Showing posts with label theater. Show all posts

God of Vengeance at New Yiddish Rep


I went to see New Yiddish Rep's production of "God of Vengeance" this past weekend. The play was an early one for Yiddish author Sholem Ash, but ambitious, telling the story of a brothel keeper who decides to purchase a Torah scroll as an almost totemic protection for his presumably virginial daughter, never mind that they live above the brothel and the daughter has been sneaking down nightly.

In fact, the play was one of the main reasons for my trip to New York, along with going to the Russian and Turkish Baths, because I am preparing to produce a play set in a bath house that makes use of an awful lot of Yiddish, and revolves around a performer with a background in Yiddish theater.

In the meanwhile, even though I have read about Yiddish theater for my entire adult life, I have never seen a live play in Yiddish, and am only now at the point where the Yiddish would be meaningful to me, rather than an almost totally alien language. And while I have been in steambaths before, even with old Jews, I have never been to an old-school New York shvitzbod, and both felt like things I needed to know about for my own show.

I have been a theater critic ever since I worked at my college radio station, which was back in, let's see, 1989, so I have reviewed theater for ... holy crap, 28 years. As a result it is almost completely impossible for me not to want to review "God of Vengeance," even though the run has ended.

The urge must entirely be habit, as I don't really have much to say about the show. I liked the performances very much. I found the direction sometimes gimmicky but generally effective. I appreciate that there is a theater company dedicated to Yiddish plays, and their mission statement makes explicit that they consider Yiddish theater to be a living form rather than a historic one. I hope that this will include commissioning and producing new works of Yiddish theater in the future, as that is how you make certain it remains living, rather than historic.

There are two aspects of the show I found tremendously interesting, and I am split on which one to discuss. The first is that two of the lead performers are not Jewish, but instead non-Jews who have had longstanding interests in both Yiddish and Yiddish theater.

I don't find this enormously surprising, as some seem to. There have been plenty of non-Jews who took an interest in Yiddish, and I would guess roughly 40 percent of the Facebook followers for this blog are gentiles. I spoke to the executive director of YIVO when I was in New York, and he told me that about 40 percent of the attendees and YIVO's programs are non-Jews.

It's not so strange. I have an interest in Mexican culture and history, and am not Mexican. People are curious, and they need not have a personal connection to develop a curiosity that leads to a passion. But I have become Facebook friends with both the performers in question, Shane Baker and Caraid O'Brien, and will interview both at some time in the future, so I can table any discussion of non-Jews in the world of Yiddish.

The other thing I found interesting about "God of Vengeance" was that many members of the cast were ex-Hasids. I had seen one before: Melissa Weisz, who was Juliette in "Romeo and Juliette in Yiddish." She was the subject of considerably speculation before the film opened, as she has a topless scene in it. She has since come out as queer, and I only mention these autobiographical elements because they seemed to inform her performance in the play. She played one of the prostitutes, dressed in a costume that resembled the 1930s S&M garb of the Sam Mendes production of "Cabaret." She is a lesbian in the play, or, at least, a predator who is comfortable using lesbianism to pull the brothel keeper's daughter into white slavery. She was suitably sharklike in this, seducing the girl with a grin that consisted mostly of bared teeth.

The play also featured Eli Rosen, Shmully Blesofsky, and Eli Rosen, all ex-Hasids. Hasidic Jews are one of the few remaining communities that produce Native Yiddish speakers (along with occasional transplants from Eastern Europe) and is a fast-growing segment of the Jewish population (Haredi Jews tend to have more children at a faster rate and starting from a younger age than other members of the Jewish community.) Along with this is a growing ex-Hasic movement, including a developing support network for those who wish to leave the movement. 

This is an extraordinary opportunity for Yiddish arts. "Romeo and Juliet in Yiddish" took advantage of it, filling the cast with ex-Hasids and drawing the story largely from their own experiences. New Yiddish Rep has obviously likewise discovered that this community is a valuable place to pull from for Yiddish-speaking actors. 

But there is also the very real possibility of this being an opportunity to waste an opportunity. These ex-Hasids are largely joining a more mainstream Jewish community that has almost entirely abandoned Yiddish. A large number of American Jewish groups are assimilationist, and the ex-Hasids might be eager for assimilation. There is almost no institutional support for Yiddish within the mainstream Jewish community, and, as a result, there is a risk that this community might leave it behind, as happened with previous generations of Yiddish speakers in America.  

There is probably no need to hurry, as Haredi Jews are going to continue to produce children apace, and a percent of those children will continue to exit Hasidism apace, and so we can expect a regular stream of new Yiddish speakers in the larger Jewish community as long as this trend continues. Perhaps they will come to the same conclusions themselves and create a support network for their own use of Yiddish and produce their own art in the language; they seem perfectly capable of addressing their own needs.

Still, I feel a keen, if distant, connection with these newly ex-Hasids. After all, I come from a Hasidic family as well, and sometime in my past, probably not too distantly, had ancestors who were ex-Hasids. We share a story, even if separated by decades. Perhaps we can also share a language, and share art.

