​ Cooper Robb, an immensely knowledgeable and prolific American theater critic, who recently passed away, left behind many articles, especially in Backstage Magazine and TheaterMania, filled to the brim with facts and insights about contemporary theater. It includes a rare interview with Czech-born British playwright, Sir Tom Stoppard.

The Wilma, as it’s affectionately called in Philadelphia, brought more European and more experimental theater to the city of brotherly love than any other company, winning numerous Barrymore awards, the Philadelphia equivalent of the Tony awards in New York.This husband and wife team, two theater producers and directors—refugees from (then) Czechoslovakia—stunned the city with one innovative production after another. They presented more Tom Stoppard plays than any other theater in the US, thanks to the friendship of the Zizkas with the playwright.

Robb: Once you talked to (Russian dissident) Victor Fainberg, it all sort of came together for you?

Stoppard: Yes, Victor and other people. I was marginally involved with various activities, which were concerned with the incarceration of Russian citizens in mental hospitals.

As a matter of interest, I’ve just written a play about Russians in the 19th century (The Coast of Utopia) and, in researching that play, I’ve discovered that the practice of calling a dissident mad had this precedent in the 1830s and wasn’t invented by the Soviets. However, the Soviets put it into general use and that practice took on a much crueler form in the U.S.S.R. with quite a number of instances of people like Victor being put into asylums.

Robb: Did The Coast of Utopia change your perception of Every Good Boy?

Stoppard: Yes, in the sense it gives you a deeper understanding of where dissent came from. It’s interesting to follow the story of dissent right through to Lenin. I think Lenin was born the year that Alexander Herzen died, Herzen being the main character in The Coast of Utopia.

Robb: Every Good Boy features one of your most musical texts. Was that a conscious decision?
​
Stoppard: I can’t claim to have made a conscious effort to make it more musical. I write the way I write pretty much whatever I’m doing, though of course the subject and tone changes. I remember that it was very difficult to do it at all until I began, and then I did it quite quickly. André played me some piano parts, though I didn’t know essentially what (the music was) until the orchestra started rehearsing, and then it was, of course, very exciting for me.

I also remember that the orchestra (the London Symphony) initially was not thrilled with these actors colonizing their space. They hadn’t been involved with anything like it. This was real theatre with three acting areas and a dramatic momentum involving half-a-dozen actors.

Trevor Nunn made this brilliant choice to begin (rehearsals) by letting the orchestra sit as an audience while the actors performed the play without music. The orchestra liked what the actors were doing, and from that moment they became wonderfully cooperative and enthusiastic. People who were formerly wondering if they could play the violin with three inches less space were suddenly volunteering to move chairs to help out an actor. It was very touching.

Robb: The play describes Alexander [Ivanov, a political dissenter, imprisoned in a Soviet mental hospital, who won’t be released until he admits that his (non-existent) mental disorder made him make accusations against the government] as a discordant note. Do you think there are too few discordant notes being heard in the United States and England?

Stoppard: I think it’s more important to note that discordant notes are part of the social and political system here [in the West]; it’s not something that gets you put in jail.

At the time I was writing Every Good Boy, I think the point I really wanted to make was that although things went wrong in the West and freedom was not perfect, and there were certainly abuses occurring, when you contrast them, you find that what is an abuse of the system in the West was a system in perfect order in the East. I would say that if I had a self-conscious message, that was it.

But the play conducts itself on the level of a black comedy, which is very frequently the response of the real dissidents, the ones who are getting it in the neck.

Robb: You obviously have a special rapport with the Wilma. Could you describe your relationship with the artistic directors, Jiri, and Blanka Zizka?

Stoppard: The Wilma is one of the very few theatres in America where I have a friendly, personal relationship. Essentially, from the time I met them at a theatre conference, I admired them. I admired the way they ran their theatre, their policy. I don’t mean doing the plays of Tom Stoppard, but I like their policy of doing new work.

And I like the fact that they’re successful, in the sense that they have a very dedicated constituency around them. And believe me, you have to earn that.
​
*For the complete interview, originally published by Backstage Magazine, click here.

**For the companion article about the work of an important American theater writer, click this link to “Perceptions of each other’s cultures: An Open Letter to theater critic and educator J. Cooper Robb.”

“I spring from ministers, murderers, rebels, addicts, closeted queens, soldiers, singers, and blue-collar mill workers.”

This confession opens playwright Gabriel Jason Dean’s artistic statement. It ends with this vision, “Though my subjects are sometimes provocative, I don’t see myself as a provocateur, but instead as an architect of questions. [. . .] As theatre-goer and writer, I crave transformative work that gnaws at my bones for life.”
 
How can one resist such a vision?
 
Dean’s revelations inspired me to explore his much talked about drama, Heartland, which takes place in Afghanistan and the U.S. Having taught at a university in neighboring Iran, I was impressed by the expansive knowledge of Islamic culture and modes of Afghan intercultural interactions that enriched his play culturally. 

​Set in both the U.S. and in war-torn Afghanistan, Heartland shows Harold, an American professor, now growing toward senility. He gets visited by Nazrullah (Naz), his adopted daughter’s Afghan boyfriend, a young mathematics teacher, whom she [Geetee] fell in love with while they were both teaching in their country of birth.
 
Through flashbacks, we see the young American woman trying to adapt to life in a Muslim society, while her boyfriend tries to absorb as many Western values as he can without giving up his Islamic beliefs.
 
Heartland shows the dilemma of good intentions on both sides of the ideological divide leading to major problems. The professor helped write CIA-created, pro-Jihad textbooks to fight the invading Russian forces that led to the brainwashing and the subsequent death of many young Afghans. 

A generation later, the Muslim teacher, very much in love, took a Polaroid photo of the Afghan-American woman that got into the hands of his uncle, who killed her. The young Afghan devotes his life to supporting the deteriorating father of his girlfriend in the U.S.—with a most unexpected ending.
 
The excitement of the action—moving from one culture to the other, heightened by the frequent use of Dari—left the audience enthralled. One of the secrets of this moving and eye-opening drama? Dean, an experienced and successful playwright who almost always works with a dramaturg, had listened closely to his cultural consultant, Afghan-born Humaira Ghilzai. Her work extends beyond just making sure things are culturally authentic. He co-operated with her practically from the beginning, marrying her intimate cultural knowledge with his dramatic talents. 

​No matter how experienced American playwrights, if they write about characters in another culture, such as presenting life in Afghanistan, a traditional Islamic society—they need more knowledge and research than many a play based in the U.S.
 
