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February 18, 1999

From Paltrowitch to Paltrow

Gwyneth Paltrow, the beautiful, blond Oscar-nominated heroine of “Shakespeare in Love,” is descended from a distinguished rabbinical dynasty, called Paltrowitch, which may stretch back to 17th-century Russia.

According to the London-based Jewish Chronicle, the actress can count 33 rabbis among her ancestors on her father’s side.

Her great-great-great-grandfather was Rabbi Tsvi Paltrowitch, the Gaon of Nitzy-Novgorod in southwest Russia, the Jewish Chronicle reported.

His three sons, all rabbis, emigrated to America in the 19th century. One, Simcha Paltrowitch, served as rabbi in Buffalo from 1890 to 1914.

Another son, Mayer, subsequently moved to England and established the now defunct Old Central Synagogue in Leeds.

It was through the British branch of the Paltrowitch family that the Jewish Chronicle established the lineage of the American branch, including the actress and her cousin, Dr. Irving Paltrowitch of Newark, N.J.

According to genealogical studies by Rabbi Nachum Paltrowitch, a member of the Leeds family, a direct ancestor was Rabbi David Ben Samuel Ha-Levi, a renowned 17th-century authority on Jewish law. He was known as the “Taz” from the initials of his major work, “Turei Zahav.”

Gwyneth’s father is TV producer Bruce Paltrow, and her mother is actress Blythe Danner. Her brother, Jake, had a bar mitzvah, according to the Jewish Chronicle. — Tom Tugend, Contributing Editor

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‘Build Me a Sanctuary’

We still don’t like to talk about it much. The idea of Jewish domestic violence makes most of us nervous. Whenever I mention it to my congregation, people seem to furtively look around as if I am revealing a family secret and one of the neighbors might be listening at the door.

According to the Jewish Family Violence Project, one of the unfortunate byproducts of our near complete integration into American life is that we have pretty much become just like everyone else when it comes to the dark side of society. Social traumas that used to be unheard of (or at least not talked about) in the Jewish community — such as alcoholism, divorce and domestic violence — are now all too commonplace.

Every single week, Jewish women manage to find the courage to dial the 1-800 number of an abuse hot line, take themselves to the emergency rooms of our local hospitals, and move out of their unsafe homes and into emergency violence-free shelters for victims of abuse. It isn’t a pretty picture, but it’s a real one.

I still recall how surprised I was when my Yom Kippur sermon on Jewish domestic violence a number of years ago evoked a stronger emotional response from my congregation than perhaps any other sermon I had ever delivered. I received calls and requests for copies of that sermon for months afterward. I even had several women who called to tell me that, merely by my willingness to talk about Jewish domestic violence so openly in public on the holiest day of the Jewish year, they found the courage to leave abusive relationships.

I thought of this sad reality this week as I contemplated the Torah portion. One phrase in particular jumped out at me. I was startled at first by my own mental association, since the phrase itself has traditionally had nothing to do with issues of the body and everything to do with matters of the spirit. But then I realized how natural the connection to domestic violence really is.

“Let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them” (Exodus 25:8). It is a powerful statement of how our ancestors understood their own ability to invoke God’s presence through the building of a sacred space within which God might dwell. These very words are emblazoned on the cornerstone of my own synagogue in Pacific Palisades.

And, yet, as I read the text this week, I couldn’t help but think of a different kind of sanctuary, and a different spiritual need. Too many women of all religious persuasions are desperately in need of a sanctuary that will shield them from the predators of their lives — usually current or former husbands or boyfriends. Too many women and girls of all ages search in vain for a spiritual community that will validate that what they say, and what they do, and who they are matters.

The Kotzker Rebbe, in an oft-quoted rabbinic turn of phrase, was once asked, “Where does God dwell?” He answered, “Wherever you let God in.” But the clever retort falls flat when you think of the thousands of women who are so victimized, degraded and consistently told they are worthless, that they must cling tightly to the last shreds of self-respect just to hold themselves together. They have no room to discover even their own souls, let alone to “let God in.”

“Let them build me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them,” says the Torah.

It tells us “among them” and not “in it,” as we might have expected, so that we can learn that finding God has nothing to do with sacred places, beautiful cathedrals, inspirational sanctuaries. God isn’t in the places where we dwell. Either God is found among us, or nowhere. That is the real challenge of the Torah this week.


