Interviewing Hanukkah Barbie in Malibu
As Hanukkah approached, my editor handed me the plum assignment: travel to Malibu to interview Hanukkah Barbie. Ever since the Hanukkah Barbie sweaters hit the stores, Barbie had been all the rage.
And I was overjoyed. My dream assignment! A hot Jewish babe and a visit to Malibu Beach. What more could a Jewish boy ask for? I packed my pens, notepad, swim trunks, and beach towel, then headed for my car.
When I arrived at Hanukkah Barbie’s Dreamhouse, I spotted her pink 2026 Corvette parked in the driveway. I approached the front door and noticed a tilted, pink wooden mezuzah, with a black-lettered shin carved into its face. It was properly affixed to the right-hand doorpost.
I touched the mezuzah, kissed my fingers, and thought, Cute. I’ve never seen a pink mezuzah before. I wonder if Hashem approves.
I rang the doorbell. It chimed the opening notes of “I’m a Barbie Girl.”
Without thinking, I jumped in and sang two choruses.
A clever touch, I thought, grinning.
Ken greeted me at the door with a hearty, “Happy Hanukkah, my reporter friend! Welcome to our Dreamhouse. Come on in. Would you like a cup of Joe and a plate of freshly fried latkes?”
“Yes to both,” I replied. I settled at the dining room table. You guessed it: pink. On it sat a bouquet fashioned from Israeli flags and a Waterford crystal bowl filled with Hanukkah gelt and red, green, and yellow plastic dreidels.
I glanced at the living room wall. Five enormous portraits hung in hot-pink metallic frames: Ruth Handler, Albert Einstein, David Ben-Gurion, Golda Meir, and Benjamin Netanyahu.
Five iconic Jews, I thought. Bibi would get a kick out of knowing his portrait hangs in Barbie’s Dreamhouse.
Ken served me a steaming cup of coffee, a plate of sizzling latkes with Breakstone Sour Cream and Mott’s Apple Sauce.
“Barbie will be joining us in a few minutes,” he said.
As I noshed, I watched Barbie descend the staircase. She wore a sweater decorated with Magen Davids, dreidels, and a hanukkiah, paired with tight blue-and-white gingham pants and tan shearling boots.
“Barbie, you look marvelous!” I exclaimed.
“Thank you, Mort. I’m looking forward to our conversation. Are you enjoying Ken’s latkes?”
“They’re terrific. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to get started. I’m looking forward to spending some time in the Pacific and on the beach.”
“Mort, finish your latkes first. Then we’ll begin.”
I obeyed. A wise reporter never antagonizes the person serving the food.
After my last bite, I switched on my tape recorder.
“Barbie, how does it feel to finally be a role model for Jewish girls?”
“I love knowing that children use their imaginations when they play with me. I’m proud to be a role model for young Jewish girls. And did you know that Hanukkah Barbie keeps selling out online and in stores around the world?”
“I’m not surprised. But tell me, is Mattel planning to create an entire Jewish clothing line in your honor?”
“Absolutely! We’re working together to develop a complete wardrobe of Jewish fashions and accessories. Let me give you a sneak preview.
“First, there’ll be Fiddler on the Roof Barbie, featuring high-fashion Lower East Side shmattehs and enough attitude to make Golde proud.
“Then there’s IDF Pilot Barbie, complete with a flight suit, helmet, and aviator sunglasses.
“We’re also developing 1950s Miami Beach Barbie. She’ll stroll down Collins Avenue in a full-length mink coat, carrying a black sequined purse. We’re talking pure glamour!
“Next comes Sabra Barbie, dressed in tan cargo pants and a white cotton blouse, driving a vintage Willys Jeep. Naturally, she’ll have the accessories required for a tough day in the desert.
“And finally, there’s Mossad Barbie, equipped with an iPhone, a vintage beeper, and a revolver. She’s glamorous, resourceful, and never leaves home without checking her messages.”
I scribbled furiously in my notepad. Mattel had apparently discovered a new market segment: Jewish mothers who wanted their daughters to be fashionable, patriotic, and prepared for almost anything.
“Barbie, I’ve been admiring the Jewish theme throughout your home. The portraits, the Israeli flags, even the mezuzah. So let me ask you a more serious question. What’s your opinion of the war in Gaza?”
Barbie’s smile tightened.
“What’s wrong with those people? Don’t they understand biblical justice? After what Hamas did to us on October 7, there had to be a terrible price. I’m tired of celebrities who bad-mouth Israel while shedding tears for Hamas’s victims and ignoring ours. I hope Hamas has learned a lesson. We Jews still carry the memories of the Shoah.”
I paused before asking my next question.
“What do you think of those who use the words genocide and Holocaust to describe Israel’s war in Gaza?”
Barbie folded her hands.
“I think people should understand the gravity of those words before throwing them around. The Holocaust was the systematic murder of six million Jews by Nazi Germany and its collaborators. It wasn’t a political slogan. And the word genocide has a specific legal meaning. People shouldn’t use either term casually.”
She took a breath and continued.
“And then there’s ‘From the River to the Sea.’ Some people claim it means freedom and equality for Palestinians. Others hear a call to eliminate Israel. Given the history of antisemitism and the threats against Israel, you can understand why so many Jews hear those words and feel afraid.
“I’m tired of people who seem to know everything about the Middle East after reading a few social media posts. They often know little about Jewish history, little about the history of the region, and even less about the fears and aspirations of the people who live there.
“But here’s something I wish everyone understood: Jews deserve security, Palestinians deserve dignity, and neither people should have to live in perpetual fear. Peace cannot be built on the destruction of one side by the other.”
For a moment, Barbie was no longer the glamorous blonde in the pink Dreamhouse. She sounded like someone who understood that the arguments raging across the world were about real people, real suffering, and real lives.
I switched off my tape recorder.
Then I stood, shook Barbie’s hand, and said, “Barbie, thank you for giving me your time—and for a terrific interview. I’ll email you a copy of my article.”
“Thank you, Mort,” she replied. “And please remember to spell Hanukkah correctly. We have a reputation to maintain.”
Ken walked me to the door.
As I stepped outside, I glanced once more at the pink mezuzah. I touched it, kissed my fingers, and headed for my car.
The Pacific was waiting.
So was my beach towel.
And somewhere in Malibu, a new generation of Jewish girls dreamed in pink.
