When Judah Cohen opened a kosher pizzeria on Avenue J 30 years ago, he thought it was all about the food. But over the decades, the affable pizzaiolo learned not just how to craft the perfect slice, but how to really see the people who frequented his corner shop. Now Pizza Time has become a destination not just for quality pizza, but for kindness, caring, and connection
On the corner of East 14th Street and Avenue J, where the Q train rattles overhead and the pulse of Jewish Brooklyn sets the rhythm of the day, there is a smell that has remained unchanged for 30 years. It is the warm, yeast-rich scent of freshly baked dough, merging with sweet crushed Italian tomatoes and the blistering heat of brick ovens — that I call Pizza Time.
Growing up in Flatbush, this corner was the backdrop of my youth. I have vivid memories of standing inside, watching the kitchen run with efficiency, eager to sink my teeth into a hot, savory slice. Even as a kid, I knew this food was of a different caliber. Now, as Judah, Pizza Time’s proprietor, takes me behind the counter for a closer look, watching the dough transform into a golden, bubbling canvas is like watching a masterclass in finesse and dedication.
Stepping into Pizza Time on a frantic Sunday afternoon is like walking directly into the heart of Brooklyn. High school bochurim cluster near the counter, jostling for a slice (or six), young mothers negotiate orders with toddlers, and older gentlemen pause on their way home from Minchah to catch a fresh slice as a pick-me-up. Navigating this glorious, kinetic chaos is Judah Cohen, proud owner of the store.
At 57, Judah moves behind the long glass display with a fluid, effortless warmth. He doesn’t merely take orders; his eyes, bright and quick, lock onto every person who walks through the heavy glass door. To a tired young father, he offers a wide, genuine smile and a hearty “Shalom Aleichem!” To an old friend, a nod of shared history; and to current friends and regulars, an enthusiastic high-five.
“Everyone is carrying something,” Judah explains, leaning over the counter as the oven doors slam behind him. “You don’t know what happened before they walked through your door, and you don’t know what they’re going home to. My mother taught me to always greet people warmly, to be the first one to say hello. Sometimes, a person just needs to know they’re seen.”
It is a simple philosophy, but on Avenue J, it has built an institution.
Judah never planned on becoming a fixture of the Brooklyn Jewish community. His first job was in high-end sales, selling fine jewelry, watches, and pearls at an iconic Lower Manhattan store that had been open since 1888. “I would say that I learned how to connect with customers there,” he says, “but in all honesty, genuine human connection isn’t something you can teach; loving people and making them happy has to be in your blood.”
In the spring of 1996, he was 27 years old, working alongside his beloved older brother Sam at Avenue J Men’s Shoes — a local shop known far and wide for its daily three o’clock Minchah minyan packed between the shoe racks. Sam was a deeply inspirational figure, who instilled in Judah a work ethic grounded in integrity.
Looking to support his growing family, Judah put out some feelers for opportunities. It was not long before he was approached by Jerry, who had a non-kosher pizzeria and wanted Judah to partner with him and convert it into a kosher establishment. “I knew how to eat pizza,” Judah says, laughing. “Making it? I knew absolutely nothing.”
Determined to learn the craft, Judah partnered with Jerry and Gus, two old-world Italian pizzaiolos (pizza makers) who taught him the mechanical foundations of pizza making. But translating those skills into a kosher establishment was an uncharted mountain. Judah knew nothing about kosher products or where to source them. Seeking guidance, he was directed by Rabbi Shmuel Dovid Beck to call Kalman Mendelsohn, the owner of Mendelsohn’s Pizza.
“Calling a potential competitor felt as intimidating as calling a shidduch date,” he says. Heart pounding, voice cracking, and breaking a small sweat, Judah finally made the call: “This is Yehuda Cohen… Rabbi Beck said you may be able to help me.”
There was a pause. Then Kalman replied warmly, “Yehuda, do you have thirty minutes and a pen and paper?”
What followed was a pivotal, life-changing encounter. For the next half hour, Kalman laid out the entire blueprint of the kosher pizza business, from A to Z. He gave Judah the exact numbers of distributors, told him which ingredients to order for dough and sauce, and said, “Call the cheese company and tell them I sent you so you get the right price — then check it with me.”
