberal, Jewish parents refused to leave the neighborhood out of a sense of principle

In this light, you can read Murphy's joke about the ghost of the Jewish man in his new house as a comment about the despicable history of racial restrictions and housing covenants, legal devices meant to enforce segregation in housing. Eddie Murphy may have become a millionaire who could afford to buy a house in the fanciest, whitest part of Long Island, but you better believe that there will always be someone to remind him that as an African American man, he doesn't belong there. The ghosts of Jim Crow are always there, even in supposedly enlightened New York. It's also a reminder to white, American Jews that, very often, they were more than innocent bystanders in the story of American segregation.




Two years later, Eddie Murphy returned to Saturday Night Live and performed in 'The Family in the Attic.' The problem with 'The Family in the Attic' is that it's not just offensive, it's unfunny, which frankly, is even more unforgivable. It's also weird to think that this aired only four years after the death of Otto Frank.




The one intriguing aspect of the skit is that Mary Gross plays what one supposes is the 'Anne Frank' character, now a grown up woman, and sex crazed from being hidden in the attic for decades. 

It's well known today that the standard edition of Anne's diary was censored and that all her references to sex and her own sexuality were removed by her father, Otto. Did they have an awareness of what had been removed from the diary when the sketch was written in 1984? Or was it just kind of obvious that someone cooped up in isolation for decades, whether man or woman, would be pretty desperate?

And then we come to Broadway Gumby Rose, SNL's takeoff on the then new Woody Allen movie, Broadway Danny Rose. I believe this is from the same night as 'The Family in the Attic.' A bunch of old 'Yiddish' showbiz types are bullshitting at a deli when in comes Broadway Gumby Rose. Eddie Murphy does his angry Gumby shtik, but with a Yiddish flavor.




It's mildly funny, I guess?

Eddie Murphy brought out his old Jewish guy shtik again in 1988, for Coming to America, this time with astonishingly realistic makeup by SFX king, Rick Baker.

According to this video, Baker based the makeup on his father in law, Nestor, who is not Jewish. You can even spot him in the background of a couple of shots.



There's really no earthly reason 'Saul' needs to be in Coming to America except to show off Eddie Murphy's virtuosity as a mimic. Inadvertently, 'Saul' foreshadow Murphy's later box office success in such vehicles as his Nutty Professor remake, where he disappeared into elaborate makeup once again.

Also, I'm sorry, yes, this joke may be a thousand years old, but it's still funny:


Anyway, I'm curious what you, dear readers, think about Eddie Murphy and Jewface. Is there anything more to it than a comic falling back on instantly recognizable, and tested, 'funny' voice?



*Bad on me for slighting Chuck D. and Flavor Flav of Public Enemy. Apologies.

Friday, January 24, 2020

Like Ashes and Yortsayt Candles...

Like many American Jews, I don’t know much about my family history before their arrival in the United States. For one thing, I’m a third generation American. My grandparents were born here, and even if they had lived to transmit our family history to me, they themselves had no first hand knowledge of our lives before

American Jews breathe forgetting like oxygen and history cannot compete. 

Nostalgia tastes good, like a pastrami sandwich on fresh rye bread. History tastes of guilt, like ashes and yortsayt candles. It makes demands upon the individual, it takes work. Nostalgia is a false friend, one which soothes guilt, but whose fruit is self-deception.

A perfectly apposite moment comes in Red Shirley, the late  Lou Reed’s 2011 documentary about his elderly cousin, garment worker and labor activist Shirley Novick. 
Novick is describing how she bought a mandolin upon arriving in Canada from Poland in 1929. Reed’s only response is “Oh come on.” 

Presented with this unexpected point of contact between the 99 year old former garment worker and himself, Reed can form no response other than incurious disbelief. Had Reed paused a moment to ask why she bought it, he might have discovered that it was not chance or whimsy that brought Shirley to buy that mandolin, but, something akin to the same forces that drove Reed himself to pick up the guitar in the early 1960s. 

Shirley was a young woman at a time when mandolin orchestras were the rage for young working class lefties, especially in the garment industry. Dozens of mandolin orchestras thrived in New York and other centers of Jewish labor activism. Picking up the mandolin was an obvious way for a young greener to make friends in a new country. Not that Lou, or the audience, ever get the chance to make the connection.

At the time Red Shirley was making its way around film festivals, Reed told the press:  "I realized if I didn't do this, a connection to a lot of things would be lost forever. So there was great impetus to do this.” 

But Reed’s explanation for making the movie rings hollow. What he ended up doing was indeed the opposite of capturing some kind of fragile historical truth. He didn’t just miss every opportunity to learn more about Shirley, he, for reasons that may now be impossible to uncover, actively chose to distort key aspects of his cousin’s life. 

The woman who was known for decades as Shirley Novick is presented in the film as Shulamit Rabinowitz. Shulamit (or, as she would have been known in Yiddish, Shulamis) Rabinowitz was born in Poland, but came to New York as a young woman where she became an outspoken organizer in the garment industry and a high profile member of Yiddish Communist circles.

