I schlepped over to Brooklyn and arrived just in time for the event’s second session. Just near the entrance I was greeted with crocheted bagel headbands and keychains from Treesley, which were unexpectedly cute and of course, Bantam bagels’ samples which were superb.

At another corner there was a photo-op station with a pool of bagels a la museum of ice cream’s sprinkles pit. At least I assume that’s what they were before I got there. By 1PM, all that was left was bagel puree, and some inflatables including bagels, palm trees, eggs, and… bacon? I don’t know how to feel about the treif vibes here. All I’ll say to the organizers is: next year I’d opt for a bagel wall. No bacon for me.

One of the highlights was a panel of “bagel experts” including Jake Cohen, Morgan Raum, and Hannah Albertine, in which Cohen provided a diplomatic response to the Montreal vs. New York bagel controversy. Common, Jake! We need answers. The panelists also discussed bagel orders and other very important bagel debacles in an overall lighthearted and fun half-hour, which hit the spot after rounds of bagel samples.

Kosha Dillz’s performance was energetic and drew a crowd, but so did his merch. My personal favorite being an “In God We Trust” T-shirt with a bagel smack in God’s O. The messaging! The symbolism! The relevance! And Kosha’s merch was not the only one on display. Oh, the merch. It was totes, and tees galore. Anna Sanders’ Lox of Love tote bag is a 10/10, Katie Brookoff’s prints were adorable, and BagelFest’s own t-shirt was really cute too.

All in all, Brooklyn BagelFest provided a space to schmooze with other Jews, and fill our delicate stomach with carbs and cream cheese. BagelFest is as much about the bagels as it is about the experience, and a showcase of how iconic the bagel has really become. I can’t wait for next year’s undoubtedly bigger and better BagelFest, and in the meantime, I will be obsessing over how I will become a “bagel expert” so I can serve on the next star-studded panel.

The post Celebrating the Art of the Bagel at Brooklyn BagelFest appeared first on Jewcy.

In the late 1980s, Crown Heights locals going about their daily routine—rushing to farbrengens (Hasidic gatherings) with their Rebbe, or running errands down Kingston Avenue—might have glimpsed an anomaly in their midst: a Japanese woman, camera in tow, capturing the scenes around her. That woman was Chie Nishio, who spent a few years photographing members of the Chabad-Lubavitch community in Brooklyn, New York. Now, over 20 years later, her collection is finally receiving recognition at an exhibition in the Centreal branch of the Brooklyn Public Library, just a few blocks away from the community she so lovingly documented.

I met Nishio at the library last month to get a personal walkthrough of the photographs on display, 43 from the total collection of over 200 black and white prints. (Color would take away from the subject at hand, she insisted). Now 84, with silver hair framing her face, Nishio hasn’t lost any of the energy, wit and candor of her younger days.

As we scanned the prints she told me how she came to turn her lens on the Hasids of Crown Heights. Her interest was initially sparked by her Jewish husband, the acclaimed author James Trager. Though he was firmly atheist, Trager, now deceased, descended from illustrious lineage; his great-grandfather was one of the founding rabbis of the Jewish community in South Carolina. His grandfather moved to a Reform congregation interstate and the family, Trager included, eventually all assimilated.

Eager to learn more about her husband’s heritage, but with Trager unable to offer much insight, Nishio headed to Brooklyn to learn more about the people of the book. She didn’t have much luck with the strongly insular Satmar community in Williamsburg, where most were unwilling to engage with a foreigner and her camera. But in Crown Heights, a community unique among Hasidic sects for welcoming outsiders, Nishio was welcomed, and over the years she and her camera become a fixture in the Brooklyn enclave. She developed deep friendships with many of her subjects, and to this day she occasionally treks from her home in Manhattan to visit them in Crown Heights.

“I would say it all happened by accident,” Nishio laughs, “but with these people, there’s no such thing as accidental.” She points her finger heavenward. “It’s all arranged by God.”

