On the anniversary of the show’s 1993 premiere date, senior research manager Yulia Khabinsky explores in this op-ed the joyous and much-needed representation The Nanny gave to Jewish women — and why we deserve more.
A few minutes into Season 3, Episode 24 of 90s hit sitcom The Nanny, I started getting a little choked up.
Nothing all that extraordinary was happening onscreen. Fran Fine and her mother, Sylvia, were at temple after learning that the new cantor was both good-looking and single, and Fran was getting ready to flirt her way into his arms. For a few seconds, however, we’re treated to notes of Jewish liturgy from the cantor, played by Philip Casnoff, a veteran actor who’s appeared on Broadway. It was beautiful, yes. But as I watched the series for the first time last spring, I realized my tears weren’t just a reaction to the melody.
Here was the main character of a popular sitcom, at temple, listening to a type of prayer I’ve rarely seen onscreen, and she wasn’t there to “face” her religiosity in any way, to question it or find fault with it or examine it. She wasn’t there to interact with it at all. She was at temple because Jews sometimes go to temple, the way Christians can be shown having Easter brunch without discussing the symbolism behind the resurrection of Christ. It was mere background for the comedic plot — a quite ordinary occurrence in this universe. The Fines going to temple felt akin to them going to Lohemann’s. And that made it feel, dare I say, revelatory. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was for this kind of representation. And how mostly absent it was, nearly 30 years on.
I don’t want to portray myself as something I’m not: I’m not religious. I’m what many would define as a secular Jew. Though I attended an Orthodox yeshiva for Russian immigrants for three years after my family’s arrival in New York City from the Soviet Union, I was eventually enrolled in public school when we moved out of state. I go to Conservative temple mainly on the high holidays. When I do go, though, I enjoy it. The melodies move me in a way no other music does. They feel like a tangible tether to my ancestry.
And yet, the times I’ve seen temple-going or Jewish religious practice portrayed by Jews like me, it’s almost always from the male Jewish perspective and under an umbrella of “reckoning,” a la the Coen brothers or various Ben Stiller films. These Jews are rarely allowed to just be Jewish onscreen—they are forced to examine their Jewishness, turn it over, dig for clues, use the religion as a lens through which to dissect their relationship with their mother or whatever. Theirs is a Judaism that’s self-conscious and questioning. It can feel, at times, apologetic.
The Nanny’s Judaism, on the other hand, is almost aggressively unselfconscious. It’s loud and proud, as is the show’s cultural Jewishness. There are Yiddishisms at every turn and even an early episode titled “The Nuchslep”— technically, I think it should be nuchslepper if used as a noun — which means someone who tags along when they’re not wanted. The absurdity of the language is constantly mined for laughs, but on our terms. We know it’s ridiculous; come into our world and find out for yourself, like when Niles, the butler, and Mr. Sheffield, Fran’s employer and eventual love interest, debate the difference between farpitz (dolled up), farblunget (lost or confused), ferkakta (f*cked up), and farshimmelt (see ferkakta). Sylvia hosts a Passover seder for the Sheffields and they arrive at her door with a greeting of “Happy Pesach!” (“Passover” in Hebrew), Niles brings brisket and potato latkes (technically Rosh Hashanah and Hanukkah foods, respectively, but they work for Pesach, too) and the table setting looks exactly as it would in any Ashkenazi Jewish home.
In another episode, Ray Charles guest stars and sings “My Yiddishe Momme,” a nearly hundred year-old song, made popular by Jewish vaudeville performer Sophie Tucker, written in both English and Yiddish, and recorded by dozens of artists, including Billie Holiday. There’s even an episode that features a faithful reenactment of Tevye’s Dream sequence from Fiddler on the Roof. The Fines’ Jewish world feels culturally honest and true as well as warmly and proudly depicted, and the ritual particulars are neither embellished nor diminished for the show’s worldwide audience.
