If you ever needed a sign that Jews feel fully integrated and accepted by society, consider this: Not one major Jewish group made a peep over the revelations of National Security Agency (NSA) surveillance.
I’ve spent many hours with Monty Hall over the past two months. It’s work related, so I’ve gotten to know him in a way I never did when I was a kid. Back then, I’d come home from school and watch him on “Let’s Make a Deal.”
The Six-Day War began at 7:10 a.m. on June 5, 1967. By 10 a.m., it was clear Israel had already won.
Just before I sat down to talk about the future of L.A. Jews, I took a quick tour of L.A.’s Jewish past.
Two years after his mother was shot and killed, Dallas Sonnier received a phone call from the police: His father had just been shot and killed.
Before His Holiness Mirza Masroor Ahmad, leader of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community, entered the gilded ballroom of the Montage Beverly Hills last Saturday afternoon, a spokesman took the microphone and explained the rules to the 500 or so acolytes, dignitaries and invited guests.
Yes, America, we’ve heard: You’re war-weary. It’s at least something our divided country can agree upon: Americans across party lines oppose sending troops, weapons or air support to the rebel fighters in Syria.
It had been a tough week. The more news I read about the Boston bombing, the less I understood. Who were these young men, full of grievance, using a fresh start in America to maim and kill innocents?
To the woman who confronted me last Sunday at the Celebrate Israel Festival, ranting that airplane vapor trails are actually toxic secret government gasses: You complain that journalists don’t take you seriously. They might, if you didn’t walk around wearing large posters of airplane vapor trails.
I watched the video of the Boston Marathon bombings and thought, of course, of the bus bombings that wracked Jerusalem and Tel Aviv a decade ago.
My mother called Doheny Glatt Kosher Meats “Tiffany’s.”
Many years ago, when I was a young, harried father, I would sit in synagogue on Shabbat mornings and try to keep my kids quiet. It was a task I consistently failed at. Their mother, the rabbi, was on the bimah, leading services. She had the easy job.
It’s been just two days since President Barack Obama touched down in Israel, and no doubt you’ve probably read and heard it all by now. The ribbing banter with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, his Best Frenemy Forever.
Bruce Feiler mentions Passover only in passing in his new book, “The Secrets of Happy Families,” but in some ways, the book is all about Passover.
Saturday afternoon on the upper deck of the Queen Mary, six young Jewish adults were engaged in a heated discussion over who’s hornier — men or women.
Some 20 Jewish leaders met privately with President Barack Obama at the White House on Thursday morning, March 7, in what one participant called “an honest and substantive exchange” concerning the President’s upcoming trip to Israel and the Palestinian territories. The source asked that his name not be used because participants were told the meeting was to be strictly off-the-record.
I belong to a small, elite club that I would like to invite you to join.
No one sends out press releases to announce that something is not anti-Semitic. That’s why this morning’s media is full of reports that host Seth MacFarlane’s Oscar performance last night was just shy of Mahmoud Ahmadinijad’s U.N. speech.
In a pile of as-yet-undigitized family photos, I found a gem. It’s from a Purim party, years ago, when my wife and I were newly married. She is dressed as a Chasidic rabbi — black suit, side curls, black hat, mustache and beard. Beside her is the rabbi’s wife — me — in a long proper dress and a blond wig.
Last week, I met a man in his 60s whose father survived the Holocaust. He told me that, as a child, he trembled when he brought home a report card with anything less than straight A’s. “My father would say, ‘I managed to survive Auschwitz, and you can’t manage to get an A?’ ” the man said. We do, as a people, put a premium on intellectual prowess. Which of course raises the question of how we treat those of different, or lesser, abilities.
Someone has to say it: William Kristol is hurting Israel.
Michael Oren is Israel’s ambassador to the United States. And he has no plans to stop being Israel’s ambassador to the United States.
What makes community journalism so rewarding is you write about the people, issues and places you care most about. That’s also what makes it so awkward.
Hollywood had one question for Dr. Rajiv Shah: Why haven’t we heard of you before?
When news of the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School first broke, President Barack Obama stood before the nation, felt our grief and shed a tear.
There are three subjects that Jews in my social circle never tire of: food, movies and the two-state solution.
Have you heard of Witold Pilecki? A new book, “The Auschwitz Volunteer: Beyond Bravery” (Aquila Polonica: 2012), documents, in his own words, Pilecki’s remarkable exploits, and I can’t think of a better gift to give yourself for Chanukah.
In a packed synagogue hall on Monday night, Nov. 26, Israel’s Consul General David Siegel posed a question: How many people present care deeply about religious pluralism in Israel?
Is this a war? It’s so hard to know these days. Wars used to happen on things called battlefields, where armies met, fought and met again.
My most telling Carmen Warschaw memory is this: I greeted her at a fancy, crowded event at The Beverly Hills Hotel celebrating Israel’s 60th birthday. Soon, a group of her VIPs gathered around Carmen, talking politics and pleasantries.
James Carville is a hoot, and Mary Matalin can more than hold her own. But Gady Levy got one of the biggest laughs when he introduced Carville and Matalin on Sunday afternoon, Nov. 4, at University Synagogue in Brentwood.
When the networks projected President Barack Obama’s re-election victory Tuesday night, most of the young, partying crowd at The Parlor bar in West Hollywood erupted in raucous cheers. Except for one section.
Either way, you’re going to have to suck it up. Whether you pick Obama or Romney, you are voting as much for imperfection as for promise.