Hollywood, with significantly more money available than the theater world, tends to hire the best experts to advise a writer on every nuance of another culture. Unfortunately, not everyone can afford working intensively with a cultural consultant. Dean, while a Hodder Fellow at Princeton University, won their $83,000 grant and, out of that fund, hired Afghan cultural consultant Humaira Ghilzai to work closely with her throughout the evolution of the script and all four world premieres—a kind of cultural rug weaving.

​1. To strengthen a pivotal scene, Dean needed to find out details about the infamous CIA propaganda school books for Afghan high school kids that, after the defeat of the Russians, had fallen out of favor. These English-language schoolbooks had been used to turn young Afghans into a kind of underground resistance group to go all out fighting the occupying Russian forces—leading to many deaths in Afghan families. Through her connections, Ghilzai actually found original copies of the CIA textbooks in Kabul. Dean, supported by the evidence, integrated references to those books into his play and showed the disastrous consequences that impacted the lives of all three of his characters.
 
2. Ghilzai became a bridge-builder between the playwright’s way of expressing something in English and the way Afghans would speak. She would offer several alternatives. After lengthy discussions, Dean would re-write the dialogues to make them even more authentic and natural.
 
3. To help non-native speakers of Dari, Ghilzai also created all of the Dari transliterations so that the actors could pronounce them easily.
 
4. During each of the four world premieres in the U.S., she coached accent, posture, and helped with costuming choices.

In a recent interview, Ghilzai presented her way of working with playwrights and people in the theater arts world and with Dean, in particular:
 
“In theatre consulting or any consulting project [. . .] you don't give your opinion, you don't move your own agenda; you help the client fulfill their goals. [. . .] my job is to bring cultural authenticity to their vision. [. . .] My job is not to censor anything.”
 
“[. . .] my job is first to set a scene for the world we’re portraying, and then I go on to help the costume designer, set designer, music artists, and cast create that world accurately.”
 
“We did everything by email and phone until maybe a year ago when we first did a Skype call and we met each other face-to-face.”
 
“Gabe [. . .] was very collaborative and he not only sought my input but really tried to understand more about the culture on his own. I would throw out ideas [. . .] and [. . .] we would discuss [them], and then it was up to him to decide if he wanted it in his play.”
 
“Once in a while, I'd see him throw in a line that was a little bit of an inside cultural joke, which showed to me that he really got Afghanistan and its people.”

Henrik: Overall, there seems to be a tendency in U.S. theater to focus mainly on themes and characters from an Anglo-American perspective. What made you look way beyond U.S. borders and probe deep into the heart of conflicted characters, here and abroad?
 
Gabriel: Ultimately, this story is an examination of what it means to be an American. I am obsessed with that subject. I am interested in the stories we don’t tell and why. We have a history that we must face, warts and all, and the play puts a small part of that history forward.
 
So, I went where the story demanded, and I did the research and hired Humaira to help me make sure that what I was presenting was accurate. I think it is wrong-headed to believe that any writer can and should only write about their own specific identity.
 
Henrik: None of the traditional ranking of  The 10 most important American [most widely performed] plays deal with anything outside this country. How could American playwrights tackle subjects that deal with another culture sensitively and authentically?
 
Gabriel: As writers we ought to be able to write about anything that sets us on fire. However, if the subject is outside our own experience, then we must do the research to the point of exhaustion—but there is only so much research one can do. Having one or more collaborators who have “lived experience” of the culture and of the place is extremely important when writing outside our own lived experience.  
                                                                                                                                                             
Henrik: Tell us about the development of Heartland, especially the input of the PlayPenn directors, the creative team, and the actors who stage-read your version in Philadelphia two years ago.
                                                                         
Gabriel: The play has grown immensely since the PlayPenn draft, and much of that growth was a result of the time I spent on it at PlayPenn with director Ed Sobel and dramaturg Kittson O’Neill. When I came to PlayPenn [new playwrights, see “Everything you always wanted to know about PlayPenn, but were afraid to ask”], I was still searching for the beating heart of this play, and through many rewrites while there, I found it.
 
Henrik: Once you finished your PlayPenn version, a number of theaters showed great interest in Heartland and, eventually, began premiering it.
 
Gabriel: I went on to continue to work on it through development with director Pirronne Yousefzadeh and Geva Theatre Center. I then shaped it further in anticipation of the first production of the National New Play Network Rolling World Premiere.
 
Henrik: I rarely, if ever, heard from writers about the impact of cultural consultants on their work. You seem to be one of the few playwrights willing to address this issue.
 
Gabriel: Thank you. Humaira, my collaborator throughout all of the many iterations, shaped the Afghan authenticity of this play tremendously.
 
Henrik: I saw the first and second staged-reading version of Heartland and loved them. However, now it has grown even further into a world-class drama. What were the main changes you made since those PlayPenn days, in addition to the four intercultural items (above) that you and your Afghan consultant had worked on?
 
Gabriel: First, I changed the character of Geetee from Greta—a domestically adopted daughter. My original impulse was to make Geetee Afghan, but I pulled away from that, because the Western concept of adoption is not something that actually exists in Afghanistan. But it simply wasn’t working for the story or the character, and so I endeavored to figure out a way that could make feasible her adoption by Harold [the U.S. professor who accepted the task of writing the English textbooks that would encourage Afghan students to fight the Russians].
 
What I actually settled on connected my characters even more to the CIA-commissioned textbooks.
 
I also removed all potential associations of Nazrullah to the Taliban. It became increasingly clear to me that I didn’t want him to even remotely be considered a terrorist in the audience’s mind. In the PlayPenn version, his uncle was affiliated with the Taliban, which made Naz affiliated by association. In the version you saw at Interact Theatre Company, his uncle Bashir is simply described as motahasib, or “traditional.”
 
Henrik: Which Heartland scene grabbed you the most?

Gabriel: The scene that I knew would exist from the beginning would be the final scene with Harold [the aging atheist] and Naz [the young Muslim] praying together. I knew I wanted to show some kind of complex love and understanding between the two men.
 
The rest of the play gets us to that point. I’m not as interested in characters who tear each other apart.
 
Henrik: Most characters from the Islamic world in American drama and film get portrayed as rather one-sided, often unsavory, and dangerous characters. What did you do to avoid stereotypes, in addition to working with your cultural consultant?
 
Gabriel: One of the goals of this play early on was that I wanted to write a good Afghan character: somebody who was good at heart, flawed in the way that we all are flawed, but decidedly not a terrorist. Someone who had a healthy relationship with Islam. Not someone who was a victim and felt completely downtrodden. So, the character of Nazrullah was born in rebellion to a lot of Muslim characters that I've seen portrayed in other plays. That was very important to me.
 
