Its Name Is Not Asher Lev

That Ḥasidim wear their faith on their sleeves both places them in anti-Semitic crosshairs and makes them cinematic fodder, as in Mel Brooks’s Rabbi Tuckman from Robin Hood: Men in Tights or Woody Allen’s persona at the Easter dinner in Annie Hall. Their clothing makes for an easy and superficial punchline, but Ḥasidism is far more interesting for the ways it infuses holiness into daily life. That emerges in a particularly compelling manner when hasidic artists tell their own stories.

This is important context surrounding Shtetl, a new art gallery in heavily ḥasidic Williamsburg, Brooklyn, which is now picking up a heavy burden in bringing more ḥasidic art to both Ḥasidim and to the wider public.

New art galleries often don’t make it to upsherin (the three-year-old hair-cutting ceremony) let alone bar mitzvah, but Shtetl is already attracting attention, not only in Jewish publications, but also in TimeOut New York, The Atlantic, and the online art publication Hyperallergic. The latter noted that the “vision of ḥasidic life on display is more progressive and inclusive than simplistic perceptions of the community might normally allow.” Even as a critic with a lot more experience with ḥasidic life than most arts journalists have, I too found the show eye-opening in that regard. At 1,500 square feet in the otherwise quiet basement of the 35-room Condor Hotel, of which the gallery founder is part owner, Shtetl pales compared to juggernaut-sized mainstream galleries. But it should not be underestimated.