Her photos offer an expansive yet deeply nuanced glimpse of Chabad life. Centered around the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, they portray a community of believers entrenched in ritual and practice. A one-month old baby laying on a silver tray for his pidyon haben ceremony, draped in cascading jewelry; a Bar Mitzvah boy checking the position of his tefillin in the mirror; a young bride trying on wigs in the salon before her wedding day.

Most notably, perhaps, the photos show the community’s reverence for its beloved leader, Rabbi Menachem Schneerson—known amongst his followers simply as ‘the Rebbe’—in the last years of his life, right before his death in 1994. Though women were not allowed into the main sanctuary of the synagogue at 770 Eastern Parkway, Nishio captured the Rebbe from their vantage point in the women’s gallery upstairs. And if the community’s acceptance wasn’t enough, the Rebbe himself seemed to overtly support Nishio’s mission by blessing her on more than one occasion.

In one image the Rebbe uncharacteristically turns aways from the men in the Synagogue, towards Nishio in the women’s gallery above, and hands her a roll of coins. The Rebbe used to hand out dollar bills, and less often coins, with a blessing, as a symbolic gesture to encourage his followers to in turn give the money to charity and pass along the blessing.

“Everyone said I was special,” Nishio told me, “they came up to me after asking for their share in the coins.”

On another occasion, when the Rebbe was handing out honey cake before Rosh Hashanah, he again called over Nishio who was photographing from a distance, giving her a piece of cake and blessings for a sweet year. And Nishio—by her own admission an ardent non-believer—seems to get excited recalling the memory. “Somehow, I don’t know how, he recognized me!” she smiles.

Though ostensibly an outsider, her photos reflect a deep sensitivity and keen understanding of the practices of daily Hasidic life, and also the individuals behind the portraits. They also show the diversity of a community committed to reaching out to and welcoming newcomers to the fold. There’s the bewigged lawyer who gazes out through the frame, the artist surrounded by his artwork inspired by Jewish mysticism, and the mother of six who also edits a magazine.

“I came with no prejudgement,” said Nishio. “Maybe that’s why they were so open to me.”

Nishio, a firm feminist who contributed regularly to Ms. Magazine, hints to a certain kinship with the woman of the community.

“When I came to the United States, people said to me, ‘Oh you’re not typical,’ because they have their own imaginations of what they think a Japanese woman is like. But they don’t know too much about it. Maybe based on a book, maybe they visited Japan and just saw the surface. So what I found in Crown Heights is that, yes, as an outsider walking in, the women are wearing a wig, long skirts, they’re supposed to cover their legs, but you walk in to talk to each family, each woman is different, each individual is different.”

“From the outside and from the inside it’s a completely different story most of the time,” she observed.

Perhaps Nishio is not, after all, an “unlikely portraitist,” but actually the ideal observer of this community, and the perfect person to document the color of its activities—in all the glory of black and white.

The exhibition, ‘The Hasidim of Crown Heights, Brooklyn: A Community Study by Chie Nishio’, is on display at the Brooklyn Public Library’s Central branch through February 1, 2015.

(Image: Chie Nishio)

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Ah, December! Season of rampant consumerism, holiday parties you don’t really want to attend, and endless, endless, ENDLESS end-of-year ‘best of’ lists. Luckily the fatigue hasn’t set in yet, so we’re raaaather excited by the New York Times‘ 100 Notable Books of 2014, just released today, which features a bunch of authors interviewed (or reviewed) by Jewcy.

1. Check out Esther Werdiger on Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?, Roz Chast’s memoir of parental aging. It’s “an intense, humorous, and frequently painful exercise in catharsis”—well worth the read.

2. Anya Ulinich, author of the deliciously sad, sexy, literary graphic novel Lena Finkle’s Magic Barrel, confessed to us that her book was “definitely semi-autobiographical,” and offered male readers some OKCupid profile tips. (Go easy on the Sylvia Plath, fellas.)

3. Boris Fishman, whose superb debut novel A Replacement Life was received to much acclaim, got real with Michael Orbach about Russian hirsuteness, pick-up lines, and the post-Soviet Brooklyn immigrant experience. There’s also a really good (/heartbreaking) anecdote about recycling and perfume, which pretty much encapsulates the tremendous pain of adolescence and immigration.