Then I thought, “Wait, am I doing this out of some White Saviorism?” I worried about that. I worried Naz was too good at times. But now, having thoroughly developed this play and this character and having seen the effect Nazrullah has on Muslim audience members, I think I’ve done the right thing.  
 
Henrik: With the help of your Afghan consultant, you managed to reduce the lengthy final prayer of mourning while keeping the scene’s Islamic authenticity intact. As a result, we experienced deeply moving moments that had many of us in tears.
 
Gabriel: We used a shorter version of Fajr [the first of the five daily prayers], one that might be spoken by a recent convert. We opted to do only one rakat [the prescribed movements and words followed by Muslims while offering prayers] for the sake of theatrical timing. I never would’ve been comfortable making that choice on my own without Humaira’s input and that of several other Muslims.
 
In the Philly production, Yousuf Sultani, who is Afghan and was raised in a Muslim household, was doing a version of the prayer that was most comfortable for him. In instances like this, I defer and get out of the way to let those who know it firsthand show me.

Henrik: Having taken the Afghan hurdles with your cultural consultant, what did you experience with American producers?
 
Gabriel: So many people have wanted more “drama” from this play—literally more bombs, more allusion to the conflict happening around Geetee and Naz—but I find that critique of the play intellectually and emotionally disappointing. I’m just not interested in that kind of play here. This is a quiet story about what is unsaid.
 
I had numerous meetings and calls with producers—all older white men, I might add—who desired that the play have more bombs and war. Those were challenging moments, but ultimately, I didn’t submit to that view of the play. I just waited for the right producers to come along.
 
Henrik: What would you say to directors and producers to help them overcome their concerns?
 
Gabriel: I often hear that this play is difficult to cast. Let me assure you, potential producer, it is not! After five productions and audition processes, I have a large list of excellent potential Nazrullahs and Geetees.
 
And producers often fret about the frequent use of the Dari language in the play. Rest assured, I have pronunciation recordings that are available for use.   
 
Henrik: I think so highly of Heartland that I would like to see it translated and performed abroad to open up hearts and minds around the globe, including the Islamic world—whether as a play or as an international film, which could become available to many more people, irrespective of external and cultural borders and restraints.
 
Gabriel: I would love to see all of that happen as well! From your mouth to god’s ear.

Gabriel: For example, at Geva Theatre, they bussed in high school kids to come see it. I remember being there after one of the matinees, and one of the students, a young boy, came up and said, “Thank you. This is great. I've never seen a guy like that on stage."
 
He was talking about Naz, you know? Because every time this kid sees somebody who looks like him on stage, on film, or on TV, they're not playing a character like this. I was like, “Okay, mission accomplished. My job here is done.” I love the character of Nazrullah. I love him so much.
 
At a talkback at InterAct, an Afghan man in the audience said the play was a true representation of Afghanistan and that he wished more work like this existed in the world. He told us all his story:

He walked nearly 2,000 miles to escape the Russians when they invaded in 1979. Eventually, he came to the U.S. as a refugee—something he couldn’t do today. He is now a doctor living in New Jersey. I hope more people like him get to see this play.
 
Henrik: Gabriel jan*, tashakor, many thanks.
 
*Jan (Persian: جان‎) or Jaan is a Persian word originally meaning “life" and “soul," also used as a name with extended meanings like “dear" or “my friend.”

Dean’s plays include In Bloom, Qualities of Starlight, Terminus, The Transition of Doodle Pequeño, and Heartland. He also authored books and lyrics for the musicals Mario & the Comet and Our New Town. His screenplays include Pigskin and D'Angelico.
 
Dean’s scripts are published through Samuel French, Dramatic Publishing, and Playscripts. He is on faculty for Spalding University and Visiting Writer in Residence at Muhlenberg College. MFA: University of Texas-Austin, Michener Center for Writers. He grew up in Chatsworth, GA, and currently lives in Brooklyn, NY.

To follow playwright Gabriel Jason Dean, visit his website at www.gabrieljasondean.com.
 
For more information on Humaira Ghilzai’s work as an Afghanistan Cultural Consultant, visit her website at www.humairaghilzai.com. To learn more about Afghan Friends Network, check out www.afghanfriends.net.

Ibrahim Miari, son of a Palestinian Muslim father and Jewish Israeli mother, grew up in Israel, became an actor, a playwright, a Sufi dancer, and an educator who now lives in the US.

His one-man drama, In Between—directed by the much-talked-about Elena Araoz, who works internationally—presents intermarriage and growing up in two cultures against all odds.

This drama became so successful that it toured internationally, including Germany, Austria, Ukraine, and the U.S. Ibrahim’s suitcase, filled with numerous props, including a giant hand puppet, makes countless scenes from his life come alive through his extraordinary capacity to act many different roles—including Ibrahim as a little boy, his old grandmother, and an Israeli airport interrogator.

​AVRAHAM AND IBRAHIM: BECOMING AWARE OF DIFFERENT IDENTITIES

Henrik Eger: When was the first time you realized you liked acting?

Ibrahim Miari: My whole life I knew that I wanted to be an actor. I was the one in my family who did impersonations and made people laugh. I was always chosen at school for class theater plays. My first memory on stage was second grade—Mother’s Day. I was pulled up to the stage to dance to a well-known jingle. When I saw the entire school in front of me cheering, I felt I was home.

Henrik: You grew up in Israel as the son of a Palestinian Muslim father and a Jewish Israeli mother in a country that is not exactly famous for treating Palestinians with respect. Could you give an example of a tough moment where you were made aware that you are a Palestinian?

Ibrahim Miari: I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood. We were one of two Arab families in that area. I was sent to a Jewish kindergarten at first, and there was mutual respect between all neighbors, mostly of Middle Eastern backgrounds—Moroccan, Libyan, Tunisian, Egyptian, etc.—alongside some Ashkenazi families.

I was lucky enough to grow up with children my age where we shared various activities, including Jewish traditions, like building Sukkah. I never felt marginalized in my early childhood. However, I remember an incident: after I helped my neighbors build a Sukkah, I was told by one of the more religious peers not to enter it because I was not Jewish.

Henrik: You were born “Avraham” in Acco, Israel, and attended Jewish school until the age of seven. At eight years old, your name was changed to the Arabic spelling, “Ibrahim,” and you were enrolled at an Arabic School where Israeli Independence Day is commemorated as “Nakba Day,” or the “Day of the Catastrophe.”

