However, it didn’t take long for Zara Zahava to soon find success, with her third video hitting almost half a million views, after she posted a clip recounting an experience she had as a resident advisor at college. “I told the story from when I was a resident advisor at my school, and how we would leave out free condoms and lube to promote safe sex. One day I overheard this conversation between two people, where one asked the other: ‘do you think this is enough lube to slide down the hall like a penguin?’  When I ran out of my room to tell them not to, they were already gone along with a 2-gallon tub of lube. I retold the story on TikTok and said that I live in constant fear that I will see them sliding down the hall like penguins.”

That clip was the start of Zara Zahava’s viral TikTok fame.

Growing up in the Conservative movement and attending a Solomon Shechter school in Massachusetts, Zara Zahava is highly knowledgeable about Judaism. However, in her first few months on TikTok she did not speak at all about her Jewish identity, but when she hit 40,000 followers, that changed.

“The first video I posted about Judaism, was a clip discussing whether a vampire could keep kosher,” she recalled. Her TikTok about “whether Furby is Kosher” generated hundreds of thousands of views and hilarious comments and feedback.

Zara uses her platform with great success to provide Jewish answers to obscure and often crowd sourced questions. These questions come from a variety of sources, often from comment responses to her previous videos.

“When I posted my first TikTok about Judaism it was in response to one of the comments. But people said the answers were fascinating and asked me new questions. Most of these questions come from complete strangers,” she said.

In addition, she has many non-Jewish friends. “They love learning about Judaism in a fun way, so sometimes they will comment their questions knowing I will see it,” she enthused. Despite having excellent Jewish knowledge, her answers are often the result of extensive research.

“I fact check everything I say, even if I think I know the answer, I appreciate that it is always possible that I was taught incorrectly. I also like to provide quotes and citations. I also try my best to be as non-denominational in my answers as possible,” Zara Zahava said, noting that she will cover off a range of Jewish perspectives.

However, being on TikTok as an openly Jewish creator is not all fun and games. In addition to cyber bullying and nasty comments, there is blatant antisemitism. It is for this reason Zara Zahava preferred that Jewcy not use her full last name, as she has previously been doxed and sent antisemitic abuse when people have been able to link her account using it.

“I get comments about blood libel. I always thought people stopped believing that” she said. “Sure, there are antisemitic stereotypes that exist, but in person I have never experienced the antisemitic accusations of blood libel. I thought it was known to be definitely fake! But it come up all the time on TikTok. So, then I wonder: is it the product of misinformation?”

She also takes precautions against antisemitic comments, including utilizing a TikTok feature that allows her to ban certain people from her comments section. In addition, she has banned antisemitic words from appearing in her comments section and will block those who use such words against her.

Zara Zahava also ensures she takes regular breaks from social media to ensure her sanity.

“It’s hard because, because for every 100 comments I get, maybe 5-10 are bad, but the bad ones are really bad, so sometimes I have even considered quitting TikTok because of how those comments stick with me,” she recalled.  “When that happens, I’ll take a few days off TikTok for my mental health.”

But her TikTok fans certainly hope she won’t be quitting any time soon! In the past few weeks, her rise on the app has been meteoric.

“I hit 50,000 followers in January 2022 and then I hit 100,000 followers by February 2022,” she said.

But despite her success, she has no plans to monetize her content which is clearly resonating. While she knows she has the capabilities to pivot and do something in social media, for now, she wants it to remain a hobby. 

“I don’t think it interests me, not every hobby has to be monetized,” said Zara Zahava. “Our generation thinks that you if are good at something you should make money off it. But this then creates huge pressure that makes these hobbies less fun,” she reflected.

Zara Zahava isn’t sure what her next step with TikTok will be, but she has some new job prospects to consider. “I have gotten comments that I should become a rabbi. In response, I made a video about why I don’t want to become a rabbi,” she recalled. But the response to her video was even more interesting. “A person stitched the video I made saying that I could bring so much to the community. Originally, I thought people were saying it as a joke but then I realized that people were being serious.”

When asked whether she is considering a potential new career in the rabbinate, Zara Zahava was reflective, “it’s still something that I don’t think is my path in life, but I have received comments from rabbis and cantors telling me that if I genuinely want this as a career we can talk.”

At least for now, Zara Zahava will stick with her TikTok content creation, “I don’t fully care if it keeps growing, as long I get to keep saying what I am saying, and people think it’s cool!”

The post The Mashgicha of TikTok appeared first on Jewcy.

It’s worth pointing out Anderson’s previous brushes with religion in his past projects. In There Will Be Blood, Paul Dano played a preacher who sparred with Daniel Day-Lewis’ oil magnate and sought to cure him of his wickedness through honest faith. The charismatic Lancaster Dodd, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, is the leader of a Scientology-like religion in The Master, which centers on the devotion of a disillusioned veteran, portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix. And coincidence and chance are the masters of fate in what may be Anderson’s best film, Magnolia, which includes many unexplained occurrences that must be linked in some way to a form of higher power.

In Licorice Pizza, Alana is Jewish, born to Israeli parents just like the real Alana. In fact, Alana’s older sisters, Este and Danielle, play her sisters, and her parents, Moti and Donna, also portray themselves. Alana’s Jewishness comes up at multiple points throughout the film, including in a memorable scene where Harriet Sansom Harris’ agent repeatedly makes mention of her Jewish nose. That’s not necessarily meant as a detractor, but instead just one of her features which is, at the very least, distinctive. Such stereotypes have not historically been considered positive, but Alana has accepted the nature of her face and the fact that it’s just part of her charm.