Play production journal: The Balalaika


There are quite a few months before the Fringe Festival in Minneapolis -- the event takes place August 3-13. So you would think there is no hurry to get anything done, and maybe there isn't. The festival can be pretty loosey goosey, with shows slapped together shortly before being mounted, and they end up being a lot of fun anyway, their messiness a large part of their charm.

"Shaina" can't be that. There is too much work to do for it. Last week I wrote a grant to help underwrite its production cost, which I currently have figured at $2,000, although things are always more expensive than you expect.

A chunk of that cost is the balalaika, pictured above and already purchased.

The balalaika is not in the script right now. Also, it's not actually a balalaika.

Let me explain:

In the original conception of the play, the title character performs Yiddish theater songs, and so, when she does so, she is joined onstage by a very nervous Hasidic accompanist on piano. The Hasid drags the piano onstage and off with him, and, well, frankly, this is impossible.

Firstly, Fringe venues are small and temporary, so there will be no pianos. Secondly, musicians are expensive, and my budget is small. So I will be the Hasid, and I do not play piano.

I do, however, play another instrument. I am a relatively skilled ukulele player, and, in fact, used to perform around Minneapolis as the Ukulele King, which then somehow morphed into a cowboy show in Omaha in which I was the Ukulele King of the Great Northwest.

Sometimes even I know how preposterous my stories of my life are, by the way.

So the piano has become a balalaika in the script, because that's a lovely old world instrument. I have another balalaika, and it's a fun thing, but they are odd instruments. There are three strings, and two are tuned to exactly the same note. They're quite good as part of a balalaika orchestra, or to play melodies along with a larger band, but it takes an extraordinary degree of sophistication to use it as a solo instrument.

I don't have that sophistication. Not on balalaika. On ukulele, however ...

So the instrument above is actually a ukulele built into the body of a balalaika.

I wrote a bunch of songs for the play, but never wrote any melodies for them, so I will be doing so with the balalaika/ukulele shortly.

Next on my list, though, is revising the script. Fringe shows are best when they are only about an hour and extremely minimal, and so I need to take my already stripped-down script and carve it down to its barest bones.

I don't mind this. I think plays work quite well when pared down. I'm ready to go at it with a chainsaw and a blowtorch. That's the task for this week. Next week, I write the songs.

Play production journal: Shaina


The first two plays I ever wrote were Jewish plays. Well, sort of.

I don't really like how messy life is, but it is messy, and so I need to clarify this. The first play I ever properly wrote was called "Santa Muerte," and I wrote it for a program for homeless teenagers run by Shelley Winters in Hollywood in the early 90s. But it wasn't so much a play as a series of scenes created out of unstructured improvs, Shelley didn't like it, I didn't like it, it was never produced, and so I don't think of it as being my first play.

No, my first play was written just as "Santa Muerte" was falling apart. I had taken a trip home to Minneapolis and discovered a few pages of something I forgot I had written, and I quickly expanded it into an epic stage play called ""The Substitute Bride."

While the play superficially was a sequel to "Alice in Wonderland," I had been reading a lot of Yiddish theater in translation, and so "The Substitute Bride" is, in its not-well-hidden heart of hearts, my attempt to write a Yiddish play in translation. There is an actual Purim shpiel in it, in the form of a folk tale about Vashti, the first wife of  Persian King Ahasuerus in the Book of Esther. Most of the plays characters are Eastern European and unsubtly coded as Jewish, and there is even an armadillo who repeatedly cries out phrases I lifted from Yiddish plays.

I was even more explicit in my next play, "Kishinev," a retelling of the Kishinev pogrom in the form of a Jewish folk tale about a Hasidic woman who marries a rebbe and takes charge of his followers when he dies. This is loosely based on my own family history, as my mother's family came from Kishinev and from an important Hasidic line. There is a lot of Yiddish in the play, and a lot of folklore, and a lot of dramatic scenes I lifted from actual Jewish history.

Neither of these plays have ever been produced, although "The Substitute Bride" had a reading in Hollywood that featured a lot of television actors, and "Kishinev" has a public reading in Manhattan a couple of years ago. Both plays are, by modern standards, largely unproducable, as they feature massive casts and expensive stage action. It took me years to learn how to write a play that can be produced on the cheap.

I did learn, though, writing small plays for tiny casts set in single locations. These shows were not Jewish; my most successful play retold the true and awful story of the lynching of an African-American man in Omaha in 1919. I have written plays inspired by the lives of Truman Capote, Andy Warhol, and Oscar Wilde. I worked at a historical society for three years and this led to writing plays based in local history about Chief Standing Bear and Buffalo Bill Cody.

And, for my own amusement, I wrote a series of plays about performers who have lost their minds attempting to appear in productions that are falling apart around them. These have been really tiny shows, and and have had appropriately tiny productions: One, called "A Stage Reading," was produced in someone's backyard. One, called "NSFW," was produced at the back of a bar. And one, called "Basement Porn Party," was actually produced in a basement.