How is it possible that in the (albeit brief) 27 minutes of Red Shirley the word ‘Communist’ is not even uttered once? It could be that Lou’s family didn’t approve of Shirley’s marriage to a high profile Communist like Paul Novick. It’s hard to say. 

Memory is a muscle and American Jews have allowed theirs to waste away. Indeed, that wasting effect is cumulative. What is allowed to wither in one generation will have small chance at being reclaimed by the next.

Lou Reed went in search of the radical Jewish past. Led by nostalgia, he ended up rewriting history. 

By a quirk of fate, I was at Shirley Novick’s funeral not long after Red Shirley premiered at the New York Jewish Film Festival. I even sat a few seats away from her very surly cousin, Lou. I’m one of the very, very few who saw the movie and knew enough to be alarmed by its distortions, knew the people whose lives were being erased.

The Talmud tells us that while they are gestating in the womb, Jewish babies possess knowledge of the entire Torah. Right before they are born, an angel's touch removes that knowledge, making the subsequent acquisition of Torah a process of remembering.

I became a born again Yiddishist in college. My adult life has been spent in this kind of remembering, a re-acquisition of memories, a scrabbling at dreams in languages always at the far end of my tongue. 

That work of remembering is exhausting. Simply learning Yiddish at the end of the 20th century - the language of millions of American Jews and tens of thousands of volumes of literature - was a labor of extraordinary difficulty. 

Anyone who studies Yiddish today, even at this moment of so-called revival, knows that it is a source of social friction. Because we all know Yiddish is a dead language; we all know Yiddish had to die for Hebrew to live. It is the logic of internalized brutality, where losers may be pitied, may even be mourned, but they must, at all costs, remain buried.

I have seen how easily the story of history’s ‘losers' can be casually (or maliciously) overwritten. Who will remember Shirley Novick as she was? Who will be able to correct the historical record? Decades from now, who will look back and want to claim Shirley as their own?

Thursday, January 16, 2020

Doikayt and Decolonization

I closed out 2019 by fulfilling a longtime ambition: attending the Association for Jewish Studies (AJS) conference as an invited member of a conference panel. 

Alllll the excited emojis.

I was the sole journalist in an otherwise all-star lineup of young academics. We came together to talk about the modern meaning(s) of the Bund. I joined David Slucki (Monash), Josh Meyers (Harvard), Jacob Labendz (Youngstown State), Caroline Luce (UCLA), and Mindl Cohen (Yiddish Book Center) for what turned out to be a truly fascinating and productive conversation. It was a pleasure to meet so many great folks whom I had previously only known virtually. 

I read Mindl's doctoral thesis on doikayt in preparation for our discussion and I highly recommend it if you want to go deeper into the pre-war Bundist zeitgeist. Of course I've read David Slucki's The International Labor Bund After 1945: Toward a Global History. And both Josh and Caroline have books coming out soon about very different moments in Bund history. I have a feeling they will be 'must reads' on the subject and I'm eagerly awaiting both of them. 

As I said during our panel, I was there as a humble polemicist among serious scholars. My paper, on doikayt (hereness) and decolonization, was expanded and translated into Hebrew for the latest issue of Haaretz's Judaism supplement magazine. It was then published in English as 'Why Modern Anti-Zionists Love the Bund.' If my goal were to piss off every possible corner of the Jewish Left I'd be making solid progress on that one. I guess you have to take your wins where you find them.



As a bonus to those of you who read to the bottom, here's the video from Itzik Gottesman's recent YIVO talk about Yiddish Christmas. Enjoy!



Tevye the Icon

Yiddish Fiddler (aka Yiddler) was the unexpected off-Broadway hit of 2019. What else could I do but honor it's January 5th closing with a grumpy op-ed about linguistic oppression for JTA. Audiences may love Tevye, but they're a lot more mixed on the language he speaks.

I'd been wondering why Yiddish is always tagged as 'guttural' and after seeing myself described with that word in a newspaper article, it occurred to me that:
If one had to locate Yiddish within the popular imagination, it would be found in the primeval Jewish throat.
The success of Yiddish “Fiddler” shows that Yiddish, from afar, can attain a certain symbolic stature in the public eye of the theatre class. But the intimate experience of Yiddish, up close and personal, still speaks to nothing so much as lingering discomfort, and an estrangement between observer and object. 
Yiddish is often characterized by its guttural “ch’s.” But Hebrew, with just as many guttural sounds, rarely seems to get tagged as such. As late as 1930, Zev Jabotinsky was arguing that the ideal Hebrew pronunciation would “First of all … have to avoid the Yiddish ch, which is like the hoarse cough of someone with a throat disease.” Ouch.


Read more at JTA ...

Friday, December 27, 2019

The Yiddish Decade

It's almost the end of the 2010s, in case you hadn't heard. Jewish Week is running a decade's end wrap up series and they were kind enough to commission something from me. My contribution is a reflection on The Yiddish Decade. It should more properly be called the Yiddishist Decade, but that's really for the quibblers among you.