4. Gary Shteyngart confessed to us that he was “the most Republican kid on the planet”—literally a card-carrying member of the NRA at the age of 11.

5. Yelena Akhtiorskaya, who emigrated to the U.S. in 1992 at the age of 6, told Michael Orbach about the inspiration for her much-praised debut novel, Panic in a Suitcase: “A lot is based on my life… One is being totally fascinated by Brighton Beach—loving it and at the same time realizing that it’s a very absurd and sad place. The second is the dynamics of a claustrophobic, suffocating, chaotic family, which functions as a unified monstrous being.”

Which were your favorite books, Jewish or otherwise, of 2014?

The post Jewish Authors Land on the New York Times’ 100 Notable Books of 2014 appeared first on Jewcy.

Fortunately my eyesight is pretty good, so I managed to do just that, and can report that Mimu Maxi’s style is original, simple, chic—sort of Urban Outfitters meets Eileen Fisher, with a touch of… Gandhi? I know, it sounds bananas, but it’s great! I would like one of everything, plus the ability to look effortlessly cool in loose, unstructured garments. Thanking you in advance, universe.

The post An Inside Look at Chic, Modest Jewish Fashion Label “Mimu Maxi” appeared first on Jewcy.

Yelena Akhtiorskaya, 28, is the author of Panic in a Suitcase, a novel spanning 15 years in the life of a family of Ukrainian emigres struggling to adjust to life in the United States. The Nasmertovs live in the Soviet immigrant community of Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, where the tension between the past and future is acutely felt by all—and exemplified by a visit from Pasha, the famous poet uncle who remained in Ukraine. In 2008, 15 years after Pasha’s visit, his niece Frida—now a medical student—travels from New York to Odessa for her cousin’s wedding, a journey rich in wry observations about displacement, homesickness, and culture shock.

Panic in a Suitcase has received rave reviews from The New York Times (“crisp and gorgeous”), the Washington Post (“genius”), Vogue (“a virtuosic debut”), and many others. (And this morning Akhtiorskaya was named by the National Book Foundation as one of their “5 under 35” for 2014.) Earlier this summer, Michael Orbach talked with her about writing, misery, Brighton Beach, and Russian literature in translation.

What’s the story behind Panic in a Suitcase?

A lot is based on my life. It’s kind of a composite of a few things: one is being totally fascinated by Brighton Beach—loving it and at the same time realizing that it’s a very absurd and sad place. The second is the dynamics of a claustrophobic, suffocating, chaotic family, which functions as a unified monstrous being. And the third idea was about a character who chooses not to emigrate. I love Russian-Jewish immigrant novels and that whole tradition, but they don’t entirely speak to the way it is now, or not the way it was with my experience. I wanted to explore the way we romanticize the old country and the authenticity of it.

When did you move to America?

I came in 1992. I feel like I can’t say I grew up in America; I meet Russians who moved to California or Ohio and they’re so Americanized. I grew up in Brighton Beach where I spoke Russian wherever I went.

I think that’s why everyone says they hear an accent. I shouldn’t have one, but I do, because I stayed in Russia. Growing up in Brighton Beach was kind of like growing up in the 1950s. It’s like Brighton Beach Memoirs mixed with Requiem for a Dream. Wholesome and Jewish, but at the same time lots of wandering the streets and drugs and all this desperation. The parents are working really hard to rebuild their lives and the grandparents are watching over you, but it’s easy to fool the grandparents.

Did you disappoint your parents by not becoming a doctor?

My mom used to say every day, “Please just reconsider, it’s not too late to go to medical school.” I think the fact that she no longer says that, or not as regularly, means she must be proud. It is hard to tell. Ideally, you become part of the tradition of Russian writer-doctors—Chekhov, Bulgakov, Tsypkin. I’m considering becoming a clinical psychologist. This summer I took an intensive statistics course… I can’t tell how much of it is for me and how much for my parents.

I know you went to Columbia for your MFA, what happened afterwards?