The Fine women, too — Fran, her mother Sylvia, and her Grandma Yetta — are unapologetic. They’re brash and gaudy and dress in tight, bright clothes and have big hair and elaborately made-up faces. They don’t hide their sexuality — they flaunt it. And that, too, feels revelatory. I’m not sure how their personal style was meant to be received within the framework of the slip-dress-casual 90s, but looking at those flashy runway clothes through 2021 eyes? They are kind of incredible — unique, over-the-top, and with an I-don’t-give-a-f*ck attitude. In one episode, Grandma Yetta wears a black sweatshirt adorned with the word “Goddess” over a gold-flecked blouse and accessorized with a chunky multi-strand necklace. Multiple websites and Instagram accounts have sprung up chronicling the show’s outfits. One account, “What Fran Wore” has more than 350,000 followers.
Fran herself is portrayed as objectively sexy, as well as street-smart, witty, and nurturing. A rare mix for an openly and proudly Jewish woman onscreen. She has a — some would say annoying —nasal voice, but it’s a cute quirk, not a deal breaker. Her portrayal as lovable and explicitly Jewish is, unfortunately, unique for Jewish women.
Janice, Chandler’s one-time girlfriend on Friends, on the other hand, is clearly coded as Jewish based on her striking similarities to Fran and the fact that the character debuted soon after The Nanny premiered — but she’s painted as annoying and obsessive. It’s clear that the viewer isn’t supposed to find her appealing or attractive. And when characters are meant to be perceived as those things, their Jewishness is often diminished or made nearly invisible. Monica Geller on Friends was technically Jewish, or maybe half-Jewish, but aside from brother Ross’s Hanukkah armadillo plotline, we hardly see any evidence of the siblings being Jewish onscreen. (We do see them hosting Christmas parties and decorating Christmas trees.)
That same absence is evident in the portrayal of iconic characters of the era like Clueless’s Cher Horowitz and Dirty Dancing’s Baby Houseman, played by Jewish actors Alicia Silverstone and Jennifer Grey, respectively. When I first watched Clueless as a 13-year-old, I remember feeling excited when I heard Cher’s last name said aloud by her teacher, Mr. Hall, and saw the very visible mezuzah on the Horowitzes’ doorpost. I waited patiently for any other displays of Jewishness, and I would’ve taken anything — talk of a cousin’s bat mitzvah, a discussion of Hanukkah gifts. Honestly? Even a mention of a pastrami sandwich from famed Los Angeles deli Langer’s would’ve probably sufficed. But there was nothing, save for Cher’s friend Dionne expertly using the term kvelling. Perhaps it’s because screenwriter Amy Heckerling, who is Jewish herself, told JTA in a 2018 interview that she didn’t necessarily intend for Cher to be a member of the tribe. Intention aside, that last name coupled with other coded signifiers — her lawyer father Mel, her Beverly Hills address — and that mezuzah’d doorpost (so it was just placed there accidentally or…?) meant that’s how she was perceived, especially by countless young Jewish women for whom the film became a 90s touchstone.
In a way, the absence in Dirty Dancing feels more egregious. Unlike the moneyed but culturally fluid L.A. setting of Clueless, Dirty Dancing takes place in the distinctly Jewish world of the Catskills in upstate New York. Referred to as “the Borscht Belt” or “the Jewish Alps,” the region was a popular summer destination for Jewish city dwellers like Baby Houseman and her family. Hundreds of hotels had opened by the mid century, many catering specifically to Jewish vacationers of varying means. Jews had been turned away from other resorts decades earlier and, in turn, created their own thriving escapes. Comedians like Jerry Lewis and Jackie Mason performed in front of eager crowds and the specialty at Grossinger’s, one of the region’s storied destinations and the inspiration for the film’s Kellerman Resort, was borscht served in a glass.
I imagine, however, only those viewers familiar with the setting’s cultural significance caught on—none of these details nor anything about Judaism or Jewishness is ever mentioned outright. The film’s screenwriter Eleanor Bergstein told Tablet magazine that it’s a Jewish film “if you know what you’re looking at.” Those of us looking for more unmistakeable representation have to make due with a reference to a hypothetical “bubba and zaida” (grandma and grandpa) by the resort’s owner. I don’t fault Bergstein; I imagine that same screenplay made more Jewish would’ve been a much harder sell.
While there are more recent shows, like The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, centered around visibly Jewish characters (who, incidentally, spend a summer in the Catskills), that particular program’s mid-century upper-crust world feels unfamiliar and its Judaism not very lived-in. And some viewers have questioned the casting decision to have non-Jewish Rachel Brosnahan play the very charismatic and confident Midge Maisel, an issue that’s come up in a myriad of depictions of Jewish women onscreen.