Steven Carr Reuben is senior rabbi of Kehillat Israel, the Reconstructionist Congregation of Pacific Palisades.

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Teachers and Technology

A parent in North Hollywood is appalled by what passes for religious-school education: His child has a terrible teacher. A parent in Brentwood is ecstatic: Her child’s current teacher is outstanding. Marcy Goldberg, director of education at Temple Aliyah of Woodland Hills, sums up the obvious fact about religious schools: For children and their parents, a school is “only as good as the teacher they have that year.”

This truism, of course, applies to schools of every sort. But religious schools, which typically offer their classes on weelend afternoons, following students’ regular school day, face a particular dilemma: a shortage of trained, experienced and knowledgeable teachers of Judaica.

According to statistics from the Bureau of Jewish Education, 13,500 students attend some 64 religious schools in greater Los Angeles. More than 600 teachers are needed to educate them. Unfortunately, says Michael Raileanu, religious-school director at Sinai Temple, “getting the great teachers is harder than ever.”

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Answering the Call

Anne Roberts is passionate about the idea of tzedakah, a concept she has diligently instilled in her son Spencer Nieman.

A second-grader who is not quite 8 years old, Spencer has managed to save up $120 this year and will donate it in a small ceremony that has become an annual tradition on Super Sunday, the biggest single day of fund raising for the Jewish Federation of Greater Los Angeles’ United Jewish Fund each year.

Spencer is following the example set by his older brother, Mitchell, who died 3 1/2 years ago at age 6.

“Mitchell understood our job was to take care of people in need,” his mother said. “On Super Sunday, he would go on stage to share his gift. This is something that Spencer has continued to do year after year.”

As have many of the 5,000 volunteers who will spend this Sunday making phone calls, licking envelopes and doing person-to-person solicitations in an attempt to raise as much money as possible for the UJF.

Super Sunday, which will take place at four locations scattered across Los Angeles, reaches more than 50,000 people and raises about one-tenth of the annual total contributions to the UJF. Last year, $4.45 million was added to UJF coffers. This year’s goal is to increase that figure to $5 million.

Most of the funds go to benefit the Federation’s 17 beneficiary agencies, which combat hunger, disease, disabilities, family violence, alcohol and drug addiction in Los Angeles, as well as provide educational services, legal and psychological assistance, recreation programs and avenues to strengthen Jewish commitment. A third of the money is spent overseas to support Israel and Jews in 58 countries.

Part of the pitch that volunteers will make when they dial for dollars will be: About 10 percent of the 519,000 Jews in the Federation’s service area are living in poverty, according to the Federation’s recent demographic report, and many elderly Jews in the former Soviet Union are near starvation.

“The need is always urgent. There’s never enough money,” said David Aaronson, 1999 Super Sunday chair, who added that possibly as many as 200,000 Jews in the former Soviet Union are living in poverty.

“We often don’t have a clue how many ways we give to people through the United Jewish Fund,” said Roberts, who is chairing volunteer training this year. “What Super Sunday does is allow us, by making one gift, to help Jews in Los Angeles and also hundreds of thousands of Jews throughout the world who would starve without our help.”

In honor of Roberts’ late son, Mitchell, a number of Westside religious schools have raised tzedakah money and will come to the Westside Super Sunday site to deliver the proceeds to the Mitchell Nieman Fund. The goal is to teach kids to incorporate tzedakah into their lives, Roberts said.

This year, the Orthodox presence on the phone banks may be larger than usual. Volunteers from Young Israel of Century City, B’nai David-Judea Congregation, Sha’arei Tefila and Yavneh Hebrew Academy, among others, will make calls on Super Sunday.

“We’ve made a commitment for more participation of our synagogue in the Federation,” said Young Israel’s Gary Naren.

Orthodox involvement in Federation has often been limited in the past, since many members of the Orthodox community believe that the umbrella agency doesn’t pay enough attention to their needs, Naren conceded. But, in the long run, this may be self-defeating, he said.