I really needed to make money, but I didn’t want to work. There were some dark times. First, I worked at The Strand.

Like every other novelist.

It was the only place I could get a job, but it didn’t last long, then I moved to New Orleans. My friends from high school were there and I thought it would be a good break from New York, but it was too joyful. Then I moved back here and I got a job at Columbia University Medical Center on 168th Street.

Uh, shouldn’t you be happier?

Do you know how to do that?

No, but I haven’t written a novel that’s gotten great reviews.

If you know how to be pleased with yourself, you will be, but if you don’t, you won’t.

You are so Russian.

My friend says that my capacity for misery is greater than anyone he’s ever met.

You should drink more. I think you need a hug.

Maybe that’s true. People usually say that on the phone but people are scared of giving me a hug.

Do you prefer to read in Russian?

It’s much harder for me to read in Russian. I read poetry in the original but for the fat novels there’s [translators] Pevear and Volokhonsky. It’s necessary to take Babel in Russian, but luckily he spawned two of my favorite American short story writers: Grace Paley and Leonard Michaels.

What do you like about the Russians?

Russian writers are like Russian people: there’s not a lot of bullshit. I can relate to the inherent darkness, the pessimism, and all that misery. They get to the essential stuff pretty much right away.

What is the essential stuff?

Life, death, love, time. Russian poetry in particular cuts through to the heart of you in a way that is very not-American. I have to make a distinction: it’s a Russian quality, not a Jewish quality, and I don’t have it. I can’t help but make the joke. I don’t have the Russian thing where it’s really pure, dark tragedy. I can’t help but write in a funny or crooked way, even though at core there’s the darkness.

It’s very dark for you?

Being a writer you spend most of your time holed up in a room by yourself trying to get to the bottom of stuff. It’s not a very positive occupation. It doesn’t correlate to optimistic fun-in-the-sun-Frisbee time.

I noticed that you have some lovely passages about the sea.

I go back to Brighton Beach every weekend to swim in the ocean. That’s when I’m not in the miserable mode. I have a very good relationship with the sea. It’s like my home.

Read an excerpt from Panic in a Suitcase over at N+1.

 (Image: Riverhead Books)

Related: Anya Ulinich on Autobiography in Fiction, Drawing, and the Perverse Pleasures of OkCupid
Boris Fishman on Grandfathers, Russian Hirsuteness, and the Immigrant Experience

The post Debut Novelist Yelena Akhtiorskaya on Misery, Writing, and Brighton Beach appeared first on Jewcy.

From the outside, Life Boutique Thrift looks just like any other secondhand shop in Brownstone Brooklyn. Take a step inside, however, and you’ll discover that this Park Slope store actually quite different from the others. For starters, it’s the project of Hershy and Leah Mayer, an Orthodox Jewish couple from nearby Borough Park. It’s also a charitable enterprise: all of the profits go to Chai Lifeline, an organization that provides support services (including a summer camp) for Jewish children with life-threatening illnesses.

“It all started when a friend called me and said ‘I have 200 never-used vintage pocketbooks that were left to me by my late mother. Can you find a way to use them for tzedakah (charity)?’” Leah explained in her warm, soft voice. “At the time of this fateful phone call, my husband was not working because he had just sold his business. We both had extra time on our hands and started to increase our volunteer hours at Chai Lifeline. We were wondering about how to get involved with the organization in a bigger way. And when we suddenly got the call from this friend, it was like bam! Let’s use these pocketbooks to start a vintage shop that raises money for Chai Lifeline!”

Soon other valuable pieces, like Chanel dresses and Versace belts, started pouring in from philanthropists, friends, and personal acquaintances. According to Leah, they experienced a stroke of ‘divine providence’ when a friend offered to rent out a storefront in the notoriously expensive neighborhood below market rate. “We totally lucked out on that,” she said with a wide grin.

Life is now a neighborhood fixture, beloved by artsy Pratt students, long-time locals, and those who simply “get pumped by the sh*t in the thrift shop,” to quote Macklemore. Named one of the best shops in Park Slope by TimeOut New York, many of their items are sold at a fraction of retail store prices (hello, $40 Salvatore Ferragamo heels!). In addition to clothes and accessories, there are records from the 70s, loveseats from the 50s, typewriters for Hemingway-wannabes, smoking pipes, and dozens of other tchotchkes and curiosities.