Ibrahim: I address this topic in my play. From an Israeli viewpoint, a national celebration day for Jewish people made sense to me. However, the contradictions and ironies of this day only made sense to me later on in my adult life, especially as in Israel, 20 percent of the population are native Palestinians. You cannot escape the celebrations and the fireworks by the Israelis. It has become even more ridiculous with state laws preventing people from waving Palestinian flags, acknowledging the catastrophic day, or allowing the schools to teach about Palestinian history.

Henrik: Similarly, could you give an example of a tough moment for you as an Israeli?

Ibrahim: If you are a Palestinian/Israeli citizen, there is no such thing as “a Palestinian” or “an Israeli,” as we all share common realities. Yet, the more I interacted with Palestinians at peace camps from the West Bank and East Jerusalem in the United States, the more I became aware of my privilege as an Israeli citizen.

Henrik: You grew up in the theater world and studied and worked with the Acco Theatre Center’s Actor Training Program in Israel for twelve years. What were the main influences on your life from those experiences?

Ibrahim: I have been involved in creating theater connected to the Middle East conflict, and in many ways have protested against the dominant norms of society through the arts. While working with Acco Theater Center as a member of an ensemble, we created many shows that addressed injustices, like the play Arab Dream.

​Later, I wrote and directed a play called Private Moment about a Ukrainian actress who married an Arab citizen of Israel. She first lived in an Arab Village, then moved to the city and interacted with Jewish people. The play reflected how she experienced both cultures and all stereotypes she had to endure from both sides.

​SUFI DANCE, SUFI PHILOSOPHY—MAKING COMPASSIONATE CHOICES 

Henrik: Having been brought up with both Islam and Judaism, what drew you to the Sufi religion, philosophy, and practice—especially through dance?

Ibrahim: I was attracted to the Sufi dance first and then Sufi philosophy. I was introduced to different meditations, especially sacred dances, even though I do not consider myself a devoted Sufi. However, it had a big impact on me as a person and as an artist, because meditation teaches us to become mindful and aware of our judgments and negative cycles and patterns. Once I became aware, I started practicing more mindfulness. I also created a space for making more compassionate choices. 

Henrik: What inspired you to perform in a Sufi mode and direct several drama programs in peace camps in Canada and the United States with Israeli and Palestinian high-schoolers?
​
Ibrahim: As I am fluent in both Arabic and Hebrew and familiar with both cultures, working at these camps felt like the right and natural thing to do. I believe in sharing personal stories.

To quote an old saying, “An enemy is someone whose story you don’t know.” Aware of this insight, I made it my mission to help cultivate a culture of mutual listening and understanding. We can eliminate a lot of the stereotypes and prejudices when we search for common ground.

In many of those camps in the U.S. or Canada, Palestinian and Israeli youth meet each other for the first time—often leading to friendship and new insights. However, the participants also realize that they live only a few miles from one another in the Middle East, but interactions among them are difficult, prohibited, or impossible.

LEAVING THE MIDDLE EAST, GROWING NEW ROOTS IN THE U.S. 

Henrik: What made you leave Israel and move to the U.S.?

Ibrahim: I met my wife at one of the peace camps. If it wasn’t for her, I would have moved to Germany because at that time I had a contract to work with a German theater company. However, I chose love, which led to starting a family, and my Master’s degree in theater.

As an educator, I was always intrigued by international collaborations, learning more about other cultures, and expanding my perspectives and knowledge of the world through the arts. I never intended to leave Israel. However, I had blessings from both my family and my theater community to leave home for the U.S.

Henrik: Did you experience any culture shock in the U.S.?

Ibrahim: The culture shock for me came through language. My English was all right, but I had to further my linguistic skills to better express myself. Even though I improved a lot—having an accent, I still feel limited in the U.S.

Henrik: Could you give some examples from your life that inspired you to write the semi-autobiographical drama In Between?

Ibrahim: For over a decade, I have been involved in creating theater connected to the Middle East conflict, and in many ways have protested against the dominant norms of society through the arts. However, I have always felt the need to go deeper, beyond the political, to the personal life stories that express authentic feelings and offer an opportunity for connection and understanding.

The process of creating In Between has been a dynamic one. What began as a series of vignettes about my parents and my childhood in Israel took a new shape with the intrusion of two realities in my own life.
​
First, an incident in which I was held up in Israel for hours at airport security and interrogated about my identity. Second, a rather more welcome intrusion, the planning, and preparation for my wedding, another process in which my identity created the impetus for many conversations and negotiations.

IN BETWEEN, A ONE-MAN DRAMA

Henrik: Your thought-provoking play In Between traces your evolution as a bridge-builder between different cultures and religions. You did not shy away from presenting a shocking experience with an interrogator at an Israeli airport and how it impacted you.

​Ibrahim: Having flown in and out of Israel many times during the last 20 years, I know what to expect every time I approach the airport. It has not gotten any easier.

On one occasion, I had come to the airport directly from my Jewish cousin’s wedding in Tel Aviv. The security guards were puzzled: I was originally from Acco; I studied in Boston; my parents had an interfaith marriage; I was a Muslim; and I had just come from my Jewish cousin’s wedding with henna on my hands? The officials actually said, “When you say cousin do you mean, cousin blood relative, or, Arab and Jewish cousins?” They did not release me until the last minute, making everyone wait for me. And no, I rarely make it to a Duty-Free.

Henrik: You developed In Between in 2009, premiered it in Boston, USA, in 2012, updated it recently, took it to theaters in Europe and North America, and even won “Best Show” award in 2018. Congratulations. 

Ibrahim: Thank you. The play is a dynamic one. I am sensitive and attentive to current events, and I find ways to improvise and make the drama relevant. A recent example: on my performance at the Walnut, I incorporated the 2018 Israeli Nation-State Bill [“which specifies the nature of the State of Israel as the nation-state of the Jewish people”] into an integral part of my monologue about not being Israeli enough. I’ve added, “now it’s according to the law.”

Since then, I performed In Between (Dazwischen) at the international monodrama festival THESPIS as part of its contemporary “one-man-shows” in Kiel, Germany, and won the “Best Show” award in November. In May 2019, I went to Kyiv, Ukraine, and performed at their Solo Shows Festival (SoloFest).

Henrik: How did Philadelphia’s Walnut Street Theatre, the oldest continuously operating theatre in the English-speaking world, the oldest theatre in the U.S., and the most subscribed theatre company in the world, discover you or find out about your work as a playwright?

Ibrahim: I auditioned for The Humans. Once I got the role and they got to know me better, I mentioned In Between to Mr. Bernard Havard [president and producing artistic director of Walnut Street Theatre]. He promised to look into it. One day, he called and offered to produce it.

