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December 14, 2020

What’s a Kid From the Bronx Doing Hanging Out With Sir Anthony Hopkins?

Born and raised in New York, I had the good fortune of being able to go to lots of Broadway shows. And like a lot of people, I kept the playbills and tee shirts from almost all of them. So, during the COVID-19 lockdown, I decided to go through some old boxes and found one from the play “Equus.” But “Equus” was not just another play that I went to. “Equus” and its star, Anthony Hopkins, changed my life.

Like most Bronx kids, I was given the gift of chutzpah (nerve, for you non-Yiddish speakers). Bronx kids learn early that if you don’t ask, you don’t get. And if you don’t get, you’re miserable.

One big “yes” I got from asking was from Sir Anthony Hopkins. In 1975, Sir Hopkins was starring in the hit Broadway play “Equus.” “Equus” is a searing drama about a stable boy that blinds six horses. In other words, it’s not a big yuck fest. I went back at least six times.

At the time, I was also a member of a Jewish Acting Theatre Company called Theatre EXP 3. We performed Yiddish plays in English. My big role was Berel in “Chassidic Rhapsody.” It was an awful play with awful actors and a largely deaf, geriatric audience.

One night, my acting company went to see “Equus.” Soon after the play ended, our artistic director asked me to ask Sir Hopkins if he would come and speak to our group. My chutzpah said, “Yes.” So, a few nights later, after Tony’s performance (eventually, he asked me to call him Tony), I cornered him at the stage door. He had no idea who or what I was.

The author with an “Equus” shirt from 1975.

I said, “Mr. Hopkins, I’m Mark Schiff. I’m in a small theatre company, and we’d love if you would speak to our group.” Tony was still sweating from an almost three-hour performance. Half startled, he stared at me with his baby blues and said in his rolling Wales accent, “What? What’s your name? What do you want?” I explained again, and, lo and behold, he agreed! He then handed me his home phone number.

We agreed that the following Sunday, he would come down and speak to us. When Tony came, he brought with him a stack of xeroxed scenes from Chekov plays. He handed each actor a scene to study. A few minutes later, he directed all of us one by one. Tony came back two or three times more to follow our progress. Being directed by Anthony Hopkins was like being directed by Marlon Brando or Laurence Olivier.

Sir Anthony Hopkins is not only a good man, but he’s a courageous man.

Tony also spent time talking to and getting to know our artistic director. One night, around two in the morning, my phone made a jing a ling sound. (Jing a ling was the sound phones made back then). It was Tony. He had been drinking, and he was mad. He went on for about 15 minutes about our artistic director and what a cruel and mean man he thought he was. He was also very worried that the director might cause some sort of emotional damage to us young actors. He didn’t like the man. He was scared for us. He wanted us to get away from him. Without really knowing any of us, he was trying to protect us. It’s a rare moment in life when you meet someone that hardly knows you but cares so much and tries to help you. Especially a person of his stature.

After that call, I would worm my way in and periodically join Sir Hopkins and other “Equus” actors for drinks at Charley’s, a Broadway bar. Each time, he reiterated to me that my troupe should get away from our workshop director. None of us in the group were able to see what Tony saw, but then, one afternoon at a rehearsal, the director snapped. He started yelling, cursing, and belittling us. He even physically started grabbing people tightly by the wrists and dragging them around. And like clockwork, at each rehearsal, he kept getting worse. Tony was right. The man was a lunatic.

Tony saw what none of us could see. His level of self-reflection and intuitiveness are two reasons why he’s such a great actor. Thanks to him, a few of us soon quit the company. Over the years, I’ve seen Tony a few times, and in a most gentle voice, he reminds me how worried he was about us kids. Sir Anthony Hopkins is not only a good man, but he’s a courageous man. In this world, that’s a rare bird that usually flies alone.


Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.

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Who Counts as a Jew of Color — and Does it Even Matter?

This piece is a response to Hen Mazzig’s “What Is a Jew of Color?”

A slew of incidents across the United States have caused no shortage of unrest for Jews in the West, from rising anti-Semitism to social media posts claiming Anne Frank had white privilege. Because Jews constitute a minority across the globe, the way in which identity politics categorize groups based on degrees of marginalization has forced many Jewish people worldwide to reflect on their varying experiences of privilege. In response, a rift has emerged amidst the Jewish diaspora, largely between Jews able to pass as white and those less able to assimilate into whiteness.