“The only way the Federation is going to reach out for the involvement of the Orthodox community is to have more people involved in the Federation who are Orthodox.” — Ruth Stroud, Staff Writer


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What I Have Learned From the Clinton Affair

I have learned from the Clinton affair how unprepared our technologically sophisticated society is to deal with moral issues, and specifically how to transmit moral wisdom to our children.

Parents ask, “What are we to say to our children about the conduct of the most powerful leader of our country and the world?”

I suggest they sit down with their child before an open Bible and ask, “What are we to say about David, the king and psalmist, who was revealed to be a murderer and an adulterer?” Moreover, what are we to say to children about the patriarchs and matriarchs who are revealed as men and women flawed, yet capable of moral heroism and acts of unsurpassed fidelity.

Let them recover the wisdom of Ecclesiastes who observed, “There is no righteous person upon earth who does good and has not sinned.”

The principle reality of the Bible will help them understand that it is foolhardy to expect from any single person or leader, whatever his celebrity and power, to be a model to be emulated. They will then understand the Bible's fear of idolatry, the deification of any man or woman.

The Bible does not compartmentalize its figures into saints or sinners, heroes or villains. It knows that the sinner can have dimensions of moral character. And this is as true of King David as it is of Oskar Schindler.

Further, if we cannot deal with the Clinton affair, it is because we have reduced the complexity of moral character into a matter of sex alone. Character is a multifaceted quality that includes not only sexual attitudes but also projects and programs rooted in compassion for the weaker vessels of society, protection of the persecuted pariahs, and defense of the voiceless.

In the face of bitter partisan acrimony, I note the wisdom of the sages who warned that when the kettle boils over, the boiling water spills over all its sides. No one, “managers” or defenders, emerges from this trial by ordeal unscathed. “If a man spits in the air, it will fall on his face.” Genuine patriotism calls for a transcendent vision of harmony and purpose beyond the parochialism of partisan politics.


Harold M. Schulweis is rabbi at Valley Beth Shalom in Encino.

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The Mitzvah of Tzedakah

On the surface, the mitzvah of tzedakah, the commandment to give, is a very simple one. Deuteronomy says, “If there is a needy person among you, don’t harden your heart, don’t shut your hand against your needy kin. For there will never cease to be people with need in your land, which is why I command you to open your heart to the poor and to the needy kin in your land.”

According to the Torah, there are simply people in need out there, and our job as human beings, and as Jews, is to help them to meet their needs, to help them live lives of dignity and fullness. It is our sacred privilege to provide sufficient food, shelter, education and care so that children grow up to be productive and healthy adults; so that healthy and productive adults are able to keep the community and their families together, and so that seniors are able to reap a rich harvest from all the years that they have already striven to make our world a possibility.

On the surface, the Torah is very simple. I am struck, however, by its choice of terms: Twice, the verse in Deuteronomy says, “Don’t harden your heart.” Ask yourself: In the Bible, whose heart is hardened? Let’s recall that Moses goes into Egypt and says, “Let my people go,” and Pharaoh’s heart is hardened.

When the Torah says, “Don’t harden your heart to those who are needy in your midst,” the Torah is quoting itself. The timeless symbol of someone whose heart is hard is Pharaoh. Any Jew who can look at a human being in need and not hear God’s call to let my people go, to do something, becomes a Pharaoh. You don’t have to be evil to be on the side of evil. You simply have to remain indifferent. All that it takes for goodness to be vanquished is for us to ignore the suffering and desperation of our fellow human beings. To fail to act is all it takes to create a society of inequity and of callousness. Refusing to lend a hand, we become the Pharaohs of our age.

On the surface, the mitzvah of tzedakah appears simple and straightforward: Don’t let yourself be the Pharaohs of this age. If God has blessed you with abundance and with resources, it is your duty as Jews to hear the cries of your fellow human beings. It is your duty to do something about it. In fact, this simple mitzvah is anything but simple. The Midrash notices that there is a contradiction between two biblical verses. On the one hand, Deuteronomy says that there will not always be poor among you (15:4), and, on the other hand, a few verses later it says the very opposite: There will always be poor in your midst (15:11). The rabbis say that determining which verse applies to our community is in our hands.

When we live our lives in a godly way, when we go out, roll up our sleeves, and make the world a better place, then we make sure that there are no needy among us. But if we harden our hearts, if we shut ourselves off to what God would have us do with our lives and our resources, then, indeed, the poor will never go away.