It was a profound “aha moment” that left a massive impression on Judah. Kalman was a true baal bitachon — a man of profound faith who understood that helping another Jewish pizza proprietor would never diminish his own parnassah. That kindness reshaped Judah’s worldview. From that day forward, Judah has made it a lifelong practice to reach out to people opening new businesses, offering advice, resources, and friendship, knowing that Hashem takes care of the results in the end.
Armed with recipes and determination, Pizza Time opened on Mother’s Day in 1996 and proved an instant sensation, selling over 1,000 pies on its very first day. When it eventually came time to buy out Jerry and Gus, Hashem sent help in the form of two very special men to whom Judah will always have tremendous hakaras hatov. They stepped in with financial backing for Judah, securing the store’s future.
Over three decades, Pizza Time has never spent a single dollar on advertising. Word of mouth built the business pie by pie, family by family, until the New York Times came knocking to write up what had quietly become a Brooklyn landmark. Times writer John Eligon mused about the fact that just down the block is Di Fara, rated New York’s top pizzeria — yet Pizza Time is consistently packed with enthusiastic customers. Eligon figured the reason for Pizza Time’s popularity was the simple fact that Di Fara’s pizza is not kosher. But the Pizza Time customers he spoke to attested that there was nothing second-rate about their slices.
Judah has a different explanation. “Whenever people compliment me about Pizza Time, I almost instinctively point my finger toward Heaven and say: ‘It’s all Daddy. It’s all Hashem!’ We make our hishtadlut — our effort — but the brachah comes from Above.”
In a pizza business, hishtadlus translates into something very basic: Pizza Time produces a slice that is simply superior. To understand why the pizza here ruins all other slices, you have to watch the kitchen in motion. It is an extraordinary display of agility, speed, and absolute purpose.
The store itself is immaculate, kept in pristine condition inside and out — a reflection of the respect Judah has for his customers and his craft. Behind the counter, the team moves with unmatched athletic rhythm. Nothing is left to chance. To achieve the signature crust — crispy on the bottom, airy yet chewy inside — different flours are meticulously blended and adjusted daily to match the exact temperature and humidity of the air. The raw dough itself carries a rich, pungent, yeasty aroma that fills the prep area.
Prepping the dough is a continuous, calibrated process learned over decades, ensuring there is zero time lag and every pie hits the oven at peak freshness. Then comes the sauce. Rather than using pre-made pastes, a crew member stands over a manual food mill, processing six distinct varieties of whole Italian tomatoes by hand in small batches. Milling by hand prevents the seeds from getting crushed and releasing bitterness, preserving a bright, sweet, natural tomato flavor that never requires added sugar.
From the precise blend of four or five distinct mozzarella varieties (carefully chosen for meltability and pull) to the custom-built brick ovens that sear the crust to perfection, the operation spends a fortune to get a perfect pie from the delivery truck to the table.
That refusal to compromise is visible across the entire operation. Over the years, Judah has trimmed the menu to stay laser-focused on what Pizza Time does best — pizza and pasta. You won’t find sushi or ice cream filling up the counter just because other stores sell them. “We know what we do, and we concentrate on doing it the best we possibly can,” Judah says. “To me, that’s part of the secret: You don’t have to do everything. You have to know what you do best — and make it the best of the best.”
I notice that Pizza Time strictly sticks to what it excels at, and that’s exceptionally good pizza. I would say “no frills,” but the few frills they do allow themselves are absolutely on target with deeply savory, mouthwatering alternatives: exceptional calzones, uniquely flavorful garlic knots, rich cream-of-spinach slices, classic grandma slices with marinara that has been slow-cooking for hours on end, and vibrant spaghetti pesto made with fragrant pine nuts. I loved learning how the staff often collaborates on creating new slices to debut, as well as fine-tuning existing recipes. Having the crew directly involved in the creative process brings them so much closer to the product and fuels that infectious dedication you feel in the room.
That high standard applies to every single slice, including the ones Judah eats himself. After 30 years, his enthusiasm for his product hasn’t dimmed. “As I’ve said before, I love my pizza — maybe even more today than I did thirty years ago,” he says with a smile. “I have at least one slice almost every single day. Of course, part of that is checking the quality. I want to know every day that what we’re putting out is exactly what it’s supposed to be. But I don’t just eat it to check it. I eat it because I enjoy it. I love the product. After all these years and all these thousands and thousands of pies, I still look forward to that first bite every time.”