It’s important to note the impact of this scene in comparison to another moment that has attracted negative attention. Japanese restaurant owner Jerry Frick (John Michael Higgins), when meeting first with a newspaper representative and then young entrepreneur Gary, puts on a cringe-worthy Japanese accent to ask his wife a question. That he’s asking in English and that she answers in Japanese with no subtitles is just puzzling and obviously meant for comedy, and in the second scene it’s an entirely different actress playing a new wife, who fulfills the same purpose of being nothing more than a punchline. Asian-American groups have rightfully taken issue with these scenes, which, like a recent Holocaust joke on And Just Like That, play no greater role in the film and could have easily been left out.

It’s as hard to grapple with the presence of that clear racism as it is with the age difference between the two leads, who do explore a romantic relationship. When Alana first meets Gary, who instantly expresses interest in her, she notes that any union would be illegal because she is 25 and he is 15. Yet they spend almost all their time together, and a connection develops. There is a beauty to it, and this film doesn’t judge them for being at different points in their lives, instead highlighting how the discrepancies in their maturity levels and the way that they spend their time makes it difficult to imagine that they could really last.

Forgiving those two questionable elements of Licorice Pizza may make it challenging to get through and to adore for some viewers. But there is truly something that feels magical about its storyline, which is at times larger-than-life and allows a fifteen-year-old actor to accomplish incredible things. Haim and Cooper are both extraordinary talents, and while they are better known for their music and famous parents, respectively, they should absolutely return to future roles since they are inherently skilled. Anderson also knows how to work with actors, something he has proven over and over again, leading his past performers to nine Oscar nominations (Haim and Cooper have received other accolades for their work this past year).

What should make Licorice Pizza particularly poignant for Jewish audiences, however, is a scene that has far more depth and isn’t meant to be merely for a quick laugh. When Alana brings Gary’s friend Lance, played by Jewish actor Skyler Gisondo, over to meet her family, they sit down to a Shabbat dinner. Alana’s father Moti asks Lance to lead the most basic of Jewish rituals, the motzi over the challah. Rather than feign ignorance or reveal that he isn’t Jewish – a typical plot point in situations like this – Lance raises a pointed objection, declaring that he is an atheist and has made a vow not to participate in any prayers. That show of principle is more offensive to Moti than anything else, underlining that tradition has a deep place in any family, something Lance’s refusal to honor deeply wounds. There is so much packed into the two hours and thirteen minutes that Licorice Pizza runs that everyone will be able to find something different. Cameos from Bradley Cooper, Sean Penn, and others enhance a story that is most about two people who share a deep connection, one whose physical nature may disgust some and whose ethical acceptance the film doesn’t dwell much on, just as it does nothing to excuse its Asian racism. There is a transporting nature to the way this film feels, and it’s even more rewarding for fans of Anderson’s who may have liked his previous work but have never experienced anything quite like this before.

The post A Jewish Bite of ‘Licorice Pizza’ appeared first on Jewcy.

If you have too much faith in the human race, how about a surgeon trying to make bank by turning a terror-victims X-rays into crypto payouts:

Among the ‘normies’, you had… whatever this was:

In all these situations, two things are made clear:

1. We live in a weird, cringe-dense era, that is only getting weirder and probably more cringe-worthy.
2. Very few people know what NFTs actually are, including those making and buying them.

I can do little about the weirdness and cringe, but it’s worth taking a stab at clarifying what NFTs are.

As with most things associated with crypto, any explanation unfurls into a seemingly endless follow-on of questions and complications, and most current implementations are overpriced, pointless, or scams.

But it’s also true that NFTs are among the most exciting implementations of blockchain technology, which is a fundamentally novel, important computing breakthrough, and will likely play a significant part in the future of the internet.

So; your questions:

What, in basic terms, is an NFT?

Let’s say you’re going to see a performance by the best Australian indie rock band, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. You go on TicketMaster, choose a seat, insert your credit card details, and are emailed or mailed a ticket; which you present on paper or your phone when you arrive at the venue. But how do they know that this is your ticket? How do they know this isn’t a fake? A long series of numbers and characters, that corresponds to a database entry with the details of the ticketholder, and typically scannable through a barcode, or QR code.

On a basic level, this is what NFTs are; an identifying code on a database that confirms ownership of the related asset. What makes it different though is that an NFT isn’t on the seller’s database, or the marketplace’s, but an unfalsifiable, immutable, permanent public database, run across thousands of computers; a blockchain. If you own the NFT – your digital ‘wallet’ contains it – then you have sole access to that discreet, individual, uncopiable data-base entry.

For some, that seems irrelevant; but this is a fundamental shift in the allocation of ownership. No longer is the ‘ledger’ of ownership controlled by authorities – corporate or otherwise – but is publicly viewable, and verifiable. In the case of your King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard ticket; it’s not controlled by the ticket company, it can be accessed and viewed by anyone, but only you can edit or sell it.

How do you buy an NFT?

There are many platforms, but the most notable are OpenSea, Rarible, and SuperRare, and they work by either charging directly from your debit/credit card and converting your cash to the cryptocurrency of choice, or by connecting to your crypto ‘wallet’; a piece of software that connects to the blockchain, recognising the wallet-holder’s ownership of a currency or NFT. Once you buy it, you can display it in a digital gallery like Spacial or Mynt, sell it as a speculative asset (which has been the dominant motivation behind most crypto and NFT purchases), or (if it’s an image, and you pay for Twitter Blue) can be made into your Twitter profile picture.

Are you buying an image?

No; you’re buying ownership of an image. Let me explain:

Adding to the blockchain is not free; instead, it has a processing cost to burning an entry to this ledger, and having it verified. These are called ‘gas fees’, and for a simple text entry – like a code or link – this can cost $100+ on the most popular blockchain, Ethereum. As such, it’s far too costly and impractical to add images themselves to the blockchain; to mint even a single gigabyte to the Ethereum blockchain would cost roughly $260 million.