There is a deeper level to the mitzvah of tzedakah. In truth, tzedakah is not about giving; tzedakah is about being. Let’s reflect on who we truly are. The Torah begins by telling us that we are b’tzelem Elohim — made in God’s image. What a striking phrase! None of us look alike, so the image of God can’t be a physical likeness.

What, then, is the essence of God’s image? What does it mean to be in God’s image in the world? Jewish tradition teaches that what is essentially divine about God is that God loves unconditionally and that God’s giving is gratuitous. We don’t earn God’s bounty; God gives simply for the joy of giving.

To be God-like means to give, and to be free means to have what to give. The slaves in Egypt, the slaves in our time, are people who don’t have the capacity to reach out and give. To be free means to be able to love and to give. We are reflections of that divine image, which means that when we rise up in our freedom and we offer gifts of love, caring and support, then we are most God-like. That is our mission in life: We are placed in this material world to bring that divine spark into the world and to share it among each other. A person who doesn’t give isn’t whole; a person who doesn’t reach out is, in some ways, not human.

The fullest expression of our humanity is possible only when we reach out to each other and we connect with each other. That is what the Federation’s Super Sunday is all about. That is what this enormous bureaucracy of cards is all about. It is an expression of the divine image in each of us. We do it because, in our core, that is who we are and who we are summoned to be.

One other level of tzedakah: In the Torah, the first thing God does after the creation of the earth is become a tailor. God expels Adam and Eve from the Garden, but the next thing God does is sew clothing for them. That gift is itself unearned: God didn’t have to do that. Adam and Eve had disobeyed the Lord’s command. They had rebelled against God and eaten of the fruit, even though it was the only thing God told Adam not to do. So it’s particularly remarkable that even though God insists that they have forfeited their right to live in the Garden, commanding that they have to go out in the world, God’s love doesn’t rest. God makes them suits because God sees their shame as being naked.

That first act of caring is consistent with God’s last act in the Torah. The last deed that God performs in the Torah is to bury Moses. Moshe is not capable of burying himself. He can’t rely on his own resources, so God does it for him.

The Torah begins and ends with what our tradition calls gemillut hasadim — acts of loving kindness. That is what Super Sunday (and the entire Federation campaign) is about. That is the work which every volunteer and donor performs is all about.

Those engaged in the mitzvah of tzedakah are the shimmering lights of God in our community. Through the work that we do now and throughout the year, we will persuade this hard and callous world that there is a God who rules, that this God insists on justice and love, and that the sovereignty of God is best demonstrated when human beings help each other.


Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson is the executive vice president of the Board of Rabbis of Southern California.

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Young and Committed

When leaders from 119 North American Jewish federations met here this week, they did not make any earth-shattering decisions or vote on anything binding.

Instead, they did what many involved described as even more revolutionary: They listened to each other, building trust and beginning to explore what it will mean for them to be “owners” of their newly formed umbrella organization, the United Jewish Communities.

“I’ve begun to see a trusting relationship start,” Charles Bronfman, chairman of the UJC’s board, said at the meeting’s closing plenary on Monday.

Robert Aronson, executive vice president of the Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Detroit, observed as the meeting closed: “I don’t think the decisions themselves were as important as the opportunity to sit and talk together.”

Spawned from the merger of the United Jewish Appeal and the Council of Jewish Federations, the UJC says it is attempting to transform a system that had traditionally been top-down and somewhat mysterious in its decision-making to one that is more open.

Indeed, at this two-day “owners’ retreat,” which ended Monday and was followed by a series of meetings, the most oft-repeated words were “transparency,” “consensus” and “change.”

What happens with the UJC is significant because its 189 member federations across North America raised almost $882 million last year for domestic and overseas Jewish needs — everything from day schools to rescuing and resettling refugees.

The federations have long been considered the central address of Jewish philanthropy and social services, but in recent years have been devoting larger portions of their funds to local causes rather than overseas needs.

What remains to be seen is whether — in this climate of openness and without coercion — they will be able to come together and agree on enough to form a cohesive system.

At this week’s retreat, representatives from the various federations spent time breaking into small groups for lengthy discussions and debating among the entire body.