TRANSCENDING THE PROBLEMS OF THE PAST

Henrik: Were there people in the Palestinian or Arab world who did not appreciate your bridge-building between different cultures and religions? If so, how did you handle any criticism or perhaps even hostility?

Ibrahim: I wouldn’t say I got hostility for trying to bring people together to share stories. However, some people expressed reservation or tried to minimize to what extent our peace camps are effective. It’s an ongoing research project, and there’s still a lot to learn about these programs and models, but each 1,000-mile journey starts with one step. I hope I am contributing something to cultivate dialogue.

Henrik: Could you give an example where everything came together for you, where all the difficulties of the past led to a transformationthat is reaching a wide audience on both sides of the divide—even though cultural clashes and misunderstandings most likely will continue for you and all of us?

Ibrahim: It all came together when I realized that the process of getting married and trying to explain myself at the [Israeli] airport were two similar events in a lot of ways: my identity and beliefs were at the center. Once I decided which stories I would focus on, the play kinda wrote itself.
​
The theater is a mirror, and my play touches upon issues such as identity, culture, religion, traditions, and the tensions between Jews and Arabs, Israelis and Palestinians.

I believe that people can relate because I choose to share a personal story. I don’t even try to talk about politics.

The reality is that we all have our agendas and ideas of how things should or shouldn’t be, but the more personal I get, the more people can open up and listen—not necessarily to agree with me, but hope to hear something new, to reflect on it, to laugh at it, perhaps even to be upset about it. That is why I keep performing the play.
​
Henrik: Many thanks, Ibrahim. Shalom and Salaam—wherever you take In Between on this globe. 

This interview was published originally by The Theatre Times on June 30, 2019. 

International Aspects of the World Congress of Jewish Theatres in Vienna, Austria, March 2007
By
Henrik Eger

This article was published originally by Theatre Arts, www.HenrikEger.com, March 2007.

2019 began the way 2018 ended: with one disaster after another—and with many more to come. We live in a country where those in power love to kill little Sesame Street to build THE TRUMP WALL, even if it means that thousands of Americans are shut out of important government jobs without pay—while the politicians who created this mess go on grand vacations.

Making money out of reheated old chestnuts
​
Now that Santas and elves have mothballed their uniforms, executive directors and accountants are wondering if it’s true that Christmas is the financial Savior for their theaters and choruses.

Frequently, cultural institutions pay an artistic price for focusing on income by letting innovative new plays or songs fall by the wayside during the holiday season. Few people talk about this open secret. The decline in popularity of songs of seduction like “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” (1949)—because of the awareness generated by the #MeToo movement—does not mitigate the fact that old chestnuts, roasted nicely during the holidays, often bring in the cash that pays for new productions.

​“We have nothing against a good holiday show, but . . .”

Seth Rozin, artistic director of InterAct Theatre Company, directly challenges culture-making institutions which rely on traditional money-making holiday shows:  

“We have nothing against a good holiday show, but we’d rather focus on finding the boldest and bravest living playwrights who tell important new stories and ask important new questions about today’s world [. . .] We have proudly and defiantly eschewed the strategy of relying on an annual ‘cash cow.’ This is what distinguishes InterAct Theatre Company. It is also what distinguishes our audiences and supporters.”

Rozin made that statement in a fund-raising letter a few Christmases ago. However, when looking for a new show this December, I could not find a major production at the InterAct. So, with no menorah, no Christmas tree, and no new play on the stage of the InterAct, I went Christmas “cash cowing” by attending a winter concert and a holiday musical:

Rejoice: A Multicultural Holiday Celebration by the Philadelphia Gay Men’s Chorus (PGMC) at the Prince Theatre; and Oliver! in the Quintessence production at the Sedgwick Theatre in Germantown.

Philadelphia Gay Men’s Chorus: Rejoice

Against the elegantly decorated stage of the Prince Theatre—with Christmas trees, lights, and garlands that flickered for dramatic effect—a group of elves (some bearded) came running in. They made us chuckle and even created a sense of goofy camaraderie. Usually, choral dance groups are made up of slim young performers. However, PGMC’s “Brotherly Love” (choreographed by Edward Stash) presented men of all ages and body sizes—for me, a sign of acceptance.

The large chorus—103 singers—filled the hall with a glorious sound, supported by a fine, small orchestra (unfortunately, not mentioned in the program), all conducted by Joseph J. Buches, the artistic director of 14 years. Pianist and opera coach Gabriel Rebolla, originally from Brazil, accompanied the popular chorus, while Brian Morrison provided ASL interpretation.

This year’s concert reflected the cultural background of its members, including songs in Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, and Ukrainian—from “Ave Maria” to “Stille Nacht”—rendered movingly by various soloists and the backing of the chorus.

PGMC and other LGBT choruses tend to present classical and contemporary music for the holidays, but more importantly, they unite the gay community and their allies. This concert featured solo performances by two trans members—evoking strong applause from the audience.

Guest conductors Tony La Salle, a painter, and his husband Robert Maggio, a composer—both academics—bolstered the evening’s entertainment with their rendition of “We Need a Little Christmas.” They had won the auction for the privilege of conducting the chorus however they wished—leading to some hilarious directing with Buches beaming in the wings.

The second part of the evening brought in modern arrangements, ending with “Go! Go! Rudy!” sung so rhythmically that the audience insisted on an encore.

As a non-religious person, happily humming along to Christmas songs, I became aware again of the deeply seated, cultural demands made on producers to connect us to old traditions during the holiday seasons.

Adam R. Funk, PGMC’s president, thanked the Prince Theatre for many years of support and announced that, because the Prince is rebranding itself as the Philadelphia Film Center, PGMC will move to the Suzanne Roberts Theater next year as their “resident chorus.”

Quintessence Theatre Group: Oliver! integrating the audience

Despite Rozin’s comment about holiday “cash cows,” I went to the Sedgwick Theatre and immediately found myself drawn into the action of Oliver! by sitting onstage at one of the many long tables with other theatergoers—all of us having morphed into orphans.

Bill Sikes (Brock D. Vickers), the brutal murderer, wore a long black leather coat, reminiscent of Nazi and KGB agents. Nancy (Hanna Gaffney), Sikes’ lover and a prostitute, wore a modern leopard fur-print outfit to attract johns. Costume designer Christina Bullard’s mix of traditional historical outfits with contemporary ones in this Quintessence production made the connection between exploitation in Victorian England and our own time more transparent.