About a year ago I decided I wanted to start writing Jewish plays again. I had started studying Yiddish, and had also been reading about the various odd forms that Yiddish performance took in the mid-20th century, and so I wrote a play called "Shaina" that, like my other plays, was about a performance falling apart.

The play is somewhat hard to describe. The main character, Shaina, comes from a long career on the margins of Yiddish performance. She has been in Yiddish plays at vegetarian Communist theaters, appeared on a Yiddish radio soap opera about pickle millionaires called "Who Thinks They're Hoitsy Toitsy Now," and wound up performing Yiddish bawdy songs in bathhouses. (This last detail is inspired by Bette Midler, who actually did perform in bathhouses.)

The play climaxes with Shaina hired by Jerry Lewis to write and appear in a Yiddish version of his notorious Holocaust film "The Day the Clown Cried," which somehow she manages to make worse. Now, for the sake of establishing this early on to avoid litigation: I have never seen "The Day the Clown Cried" (nobody has), and the version of the film that appears in my play is both invented and parodic. I also think it ends up being unexpectedly respectful of Jerry Lewis, even considering that his appearance in the play is limited to Shaina doing a terrible impression of him.

So anyway, a few months ago I entered the local Fringe Festival, which happens to be the largest non-juried festival in America, and wound up getting a slot. So I am producing "Shaina."

I am not normally a theater producer. I usually prefer to write plays and then  have nothing to do with them, except for showing up a few times to see them. But I have produced plays, or, more often, small theatrical events, and I had a large hand in producing my first play. I will also be directing this production, which I have done a little of, although I might request some assistance on this. And I will be appearing in it, although my role is small and mostly limited to playing a few songs on ukulele.

Oh, did I mention this is a musical? It's a musical. I've written the lyrics for the songs but have not written the melodies yet, but all of my plays are musicals and I have written an awful lot of songs in the past. (If you really dig, you can also find some albums I put out.)

This means that there is an awful lot of work ahead of me before the play actually debuts in August. So I will be keeping a diary of the production of the play, in part just to keep me on track. First, I need to make a list of what I need to do for the show, and that's my moment to shine.

I may not be good at much, but boy can I make a list.

Jewish Theater: Digital Yiddish Theatre Project


Nothing in America is ever really dead. I feel like I need to say that at the start, because Yiddish theater is constantly treated as a moribund thing, once vital, now to be discussed in a darkened room with covered mirrors while friends bring chafing dishes with hot meals and express their condolences.

But culture doesn't work like that, especially not in America, and especially not for Jews, who never let anything go. You've probably seen old images of children rolling hoops with sticks, which seems like something that could only happen in an America that didn't have any other form of entertainment. Well, they still do it at Wellesley College. Those bicycles with the big front tire called a penny farthing, which must have existed at a time when people had not yet figured out how to make tires the same size? People still race them.

So when writers speak of the Yiddish language, or Yiddish theater, as being dead or dying, they're hardly right. It has, of course, fallen from its once great heights, when 2nd Avenue in New York was a Yiddish Broadway, when there were as many as 20 performances per night at various venues. But Yiddish never stopped being a language of dramatic expression, and there continues to be American companies that specialize in Yiddish theater.

This is a long way to introduce my topic for today, which is the Digital Yiddish Theatre Project, but I feel it important to establish that we are discussing an ongoing concern, not antiquity. This is a project that concerns itself with both the past and the present of Yiddish theater, as demonstrated by the fact that one of their categories of article is "21st Century," and includes an interview with playwright Paula Vogel and director Rebecca Taichman, who recently created a play about the making of the classic Yiddish drama "God of Vengeance," (Vogel is also on the Project's board). Also in the section: A story about a pedagogic performance at the Yiddish Book Center based on the Wise Men of Chelm stories.

The Digital Yiddish Theatre Project concerns itself with a dazzling variety of topics about past and present Yiddish theater, and, since that is an interest of mine, I contacted two of the Project's founders to find out more. What follows is an edited email interview with Debra Caplan, Assistant Professor of Theatre at Baruch College, and Joel Berkowitz, Professor of Foreign Languages & Literature at the University of Wisconsin--Milwaukee.

My first question is about the origin of the project. I am very curious about how this came about, especially as you have such a physically disconnected board and membership who draw from so many disciplines. I see that it started as a conversation at the Association for Jewish Studies. How does this turn into a website?


Joel Berkowitz: The seeds of the project were indeed sown in a conversation Debra and I had at the AJS annual conference in 2012. Debra had just given a paper on the movements of the different incarnations of the Vilna Troupe, the company that was the subject of her Harvard doctoral dissertation. For her paper, she used GIS technology to illustrate those movements on a world map, and as we talked after her session, we started daydreaming aloud about what we might accomplish by simultaneously harnessing two resources: digital technology (mapping, coding, scanning, etc.) and the collective expertise and experience of a team of leading scholars of Yiddish theatre and drama.

Debra Caplan:  I presented a paper that applied data visualization to the Vilna Troupe (which ultimately resulted in this project: www.vilnatroupe.com), and Joel suggested that we gather a group of scholars together to brainstorm how to bring the study and preservation of Yiddish theater into the digital age.