Following the retreat, the UJC’s board of trustees on Tuesday approved:

* A two-year nonbinding plan for federations to maintain at least their current contributions to the UJC and to overseas needs. The board also passed an amendment that would require UJC to come up with a formula by Dec. 31, 2001, that would determine the “fair share” contributions of individual federations in the future.

* A decision to work with local federations and the Jewish Agency for Israel to become partners of Birthright Israel, a program started by philanthropists Michael Steinhardt and Charles Bronfman to send unaffiliated Jews on a free trip to Israel.

The board set $39 million as the target amount to contribute over three years — $15.6 million from the UJC budget, $15 million from federations and the rest from the Jewish Agency. So far, more than 70 federations — representing more than 83 percent of the North American Jewish population — have indicated they are prepared to participate, according to Stephen Solender, UJC president and chief executive officer.

In addition, leaders from within the UJC system agreed as a result of their discussions on their top three priorities for what they want the new organization to accomplish: coordinate overseas needs, help with training for lay and professional leaders and assist with fundraising.

During the retreat, UJC leaders updated their constituents on their accomplishments — getting up and running, establishing pillars, or focus areas, and forming tentative recommendations for a budget and overseas allocations.

They also outlined some goals for the future, including recruiting more women for top leadership positions, stepping up planning, identifying and publicizing “best practices” and developing training programs for federation leaders.

All in all, they seemed to be seeking the buy-in of federations and attempting to persuade them why they should be involved.

But there remain many points of conflict and uncertainty:

* Many small and middle-sized federations feel they do not have a large enough voice in collective decisions and have expressed fears that proposed budget cuts — particularly to regional offices that assist smaller federations with things such as fundraising and personnel matters — would adversely affect them.

* Issues of obligation and enforcement — particularly on the issue of financial commitment for overseas needs and the national system’s overhead — were considered so divisive that they were moved off the agenda weeks before the retreat. Nonetheless, the UJC committee charged with assessing overseas needs is requesting federations contribute at least 105 percent of what they gave last year.

* Federations agree that they want to trim the budget — which is approximately $40 million — for the national system but cannot agree what programs and services should be cut to achieve that goal.

Despite the difficulties, participants from both large and small federations overwhelmingly voiced satisfaction with the retreat, even if some were skeptical about what will happen next.

“We have the opportunity to speak up, and everyone’s being heard,” said Daniel Chefjec, executive director of the Central Kentucky Jewish Federation.

“Small communities have a history in which we’ve felt neglected and been forced to go into decisions we didn’t like. But much of that is being dispelled by the fact that this is being kept clean.”

Jeff Levin, executive director of the Jewish Federation of Washtenaw County in Ann Arbor, Mich., said the meeting was strengthening federations’ commitment to the larger system.

“There’s a growing recognition that whatever comes, everyone making Shabbos for himself is not a good thing,” he said. “That’s the main theme, and all the rest is commentary.”

Shelly Katz, executive director of the Jewish Federation of Santa Barbara, Calif., described the process as “a real turning point for the small cities.”

“We feel we’re being listened to, especially in the small groups,” she added.

For Joel Tauber, UJC’s executive committee chairman, “We’re building a culture of oneness, and people are beginning to look beyond their own federation.”

Despite the sense of growing confidence, leaders — particularly from smaller federations — noted that they were still not certain what the long-term impact of their discussions might be.

Sara Schreibman, president of the Jewish Federation of Greater Charlotte, N.C., described the retreat as a learning process but noted that “the real test” will be “if the board really listens.”

Arthur Paikowsky, executive director of the Jewish Federation of Greater Phoenix, agreed, saying, “The devil is in the details. Once you figure out how you want to do it, what’s the implementation?”

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Esther for Grownups

Valentine’s Day came and went without trouble or fanfare. My daughter and I exchanged bouquets of red and yellow tulips, and tiny gift cards professing love.

“Let’s spend the day together,” the soon-to-be 17-year-old said. “After all, we’re both alone.”

It was a good day, too, hanging around the house, feeling homey under our comforters after weeks of the flu, then going to see the tear-jerker “Message in a Bottle” and thinking about Paul Newman’s bravery growing old. There are many kinds of love, and this one, between mother and teenage daughter, sweeps all others away.