Culture writer Malina Saval recently lamented in Variety that many Jewish 20th century feminists had been depicted by non-Jews onscreen, including Ruth Bader Ginsburg (Felicity Jones), Betty Friedan (Tracey Ullman), and Gloria Steinem (Rose Byrne and Julianne Moore). Saval also cited a compelling quote from Sarah Silverman, who last year said, “It’s the collective of the fact that if there is role that’s a Jewish woman, which is rare as it is — lately it’s been happening — if that role is a Jewish woman, but [if] she is courageous, or she deserves love, or has bravery, or is altruistic in any way, she’s played by a non-Jew.” This debate made headlines recently, when Kathryn Hahn was cast as Joan Rivers in a Showtime series, with Silverman once again chiming in. (The project has since been killed.) Even certain A-list female Jewish actors have seemed intent on not playing outwardly Jewish characters. Back in 2010, after playing a Hasidic woman in New York, I Love You, Natalie Portman told Elle UK, that she had generally stayed away from playing Jews and was tired of receiving Holocaust scripts.
Fran Fine set a standard for representation, but her brashness earned the show vicious blowback in the 90s. Many in the community accused The Nanny of portraying Jews as their worst stereotypes — money- and status-obsessed, loud, and fat-shaming. None of these criticisms are entirely unwarranted; the fat-shaming in the show, especially, is gross and relentless, as is the husband-chasing. I understand the critics’ perspective, to an extent. When representation is scarce, it’s normal to be sensitive to less-than-glowing depictions, lest they fan the flames of antisemitism. After millenia of persecution, the oft-cited refrain of “Is it good for the Jews?” is a way for many to analyze nearly any development. And, despite a prominent Jewish presence behind the scenes of the film industry since its inception, well-rounded, overt representation — specifically of Jewish women — is still somewhat of a rarity.
In an op-ed in the Los Angeles Times a few months after the show’s premiere, Fran Drescher, the show’s co-creator and star, shot back at criticism that the character was depicted “in the most negative ways,” writing that Fran, the character, was “openly proud of her heritage” and that the specific naysayer had been brainwashed “into believing the only good portrayal of a Jew is an assimilated one.” Drescher wrote that she herself was tired of dealing with “negativity regarding a character who is clearly carving inroads for other Jewish characters — particularly women — who will not have to apologize for who or what they are.” Drescher was right. The character’s attitude is what’s most striking and memorable nearly three decades later. And that kind of unabashed Jewishness is still in short supply.
Drescher has also made clear that she had to fight for the character to be explicitly Jewish. A major potential advertiser tried to push for her to be rewritten as Italian, she revealed. Looking back on the show with 25 years of hindsight, that specifically Jewish, but also broadly Queens-y shtick is at the heart of what makes The Nanny feel so real, despite its deliberate camp. (Not that I’m an expert, but my mother-in-law’s family is from Flushing.) Yes, the Fines are Jewish, but they also exist in a very outer borough universe, one in which Italians and Jews can overlap — Fran’s best friend, Val, is an Italian Catholic, and Fran’s ex is named Danny Imperiali. She could have tried to make her Italian, but Drescher chose to lean into the Jewishness. There are nuances to each culture, and they’re not overlooked. (I literally LOL’d when Val told Fran she revealed a secret to her gossip-y priest, and Fran replied: “That yenta?”)
There are other touchstones, too, that feel hearteningly familiar. In another episode, Fran refuses to cross a picket line to attend a party for Mr. Sheffield’s new musical about a female textile worker and union hero, based on the 70s film Norma Rae. She tells him that “never ever ever cross a picket line,” is one of the main rules her mother instilled in her, along with “never make contact with a public toilet.” Working-class Jews, especially in big cities like New York, were very active in the labor movement and a showcase of that stalwart pro-union attitude is another example of how on-the-nose The Nanny’s depictions feel.
Fran Fine and I share little in common. I’m somewhat shy and soft-spoken and wear minimal makeup, but in certain ways, I feel more kinship to her as a Jewish woman than to nearly any other character I’ve seen onscreen. It’s time to make her less of an anomaly.