Joel Berkowitz: That discussion led to others, where we talked about who might be on our “dream team.” To keep things manageable, we’d have to be selective, based not just on expertise, but on carefully building the group to cover various languages, subject areas, and skill sets. The group we assembled collectively commands fluency in not just Yiddish and English, but Hebrew, Russian, Polish, German, Spanish, French, and other languages. The group includes scholars who work on theatre history, Jewish history, film studies, musicology, and other related fields—and significantly, includes several librarians and archivists, including a digital archivist. So we balance each other quite nicely. And just as important, we really like each other, and we’ve found that camaraderie not just fun, but conducive to getting a lot of good work done.

We assembled a team of scholars and librarians with divergent and complementary skills, languages, and interests. As you've seen, our members come from three countries and across the United States.

Debra Caplan: You’re right that we are, as the Sholem Aleichem title goes, tsezeyt un tseshpreyt—scattered and dispersed. Most of our core group is based in the US, but spread across the country. We also have team members in Canada, the UK, and the Netherlands. And our advisory board goes even farther afield, to other parts of Europe, Israel, and Argentina. We therefore do a lot of our work online: mainly email and a fair number of video conferences. Crucially, though, we’ve held two workshops in Milwaukee, each of which was attended by most of the group members. As useful as all of those online tools are, there’s of course no substitute for sitting in the same room, for hours at a time within a concentrated period, and exchanging ideas and mapping out how to execute them.

Joel Berkowitz: We then gathered together in person in Milwaukee in two workshops, one in 2014 and one in 2015, and developed our ideas for the site during those meetings.

The first of those workshops, in March 2014, gave us a chance to articulate our identity more clearly than we had before, and to figure out our first significant steps. Our main conclusion then was to launch a blog, which we rolled out about six months later. At that point, our focus was content rather than design: we wanted to start telling the story of the Yiddish theatre, collectively and in non-linear fashion, and that’s what we started at that point. By the time of the second workshop, we had gotten a certain amount of material up on the blog, and it was starting to get some attention. We also had (and have) a Facebook page with hundreds of followers (approaching 1000), and an active Twitter account, @yiddishstage. We also started planning grant applications at that workshop, which led to our getting seed funding from both Debra’s and my universities, the City University of New York and the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. That in turn funded the second workshop, in October 2015, and the design of our new website, yiddishstage.org. That design is still under way, but the site went live in August, and the blog has migrated to its beautiful new home, created by the fabulous people at Familiar Studio in NYC.

How do you do it? What is your process for soliciting articles, how often do you try to publish, etc.?


Debra Caplan: We strive to have new posts approximately every two weeks or less. We solicit articles from our members, and from others who have projects or skills that we find of interest, or who have something to say about contemporary happenings in Yiddish theater. We work with contributors to develop their ideas before submission, then there is an editing phase before articles are posted. Our project manager, Nick Underwood, is instrumental in keeping this entire process running and in scheduling posts.

Joel Berkowitz: A few core principles drive the blog. I’ve never laid them out like this, but here are the ones that come to mind, off the top of my head:

1. The blog is for everyone: that is, we want every post to offer something meaningful to both scholars and to the intelligent, interested lay person. Some posts contain new scholarship and some don’t, but all of them have to say something new about Yiddish theatre and drama, and all of them have to be written in lively, readable prose.

2. Authorship is fairly open too, so we’ve invited guest posts from a variety of colleagues. To many of our colleagues we’ve extended open invitations. At other times, specific posts have bubbled up organically. For example, a stream of really smart tweets from Rokhl Kafrissen that were sparked by the passing of actor Fyvush Finkel led me to encourage her to expand them into a blog post. The result was a moving an important commentary on Finkel’s legacy that we were really proud to run.

3. While contributions from colleagues—which doesn’t necessarily mean academics, I hasten to add—have greatly enriched the blog, we feel that it’s important for our core group to generate at least half of the blog content.

4. We want to publish frequently enough to keep the blog fresh and keep readers coming back for more. On average, we feel that a new post every two weeks or so is about right.

Is there a specific definition of Yiddish Theater you are working with? I guess I'm asking this question because, in my own writing, I keep coming across Jews representing themselves almost clandestinely, and so stuff that feels Jewish pop up in unlikely and surprising places. But I also am always curious about how people define theater, since there are so many sorts of performance that are theatrical.


Joel Berkowitz: We’ve never tried as a group, as far as I can recall, to define Yiddish theatre, and if we ever did, I certainly wouldn’t want the boundaries to be too rigid. As you suggest, theatre and performance can take a lot of forms, and on the blog we’ve made forays into film, amateur performance, and for that matter, manifestations of Yiddish theatrical culture that take us some distance from the theatre building itself, such as depictions of theatre personnel and performances in visual culture. But the Yiddish side of “What is Yiddish theatre?” can be just as fluid. One of the things that all of us love about Yiddish theatre is the many complex ways in which it intersects with other art forms and with other cultures—for example, in blog posts about a long-lost film that’s not in Yiddish at all, or contemporary theatre that incorporates Yiddish, but is performed mostly in other languages.