Israel had a starring role in the third and final presidential debate last Tuesday night. How big? China, a country of 1 billion people to which America owes $1 trillion and whose military and economic decisions will affect us for years to come, rated 32 mentions.
I like entitlements. I know that’s somehow a terrible thing to say. “Entitlement” has become a dirty four-syllable word in our deranged political culture.
On Sept. 2, I drove to the Valley, where it was 95 degrees. I pulled my car over onto the dirt shoulder of Woodley Avenue, walked down an embankment to the Los Angeles River, slipped into a kayak and paddled away.
When Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu pulled out a cartoon drawing of a bomb during his speech to the 67th United Nations General Assembly Debate on Sept. 27, the world laughed. But I didn’t.
Last April, just inside the entrance to the “Salute to Israel” Festival at Rancho Park, the National Council of Jewish Women set up a large tented area where it sold all sorts of secondhand items from its thrift stores: clothes, Judaica, kitchenware, art.
We now know that “Sam Bacile” is not a Jewish filmmaker. The name, according to the most recent media reports, is a pseudonym for a Coptic Christian man who lives in Cerritos, and he is definitely no filmmaker.
What a year, right? The Jewish year 5772 started with a sense that a military confrontation with Iran is avoidable. Now it seems — all merits aside — imminent.
This week David Wolpe, senior rabbi of Sinai Temple, delivered one of the invocations at the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte, N.C. Even for someone used to and deserving of such honors, this is a big deal.
One of the highlights of my year is moderating an annual discussion with visiting Muslim journalists.
More than Jews have kept delis, the deli has kept the Jews.
For reasons I can’t quite understand, many leaders in the pro-Israel community continue to insist that the young generation of American Jews has abandoned Israel.
The first public cause to which Ayn Rand donated her own money was the State of Israel. I find this little-known nugget fascinating for two reasons.
My childhood best friend was Billy Thein. We met at Encino Elementary School in Mrs. Bernstein’s third-grade class, and were pretty much inseparable after that. Billy was funny and smart and cool — and in a public school packed with the striving, anxious, gawkward spawn of suburban Jewry, cool stood out.
The roof of Yuval Bar-Zemer’s condo is a very nice place to be. It’s mid-summer, and a grape arbor thick with leaves and hard green fruit winds along one side of it. There’s a pond, fig trees, several raised beds filled with herbs and vegetables, and, just around the corner, a swimming pool.
The National Rifle Association (NRA) claims it exists to protect our rights. My question is this: Who will protect us from the NRA?
Last week, we launched our newest blog at jewishjournal.com. It’s called “Kosher Bacon.”
By the time you read this, you probably will have watched Sarah Silverman in her underwear, demonstrating a lesbian sex act with her dog. Because that’s the way politics works these days.
Two weeks ago, over breakfast at the Beverly Hills Hotel, a woman who voted for President Barack Obama in 2008 told me she wouldn’t be doing so again.
Here’s this week’s not-so-crazy idea: Let’s all pitch in, just a few dollars each, and fund Woody Allen’s next movie — in Israel.
Professor Amir Hussain teaches comparative religion at Loyola Marymount University. Sometimes, as you can imagine, his students get into heated discussions. Not long ago, one of them called another one a “fascist.” Hussain stopped the class and asked the name-caller if he knew what a fascist was.
On May 8, in a very cool space in Culver City, I listened to a hundred very cool people talk about their very cool vision for the Jewish future.
In the constant argument that is Middle East politics it is very rare to achieve anything like universal agreement, but no one can begrudge what Hazem Chehabi did. He quit. Since Chehabi resigned last week as honorary consul general of Syria in Southern California, he has received hundreds of e-mails and phone calls. All positive. For 18 years, Chehabi, an oncological radiologist in Newport Beach, has volunteered to act as Syria’s consul general here. His office handled travel documents and birth, marriage and death certificates for the thousands of expatriate Syrians living in the Western states.
I’m a normal Jew. When I dream, I dream of Israel. When I have nightmares, I have nightmares of Germany.
Eli Broad’s new book is called “The Art of Being Unreasonable.”
Last week, I wrote about innovative ideas for addressing poverty and the class divide in America.
The most common question people ask when they visit our home is: “Why the goats?” We live in the city. A few houses west of us, four lanes of Lincoln
It’s May. The grunions are running and so are the members of Occupy L.A. They wriggle up from the cold and dark, plant their tushies on the warm ground and squirm about frantically, desperate to get something accomplished, until a massive tide sweeps them away.
Yehuda Avner arrived in Israel in 1947 from his native Manchester, England, as an idealistic religious Zionist. His keen intellect landed him a post in the foreign service, and his English proficiency almost guaranteed that he would be the designated note taker as he traveled with four prime ministers from the earliest days of the State to the aftermath of the Lebanon War.
Last Sunday, my wife, our daughter and I hitched our bikes to our car, drove toward downtown and parked just across from MacArthur Park, otherwise known as Langer’s Deli adjacent.
When medical marijuana became legal in the state of California, I went out and got some. I say this not because I am cool, or like to get stoned — I’m not, and I don’t.
Two years ago, before our very eyes, a liberation movement of great courage and hope began to unfold halfway around the world. Blood ran like water in the streets of distant capitals, and still people fought, flesh against tanks, citizens against infantry, poets against police.
Many, many years ago I sat down at my computer and decided to write a fictional story about what would happen if “Never Again!” became “Again.”