NFTs mint a link to the blockchain, which points to a place online where that image is stored; on a different, separate server. It’s kind of like sending someone a link to a Google Drive file; but it has, within it, that verification and scarcity.

This has an almost endless list of problems, and is why using NFTs to buy and sell art, music, or other files is – at least for the moment – really, really bad; both for the art, and as an investment. The scarcity and security of the link does not carry whatsoever for the underlying file. Minting it as an NFT provides no protection against censorship, and no security for the owner, for you can simply change where that link points to. This is a gateway to all manner of horrors, from banal ‘rug-pulls’ – where the artist replaces the image with something else, sometimes literally a rug – to truly nefarious stuff, where the precious art you ‘own’ is replaced with doxing information, revenge porn, abusive content of children, or any other flavour of poison. There is no mechanism that prevents this.

Upgrades or replacements to the existing blockchains that include hashcodes for the connected content or that are far more efficient would solve this, but as it stands, no, you are not buying an image, you’re buying a receipt.

Why are NFTs so expensive?

The other night, sitting in a restaurant, I noticed a fellow diner was wearing a Richard Mille RM 55 “Bobby Watson”. You don’t buy, and wear, that very large, very bold, very white watch because you love horology. You do it to signal “I spent over half a million dollars on an accessory”. While eating, he picked up his phone to check the time.

This isn’t because he’s foolish; the watch isn’t there to tell the time; besides, checking your phone is more convenient. We all spend so much of our lives online – flicking through social media feeds, refreshing emails, and looking for the closest watch-owning Daddy on Grindr – so always have a phone close-to, or in, hand.

Take two core premises there – that people will spend lots of money to signal they have/had it, and that we spend most of our public lives online – and it’s not surprising that the first technology to express scarcity digitally would become a tool for signalling in the digital age.

Much like the Richard Mille – or owning a notable piece of physical art –  Punk 7121 doesn’t need to do anything for you except signal that you’re rich (and tasteless). And that it does!

It’s worth noting a few additional points though:

1. The valuation of some projects has clearly been inflated as a way to money launder, move currency from authoritarian regimes, avoid taxation, or just pump the value so as to make a lot of money before those buying realize nobody running the project cared about anything beside robbing them.
2. Most NFT projects have as little financial value as they do artistic; and the market reflects this. Don’t be fooled by the pricetag; see what someone actually paid for it.
3. NFT prices don’t just vary based on perceived value, but also on blockchain’s gas fees. As mentioned, most NFTs are minted to the Ethereum blockchain (the first blockchain to natively facilitate smart-contracts; which are essentially legal contracts but written into code, and are necessary for all NFTs), but more are being built on other chains, from mainstream alternatives like Solana and Polygon, to lighter ones like DeSo.

Are NFTs good for artists?

It depends on the artist.

The high prices have been a benefit for some great digital artists whose work had been criminally underserved by the internet economy. I’ve loved the work of many digital artists online but other than buying an occasional print, I – and the majority of their fans – have done nothing to support them. NFTs are a way to change that; because you aren’t buying the art, but attaching a financial asset component to it. As this tweet notes, whatever critique you can have for NFTs, nobody was acting in a way to actually give artists money:

As a financial instrument, the connection of an image to a payment also makes it excellent for signalling support for a cause. Say our editor-in-chief Isaac was to mint some of his more sizzling tweets as NFTs; not only are you buying them as a piece of internet history, but to support his ongoing work. Sam Harris has intended to do the same for ‘effective altruism’, precisely because the cost of making an NFT is minimal, but by attaching some great art as a free reward to charitable commitment, it gives social credit to a good deed, and may improve the financial incentives of doing it, if those NFTs became desirable in time.

The flip side of this though is that what makes an NFT successful is not the quality of its art; and there’s a lot of theft.

For the former, consider the most successful NFT projects; Bored Apes Yacht Club, CryptoPunks, and Lazy Lions. As explained in this great video by Solar Sands, each piece consists of a computationally randomised set of elements, with some common and some exceptionally rare. This means they are inherently derivative, lack the signs of an artistic touch – because they fundamentally lack any – and are generally fucking hideous.

For the latter point, many digital artists who don’t like NFTs have had their work stolen and minted by those hoping to exploit their hard work; and even notable NFT creators have their work stolen and re-minted. Perhaps the most ironic example of this was where ‘DeeKay’s’ ‘LetsWalk’ project – cute animated profiles that steal a lot of very very valuable IP without credit – was reminted/stolen, to the original maker’s chagrin. Stolen IP is rampant through the NFT world, and the cracks are already showing; hype-wear reseller StockX was sued last week by Nike for their ‘NFT’ sneakers.

But what about the environmental impact of NFTs?

Worries about the energy consumption, and thus environmental harm, of blockchains fail to recognise that the server infrastructure that supports the internet consumes a huge amount of energy and resources as it is, and that the efficiency improvements that gas fee reduction requires is one and the same with improving its total energy usage. This means that, however energy-inefficient NFTs are now, no technology has more incentives to become environmentally friendly than the blockchain, and all great innovations start being ostensibly useless. The final point to mention is that energy consumption is a good thing – it is the road to progress. The worry is how it’s produced, but never have we seen as rapid and encouraging progress in making that renewable as we do now; notably in solar panels and nuclear reactors.

Should you invest in NFTs?

No.

Do not do this.

More specifically; if you have enough expendable income that you can afford for a certain percentage of it to burn, then yes, but otherwise, I would not.

Just save two- to four-months of expenses in a savings account and then dollar-cost average into a passive index fund.  

Why are NFTs useful?

As you can probably gather, I’m not enthused about most existing NFTs. They don’t protect art, are rife with scams, and are basically just the most technologically advanced, novel way to tell someone ‘Look, I’m rich’. But, this is genuinely unique, interesting technology, and despite this inevitable, distasteful beginning, I’m bullish about the future of NFTs.