Maintaining that level of excellence requires an intense physical commitment. Most days, Judah is on the floor from 11:00 in the morning until at least 6:00 p.m., and often much later. “The hours can definitely get grueling sometimes, and you have to know when to take a break and sit down — as age starts creeping up on the body!” he jokes. “But the truth is, I love it when there’s action. I thrive on it. It energizes me. Every day is busy here, baruch Hashem, but on Thursday the pace definitely picks up. When the store is busy and everything is moving — the ovens are going, the orders are coming in, the phones are ringing, customers are walking through the door — I’m happy to be right in the middle of it, orchestrating the tremendous show that’s going on.”
Never is that “show” more intense than Motzaei Pesach, where coping simply comes down to what Judah pithily describes as “a lot of prayer.” What takes place that night is structured like a military exercise. Everything that can be prepped before Pesach is set up and waiting, but the dough and sauce are made completely fresh that night. To keep up with demand, extra help is brought in, and additional yeast is used to help the dough rise faster.
For the first two hours, the front gate stays closed, with all business running out the side door. An extra worker manages the line, giving out numbers, taking payments upfront, and warning customers of wait times that can range from one to three hours. Between 10:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m., the shop compresses well over 200 orders into a few chaotic hours, limiting pie purchases so everyone gets a turn. Yet despite the rush, Judah notes that customers remain remarkably patient. “Somehow, year after year, with all those people, all those orders, all that dough and all those pizzas coming out at once, it usually goes extremely smoothly. And that, to me, is a big miracle — to say the least.”
Despite the thousands of pies leaving the kitchen, ask Judah for exact numbers and he will smile and shake his head.
“I don’t count them,” he says simply. “Brachah rests upon that which is hidden from the eye. Parnassah doesn’t come from the pizza or from a great location on Avenue J. It comes from Hashem. I make the pizza; Hashem counts the pies.”
That trust has carried Judah through deep personal and financial waters. Years ago, during a massive gut renovation, unexpected municipal delays forced Pizza Time to remain closed for nearly five months. Facing mounting mortgage payments and tuition bills with zero income, Judah carried the burden silently.
Then a longtime customer invited him to sit down. Looking Judah in the eye, the friend said, “I know there’s no way you’re surviving this,” and handed him two checks totaling close to $50,000, telling him to pay it back whenever he could.
“I broke down,” Judah recalls. “Hashem sent help through a customer who had become a true friend.”
Life brought further hardship during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic. Judah lost his older brother Jack — a patriarchal, deeply beloved figure, who was always like a father and mentor to Judah. Jack’s warmth, strength, and guidance left an indelible mark on Judah’s heart. Shortly after Jack’s passing, Judah contracted severe COVID himself and was bedridden for weeks.
In that critical moment, his son Isaac stepped up without hesitation. Isaac temporarily left his own full-time career to jump behind the counter, working grueling hours to keep the store running, maintain the strict quality standards, and support the family during an agonizing time.
“None of this exists without my eishet chayil — my wife — who stood beside me through everything, and my children who step up whenever needed,” Judah says softly. “When people look at what was built here, I point upward first, and then I look at my family.”
Watch Judah on a Sunday evening, and you’ll see the true legacy of Pizza Time.
Generations of families sit together under one roof. A young father carries a toddler on his shoulders; Judah remembers that same father as a six-year-old walking into the shop for the very first time.
Years ago, a young man used to visit every night, quietly carrying a heavy heart. Judah made a point to greet him with extra warmth, a bright smile, and genuine care. Weeks later, the young man pulled Judah aside in tears, confessing that he had reached a very dark place and had been on the verge of giving up entirely. He told Judah that those simple, warm greetings at the pizza shop were the only thing that made him feel seen, pulling him back from the edge.
“That shook me,” Judah shares. “It taught me never to underestimate a simple act of warmth. Sometimes your gift is looking someone in the eye and letting them know they matter.”
Judah thought he was opening a pizzeria 30 years ago; Hashem had other plans. The corner shop that he bought from Jerry and Gus has become not just a hub for quality culinary fare, but also an unlikely sanctuary of community and kindness