Just as the LGBT chorus presented remarkable voices, some of the professional performers in Oliver!—like Daniel Miller and Tasha Waters as street criers—harmonized so powerfully that they moved me to tears.

I left the Sedgwick Theatre not only entertained, but deep in thought. Cash cows or no cash cows, ultimately, we the audience demand high professional standards, musically and dramatically, but also songs and plays that speak to us during the holiday season.

This review was originally published by Phindie on January 5, 2019. 

Lawd, it’s already January, 2019. Time to reflect on how much I owe to the many playwrights, directors, all the creative and technical teams, and all the actors, dancers, singers, and musicians who created thought-provoking and/or entertaining shows this past year.
 
As I couldn’t possibly see every show, I tried my best to read as many reviews as possible by my colleagues, who often write fascinating, thoughtful, but also challenging, articles in various publications, including Phindie and BSR. A big thank you to all of you, including:
 
Mark Cofta, Steve Cohen, Julius Ferraro, Michael Fisher, Jessica Foley, Merilyn Jackson, Alaina Johns, Cameron Kelsall, Debra Miller, Chris Munden, Naomi Orwin, Kathryn Osenlund, Lisa Panzer, Darnelle Radford, Wendy Rosenfield, Dan Rottenberg, Howard Shapiro, Lewis Whittington, and Toby Zinman.
 
“Here at Phindie we think about the articles you loved in the year just ending,” Chris Munden, editor-in-chief, wrote about the Phindie list of the most widely-read theater articles, interviews, and reviews in 2018.
 
I was thrilled. The statistics showed that my texts appeared 15 times among the various categories of the TOP TEN most widely-read Phindie pieces in 2018. I enjoyed creating this illustrated article, which includes two runners-up, plus one article each in BSR and a national publication, The Progressive.

​It gave me a special joy to read that two of my features, both relating to German culture, made it to the top in these categories: 
​#1 in FILM: “Dinner for One” 
#1 in MUSIC: Berlin’s “Max Raabe, ‘I can’t kiss myself alone’” 

Below the categories and rankings for all pieces on Phindie 2018:

MOST POPULAR NEW ARTICLES 2018:
 
#5 of all NEW ARTICLES: Dinner for One: The greatest cult film you’ve never heard of

MUSIC:
 
#1 of all MUSIC ARTICLES: “I Can’t Kiss Myself Alone”: The Wit and Retro Style of Berlin’s Max Raabe and His Palast Orchestra.
#3: German Cabaret in Philadelphia: Interview with Berlin’s Dieter Rita Scholl
#8: Berlin to Broadway, a Musical Voyage with Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill: Cast interview

FILM:
 
#1 of all FILM reviews: Dinner for One: The greatest cult film you’ve never heard of
 
INTERVIEWS:
 
#2 of all INTERVIEWS: “I Can’t Kiss Myself Alone”: The Wit and Retro Style of Berlin’s Max Raabe and His Palast Orchestra.
#3: German Cabaret in Philadelphia: Interview with Berlin’s Dieter Rita Scholl
#4: Theater of the Extreme: Amanda Schoonover looks back on PHAEDRA’S LOVE
#6: MEDEA, A Woman in Crisis: Interview with Jennifer Summerfield

FEATURES:
 
#3 of all FEATURE articles: Dinner for One: The greatest cult film you’ve never heard of
#6: Remembering Joel Markowitz, founding editor of DC Metro Theater Arts

Two of my articles came close to being in the TOP TEN on Phindie ​in 2018:

“Why Wait?" Director Ken Marini talks about Quintessence Theatre’s brilliant Waiting for Godot, and 
“Mentors and protégés exist everywhere”: Interview with playwright Donald Margulies on Collected Stories. 

I was happy when a national publication, The Progressive, published my interview with one of the most committed actors in Philadelphia: Bob Weick, who took Marx in Soho all over Britain and the US in celebration of Karl Marx's 200th birthday.

​I also appreciated Broad Street Review opening its doors for Meg Saligman and Brian Sanders’ JUNK in their presentation of ‘FIGMAGO’ Through the looking glass. 

Most of these entries first appeared in the end of the year ranking of the 10 most popular articles
​on Phindie​ on December 30, 2018. 

​Philadelphia prepared itself for the first snow storm this season. Within minutes, the large Buddha in my garden looked like Santa Claus and the life-sized sculpture of a young centurion looked like one of the wise men who had aged before his time. One news flash after another warned about accidents, especially with a long downpour of rain afterwards.

One of the secrets of the Walnut Street Theatre success story

I had hoped that the Walnut Street Theatre would reschedule its opening of its Studio 3 production of WINTER WONDERETTES, directed by Richard Parison. At 5:43 PM, 107 minutes before curtain time, I received this email from AnnaBeth Crittenden, the new press person at WST: “It’s Snowing Outside and WINTER WONDERETTES Opens Tonight”.

That update reminded me of a conversation I had with Denise Daher Hodgson, the former chair of the board of directors. She told me how, a few years ago, when there was a really bad snow storm, she and the entire WST board called every single ticket holder to let them know how much they appreciate their support and that the show was still on.

Such commitment from everybody, including the board of directors, explains part of the reason why the Walnut has the world’s largest subscriber base and plays to mostly sold-out performances night after night, matinee after matinee—rain or shine, or Philly snow and sleet.

Frankly, I didn’t want to brave the weather, but after that email, I didn’t want to ask for a rain check. As I didn’t trust the roads with my car, I walked 10 minutes toward the nearest Septa stop. Big mistake. In both the suburbs and the city, many storm drains were clogged. The trains were delayed, but I managed to make it to the Walnut on time, looking like a madman who had waded into a lake, with my trousers dripping and my shoes squishing because of all the water. I still didn’t want to see the show.

And then the magic of theater took over, making me forget all about my wet and ice-cold feet.

Wacky female barbershop quartet at a wacky store

The brilliant Billy Thompson from California—pianist and vocal director for this show—created the musical backbone to the WINTER WONDERETTES. Sitting at the back of Studio 3 in a cleverly-devised place where furniture, even trees, could be turned into something else within seconds (designed by Colin McIlvaine), the pianist sat behind what looked like an upright piano dressed up with cheap Christmas wrapping—actually a musical wonder machine that created any sound imaginable (enhanced by John Kolbinski’s sound design).

Four ditzy employees at Harper’s Hardware Store in a Midwestern town (talented actors and singers Jenna Pastuszek, Rebecca Robbins, Amanda Jill Robinson, and Kayla Tarpley) dressed to the hilt with sets of the glitziest, most elegantly overdone costumes and shoes (dazzlingly created by Amanda Wolff and enhanced by Robert Perry’s lighting design), went all out to produce their annual holiday party—with the audience cast as the other employees. Yes, squishy shoes or not, we all became part of the most unusual Christmas party ever.