It won't surprise you that my major theme is the insanity of New York real estate. Biology may have been destiny once upon a time, but around these parts, it's location, location, location.

And as it pertains to Yiddish, I’m now old enough to have had my hopes raised, and utterly dashed, more than once by tantalizing plans and promises for a new, centrally located, brick-and-mortar social space for New York’s thriving Yiddishist community. Not only did we NOT get that dedicated space, our existing spaces kept slipping away:
The loss of CYCO’s prime location was reported as the “nail in the coffin of Yiddish.” But since I moved here over 20 years ago, the churn of unchecked development has increased every year, pushing everyone but the wealthiest residents to the edges of the city. Yiddish is no more a victim than the countless other linguistic, cultural and artistic communities lacking millionaire benefactors.
That reference to "millionaire benefactors" was not accidental. I didn't have room to get into it for the JW piece, but the longer I reflected, the more pissed off I became, and I kept coming back around to the saga of Makor.

In 2001, mega-donor Michael Steinhardt made a historic donation to the 92nd Street Y. He gave the Y a Central Park West brownstone whose purpose was to serve as a clubhouse for young, well to do Jewish singles. As the New York Times reported at the time: 
The five-story, 22,000-foot brownstone will become the eighth center in the Y's chain of cultural institutions. It is valued at $16 million and has a cafe, a 72-seat screening room and an art gallery. ... 
''I am convinced,'' Mr. Steinhardt said, ''that the 92nd Street Y can give Makor programs and synergy and marketing muscle that will take it to the next level of visibility and impact.'' Later, he said he was ''thrilled to have made this shiddach,'' using the Yiddish word for an arranged marriage.
Unlike the Y, Makor has a specific mission: to attract people in their 20's and 30's to events that will teach them about Jewish culture. The center will be renamed the 92nd Street Y Makor/Steinhardt Center and will retain its current focus. Its annual budget and programming will be managed by a committee of board members from the Y and Makor.
In 2006, the 92nd Street Y was looking for funds for renovation of its original Upper East Side location. The leadership of the 92nd Street Y decided to sell the CPW Makor brownstone, now valued at $25 million and use the profit to fund the renovation.

Makor was relocated to a Tribeca location, where it remained between 2008 and 2013. 

I was a fairly frequent visitor to the CPW Makor townhouse, but I think I visited its Tribeca location maybe once or twice in five years. As I recall, to get there you needed to cross a pedestrian bridge, pray, and be prepared to never see your loved ones again, because it was in such a god forsaken spot.

In 2013, the 92nd Street Y executive director released a letter explaining their decision to close the Tribeca location and say goodbye to Makor forever:
"We believe 92Y can best serve the community now and in the future by investing our resources into our flagship location uptown on Lexington Avenue...” 
But the organization would continue “to invest in strategic partnerships and technologies that allow us to offer our programs and create communities far beyond the walls of any building — livecasts, online classes, partnerships ..."

So, to summarize. At the turn of this century, mega-donor Steinhardt buys a $16 million townhouse to serve as a social club for the coveted young, single Jewish demographic. Like with Birthright, a big part of the agenda was getting these unicorns into physical proximity (and serving them in the swanky style to which they were presumably accustomed.) 

Pretty quickly, Steinhardt donates the new social center to the 92nd Street Y to be run and programmed by them. In less than a decade, the 92nd Street Y decides to use Makor (now valued at $25 million) as a piggybank for their own needs and by 2013, Makor was no more. All those magical NYC singles were expected to find their needs met on the Upper East Side, or be on their own.

So, that was a $16 million investment down the toilet in a matter of less than 15 years. Of course, $16 million is pocket change for Steinhardt, whose fortune is estimated at $1 billion. And it's not like the choices of the 92nd Street Y are going to redound to the Jewish singles whose interests were supposedly being served. No one is going to throw up their hands and say it's just pointless to try to reach them or that this was the nail in the coffin of Jewish singles. It would be laughable.

Of course, during those same years,Yiddishists watched many offices/spaces of legacy Yiddish organizations either shrink radically, or disappear altogether, for want of far, far smaller cash infusions. 

And indeed, the brutalities of the real estate market were inevitably interpreted as the death of Yiddish and lost offices were the nail in its coffin

In my opinion, the only Yiddish organization that came out ahead at the end of the decade is YIVO, with a state of the art, centrally located space and (relatively) bright financial future. And YIVO is terrific and hosts many wonderful, irreplaceable classes, events and meetings. But (for various reasons) it can never take the place of a social center run for the benefit of artists and activists.

Just imagine if some donor (mega- or not) had seen fit to donate just a fraction of that Makor money to Yiddishists and other Ashkenazic culture workers. Ours is a demographic which, if anyone actually bothered to ask, skews quite young. And our achievements, mostly on the wispiest of budgets, are quite impressive. 

But maybe don't imagine what might have been, because the reality is just too damn infuriating.