Debra Caplan: Well, I would say that Yiddish theater encompasses any theatrical performance in Yiddish. Joel, do you agree? As far as theater goes, I'd say the field includes all kinds of performance, from vaudeville to "legitimate" theater and everything in between. That being said, we're not a performance studies venue -- that is to say, we're not writing about performance that happens in everyday life or outside of performance venues. But we are interested in virtually anything in Yiddish that calls itself performance or theater. 

Joel Berkowitz: I would just add a couple of things. First, while the blog does focus on performance, it can also touch on analysis of dramas, whether as performed or simply as texts. The best of those texts include some of the great masterpieces of Yiddish literature; one fascinating feature of Yiddish drama is that so many of the writers who may be best known as fiction writers or poets had significant careers as playwrights (including Abramovitsh, Sholem Aleichem, Peretz, Asch, Bergelson, Molodowsky, and on and on and on…). And numerous Yiddish dramas, whether they were ever performed or not, are worth getting to know, and introducing to our readers.

The other point worth adding is that discussions of Yiddish theatre can also be about what happens offstage. There are the often juicy, backstage dramas in the lives of theatre personnel, but also other areas of culture and society that theatre touches upon. We’ve had blog posts about film, for example, since the Yiddish film industry (like Hollywood in its early years) was populated almost entirely by people whose careers were primarily in the theatre. The blog has also taken us to visual arts, like photography and illustration, since such imagery infinitely enriches our understanding of what Yiddish productions, and the people in them, looked like.

I find the phrase "digital humanities tools" pop up on the site, and wonder if you could explain this further, and give examples of what you mean.


Debra Caplan: Digital humanities indicates a body of methodologies that apply computing to humanities subjects. We're interested in digital publication about Yiddish theater, as well as the kinds of digital conversations and connections that a website enables. But we're also pursuing several projects that will use more kinds of digital tools, including digital publication of archival documents, databases, text encoding, and data visualization we're also looking into expanding the mapping feature on our current website.

There is some discussion on your site about the benefits of digital technology, such as being able to scan through massive amounts of scanned text for keywords. How much of the world of Yiddish theater exists in a digital form just now?


Debra Caplan: There is a good bit of digitized archival material out there, but there's no central repository yet where one can find it. We see our role as curatorial -- our goal is to curate content about Yiddish theater (including digitized texts and archival documents) and generate new material that explains and contextualizes it.

Jewish Theater: Why I Will Not Be Submitting to the Jewish Plays Project


I have just written a play, and, when you do, you fish around for what to do with it. If this were any other profession, well, this would be a horse with a cart in front of it. If you’re manufacturing a product, you probably should have some idea where to sell it before you make it, or you risk having a product nobody wants.

Plays don’t work like that, though, not usually. I do know there are some playwrights with mercenary sensibilities who carefully track the market and write plays specifically for it, tailoring certain plays to specific institutions, and bully for them. It seems an awful lot of work to me, especially considering how little playwrights generally make, but if it works for them, hooray.

Most of us, however, write the play that we feel like writing. Something has tickled us, and we sense dramatic possibilities, and, with greater or lesser success, we write a script that explores those possibilities. Afterwards, we see what we’ve got, and then see where it might go.

This can be an enormously frustrating process, because sometimes it feels like there are a million playwrights out there, all pitching simultaneously and indiscriminately, so wherever you send your script there is a slush pile of other scripts a mile high. And theater producers have their own agenda, and, unfortunately, it’s not generally to find bold new plays and introduce them to the world. You’re usually not really competing with other playwrights who have written new plays; you’re probably competing with a play Neil Simon wrote in the 1970s. Or Shakespeare. Always Shakespeare.

And even with theater projects that look to develop new work, there may be a collision of agendas. As an example, there is the Jewish Plays Project, which initially seemed like a good match for my play, which is about an actress whose career consists of appearing on the fringes of Yiddish stage. In fact, I completed my play within a self-set deadline, and that deadline was the moment when the Jewish Plays Project opened their doors to submissions.

But I have reconsidered and won’t be submitting, and let me tell you why.

 

The Jewish Play Project

This is a project that has some lofty goals. “The JPP is reinventing Jewish theater,” it claims, and what do they mean? Well, their call for artists says they are looking for people who “make new work that challenges old stereotypes.” In their “about” section, they say they are looking to put “bold, progressive Jewish conversations on world stages.”

“A revolution is underway in Jewish culture,” the website states. “In music, in books, in film, artists are creating amazing new pathways to Jewish identity. We believe that it is time for theater to join the movement.”

Now, there is nothing wrong with a bold mission statement, per se. It tends to generate a lot of excitement, especially when an organization is presenting itself as being somehow revolutionary. But this mission statement has identified an apparent problem in Jewish theater that it is the cure for. We can suss out what this problem is, as it is the inverse of what the JPP is seeking to do: Jewish theater is full of old stereotypes. It is not bold, nor progressive, and does not participate in creating new pathways to Jewish identity.