As laid out in a very good Harvard Business Review article, NFTs allow artists to monetize their work effectively on the internet, as wasn’t possible before without selling ads or personal data; they can allow greater security for documents, tickets, and records, without depending on central bureaucracies; and this is just the beginning. If virtual worlds become mainstream, then they could allow for the purchasing of digital items to cross between them; for buying music from artists without it being tied to a single streaming service or platform; and paying directly for single articles, books, and podcasts online, for very small amounts, avoiding the costs of payment processors, and perhaps leading to a healthier media ecosystem, without having to bankrupt oneself on Substack subscriptions.

And if none of those individual things excite you, that’s totally fine! Remember, these are very early days of a technology that is genuinely novel and important. At the moment, there’s a lot of scamming, a lot of bullshit, and a lot of cringe. But, give it time, let smart, creative people take it in directions we can’t even imagine right now, and there could be something genuinely great in NFTs on the horizon.

The post What the Heck Is an NFT? appeared first on Jewcy.

However, about two years ago things started to change for Tilchen.

“During the pandemic a lot of Jewish people started to feel a surge in antisemitism. It was a mix of things, partially because it felt like the world was crumbling and [partially because] people needed a scapegoat and Jews have historically been used as the world’s scapegoat,” she said.

Active on Instagram and Twitter it was a slow process realizing that there was, as she says, “a dire need for activism in these spaces.” While previously she had been focused on posting what she deems “normal, day to day content,” she pivoted her content to educate people about antisemitism where she has quickly become one of the new and emerging prominent voices in this space.

Her content took off quickly.

“I have a solid understanding antisemitism and how it functions. I felt a responsibility to use my voice to show that antisemitism exists everywhere,” she said.

A Long Island native, Tilchen has visited Israel, and although she doesn’t have immediate family there, she feels a strong connection to the country and has many friends living there.

 “I started to see how antisemitism exists across the political spectrum and how the libel claims against Israel have really affected Jews , not just in Israel but in the Diaspora,” she said.

The content on her feed is a particularly enticing mix, including regularly trolling antisemites with viral memes, poking fun at Israel’s ban on foreign tourists but also more serious content that calls out antisemitic behavior and providing education to people who may not know too much about Israel or Jewish people.

While Tilchen finds a lot of meaning in the work she is doing, being a public advocate against antisemitism can at times be a difficult gig.

“I get a ton of abuse in my DMs with conspiracy theories. You have to develop a thick skin. You have to be strong in your Jewish identity and know who you are,” she reflected.

Her social media presence has a track record of resonating with young people around the world, but despite her success, she is just one person. Tilchen thinks that larger better resourced Jewish organizations could do a better job at being active on social media platforms where young people are congregating.

“I’ve called out the legacy Jewish organizations on Twitter. I think they don’t properly understand how to reach young people. I think Jewish organizations should be doing everything they can to help young people understand their Jewish identities before the non-Jewish world tells them who they are,” she said.

“If you don’t have a basis of knowledge, it’s easy to absorb non-Jewish ideas of who Jews are. That’s dangerous. If you start believing the conspiracy theories, it gets messy. We are so outnumbered. You don’t want to be a Jewish person who has internalized non-Jewish identity.”

Tilchen is sometimes surprised at the level engagement that her account has with people who don’t know much about Jewish or have never met Jews. “When I started my advocacy work, it felt like I was trying to change the minds of antisemites, absolutely toxic antisemites, in the comments sections. It really burnt me out. I like talking to people who have nothing against Jewish people but are curious,” she said.

Echoing this thought is Rabbi Shlomo Litvin, the Chabad rabbi of Lexington Kentucky.

He was one of the first Jewish leaders to join the audio-only app Clubhouse in 2021. Like Tilchen, he fell into antisemitism activism accidentally.

“Immediately after I joined Clubhouse, students started pulling me into [private chat] rooms [on the app], asking for advice on how to respond to Clubhouse antisemitism,” he reflected.

“I am a Yad Vashem trained Holocaust educator and up until that point I had mainly used social media to just share positive events.”

However, seeing the need for advocacy in this space, Litvin stepped up to the challenge. His regular use on ClubHouse drew him to Twitter as well.

“There is something extraordinary about Twitter that allows people to have conversations,” he said, recalling an incident where he was able to deliver Hannukah candles to someone who he didn’t know personally, but had connected with him via Twitter.

“She was sick with COVID, located across the country. I got her address, and I contacted the Chabad Rabbi at UC Irvine who delivered her menorah and candles and sufganiyot,” he said.

However, with his new public role on social media fighting against antisemitism, Rabbi Litvin has experienced some scary incidents.

“I was listening to a conversation in the Israel-Palestine room on Clubhouse, and someone spoke up and said that no one knows how to respond to the points I was bringing up about Israel, and then another person piped up and read out my address and said that someone should do something about me,” he recalls. He has also received some nasty letters to his home.

Like Tilchen, Litvin thinks that legacy Jewish organizations could be doing more to use their resources to fight back against antisemitic hate on social media.

“If they haven’t woken up to Twitter yet, then they haven’t woken up to the internet,” he said. “The President of the US has a Twitter account. The excuse that it’s “new” has gotten “old.”

The beauty of the internet is that it requires no geographic boundaries for people to become connected.

In Melbourne, Australia, 22-year-old Josh Feldman is a new and emerging voice on social media that has written op-eds for major Australian and international newspapers about Israel. He is also active on Twitter where part of his bio describes himself as a “Falafel enthusiast.”

While he is still growing his following, he knows that doing so may come at a personal cost.

“I’m not yet a public figure. The Blake Flaytons and Eve Barlows, people know who they are, and they cop a lot more abuse. If I become a bigger figure, I am sure I will get more abuse, and then it becomes a question of how to manage it,” he said.