I asked the director, Richard Parison, long-time casting director at the Walnut, former associate artistic director at the Prince Music Theater, and now artistic director for The American Theatre in Hampton, VA, to tell me about the selection process of the delightfully wacky country bumpkins: “The ladies in auditions each brought a unique authenticity to the role. Bernard Havard and I saw each of these [artists] as talented singers, actresses, and comediennes.  The show doesn’t allow itself to be taken too seriously, and audiences will enjoy it only when the actresses do take it seriously. Comedy is hard, but [they] make it look easy.”

Going by the laughter in the audience in scene after scene, the hilarious script by Roger Bean and the work of the director, the actors, and the creative team created a most entertaining evening, with a number of thought-provoking moments. Studio 3 at America’s oldest theater got into the Christmas spirit just in time for Thanksgiving.

Christmas: “In honor of our friends of the Jewish persuasion”

We laughed when one of the lovely ditzies earnestly declared that there was something for everybody:

SUZY: And just by coincidence, I’m wearing blue in honor of our friends of the Jewish persuasion. [SHE looks proudly to the others.] Happy Hanukah! [SHE mispronounces Hanukah as Hanookah. The girls correct her.]

BETTY JEAN, CINDY LOU & MISSY: Happy Hanukah! [THEY form a living menorah]

Studio 3, decorated to the hilt with Christmas paraphernalia, exploded with joyful, sparkling laughter.

In his review of WINTER WONDERETTES—in the 11th Hour Theatre Company production at Theatre Horizonin 2012—theater critic Steve Cohen asked, “Was Santa Claus Jewish?” and listed some of the many Jewish writers or composers of Christmas songs: “Irving Berlin (“White Christmas”), Mel Tormé (“Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire”), Jay Livingston (“Silver Bells”), Johnny Marks (“Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer”) and Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne (“Let It Snow”). He ended his review with a question that some folks with kippahs might ask each other at a Chinese restaurant on Christmas Eve: “Where would the Christmas season be without the chosen people?”

Carving up an old German Christmas tree

Coming from Germany, I was intrigued when one of the employees (the hilarious Amanda Jill Robinson) took apart the old German song “O Tannenbaum” from 1824, with the music going back to a Silesian folk song from the 16th century. “The lyrics do not actually refer to Christmas, or describe a decorated Christmas tree. Instead, they refer to the fir’s evergreen quality as a symbol of constancy and faithfulness,” as my old friend Wiki reported.

The American employee didn’t want to sing the song in German and had to be persuaded—nay, forced—by her three coworkers. She sang it with such disgust that the audience laughed out loud, even though there were moments when, I must admit, I cringed a bit at the old stereotypes of German culture. However, throughout the whole show, these loveable characters made fun of themselves and each other—all part of an evening filled with humor and satire, making fun of and even celebrating human foibles.

I couldn’t think of a more enjoyable evening during the holiday season—German, Jewish, or American, even Chinese!

An Almost Complete History of Lambda Toastmasters
 
In the following chapters I will describe the development of Lambda Toastmasters, club # 4820-30, from its earliest beginning to our First Anniversary Celebration on December 12, 1982. But first, what are some of the impressions gay and non-gay people have of us?
 
“Learn to Speak Up …”
 
The other day I called Mrs. Myra Williams who, together with her husband Harvey, regularly advertises in Chicago’s widely-read The Reader (“Learn to speak up … join Toastmasters.”) Mrs. Williams’ enthusiasm for Toastmasters outdid mine—and that takes some doing! The good lady, not knowing who I was, suddenly lowered her voice a bit and said, “… and do you know, we even have a gay Toastmasters club in Chicago!” “No, really,” I said and cleared my throat, “actually, I’m the president.” It didn’t take Mrs. Williams long to get used to the new situation: “You know,” she said, “we’ve heard a number of nice things about Lambda and I was wondering whether we could visit your club. Perhaps you’ll have something special for us?” We do: Our first anniversary. Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Williams.
 
Lambda at Lambda
 
At a recent reception for the Lambda Resource Center for the Blind we met Paul, a young doctor, who said, “I can’t believe that your club is only one year old. Going by all the news items in Gaylife and Gay Chicago I was convinced that Lambda Toastmasters had been around for quite a number of years. My friends often talk about your organization. It sounds great.”
 
Thank you, Paul. Come and participate; see for yourself.
 
Lambda Wouldn’t Exist Without the Help of the Ayatollah Khomeini
 
I often get asked, “How did a gay chapter of Toastmasters ever get started?” “Because of the Ayatollah Khomeini,” I frequently reply. To be more precise: I was teaching at a Persian university and would probably still live in Iran had it not been for the revolution which forced me out of that land and, eventually, led me to America and this country’s finest organization for communication and leadership skills.
 
“The Arse of the World, Darling!”
 
After travelling and working around half the globe, I ended up teaching at Oklahoma State in Stillwater, Oklahoma—“The arse of the world, darling,” as I had been forewarned by a well-bred English lady. Her point was well taken, with one exception: the Stillwater branch of Toastmasters International. Their weekly meetings turned out to be not only an excellent training ground for communication and leadership skills, but a place of sanity, an island in the sea of the Moral Majority. Yes, learning the ropes of toastmastering can compensate for many losses.
 
A Topic Worse Than The Plague
 
On the day that you have successfully conducted your first meeting, you know that you have become a Toastmaster. But on the day that your fellow Toastmasters tell you that they never had table topics as tough, as challenging, and as moving as the ones that you handed out, you know that you have integrated toastmastering into your system. On that evening in the spring of ’81 when I was Table Topics Master for the first time, I was shaking inwardly because I did not know how my “straight” fellow Toastmasters would react to a topic which to some people is worse than the plague: ho-mo-sex-u-al-i-ty. But try I did.
 
Anita Bryant vs. Civil Rights for Gays
 
“Mary,” I said to our first participant and plucked up all my courage, “you have just heard Anita Bryant sing the Battle Hymn of the Republic and her infamous aria on “queers” ruining the country. Tulsa Television has asked you to present a two minute rebuttal. After you have sung the praise of Toastmasters, you’re talking about the civil rights of gay people.” Mary rose, full of unexpected enthusiasm: “Gay rights,” she said, “are part of our civil rights. I’m proud of our heritage, even if we haven’t always lived up to it. But times are changing, as witnessed by my chance to answer Ms. Bryant …” The club members applauded right there. Had I underestimated my fellow Toastmasters?
 