I was relieved, just as I was in December, when I didn’t have the slightest visceral response to all that black velvet, the fabric of the holiday season. See, I said, I must be a grown up now, immune to the romantic spirit, in black or red.

But then, the next day, I saw a poster advertising an upcoming Purim carnival, and, to put it kindly, I was gone. My thoughts were besotted with Queen Esther and questions I had never considered now overwhelmed me.

Was Esther excited by the beauty pageant, or only playing the game? Did she grow to love Ahasuerus, after he saved her life and that of the Jewish people? Did she ever have children? Was her life full of passion, or merely of duty?

I worried about Esther just like I had about Robin Wright Penn’s Theresa in “Message,” two other women like me wondering about their next best step. It would be unbearable to consider that Esther was like Hillary Clinton, stuck in a loveless marriage even with a man who could perform a few good magic tricks.

Or, on second thought, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe the better question is: Would I rather be Esther, even in that less-than-satisfying marriage, than be Vashti, brave but out in the world alone?

It is amazing: Here I am, 50 years old, and I’m still a sucker for romance, but now of a different, possibly more complex variety. I fall, if not for messages left in bottles than for stories of sacrifice and bravery in Shushan long ago.

I thought I was over it, grown up, well beyond fairy tales, which means well beyond hope of being swept away by anything, or anyone. But maybe what it means to be grown up is not to whither and die, but to bloom, from deeper roots, anew.

Romance, of course, is dangerous. Jewish women have been warned off it throughout time. In Pearl Abraham’s wonderful “The Romance Reader,” young Rachel Benjamin is deemed suspect by her religious community because she teaches English literature, not Yiddish, in the local Satmar school. Worse yet, she hides out in the public library reading romances.

“A Jew reads only Jewish books and must remain separate,” Rachel’s father tells her, implying reading novels will ruin her chances of making a good marriage.

But what if “Jewish books” are not protection, but instead are provocation?

You have only to start reading rabbinical commentary to appreciate the fire that lies on every page. Aviva Zornberg calls her interpretation of Genesis, “The Beginning of Desire,” and with good reason. “Desire” is the opposite of “passive receptivity,” Zornberg writes, and is the tension that motivates our forebears, our people, our lives, in an effort to understand how to live. Our texts are no dry, prune-like tomes like William Bennett’s morality tales. The Bible and the apocrypha (which includes the Purim megillah) are filled with energy and romance, messiness and yearning. Rachel Benjamin’s father did not want to hear it, but Jewish text is real-life adventure, full stories of men and women who fail and stray.

Most of us know only the sanitized Esther, niece of Mordechai. The eternal virgin. The rabbis call her a “prophet,” the Jewish equivalent of a saint. We’re told her life is only about reparation and salvation.

As a result, Jewish women seeking authoritative role models have fled Esther like the gallows. What use is a role model who had no real life? In the eternal Esther/Vashti duality, Esther out-polls Vashti among girls, but loses among women.

In the new anthology “Which Lilith?” (Joseph Aronson), co-editor Henny Wenkart voices her frustration at the rigidity of Jewish women’s choices. Why must we play the game of either/or, Wenkart asks: Lilith or Eve, Vashti or Esther (the two pairs play remarkably similar roles.)

“There may be love without envy or jealousy…a possibility of going beyond this-or-that to …this-and-this too,” she writes.

Why would I expect less of the Queen of Shushan than I would of Sarah, Rachel, Rebeccah and Leah, or any of the other biblical figures whose stories I have been able, through study and thought, to re-imagine into my life. Why not Esther, real woman and nemesis of Haman?

Maybe Esther didn’t love the king in the beginning. Maybe she never loved him even in the end. But maybe she understood duty, and valor. Or maybe she’s rather be a U.S. senator from New York.

It’s a beginning: Esther, yes, for grownups.


Join Marlene Adler Marks for this Sunday’s “Conversations” program at the Skirball Cultural Center when her guests will be writers Naomi Levy and Sandy Banks; on Tuesday she’s at Barnes & Noble, Santa Monica at 7:30 p.m.

Her website is www.marleneadlermarks.com.