Millennials and art students on shoestring-budgets aren’t the Mayers’ only customers though. Their second location further north in Park Slope curates more upscale designer pieces—think Burberry, Valentino, YSL—as well as merchandise from retailers like J.Crew and Banana Republic. This storefront is smaller and cozier, with a more boutique, high-end vibe (no knick-knacks, records, or furniture). Recently, the Mayers opened a third shop in Fort Greene, offering a combination of thrift and boutique. Despite their differing aesthetics, all stores are extremely organized with color-coordinated racks and friendly, Yelp-approved staff.

“I love that we have many Jewish shoppers,” Leah says as she waves hello to a regular customer walking through the door. “Many of them come to the store with several bags of donations after a big house cleaning. But then they leave the store with several bags of purchases too!”

Life is pretty much the perfect place to transform your self-indulgent consumerist impulses into eco-conscious, meaningful good deeds: pick up a couple of lovely 60s frocks to wear to synagogue for the High Holidays (and do your Bubbe proud!); buy your hosts a cool vintage lamp instead of the same old bunch of flowers. And if you don’t need anything at all, make a donation to Chai Lifeline. ‘Tis the season for tzedakah.

Life Boutique Thrift can be found at: 515 5th Ave, Brooklyn (South Slope); 66 5th Ave, Brooklyn (North Slope); 469 Vanderbilt Ave, Brooklyn (Fort Greene).

The post Brooklyn’s Best Vintage Store Also Supports Jewish Kids With Serious Illnesses appeared first on Jewcy.

Walking into the current installation at Soapbox Gallery in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn is like walking into an alternate reality.

At the gallery’s entrance sits a twin bed made up with worn, floral linens. On the wall, the outfit of an ultra-Orthodox girl hangs unassumingly. A sign indicates that this piece is called Gut Nacht Hindy (“Good Night Hindy”). The bed is flanked by two aged bedside tables. On the left-hand side, a tattered book of tehillim (psalms) lies unopened. To the right, dying flowers sit in a mason jar, atop an open drawer exposing a collection of old family pictures.

The exhibit—emphatically titled “BE!“—is a personal memoir of sorts, inspired by artist Sara Erenthal‘s upbringing as an ultra-Orthodox Jew, and subsequent departure from that world.

Erenthal, 33, resides in New York, and has been showing her work publicly for the last two-and-a-half years. “I was challenged to bring my life story into this gallery,” she says, and indeed she has: while I was there, one of her cousins—who also “broke free” from Orthodoxy (his words)—visited the gallery to show his support, and recognized himself and his parents in a few of the family photos.

Erenthal was raised by Neturei Karta parents in ultra-Orthodox communities in the Mea Shearim neighborhood of Jerusalem, Borough Park in Brooklyn, and Kiryas Joel in upstate New York. She ran away from home to escape an arranged marriage at 17, and her entire community rejected her.

The community, she remembers, is a strict one. A large-scale sculpture that stands out as the centerpiece of the show, Eidele Meidele, channels this very memory. The giant papier-mâché sculpture depicts a girl’s face, eyes turned down, with long, thick braids made of coarse rope. Braids were the singular hairstyle permitted to the artist as a child; here they are secured to the floor, representing the community’s expectations and limitations.

In Erenthal’s world, “everything is imperfect, it’s flawed in some way.” Her portrait series of an ultra-Orthodox mother, father, and son are deliberately imperfect. The portraits, which hang prominently around the gallery, are made of different materials, including burlap, like the sacks Neturei Karta members wear to anti-Zionist protests. Their clothing is frayed, with strands still sticking up from the final product. “It’s imperfect,” Erenthal reiterates, “but it’s intentional.” It tells her story.