Amidst this Internet drama, a sort of victimhood pyramid has emerged within the Jewish community itself — one which unfortunately conforms to the same colorist framework we should strive to avoid as a Jewish nation united against anti-Semitism and white supremacy. Parallel to the struggle for Black rights in America, a narrative has formed among various Jewish diaspora groups that pits “white Jews” against “Jews of Color.”

But who qualifies as a Jew of Color?

Colorism — or the judgment of a people based on their skin tone — emerged across the world due to Western European colonialism. As a result, many have come to associate Ashkenazim with whiteness despite their Middle Eastern origins. Historically, however, non-Jews in Europe tended to otherize Ashkenazim as lording control over society. Nazis and other pogrom leaders in Europe used anti-Semitic caricatures in their witch hunts, and Mizrahim suffered under Islamic rule as inferiors. Now, many Sephardim and Mizrahim in the West face marginalization amidst an Ashkenazi majority, yet Ashkenazim still fall victim to the stereotype of holding excessive power.

Despite people with recent Middle East and North African (MENA) ancestry — such as Mizrahim, Sephardim and non-Jewish Arabs and Persians — technically falling under the “white” ethnicity on the official U.S. census, they are marginalized by negative stereotypes like terrorism and orientalism. In that respect, classifying Mizrahim and Sephardim as Jews of Color holds a degree of merit.

One reason to encourage classifying these diaspora communities as Jews of Color is the effect that this framing had with the California Ethnic Studies Bill. The California Ethnic Studies Bill, which sought to incorporate lessons on ethnicity and privilege in the state’s high schools, initially made no mention of Jewish people, suggesting that Jews have become associated with a sense of white privilege in American society. However, following a petition to the California Department of Education by the group Jews of the Middle East and North Africa (JIMENA), a revised curriculum incorporated MENA Jews under the umbrella of explored ethnic groups.

The term “of color” stems from “colored,” the derogatory term placed upon Black Americans during the segregation era, and thus frames a person’s ethnic background as identifiable by their phenotype. Thus, while the term “Jews of Color” understandably classifies Jews unable to function as white based on appearance, “white Jew” frequently winds up as the default for Jews associated with Europe and the West — specifically, Ashkenazim. However, equating white-passing Ashkenazim as simply “the white Jews” not only portrays them as indistinguishable from their former European oppressors but also excludes all of the Mizrahi and Sephardi Jews passing as white in the West.

Categorizing Jews as “of color” actually serves as a point of erasure.

Therefore, depicting all Jews of recent MENA descent alongside non-white-passing Jews as the lump sum of those who are not “white Ashkenazi Jews” fallaciously conflates phenotype with assumed marginalization based upon geographic heritage. After all, although Sephardim and Mizrahim may not feel wholly represented by mainstream American Jewish culture, white-passing MENA Jews do not experience the often-daily fear of being killed unarmed by police or being followed around a store under suspicion of shoplifting — a reality faced by many Black Jews in the United States.

We don’t need the frame of “Jews of Color” or “White Jews” to acknowledge the lived realities of all Jews, including the atrocities suffered by some of our community members in the past and present. In fact, highlighting Ashkenazim as the Jews that have allegedly transformed into white people presents a dangerous binary that targets Jews with recent residence in Europe as the scapegoat diaspora community from whom other Jews should dissociate in order to appease intersectionality. That said, dispelling this dichotomous framework doesn’t mean that white-passing Jews are exempt from contributing to anti-Black racism and general colorism in our communities. White-passing Jews have a duty to ensure inclusion in our social and religious circles. And, when discussing anti-Semitism, white-passing Jews should clarify that we aim not to claim the same level of oppression as other minorities but instead to highlight the hypocrisy that we are singled out as white and non-Jewish MENA groups that pass as white are not.

As a half Ashkenazi, half Mizrahi Jew, I say it’s high time we as Jews stop identifying each other and ourselves according to the standards of Western bigotry.


Sarah Katz is an author, UC Berkeley alumna in Middle Eastern Studies, cybersecurity analyst at NASA and delegate candidate for the California Legislative Jewish Caucus. 

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