Indeed, the JPP is absolutely clear what sort of plays they do not want, embedded in the list of what they do want. It is as follows:

“Full-length plays that deal with contemporary Jewish themes that have never been produced in New York City. The following must be true of a submitted play:

1. It contains significant Jewish themes, characters, content, or points of view.
2. It is not a Holocaust play (stories that deal directly with the history of the Shoah, its survivors and their children, or the World War II period more generally).
3. It does NOT fall into the beloved category of "ethnically stereotypical comedy" (No "Yiddishemammeh" plays, no "My Afternoon With Bubbe", no "Jewtopia")
4. It is in English. (We welcome translations).
5. It runs at least 75 minutes.
6. It has not had a full production in the NY Metro region, or a major regional theater (LORT C or above).”

Besides this, neither musicals nor short plays have a clearly defined place at the JPP, although their submissions are not explicitly rejected. There is apparently some sort of development process for them, but not as part of their annual contest.

 

What is left out

So, just to be explicit, there are certain broad categories of Jewish plays that do not have a home at the JPP’s annual contest. These include plays about the Holocaust, comedies that make use of so-called ethnic stereotypes, and non-English plays.

The JPP is, of course, free to make any decision it wants to about what sorts of plays it does and does not want to develop. But I am free to take issue with the idea that excluding these categories of theater makes the contest bold or progressive, or significant, or representative of the revolution underway in Jewish arts that theater needs to join.

No, what we have here is an expression of a personal taste, probably mostly that of the JPP’s founder, David Winitsky. And there are problems with his tastes, because, rather than creating the opportunity for bold new Jewish theater, it arbitrarily limits those opportunities. It excludes an enormous amount of Jewish storytelling, not because there is anything inherently wrong with that sort of storytelling, but because somebody just has a preference against them.

(I will also note that going through the staff of the JPP, there is not a single playwright among them, and there is only one playwright listed on the advisory board. Based on long experience, this is a red flag, as playwrighting programs that don’t include significant input for playwrights on their staff or advisory board are often oblivious to the needs and concerns of playwrights.

Additionally, looking through the JPP’s list of “panel readers,” who are the first ones who vet the plays, I see very few playwrights, although it can be hard to suss out, since the readers are listed by name without any other identifying information. I know that Susan Bernfield and Sandra Daley-Sharif are playwrights, but almost all of the other names I recognize are directors and literary managers, and I will bet that the vetting process is largely done by non-playwrights. I don’t have the space to detail why the general exclusion of playwrights from the gatekeeping process in American theater is a problem, but would suggest taking a look at the book “Outrageous Fortune: The Life and Times of the New American Play” by Todd London, which carefully details just how bad this has been.)

 

Why what is excluded is important

I would go through the list of excluded topics one by one, but the first, the rejection of plays about the Holocaust, is so blinkered that I don’t even know where to begin with it. It’s the sort of exclusion of a topic so profound that it shouldn’t be the sort of thing you just mention in your submission rules, but take a full page to explain. It would be like having a Jewish theater project and saying you will not accept plays about Hasids, or Israel, or, I don’t know, rabbis.

The Holocaust isn’t just a theme, after all. It is the single most important event to happen to Jewry in the 20th century. The only comparable event in the history of Judaism is the destruction of the Second Temple, and even other modern genocides are somehow in the shadow of this one. I do not need to argue why Holocaust plays should be in a Jewish play festival; a Jewish play festival needs to explain why this sort of play would be excluded. Because at the moment it is incomprehensible.

But let’s talk about the other exclusions. Firstly, the JPP takes issue with what it calls “ethnically stereotypical comedy,” which it leaves undefined, but offers up “Yiddishemammeh,” “My Afternoon With Bubbe" and "Jewtopia” as examples. The first two are not especially helpful, as they are not real plays, although they not unmeaningful, as I will get to. “Jewtopia,” however, is a 2004 play about Jews and dating, with a significant subplot about a Gentile who wants to date Jewish women and enlists the help of his friend to learn how to act Jewish.

If the JPP doesn’t especially like plays like “Jewtopia,” that’s just fine; I don’t especially like them either. The project takes issue with stereotypical treatment of Jews, and that's laudatory. But, then, it isn’t terrifically clear what the JPP considers to be a stereotype. Neither Yiddish mamas nor bobbes are inherently stereotypical, and I have genuine concerns about the fact that we see mothers and grandmothers mentioned, but not fathers or grandfathers. The oppressive Jewish mother and doting Jewish grandmother might be overused tropes, but they are still capable of being well-used (see Reizl Bozyk’s performance in “Crossing Delancey” as an example).

By specifically excluding them, but not identifying the stereotypical qualities that are at issue, the JPP removes our ability to represent a certain group of Jewish women at all. If I can sum it up using a single actress, this submarines the entire career of Lanie Kazan, because it does not distinguish between her performance in “My Favorite Year” and her performance in, I don’t know, “You Don't Mess with the Zohan.” And that’s a shame, because her performance in “My Favorite Year” is spectacular.