While he receives occasional insults for his work educating people about Israel (some nasty DMs and emails), overall, he believes in the pieces he is writing and enjoys the unexpected benefit of his advocacy on social media.

 “Occasionally you will write a piece, and someone will reach out to say something nice and that starts a relationship which is a cool part of it that I wasn’t expecting.”

When asked whether she will continue with her public advocacy, despite some of the hardships, Tilchen is steadfast in the belief of what she is doing.

“It’s kind of crazy to think that I have so many more friends now than before COVID. With the friends I have made [from Twitter and Instagram] we have lit Hannukah candles over zoom. We have gotten together over shabbat. I have friends across the world and in Israel,” she said.

Tilchen reflected on a particularly meaningful experience she had a few months ago when many of the advocates who like her, post content fighting back against antisemitism, decided to all go out for brunch in New York City.

“We posted the picture. There was horrible abuse for 2 or 3 days straight online. Abuse about what we looked like. Abuse about how much we tip. Abuse about our noses. However, despite all the abuse, no one could take away the joy that we had meeting each other, because we know who we are. That’s a beautiful thing. We are just people on Instagram and Twitter that use their voices for good” she said. 

The post Jewish Activists Can Take the Heat appeared first on Jewcy.

Sex and the City has touched on religion before. Charlotte had sex with a Chasidic folk artist and later converted to Judaism under the auspices of Rabbi Minsch. Miranda dated a lapsed Catholic who had to shower immediately after sex. Brady was—albeit reluctantly—baptized, and Samantha tried to fuck her neighborhood priest. 

In all such storylines, however, religion was merely a pretext for further exploration of the show’s main themes: sex and relationships. 

When Carrie cased Mr. Big’s church, for instance, she was decidedly uninterested in anything that might be deemed otherworldly.  “As I watched people leaving church,” she narrated, “I was amazed at how they looked. Valentino, Escada, Oscar de la Renta. What is it about God and fashion that go so well together?”

In this week’s episode of And Just Like That…, however, belief is put front and center—not as a pretext, but as a powerful theme in and of itself. 

First, there is the matter of Carrie’s reading lamp, which flickers on and off, prompting her to wonder if Big is trying to reach out to her from the hereafter. 

“Since when do you believe in the afterlife?” Miranda asks. “I thought we were on the same page about this.”

“Yes, we were,” Carrie answers, “but in light of recent events, I’ve changed my vote to undecided.” 

She knows that it sounds absurd to Miranda, and she plays it off as though she doesn’t believe too much in such things. Nonetheless, as the light above her bed continues to flicker, she struggles to deny a powerful intuition that Big is once again here with her. 

Belief is also a key element in the story of Rock’s They-Mitzvah. 

Despite lavish festivities and a fantastic trans rabbi, Rock refuses to go up to the bima at the very last minute, sending Charlotte and Harry into a panic. 

“I’m not doing it,” Rock says. “I don’t believe in it.”

As a future rabbi, I can’t help but take such a scene a bit too seriously, reflecting on all the ways in which Rock’s reaction is, while upsetting, perfectly understandable. After all, what are we (the Jewish world) really giving kids to believe in? If we think expensive parties, cash gifts, and cool, relatable rabbis are the answer—we are wrong. Thirteen-year-olds have strong convictions, and don’t like empty rituals. Harry’s attempt to bribe Rock into doing the ceremony with an Oculus shows just how deeply we misunderstand what would actually make a B-Mitzvah ceremony appealing to a principled, intelligent, and curious kid like Rock. 

When strong-arming and bribery fail, Charlotte takes the opportunity to read from the Torah herself, having the Bat Mitzvah ceremony she never had. In doing so, she proves that Judaism is more than something that parents foist on children. Jewish identity, after all, cannot simply be passed on to one’s children. It must be modeled. If it means nothing to the parents, it will mean nothing to the kids. When Charlotte shows her family just how much her Judaism means to her, Rock’s attitude softens, and they join their mother on the bima.

Meanwhile, Miranda is giving up a prestigious internship to follow Che to Los Angeles for the shooting of a pilot, prompting a B-Mitzvah bathroom showdown between Carrie and Miranda that completes the Carriefication of Miranda and the Mirandafication of Carrie. 

Their fight is a direct echo of the one they had years ago when Carrie was getting ready to follow Petrovsky to Paris. Now, however, the roles are reversed. 

“Miranda, I’ve known you for a hundred years,” Carrie says.

“And?” Miranda retorts. “Am I not allowed to change a little bit? Or a lot? Or change back again if I feel like it? Do I have to follow my own rigid rules until the day that I die?”

It’s here, in this scene, that the show’s many haters are revealed to be just that—haters. The constant sneering refrain that Miranda (and the other characters) had changed is revealed to be an utterly facile critique, one which confuses the show’s central theme for an accident of bad writing. Yes, Miranda has changed. Yes, she has become insufferable. Yes, we miss the old Miranda and yes, we hate Che. This, however, is how we are supposed to feel. In the show’s final episode, we see how very much the writers were in full control of this plotline. 

And they stick the landing. Like the entire series, the finale is somber, beautiful, profound. This is not to say that it didn’t have flaws. It did, but in a sea of lazy takes about “Woke Moments” and Che Diaz memes, I prefer to be an AJLT believer. 

