Forty-one years ago, Samuel G. Freedman was sitting shiva for his mother when a surprising visitor came to call.
Atticus Finch was based on Harper Lee’s father, A.C. Lee, a refined, civilized, genteel segregationist.
Jews had grown so entrenched in the upper-middle and upper classes that they no longer felt threatened by affirmative action under any euphemism.
Trump has fabricated a supposed assault on Christmas into a staple of white-nationalist mobilization.
Many of us know how sketchy the immigration records of our own forebears were.
We have never been further from Israel than we are at this point. Netanyahu has broken from the American Jewish community — because he can.
“My father is by now seven years in his grave, and I remember vividly the last time I wore his sweatshirt.”
As Donald Trump sets off to Israel, it becomes apparent that he bears more resemblance to Richard Nixon than one may imagine.
The concrete value of Jon Ossoff winning in Georgia is limited. The symbolic value, however, is vast.
On the last Sunday before the presidential election, Donald Trump swooped into the Minneapolis airport for a typically inflammatory rally. At a transit hub with hundreds of Somali employees, in a city with about 25,000 Somali residents, the Republican candidate fed his audience fear, rage and resentment. “Everybody’s reading about the disaster taking place in Minnesota,” he declared. Then he added ominously: “You don’t even know who is coming in. You have no idea. You’ll find out. You’ll find out.”