“My family didn’t really fit in anywhere,” she recalls. There is no Neturei Karta community in New York, so even though Erenthal grew up among other ultra-Orthodox Jews, she was never really fully one of them. Furthermore, she revels, “my mother’s a little bit of a hippie and artsy,” which is not mainstream within those communities. When asked more specifically about her family, she looked visibly uncomfortable. “I’d rather not talk about them,” she said.

In addition to telling her story, Erenthal’s exhibit also considers what her life would have looked like had she not fled her community and marital expectations. Taking up a prominent section of the gallery, 22 Styrofoam wig heads manipulated with papier-mâché sit in near-perfect lines on the cement floor. The installation, she explains, depicts “what would have happened if I stayed in the community and got pregnant and then kept getting pregnant.” She chose the number 22, she explains, “because it is visually powerful.” Above the heads, speakers provide a soundtrack of ultra-Orthodox Israeli children playing in Hebrew and Yiddish, courtesy of Matan Dorembus, a film student in Be’er Sheva.

Directly parallel to this hypothetical reality, Erenthal depicts her actual reality. She did not remain in her community, nor get pregnant. Instead she forged a new path for herself, enlisting in the Israeli army and then backpacking through India. A video installation dramatically depicts this process of emancipation. In the video, she stands naked, bound in tefillin, at first looking dejected and passive, and then trying with growing intensity to break free of the religious bonds.

The show is open at Soapbox Gallery this Thursday, Friday and Saturday through September 13, with a special concert this Friday night from 7-10pm.

(Image by the author)

The post Artist Sara Erenthal Reflects on Her Ultra-Orthodox Upbringing, And Life Beyond appeared first on Jewcy.

Here’s a blissful way to usher in the Sabbath Queen: give a listen to “Lincoln’s Nigun—Yamin U’smol,” a new song from Brooklyn-based musician and composer Joey Weisenberg, with gorgeous lead vocals by Deborah Sacks. It’s a lovely take on Lecha Dodi, the traditional Sabbath eve hymn. (You’ll get why it’s called “Lincoln’s Nigun” when you start listening.)

This track comes from the recently-released album Brooklyn Spirituals, the fourth in a series of liturgical recordings composed and led by Weisenberg, whose mission is to “reinvigorate Jewish life through song,” according to a 2013 article in Tablet Magazine. The album was recorded in the choir loft of the Kane Street Synagogue in Brooklyn, which until recently was crowded “with what seemed like a century’s worth of accumulated shul accoutrements.” After decluttering the space, an intimate studio and performance space was born. And now we reap its luscious musical fruits!

Enjoy, and Shabbat shalom.

(Image: YouTube)

[h/t Blog in Dm]

The post “Lincoln’s Nigun—Yamin U’smol”: The Perfect Song to Usher in the Sabbath Queen appeared first on Jewcy.

With a curly gray wig and pink, comically smudged lipstick, Gary Spielberg (no relation to the legendary filmmaker), 26, is ready to rock, “Baba Fira“-style.

“Baba Fira” is the Russian Jewish grandmother persona that Spielberg created for his popular YouTube series in February 2012. In these parodies, Baba Fira force-feeds her 21-year-old grandson Olivier (a popular Russian potato salad), then nags him to lose weight in order to attract a good wife. In spite—or perhaps because of—her guilt-inducing tirades, Baba Fira has amassed 813,747 YouTube views, and comments like “Entertainment at its best! Subscribed!” are ubiquitous.

On a recent summer day, I sat down with Gary to discuss his Russian-Jewish background, comedic inspiration, and future projects. He made me erupt in laughter several times (which I’m normally not quick to do) by effortlessly shifting into Baba Fira’s high-pitched voice and lovable character.

Why did you choose to direct and act in Russian-inspired comedy?

Well, I emigrated with my family from Kharkov, Ukraine to New York in 1990. I was two-years-old at the time. And I later grew up in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn—which is a very Russian populated area in New York. Obviously, Russian culture was a significant part of my identity. Growing up, I originally considered becoming a lawyer and even went to a high school specializing in teaching law. But I later became much more interested in film making and made a big career switch by going to Brooklyn College’s Film School. I took many screenwriting, producing, and directing classes, but I never took official acting ones.