Other Thoughts: 

• Kudos to the show for doing a powerful and emotionally satisfying Samantha arc through text messages alone. 
• This ending felt complete. I’ve clamored for a second season, but I no longer feel I need one. That said, I still want one. 
• Best rabbi representation ever. 
• Hot take: was the flickering light Stanford? I never bought that he was in Japan. Is he in the Upside Down? 
• I’m terribly afraid that the negative press and terrible reviews will stop them from making a second season. That said, negative press and terrible reviews have never stopped them before. 
• Rock may “not believe” in Judaism now, but in about ten years they’ll definitely be studying Gemara at Svara. 
• How about season two starts with Che getting really into Peloton…

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Every so often, Edelman, creator of the BBC radio show Peer Group, likes to scroll through the vile list, as a treat. One such evening, he came across an open invitation to attend a meeting for White Nationalists at a private apartment in Queens. “Curious about your whiteness?” the tweet read. Edelman is curious about everything, and hey, maybe there’d be a cute girl there. And that’s how a curious Orthodox Jew wound up at a gathering of neo-Nazis and, using wit and charm, lived to tell the tale.

What happened next? No spoilers here! You’ll have to buy a ticket to Edelman’s third solo show, Just For Us, playing at the Cherry Lane Theater in New York City (and Mike Birbiglia produced it!) If you’re lucky enough to snag a seat during the show’s limited run, the award winning comedian will take you back to his very Jewish childhood in the very racist Boston and explain in hilarious detail how he infiltrated a group of White supremacists and survived unscathed. Come for the Nazis, stay for the unexpected love story, and applaud Edelman for the finale zinger of all zingers. 

Dear reader, I realize it’s kind of late to insert my voice here, but deal with it. Edelman doesn’t remember this, but we first met at a comedy show in January of 2015. He was MCing and checking IDs — a man of many talents — and when he read my Hebrew name written on the silver necklace I wore, I fangirled hard. Critics describe him as a young Jerry Seinfeld, but I think he’s more of a Bugs Bunny — charming, full of tricks, and a master at deploying humor to examine uncomfortable issues. Anyway, seven years later I found myself on a Zoom call with Edelman joking about dead Jews. He was telling me about a recent episode of his BBC radio show Peer Group that was “controversially” called “Dead Jews.”

Controversial? People love dead Jews, I quipped (I know “quipped” sounds pretentious, I just didn’t want to write “joke” again). “Right, the joke is that people care a lot more about dead Jews than they do about living ones,” he replied. 

Dead Jew jokes don’t sit well with everyone, but it’s less of a joke and more so an observation about Jews in non-Jewish spaces, which is precisely what Just For Us is about. Okay, let’s get into my conversation with Alex.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

What I loved about the show were the handful of moments where I felt the jokes were just for Jews, just for us. It surprised me that the majority of your audience is actually non-Jewish. Do they, like, get it?

Every joke that is specifically Jewish is contextualized by at least one explanation and two context clues. It’s calibrated to appeal to non Jews, but also to make Jewish audiences feel like it’s for them. And the reason for that isn’t cynical. The reason for that is that I am a Jew, who, after many years of trying to figure it out, is existing as a Jew in non Jewish spaces. And that’s one of the layers of the show is what it means to exist as a Jew in a space that isn’t Jewish, and tackling everything around that. It’s nice, though, to have jokes in the show with the word shul or HaShem, and it does get a different pop here. It’s a joy to be doing it in New York, precisely because this is the first time I’ve performed in a market where there’s a substantial base of Jewish people.

People say the show is so timely, especially now. But I think it’s evergreen.

People always tell me, “What a timely show.” When I ask them why, they answer, “Because of all the antisemitism.” And I was like, bro, even when I started writing—back in my second solo show in 2015—people were like, “What a timely joke about an antisemitic experience!”

I have a feeling the show will be evergreen and it will always be timely. If this show is filmed with a special — God willing — and comes out in 2023, people are going to be like, “What a timely special,” Yeah, man… antisemitism. We’re always on the menu.

That’s it, you can call your next show, “Timely,” or “Always on The Menu.” 

If my next show is about Israel and Palestine my old manager said we should call it “Career Suicide.” I do sort of want to tackle it. I think comedy should try to thread the needle. No one can agree on the Israel and Palestine conflict generally, but everyone can agree that it’s hard to talk about. Everyone can agree that what’s happening on the ground is heartbreaking to people on both sides. Everyone can agree these are two distinct people who just want to live in peace and have nice televisions and eat food with their families. So there is common ground, and comedy is such a great vehicle for exploring it and navigating heavy issues in a light-hearted way. 

So you go to this neo-Nazi meeting for anyone who’s “curious about your whiteness.” What’s your gut response to the ever debated question — are Jews white? 

The short answer is “it’s complicated.” The long answer is Jews have a complicated relationship to whiteness. In some spaces, Jews are considered white and in some spaces, Jews aren’t considered white; they benefit from certain white privileges and things have changed throughout history. But the way I qualify it is — which is a joke that I’ve done on the BBC — here’s how you know if you think Jews are white. If you think being white is awesome, then Jews are definitely not white. If you think being white is terrible, then Jews are whiter than white, the whitest people who’ve ever lived. It’s a lose-lose situation. Look at me, I’m a white person, although some people look at me and they’re like, “You’re clearly Jewish.” I have passing privilege, right? I wear my hair in a certain way, I dress in a certain way, so if I’m in a certain environment, people might not register me as Jewish. So I have this passing privilege, but the fact that Jews even need to pass raises all these complicated questions.  

And it’s your white privilege that allowed you to infiltrate this group of neo-Nazis. Another issue with the are-Jewish-White question is that it erases Jews of color. It’s not even about all Ashkenazi Jews, but the white-passing Ashkenazi Jews like you and me.

It’s complicated, because there’s no one-to-one here, right? The construct of skin color and reckoning with what a Jew is, as a cultural, religious, ethnic melange… it’s hard to quantify. It’s fascinating and complex because it’s like trying to do a math problem with two different mathematical languages. Some people go, “It’s the same language,” and other people go, “No, it’s entirely different.” It’s contentious in every way. What I reckon with is that some Jews have elements of white privilege and other Jews do not. 

