The Black Hebrew Israelites and Kansas

By Jerry Klinger

"And the LORD said to them, "Now listen to what I say:
"If there were prophets among you, I, the LORD,
would reveal myself in visions. I would speak to them in dreams". - Numbers 12:6

St. Mary's County, Maryland: William Saunders Crowdy was born August 11, 1847. He was born a slave. His father, Basil Crowdy, was a deeply religious Christian who oversaw the drying of clay on the plantation. Crowdy was raised with the family knowledge that he was descended from the ancient kings of the Ndongo Empire. His ancestor was captured by Portuguese slavers.

Crowdy was unusual. It was illegal for slaves to read but he learned to read the bible. He was particularly engaged by the Hebrew prophets and the role of Elijah. When he was severely abused by an overseer, Crowdy prayed to Moses to deliver him. Crowdy was delivered from the abusive slave master.

Ten years after his miraculous delivery from the overseer, the Civil War was a reality. At Crowdy's first opportunity he ran away from the plantation and joined the Union army to fight for his and the freedom of all slaves. Crowdy was 16. He enlisted in the 19th Maryland Colored Troops and saw action at the Battle of the Wilderness and outside of Petersburg. Crowdy remained in the army becoming a Buffalo Soldier with the fifth Cavalry. He rose to the rank of quartermaster sergeant and was honorably discharged in 1872.

Crowdy eventually settled down in Guthrie, Oklahoma, following a career as a cook on the Santa Fe Railroad. He married and raised a family. In Guthrie, Crowdy was very successful. He was one of the largest Black farmers in the area, with nearly 100 acres of land. He was a pillar of his community, and a member of the Baptist church.

September 13, 1892, was the date of the first vision that Crowdy spoke of. God had come to him in the field and told him to lead his people, the Black people, to the True Religion. He was to redeem Israel out of spiritual and mental bondage. The vision confused him. He asked God for more time, resisting the vision.

The Civil War was very fresh in former slave minds. The Biblical imagery of the Children of Israel being liberated by God, with a strong hand from bondage, and Moses as their leader, was well known and often repeated. The slave world had ended but the world of Black enslavement under prejudice, bigotry and hatred was never far from the American Black experience.

Three years later, in 1895, Crowdy was chopping wood when again he had a vision. He said of the vision, "it was like the sound of rushing birds." The second vision terrified him. The vision told him "Run for your life". He ran to the woods. It was deep in the woods that God revealed the vision of what he must do. It was in the woods that William Crowdy became the "Prophet", a title and designation that he was known by until he died.

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Jews and Baseball

Jews and baseball: they go together like gefilte fish and horseradish. You didn't realize? Consider: Commissioner Bud Selig? Jewish. The greatest pitcher of all time? Jewish. The guy who composed "Take Me Out to the Ball Game"? Jewish. The Clown Prince of Baseball? Jewish.

It's an old love story, Jews and baseball. Since before Babe Ruth slugged his first dinger, Jewish immigrants have loved the sport. Learning baseball was a rite of assimilation. True, not many Jews wore the uniform. But those who did were lovingly embraced.

Moe Berg in the 1920s. Mike Epstein and Ron Bloomberg in the 1960s. Shawn Green in the 1990s. Ryan Braun and Kevin Youkilis today. And, of course, two Hall of Famers. (Could there be a third? Only if a certain Milwaukee outfielder can prove he never messed with the funny juice.)

For a glimpse into the long, passionate love affair between Jews and baseball, catch the 2011 documentary narrated by Dustin Hoffman called…well, Jews and Baseball.

A Very Serious Woman

They called her “Battling Bella,” and Bella Savitsky Abzug (1920-1998) lived up to that nickname. Born in New York City to Russian Jewish immigrants, Bella earned an undergraduate degree at Hunter College and a law degree from Columbia University. After passing the New York bar in 1947, Abzug was hired as a labor lawyer, one of the few women practicing law in the United States at the time. As a lawyer, she not only fought for labor rights, but also handled civil rights cases. In order to be taken seriously, Abzug began wearing what became her signature large hats so that she would not be mistaken for a secretary. 

Abzug first ran for office when she was 50 years old. In 1970, she won a seat in the House of Representatives, representing the West Side of Manhattan, and was re-elected three times before attempting to win a place in the Senate. Although her Senate campaign was unsuccessful, as was her 1977 mayoral campaign against Ed Koch, Abzug continued her high-energy activities in her many political involvements. She was co-chair of President Carter’s National Advisory Committee on Women and Chair of the National Commission on the Observance of International Women’s Year. Abzug also helped create several prominent organizations such as WomenUSA and Women’s Environment and Development Organization.

In addition to being an advocate for women’s rights, Abzug was also an outspoken Zionist. Her ardor for Zionism began with her membership in the Zionist youth group Hashomer Hatzair. In 1975, Abzug led the fight to rescind the United Nations resolution declaring Zionism a form of racism. (It was not revoked until 1991.)

In 1986, Abzug lost her husband Martin, whom she had met on a bus heading to a concert in Miami shortly after she graduated Hunter. Their two daughters mourned Abzug’s passing on March 31, 1998. 

Copyright © 2013 NJOP. All rights reserved.

Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Spock Explain the Hasids

Who wouldn't want a behind-the-scenes guided tour through Hasidic America? Someone to explain the history of the community and to answer your questions about everything from modesty to matchmakers, from faith to fear? Now imagine your guides to this spiritual subculture were Sarah Jessica Parker and Leonard Nimoy—that's right: Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Spock.

For a brief, wondrous 95 minutes in 1997, this strange dream is a reality, in the form of a PBS documentary called A Life Apart: Hasidism in America (watch trailer here). Narrated by the strange and dynamic duo of Parker and Nimoy, A Life Apart is a fairly conventional documentary, alternating between contemporary Hasidic weddings, Purim feasts, and daily services with talking-head interviews and historical overview. The directors give us a unique glimpse into a society that most viewers will never see up close, and even include voices of dissent—those who have left the Hasidic community to live a more secular American life.
The film would be fascinating no matter who narrated it, but with Parker and Nimoy at the helm, it truly feels as if worlds—Greenwich Village, a spaceship called the Enterprise, and 19th-century Poland—are colliding.

Oma & Bella: Life is Delicious

Holocaust survivors Bella Katz and Regina ("Oma") Karolinski live together in contemporary Berlin, where they spend their days cooking, talking, and helping one another with the tasks of daily life. The two women are the subjects of Oma & Bella, a new documentary made by Regina's granddaughter, Alexa Karolinski.

Rather than cute-ify the ladies into stereotypical bubbies or cast them as victims of history, Karolinski lets her subjects speak for themselves. And speak they do: of their lives before the war, of their husbands, of the importance of eating chocolate daily. And in their long, intimate moments of silence, we witness their deep comfort with one another and the intimacy forged by shared joy and grief.

Is it better to dwell on the horror of war, the film asks, or to let it go? "It's in our bones and it will stay in our bones," Bella says of the past. But in the careful rolling of a blintz, and the gentle stirring of a simmering tzimmes, Oma and Bella connect the past to the present day. And through her beautiful Oma & Bella Cookbook Karolinski helps us experience their labors of love—and to eat them, too.