What inspired you create a parody of the Russian babushka in particular?

I used to love prank calling my Russian friends and pretending to be their grandmother. I would yell things like, “Oh my God! Where are you?! I’m going to tell your mom!” These prank calls were very successful! I always scared my friends. And, of course, that was fun to do. I also wanted to create a Russian version of the popular Sh*t New Yorkers say meme that was popular on YouTube.

So one day, in February of 2012, I called my friend Ari Barkan, to act as ‘grandson Joseph’ and another friend to film. We all went to my grandma’s apartment in Brighton Beach when she was out for a doctor’s appointment. I then quickly did an outline for all topics I wanted to cover in the video: Babushka worrying about her grandson’s lack of a serious girlfriend, demanding that her grandson eat grenkie (Russian French toast) and then later pointing out that he’s getting fat, and criticizing her grandson’s “impractical” acting profession. When we shot that video, and I got into full Babushka mode by putting on a house robe, wig, and makeup, I literally became a different person. It was as if I really was a Russian Babushka! In those moments, all of my personal experiences with my own Russian grandmother resurfaced and the Baba Fira character was created. Everyone in the video just improvised and went with the flow. Barely anything was scripted.

I was very close to not releasing the first Baba Fira video. I personally didn’t find it so funny because I wondered “can anyone else relate to this but me?”  I only ended up releasing it because I felt bad that my friends invested so much time in it. I felt very gratified when one of our Baba Fira videos became the second most viewed video on Reddit in Russia, after a political video with Putin speaking.

That’s very cool! Tell me about the Brooklyn Russian Vines.

I started it in November 2013. They’re more like Instagram videos, which are 15 seconds. The best part about these video is that I am able to introduce more characters! I joke about random things that Russian parents and people in the Brooklyn Russian community would say or do.

I promised that I would post at least once or twice day and keep the audiences coming back. And so far, that has worked out very well. The response that we got was amazing. What I love most about this project is when I get a message in my inbox from strangers saying that one of my videos “really uplifted them” or that they were “having the worst day ever, but the Brooklyn Russian Vines changed that.

My favorite character in the Brooklyn Russian Vines is “Yana,” who is a slight caricature of the 20-something Brooklyn Russian girl. Is she based on the girls you date?

Sometimes. I really tend to pick up on little things and mannerisms from any girl that I meet. I’m talking to you right now and I could be picking up on something. I also notice how Russian girls interact with each other on Facebook and social media. I take note of their statuses and their hashtags and what that might say about their general habits.

Being able to riff on small, everyday things that most people don’t even notice is part of being a good comedian. Speaking of which, who’s your all-time favorite comedian?

My favorite comedian is definitely Russell Peters. I want to emulate his work, since he also gears toward an immigrant and first-generation-born audience. He makes great jokes about growing up in an Indian home and many non-Americans can relate to his material. He’ll mimic a conversation that he has with his parents. He’ll say things like “Dad, I’m not feeling well,” and the dad will overreact and say “Oh my goodness. You have fever! We must take you to the hospital!” Russian parents can also be just like that, and I love how this humor connects all kinds of immigrants together. Watching someone like Peters motivates me to get into stand-up as well, though it’s obviously a different monster than directing and acting.

Do you specifically aim your comedy to a Russian-Jewish audience, or to the broader Russian community?

I try not to make specific Russian-Jewish jokes because I think that everyone in the Russian community should be able to relate to my material. I have many non-Jewish friends and I want everybody in the Russian community to find my vines enjoyable. But, okay, maybe there’s just one Yiddish phrase that I use in my videos: “Kishin tuchus!” (“Kiss my butt!”) My mom and grandma always say that to me when I want something but can’t have it. “You want so-and-so? Kishin tuchus!”

You recently led a Birthright trip and will be going again this winter. How did you get involved with the organization? How do you view your Jewish identity?

I first went on Birthright two years ago and had a blast. I even made a Baba Fira video during the trip and got my fellow Birthrighters to be in it! After that initial trip, I really wanted to go on Birthright again as a leader of the group. I even became a prime advertiser for the EzraUSA subdivision of Birthright, which attracts many young Russian Jews. I ended up recruiting 275 applicants to the program.