I think this addiction of binaries that is reflected within the general culture is unhealthy. Someone’s either this or they’re that. A big part of the show, and a big part of my work, my upbringing, and day-to-day life is examining a shade of gray (no pun intended). It’s where all the interesting stuff is! The tension between tradition and modernity, comfort and anxiety… I’m not uncomfortable saying that there’s a tenseness to the question — are Jews white? — I’m also not uncomfortable trying to examine that tension in a thoughtful way. I think anyone who declaratively states one way or the other might have firmer conviction in their beliefs than I do. 

Stephen Fry, one of my favorite Jews and intellectual heroes, likes to say that he’s constantly suffused with doubt. I’m the same way. You know who Stephen Fry is, right? Google him real quick and you’ll be like “I know this guy.” 

*Googles quickly* Ohh LOL yeah, I know him.

Right, he’s super recognizable, one of the funniest people alive and the smartest people alive. His approach is to come at everything with a degree of doubt. There’s a quote by Yeats, the poet, “The best lack all conviction, while the worst, are full of passionate intensity.” Let’s bring passion and intensity to not having conviction! We’re getting a little Talmudic now. Ask another question. 

No! This is where the good stuff happens! 

Well, yeah! I mean… things have changed. Things keep changing, and the Jews that I speak to about this often tell me that they’re frustrated by what is perceived to be a lack of allyship in all corners, and there’s real value to that message. There’s a tendency for people on the Right to not call out right-leaning antisemitism. I think there’s a tendency for people on the Left to not call out left-leaning antisemitism.

As they say, Jews are — or rather, antisemitism — is the canary in a coal mine. Or the scapegoats, which is ironically from the Torah.

Antisemitism skyrocketed in the last year, especially in Europe. Did you experience any Jew-hatred from your show? 

I had a bad antisemitic experience onstage in England in February of 2020, but I’ve also had a shocking amount of Jewish allyship from British people. The amount of people I’ve met on tour who’ve come up to me and been like, “Man, you’re the first Jew I’ve ever met,” and I’m like, “sick!”

Now that’s good for the Jews!

Being good for the Jews is really important for me. All of my heroes are people who are good for the Jews. Like Mel Brooks, who I would argue is great for the Jews.

Ugh, the best. 

David Baddiel identifies as an atheist, but still gets to be good for the Jews. In the show I say that Judaism is a mailing list you can never unsubscribe from. It’s like the Hotel California of religions. For better or for worse, you can be an atheist and wake up every day and curse the name of God and eat pork nonstop from the time you get up until the time you go to sleep and engage in the ritual slaughter of Torah scrolls or something—

But a Jew is a Jew is a Jew.

Exactly, a Jew is a Jew a Jew.

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General Mills continued adding mascots to the line of monster cereals, but none were as popular as Count — “I vant to suck your blood!” — Chocula. The kid-friendly box of carbs, whose mascot was loosely based on House of Dracula, a 1931 movie starring Bela Lugosi, was beloved by all, that is, until American Jews ruined all the children’s fun. 

Due for a makeover, in 1987 General Mills updated the Count Chocula box design with a superimposed image of Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula. He appeared to be wearing a six-pointed “medallion” around his neck which absolutely looks like a magen david. General Mills admitted they goofed and assured American Jewry they’re not antisemitic. “Our intent was merely to use Dracula’s likeness in a fresh and entertaining way,” said William Shaffer, manager of public relations for General Mills. 

Dear reader, when I say I rolled on the floor laughing my tuchus off from this Los Angeles Times headline, “Necklace Chokes Count Chocula: General Mills Pulls Box Design With 6-Pointed Star,” unlike the Jews who protested the new design, I’m being hyperbolic. To the rest of the world, the Count Chocolate controversy was a misplaced overreaction to a beloved monster cereal, but to the Jews, that six-pointed medallion sounded the alarms for invoking the deadliest antisemitic trope — the blood libel. 

Blood libel, or ritual murder libel, is a centuries old antisemitic canard which outrageously accuses Jews of murdering succulent Christian babies for a myriad of evil doings. Above all, non-Jews were, and arguably remain, convinced that a splash of baby-goy-blood is the secret ingredient to matzah, which is absolutely ridiculous — the secret ingredient is two splashes! Nevermind the fact that the Torah specifically forbids the chosen people from drinking blood and sacrificing infants, the myth of the Jew as a bloodlusting, disease carrying, foreigner bent on sinking their teeth into virgins persisted. Count Chocula is only a more recent depiction of this blood libel, but it was hardly the last and most certainly not the first. 

The history of blood libel as an effective means of solving the Jew problem is long and winding, so here’s a cheat sheet on how the creature of the night got his bar mitzvah. And remember, all antisemitic roads lead to blood libel. 

Predating Christianity, our story begins in 168 BCE in Jerusalem, when the Seleucid Greek empire was the ruling power. To justify the pillaging and plundering of the Second Temple, King Antiochus IV Epiphanes (the Hanukkah villain) pulled a crazy story out of his tuchus. With full confidence he declared that once a year,  the Jews, Jewish historian Flavius Josephus recorded, kidnapped a traveling Greek, stored him in the Temple and gorged him on fattening foods only to lure him in the woods and kill him. Horrified, the Jews were like “da fuq?” but the Hansel and Gretel-esque story was good enough for the King’s subjects. Fast forward to the invention of Christianity and the beginning of the Medieval Ages, the Greek’s blueprints were all too ripe for Jesus’ followers to take. Like a game of broken telephone, fifth century historian Socrated Scholasticus reported that some Jews, in a drunken frolic, bound a Christian child to a cross in mockery of the death of Christ and scourged him until he died.” 