Her e-mail address is wmnsvoice@aol.comHer book, “A Woman’s Voice” is available through Amazon.com.

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Raising Eyebrows

It’s not always easy to contend with an artist who decides to bite the hand that feeds him. But that’s what happened recently as the Skirball Cultural Center opened its current show, a triptych called “The History of Matzah: The Story of the Jews,” with a presentation by the artist, flamboyant Larry Rivers, before an audience of some 350 people.

Rivers, who is nothing if not irreverent, proceeded to insult everyone from the staff member running the slides to many of the guests who were intrepid enough to raise questions. The audience refused to be guyed, however; they laughed at Rivers’ numerous jokes and stayed until he abruptly ended the lecture with a gruff, “Alright, let’s go home.”

To anyone familiar with Rivers, 73, this should not have come as a surprise. Rivers, born Yitzroch Loiza Grossberg in the Bronx, a first generation American, escaped family and neighborhood just as his parents had escaped the pogroms of Eastern Europe. He took up the saxophone (he is a gifted player), changed his name, studied art. From the beginning, his was an outsized personality, and he was at the center of what could be called “the scene” in the New York art and poetry world of the 1950s.

His friends included musicians and writers and, of course, fellow artists, most of them leading abstract expressionists of the day. He also, it turned out, was a superb draftsman. He hit upon the idea of larky themes (e.g., Washington crossing the Delaware) and of leaving his mistakes — or at least some of them — within the paintings.

The paintings tended to be large in scale and narrative in theme. Biographical figures found their way into the work; as did jokes and personal references. It was celebrated by some critics; attacked as illustration by others. But criticism aside, Rivers himself was always at the center of a particular social world, one that included hip musicians as well as writers and such poets as Frank O’Hara and Allen Ginsberg. He was known as much for his personality as for his audacious art.

He is currently raising eyebrows at the Skirball with his glibly titled “The History of Matzah: The Story of the Jews.” The 10-by-14-foot canvases depict 3,000 years of Jewish history, from Moses to the Diaspora, pogroms to the Lower East Side. The densely-packed panels are painted against a backdrop that looks, in places, like matzo. The piece utilizes Rivers’ technique of “recycling” images from Old Master paintings and photographs, and his penchant for visual punning.

Moses is depicted as he appears in a Rembrandt painting, except the features are those of Rivers’ jovial, elderly cousin, Aaron Hochberg. Michelangelo’s “David” is circumcised and has Semitic features, resembling those of the artist. The czar of Russia is shown with a knife through his forehead; and a figure of the child violin prodigy, Yehudi Menuhin, is capped by a halo.

At the Skirball, Rivers joked that he is the result of the Jewish migration from Eastern Europe to America — and of his parents “doing it.”

He told The Journal that his parents sent him to a Workmen’s Circle school, where he encountered “a lot of strict-looking men with beards who made my life slightly uncomfortable.” He despised the “bad rabbi art” he saw in the neighborhood.

He changed his name one evening in the ’40s, while he was playing a jazz concert in the Catskills. An emcee chanced to introduce him as “Larry Rivers,” and the name stuck. “It felt more comfortable,” Rivers admits. “In America at that time, you were very conscious of the fact that a great deal of the population hated you.”

By 1953, Rivers had become an artist and had burst onto the art scene with his brash painting after Emanuel Leutze’s “Washington Crossing the Delaware.” &’009;

Over the next two decades, he also created a handful of Jewish-themed works, some of them based upon photographs of his family. He was “commercial and careful” about the style, however. “At that time, everyone was hung up on the ‘avant-garde’ and the idea of how you paint,” Rivers said. “Artists who painted Jewish subjects weren’t taken very seriously. You’re sensitive when you’re in that world, so I felt that if I dealt with Jewish subject matter, I had to do it peripherally.”

Rivers was in his late 50s when two New York art dealers commissioned him to do a history of the Jews in the same epic spirit as his vast 1965 assemblage, “The History of the Russian Revolution.” Because he was daunted by the task, he sought a Columbia University professor to help him make a “list” of salient historical events. He consulted his friend, the author Irving Howe, and studied hundreds of photographs provided by a researcher at The Jewish Museum in New York.