And after I got involved with Birthright, many other organizations targeting young Jews—like Hillel campuses in New York—heard about me and asked me to perform Baba Fira skits at their events. I now volunteer for young Jewish organizations like Ezra USA. The Jewish community in New York is a very generous one and I strongly believe in giving back. I also believe in maintaining my Jewish identity and having a Jewish wife! We’re a small breed and we need to keep strong.

What’s next for Baba Fira?

The next video project is going to be like a “Russian Cooking for Dummies.” In this weekly YouTube series, Baba Fira will show everyone how to cook Russian food. I love to cook and learned a lot from my own grandmother. So, I’m excited that this series will be both educational and entertaining, and also hopefully expand to an American audience as well. Stay tuned and learn how to make really good borscht!

But, other than that, Baba Fira’s biggest future project involves making a movie. The premise is Baba Fira traveling with her grandson Joseph across America, as they get into lots of hijinks. I met up with some writers at Comedy Central to discuss it. There’s definitely potential to make Baba Fira bigger and reach a wider audience.

I know we spoke a lot about the fictional “Baba Fira,” but what is it like having a real Russian Jewish grandma?

My grandmother is very cool. She was a medical surgeon in Ukraine. And she also, of course, makes great and abundant food. I love when she makes kakleitki—Russian style hamburgers.  But she’s also on my case a lot and will ask the same questions about my personal life multiple times. And she’ll be blunt with her opinions. While this tests my patience, it has also helped me to become a better person in general. My grandmother’s tough love has definitely prepared me for the rest of the world’s criticism. Now, thanks to my Babushka, general criticism doesn’t really bother me. And I’m starting to cherish my grandparents more than ever because I know that they won’t always be around. While they’re still here, I’m asking them as many questions about their past as I possibly can. I listen to all their incredible, miraculous life stories and even plan to eventually make a documentary about them. Aside from the lighthearted and funny aspect of my Baba Fira videos, I hope that that they’ll also encourage my generation of Russian-Americans to become more aware of their roots and appreciate the very wonderful craziness of having babushkas and dedushkas (grandfathers) around.

To meet Baba Fira in person, check out the Annual Brighton Beach Jubilee Festival on Sunday, August 24.

Rebecca Mordechai is a graduate student in English Literature and a freelance writer living in Brooklyn.

(Images supplied by Gary Spielberg.)

Related: Gary Shteyngart On Surviving Solomon Schechter, Soviet Pain, And Botched Circumcisions

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Remember that bonkers and frankly dubious story about the Jewish doctor, Lisa Rosenberg, who got kicked off a JetBlue flight a couple of weeks ago for getting into a verbal altercation with a Palestinian passenger about the conflict in Gaza? Well, buckle your seat belts dear readers, because there is some CRAY CRAY turbulence up ahead. Turns out the alleged “Palestinian” passenger is actually Jewish—and she’s Menachem Begin’s third cousin.

The New York Post reports that the unnamed passenger revealed her the truth of her identity (uh, minus her name) “in a confessional phone call to Rosenberg’s office last week.” Oh, to have been a fly on that wall. She is from Brooklyn—Brooklyn!—which, as we all know, is the main source of the world’s self-righteous political pontificating. (It’s OK you guys, I can say that because I’m a Jewish political pontificator from Brooklyn.)

“I told you at the time I was Palestinian because I wanted you to stop your rant. If I said I was Jewish, you wouldn’t have stopped,” the woman told Rosenberg, who recorded the conversation. “I shouldn’t have said it, but I did.”

The woman also denied calling Rosenberg a “Zionist pig,” as the outraged doctor later told ­reporters. “I’m more Zionist than you’ll ever be,” she told Rosenberg. “My third cousin was ­Menachem Begin.”

She told The Post, “Like most people, I wish Israel and Palestine could find a way to coexist peacefully.”

New York Post, you may now drop your mic and exit the stage. We have hit peak mishegas.

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