Jumping ahead to 1144, the discovery of young William of Norwich’s lifeless body in the woods spurred the first legit accusation of ritual murder. Despite a single shred of evidence, Christians were all too quick to solve the case by scapegoating the Jews, subsequently spurring a global trend. Adding fuel to the burning fire, a converted Jew concocted an Incredibly Bad for the Jews tale in which a secret international council of Jews selected a different country each year on Passover to ritually murder a scrumptious Christian child, ensuring a return to the Promised Land. OY! 

Whenever a Christian child went missing, the Jews were blamed and the god-awful racist parents got off scott free, and the blood libel began taking multiple forms. Accusations against European Jews were incredibly creative, including using baby blood to remedy Jewish men who menstruated, and to aid other mysterious illnesses typical of the Jew (listen, if blood reversed lactose intolerance, we’d be all for it). Shit really started to hit the fan in 12th century Europe when Jews were blamed for spreading the Black Death in an effort to overthrow Christianity. 

Associated with rats and other vermin, Jews were slandered, demonized, and thought to be best friends with the devil himself, all of which justified mass pogroms. “However helpless individual Jews might seem, Jewry possessed limitless powers for evil,” historian Norman Cohn wrote. “And already then, there was talk of a secret Jewish government — a council of rabbis located in Moslem Spain, which was supposed to be directing an underground war against Christendom.” Cue Mel Brooks’ “The Inquisition” song. 

I could go on about the thousands of Jews murdered in Spain, France, Germany, England, and pretty much all of Europe, but, dear reader, I did promise a brief history report. Yalla, we’re moving on to the 19th century literary world. 

At this point, Jews were cemented as the go-to scapegoat for all evils in the world. Obsessed with money, the hooked-nose deviants’ sole purpose was to wreak havoc and infect Europe from the inside, all the while happily noshing on Christian baby blood-soaked matzah. Soon enough, Jew hatred advanced from anti-Judaism to antisemitism, and the urgency to solve the Jew problem advanced. How? Enter Bram Stoker, the author of the 1897 gothic novel, “Dracula.” 

Stoker’s protagonist, Count Dracula, wasn’t the first creature of the night in literary fiction, but is hailed as the prototypical and archetypal vampire. Like the Jew, Dracula was a parasite from a foreign country — Transylvania — who traveled to different villages, draining the life out of its hosts. Dressed in all black, the vampire was associated with rats and werewolves, and like the Eternal Wandering Jew, he remained virtually unchanged. Charming and elegant, the pale, undead creature was obsessed with money, and abhorred holy water and the Christian cross. Whether Stoker intended to create a monster based on the perception of Jews is up for debate, but he was a man of his time, and antisemitism was in vogue. Professor of English Ken Gelder wrote that, “the anti-Semitic mythology of the Eastern European Jew folded in to what became — through stoker’s novel about — the “Dracula myth.” 

If there was any doubt surrounding the Jewish vampire, the first cinematic portrayal of Dracula cleared it. Albeit being an unauthorized and unofficial adaptation of Stoker’s novel, the 1922 silent German film Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror emphasized the “Dracula myth.” To avoid copyright infringements, director F. W. Murnau changed Count Dracula’s name to Count Orlok, brought to life by Max Shreck, whose last name coincidently means “monster” in Yiddish and German. While Stoker depicted Dracula as more of an elegant aristocrat, Nosferatu’s Orlok, “with this hooked nose, long claw-like fingernails, and large bald head” was more in line with stereotypical caricatures of Jewish people in 20th century Germany. Deviating from Stoker’s original plotline, Orlok’s trip to the German town of Wisborn absolutely capitalized on anxieties of the German public. Here, the movie’s depiction of an “invasion of the German homeland by an outside force… poses sidquieting parallels to the anti-Semitic atmosphere festering in Northern Europe in 1922,” Professor Tony Magistrale wrote in Abject Terrors: Surveying the Modern and Postmodern Horror Film.

You know who fucking loved Nosferatu? German Nazis, duh, especially Julius Streicher, the editor-in-chief of Der Sturmer, a Nazi propaganda newspaper dedicated to Jew hatred. Actually, the antisemitic paper was inspired by Nosferatu’s Orlok, who, for Streicher, symbolized “the ultimate ‘other’: the anti-German, the contamintaor of the pure blood, the carrier of plagues — in other words, the Jew,” writes Sahara Blau in “Kosher Vampires: Jews, Vampires, and Prejudice.”

Hitler ate this shit up like a child at a candy store and heavily referenced Jewish vampire imagery in Mein Kampf. As part of Germany’s “the Jew as World Parasite” campaign, in 1943 the Regional Education Office of the Nazi Party published Der jüdische Vampyr chaotisiert die Welt — The Jewish Vampire Brings Chaos to the World. Anyway, all this to say that by perpetuating the myth of the supernatural blood lusting Jew, Hitler laid the groundwork to exterminate the Jews with little backlash. After all, he was merely performing a service for the safety of the world, and most importantly, the Aryan race. 

In the aftermath of the Holocaust, sympathy grew for the nearly exterminate Jewish population, and accusations of blood libel quieted down. Vampires and other monsters rooted in antisemitic origins evolved from a threat to society to kitchy characters made for TV sitcoms and to sell sugary cereals. Today, vampires still drink blood for breakfast, but instead of perpetuating blood libel, the Edward Cullens and Buffy’s Angel are fashioned to arouse horny teens with forbidden love. By way of introducing the vampire with a soul, pop culture successfully converted Jewish leeches who, unlike their successors, were not redeemable. 

So you see, American Jewry had every right to be up in arms over a Jewish Count Chocula. Vampires no longer pose a threat to the Diaspora, and we can drink our chocolate cereal milk free of anxiety. The myth of the Jewish vampire has rested, but be it on the cover of a New York Times paper or a cereal box, like the Eternal Jew, blood libel never dies.

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