I think it is meaningful that these characters are represented here with Yiddish words. I think what we’re seeing is a specific expression of taste that isn’t rooted in a progressive agenda, but is instead rooted in embarrassment. There is a Yiddish expression for that embarrassment: mein bobbe’s tam, which means “my grandmother’s taste.”

Mein bobbe’s tam was lowbrow, religious, and smacked of the old world. It was for things that assimilated American Jews found tacky and foreign, such as lungen stew and spitting to ward off the evil eye and going to shund Yiddish plays. For contemporary Jews, these qualities seem stereotypical, but they were not expressions of stereotypes, they were expressions of character. It is not radical to exclude mein bobbe’s tam, because it involves rejecting a specific Jewish immigrant experience, and, even more specifically, a women’s experience.

There are not so many plays about Jewish women that we can afford to discourage new ones because they are about women that embarrass us.

English is not the only language of American Jews

Perhaps the most puzzling aspect of the submissions guidelines is the rejection of plays that are not written in English. The JPP is aware of the fact that there has been exciting new work done on the Jewish experience in other arts, but somehow has missed out on how much of that has involved ongoing experiments to preserve Yiddish as a language of creative expression.

And it’s not just Yiddish. One of the most distinctive qualities of Judaism is its long history of preserving Jewish languages, and, in the case of Hebrew, actually reviving a language that had not been a vernacular for thousands of years.

One of the great creative tools Jews have is multilingualism, and the extraordinary variety of languages we can use to express the Jewish experience, which includes Ladino and Arabic, both of which, like Yiddish, represent the primary languages of specific Jewish experiences. By refusing to consider these as languages for Jewish theater, we are forcing Jewish art to assimilate to a language that is not especially Jewish, English.

Perhaps this is for purely practical reasons. It’s a little harder to do a play in a non-English language. But it’s not that hard, and laziness or a lack of theatrical imagination is not a compelling reason to exclude explicitly Jewish voices from a Jewish theater project.

I guess I’m just not of the opinion that limiting the opportunities to represent history, the experience of women, and the diversity of Judaism on the stage is either bold or progressive. To me, this is not an example of a theater project encouraging new conversations about Judaism, but limiting them. I would prefer to see the conference accept plays that are consistent with their bold mission statement, rather than reject them for unexplained reasons that seem mostly to be an expression of personal taste.

Until they do, this isn’t really the Jewish Plays Project. It just excludes too much of the Jewish experience, and without justification, explanation, or any mechanism of community response to address it.

And it’s too bad, because there really aren’t that many specific opportunities for the development of Jewish plays. But, then, this isn’t either. It’s just an opportunity for a particular kind of Jewish play, and excludes everything else.

Jewish Theater: A Brokhe A Blessing by Rokhl Kafrissen


This story is about a playwright named Rokhl Kafrissen, and about a new play that she has written, largely in Yiddish, called “A Brokhe A Blessing.” Kafrissen writes a marvelous and sometimes marvelously irritable blog about Yiddish called “Rootless Cosmopolitan,” as well as a film blog I rather enjoy called “Movies Metaphors and Monsters.”

The former blog is instructive to me in a variety of ways. Kafrissen has been a Yiddishist for two decades or thereabouts, having studied the subject at Brandeis, and she has been part of New York’s Yiddish theater scene for almost as long, running English supertitles to Yiddish plays.

It’s hard not to be jealous of Kafrissen’s access to Yiddish from this linguistic desert Omaha, where, as far as I can tell, the last Yiddish play produced was in 1974, when the National Touring Company of Yiddish Theater performed a series of skits at a local college, and the last Yiddish classes were in 1980, offered only once by a short-lived local Jewish organization.

The blog is instructive in that it offers a perspective on Yiddish informed by long involvement in the language. Kafrissen frequently complains about how Yiddish is treated by the media, as an example, where it is endlessly presented as a dying language, where every new course or band or play or youth group in Yiddish is excitedly declared a revival, and where basic misconceptions abound, go uncorrected, and get passed from article to article. Kafrissen is a defender of Yiddish as a language, and rankles at the endless jokey, uninformed lists and online quizzes that present a degraded, unresearched Yinglish as Yiddish.

Kafrissen is also very funny, with a blistering Twitter presence, which is how I first discovered her a few months ago. This was about the same time there was a reading of her play as part of Yiddish New York featuring Ben Rosenblatt and Yelena Shmulenson, both fixtures in NY’s Yiddish theater community. Those of you who have seen the Coen Brothers’ film “A Serious Man” will recognize Shmulenson from the Yiddish prologue, where she stabs the great and recently deceased Fyvush Finkel with an icepick. There is avideo of the reading online, which you may watch, but I will also briefly summarize the play.

Illustration by Jenna Brager
The story is set in Brownsville, a neighborhood of Brooklyn, in the 1950s, and benefits from the tremendous specificity of time and place. This was my father’s Brownsville, and he used to talk of growing up in a largely Jewish and Yiddish-accented neighborhood of aspiring gangsters and Holocaust survivors, as well as an uncommonly large group of Jewish boys who would go on to be pharmacists. 