Rivers began the piece by projecting some matzo on a canvas and painting it on. In panel two, he playfully pays homage to his patrons, the art collectors Sivia and Jeffrey Loria, by painting their “donor” portraits inside an 18th-century Lithuanian wooden synagogue. Sivia is shown sitting in the women’s balcony, per Orthodox custom. Panel three ends before the Holocaust, Rivers suggests, because he ran out of room. &’009;

The artist hasn’t received all accolades for the piece, however. When “History of Matzah” debuted at the Jewish Museum in 1984, The New York Times compared it to the kind of illustrated history book one reads in religious school. An observer at the Skirball called the paintings “retro.”

Rivers, for his part, admits that painting the highly-illustrational piece “was scary for a person of my generation.” He initially thought of exhibiting the triptych in Brooklyn, he quips, “because I didn’t think friends of mine would go to Brooklyn.” &’009;

However, he feels the manner in which he paints rescues the work from “looking like a post office mural.” And, as he once told The New York Times, “Why can’t a person…do something that doesn’t have to do with the onwards and upwards of art?”

“The History of Matzah” is on exhibit through May. For more information, call (310) 440-4500.

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Movie Memoirs

Some of the best recent American documentaries are nonfiction, highly subjective narratives that explore the Sturm und Drang of family relationships. Filmmaker Ira Wohl calls this kind of up-close cinematic memoir “first-person documentary.”

It’s an apt description for his latest film, “Best Man,” the “Best Boy” sequel that first screened locally at the 1997 Cinema Judaica Festival and was featured again as the kickoff film for the Laemmle Theatres’ Documentary Days series, which began on Feb. 12 and runs through March 5.

Another highly personal examination of family ties is Eric Trules’ uneven but watchable “The Poet and the Con,” which premières tonight as the second film in the Laemmle series. The film’s energy is generated entirely by Trule’s streetwise uncle, Harvey Rosenberg, the family’s charismatic, roughly handsome black sheep.

When the film begins, Rosenberg is a 57-year-old career criminal and his filmmaker-nephew’s favorite relative. It’s easy to see why. Despite the morally repellent nature of Rosenberg’s street credentials, he’s riveting to watch — an impassioned, mischievous and complex character who lights up the screen whenever he appears: whether it’s to hash out old childhood wounds with his aging siblings or to coolly recount one of his many misadventures — like the time he put a gun to a Mafioso’s head at Tony Roma’s restaurant as a favor to a friend in trouble with the mob over gambling debts.

Unfortunately, Rosenberg shares equal screen time with his nephew, Trules. Although clearly attached to his uncle, Trules eventually becomes an unwelcome intrusion for the viewer. A performance artist, poet and professor at USC, Trule s sees his own life as inextricably tied to his uncle’s, and so constructs the film with them both at center stage. But Trules (the “Poet” of the title) is not nearly as interesting onscreen as his uncle (the “Con.”)

For the filmmaker, his Uncle Harvey is a potent mix of kindred spirit, muse, paternal mentor and walking cautionary tale. Trules uses Rosenberg as a catalyst for exploring his own emotional baggage: He describes his attraction to law-breaking and bemoans his own feelings of marginality. In a bit of family cinéma véritè, Trules uses Uncle Harvey as a bludgeon to beat at his parents and the middle-class “Jewish culture” at large, at whom he feels an inordinate degree of anger and contempt. In a 44-year-old man, such stuff comes across as unappealingly whiny and adolescent.

By contrast, in Rosenberg (who ultimately died of lung cancer in a prison hospital), Trules had a larger-than-life film character. Rosenberg got his first taste of crime as a 17-year-old street tough hijacking a liquor truck on the docks of New York City. Guns, prison stints, head-turning girlfriends and friction with family followed. Eventually, Rosenberg got clean and worked as a certified alcohol and drug counselor after a stint at Los Angeles’ halfway house, Beit T’Shuvah. Near the end of his life, his role in an unsolved Hollywood murder caught up with him. He found himself a fugitive from justice, featured on “America’s Most Wanted” and running scared from the idea of returning to prison after his brief taste of redemption. Simply put, this should have been Harvey’s movie.

“Documentary Days” screens through March 5 at Laemmle’s Grande 4-Plex downtown, 345 S. Figueroa St. (213) 617-0268.

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