“A Brokhe” features the first two groups, the aspiring gangsters and Holocaust survivors, and their uneasy relationships. Primarily, it looks at Dora, a scholarly and often-acerbic Polish refugee, and Kas, a small-time hood with oversized ambitions. Kas also has a bit of a yen for Dora, but the play is more about disconnection than connection, as Kas’s life in the underworld is on a crash course with Dora’s family.

The script is smart and classically composed, and brims with period detail, including an obsession with Jewish wrestlers. It also happens to have about 30 percent of its dialogue in Yiddish, and this is why I was interested in the play.

I started writing plays a very long time ago, in the 1990s, when living in Los Angeles, as part of a theater program for homeless teenagers led by actress Shelley Winters, which is, as you can imagine, a very long story. During this time I read “Vagabond Stars,” Nahma Sandrow’s history of Yiddish theater, and started working my way through a series of Yiddish plays in translation.

This affected me a lot. I wrote two plays in that time, one based on Alice in Wonderland, the other a retelling of the 1903 pogrom in Kishinev, which my mother’s family had lived through. Both were, essentially, Yiddish plays written in English, although I continued to work on the Kishinev play when I returned to college to pursue a degree in Jewish Studies, and, as a result, a lot of actual Yiddish started making its way into the script. Both plays have Purim shpiels in them; these were the short comic folk plays performed on the holiday of Purim, which Sandrow identifies as the earliest form of Jewish theater.

And I’m working on a Yiddish play now, or, more properly, a Yinglish play. Yiddish occasionally appears as a language, in complete sentences, but more often appears the way my father uses it, as a (frequently obscene) element in an English sentence. (As an aside, my father does not like that I keep writing about him swearing in Yiddish, but all I can say is maybe he should not have swore in Yiddish so much.)

A lot of playwriting is about solving problems, and one of the central problems in writing a play that uses Yiddish is Yiddish itself. One can, of course, write in Yiddish for a Yiddish audience, and this is still done. English-speaking audiences can still enjoy the play through the use of supertitles, which, as I have mentioned, Kafrissen has a lot of experience with. One can write in English and Yiddish and provide some mechanism for translation, such as my least-favorite trick in the playwrights arsenal, which has a character say something in a foreign language and then immediately translate it into English. One can try to contextualize Yiddish so that translation is not necessary, which is what I do, and is easier to do when writing Yinglish than writing Yiddish.

Kafrissen suggests supertitles for her play, which I am not sure is the best solution, but, then, the playwright need not offer the best solution to a staging problem. To a skilled director, a staging problem is not a problem so much as it is an opportunity. I once wrote a play with no stage directions at all – in fact, the characters themselves were unnamed, and the whole script is just a dialogue, with one character justified right and the other justified left on the page. Not only have directors successfully managed to figure out how to stage this play, it is my most-produced play. However, the question of staging Yiddish is one that keenly interests me, and is a question I will return to. When Kafrissen’s play finds a production, I will be eager to see how her artistic staff handles the Yiddish.

Mostly, I just continue to be thrilled that there is New Yiddish theater. It does not sound like there is a lot of it – in emails, Kafrissen has told me that a lot of what she sees and has worked on are revivals of older plays, and this has been borne out by what I have read about, which recently have included a revival of Sholem Asch's “God of Vengeance” and Yiddish version of both “Waiting for Godot” and “Death of a Salesman.” Kafrissen writes, "Revivals of older repertoire and new translations of world classics are important (and often exciting) staples of contemporary Yiddish theater. However, I would also like to see a commitment to develop and invest in new Yiddish works, like Shane Baker's ‘Big Bupkis,’ and of course, my own humble contribution to the contemporary Yiddish stage."

I will close with this: I used to participate in a lot of new play development projects, and one of the laziest questions that respondents would come up with is “why?” It’s as though they thought there was something profound about challenging every artistic decision. “Why now?” was one of the most popular ones, and is meant to force the playwright to examine what event motivated the action of the play, and why that even was necessary. I am not interested in why questions. There is only one necessary answer to why, and it is “because I wanted to,” and that an entirely valid artistic answer.

I can already tell that there are some meddling dramaturges out there who want to know why Yiddish. And this is a play that offers a solid answer to the question: It is a play about a specific immigrant experience, and this was the language spoken by this group of immigrants, and they were in a neighborhood where the language still had everyday currency, where even American-born Jews could understand and respond, to some extent. It’s a play that Yiddish makes sense in, and wouldn’t make sense if absent.

But, as I said, I am not interested in why questions. You probably have noticed that I am interested in how questions. How do we make a play? How do we stage a scene? How do we communicate something unfamiliar to an audience?

This play has a lot of fascinating hows in it. And the ones that interests me the most right now are the following: How is this play going to get a production? How is it going to have a life beyond that production, which is rare for new plays? And how am I going to get a chance to see it?

Exciting questions. I look forward to learning the answers.

(If you're interested in reading "A Brokke A Blessing," it is available through New Play Exchange.)