Homosexuality: Variation or Deviation?
 
A few minutes later I asked Scott, a young biology professor, what he would tell his students about homosexuality: deviation or variation? The man who looked like a redneck blushed for a moment but then delivered an excellent speech: “…and so, as shown by my definitions and my examples the answer is clear: homosexuality is a variation of human sexuality.” I couldn’t believe it; the applause wouldn’t end.
 
“I Believe in Equality, But …”
 
Well, everything went well, including a fine speech on “If my daughter had a lesbian friend,” until the club president got up to tell us in all seriousness that he would veto any attempt of the gay and lesbian students at OSU to start their own support group: “I believe in equality,” he said, “but most American students are too young and too immature to decide about their sexuality.” I asked him afterwards about his age and that of his wife when they got married at college, and about the age of most Americans when they are asked to risk their life during a war. “That’s all quite different,” he said.
 
God and Gays
 
Cooper, our youngest member, won the table topics trophy that night for his moving speech on “God and Gays.” At the end of our Toastmasters meeting, nobody wanted to go home right away. And during the following days, several members called me to tell me of their relatives and friends who were gay. I hadn’t come out, but, at least, I had made a number of new friends.
 
“My Gay Brother—The Most Loving Person I Know”
 
Two weeks later, Barbara, my favorite Toastmaster, gave her manual speech on her gay brother in New York: “He’s the most loving person I know, but he’s also a hard working American citizen—like you, and a tax-payer—like you.” Barbara won the speech contest that night and I began to long for the day on which I could speak freely about any subject in the world.
 
That Moment, the Idea of Lambda Toastmasters was conceived.
 
Thank you, Oklahoma.
 
Lambda at Discovery ‘81
 
A few months later, in the summer of ’81, I moved to Chicago. As soon as I had discovered the Williams’ ad in the Reader, I called them and asked for information. Slowly, the idea of a gay-oriented Toastmasters club began to grow in my mind. In the fall, I presented a workshop at the Discovery ’81 conference (“Gay life in Europe, Asia, and America—How to communicate better”) and told the participants about a gay-oriented Toastmasters group. The response was excellent and very promising.
 
Lambda at the Chicago Toastmasters Fall Conference ‘81
 
At around the same time, Karen Dowler of Chicago Toastmasters called me (the Williams connection) to ask about my joining a Chicago-based Toastmasters club. “I’d love to,” I heard myself say, “provided it’s gay.” I then shared with Karen my ideas about founding a new chapter; she promised to discuss it with the governor and the leading lights in Toastmasters and to contact me to tell me of their response.

Shortly thereafter I received an invitation to attend the Toastmasters conference. I never found out what exactly went on before the decision was made to invite me, but all I can say is that I was treated very well. I even received an invitation for the recognition luncheon. Everybody at my table wanted to know what type of a club I was representing. “The club” didn’t even exist yet! All there was of that club happened to sit at the dinner table. I felt honored yet uncomfortable for the fact that I had to change my name to “Martin Thomas”—for security reasons. Otherwise, I loved being amongst my fellow Toastmasters.
 
“When Can We Start Lambda, Martin?”
 
Of the many wonderful people at the conference, I particularly remember Dick Storer, our former International Director, and his unashamed enthusiasm for helping in the establishment of a predominantly gay Toastmasters club: “When can we start Lambda, Martin?” he asked and would have liked it the most if I could have started the next day. Actually, I did, but things went differently from the way I had planned them. Someone important said to me, “We can’t ask Dick Storer to help. He’s too enthusiastic.” I was too inexperienced and in no position to reply. But if ever I were to get into a similar situation, I would always ask for the advice and active assistance of the Dick Storers of this world, the enthusiasts who actually deliver the goods.
 
November 22, 1981: Lambda’s Preliminary Meeting at Gay Horizons
 
I had made several hundred telephone calls within the gay and lesbian community—sometimes speaking to the same people several times over a period of time—until I had created enough interest to call for a preliminary meeting. Ma Bell was in its heydays. My friends responded enthusiastically, and the day after the Toastmasters conference the meeting took place at Gay Horizons. They didn’t have enough chairs for all the participants. In short, the meeting was a roaring success, what with all the mini-workshops and the fun. I was convinced that everybody was going to join Toastmasters that very night.
 
Disaster, or: The Influence of Right-Wing Homophobes?
 
And then disaster struck. No sooner had I handed out the official Toastmasters pamphlets, when one participant discovered names and photographs of some American business men and millionaires whose apparent right-wing and anti-gay attitudes had led to a lot of injustice in the past (Coors et al.). Within seconds, I found myself confronted by a critical audience: Was I misleading them? Was I getting the gay community involved with a professional John Birch society? Besides, where was our membership money going to go? Would it help to pay for further publicity which featured “right-wing exploiters”?
 
Toastmasters Non-Political and Non-Religious?
 
I saw the Lambda baby die during its delivery. Frankly, I felt like almost giving up, but Toastmasters never give up when they believe in a worthwhile project. And so I struggled on, explained that we were neither a political nor a religious organization, although I had my own doubts: why does Toastmasters International feature mainly personalities which reinforce a very conservative image, to say the least? Why do many clubs start or end their meetings with a prayer and the pledge of allegiance to the American flag—clearly two very obvious political/religious statements?

In short, what had started as the greatest club-initiation-success-story in the annals of Toastmasters International turned out to be a rather difficult and even painful process. But I promised the 20 potential Toastmasters that I would check out all the facts and that Lambda would be as good a club as the members that joined it.
 
The First Few Lambda Apostles
 
And join they did: The first one was Adriel from Gary, Indiana. I walked home that night with his check for Toastmasters in my pocket, finally convinced that Lambda would come to live. During the next few days the mailman brought it in the checks of Patrick, Hubert, Carl, and Jim. And with it, the baby was making noises: always a good sign.
 
December 6, 1981: First Official Lambda Toastmasters Meeting
 
On the first Sunday in December ’81, the first official Lambda Toastmasters meeting took place at the Good Shepherd Parish/MCC, a branch of the world’s largest gay church and our home ever since. I conducted the first meeting together with Karen Dowler: I as Toastmaster, she as general evaluator, and both of us together as table topics masters.
 
“Hearing a Different Drummer”
 
The first speaker was asked to talk for two minutes about Thoreau’s famous quotation: “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.” Maybe I should have chosen a less symbolically “appropriate” topic. At any rate, our first volunteer froze and sat down. I felt terrible, in spite of all the applause which we gave him as a sort of consolation prize; I realized that it wasn’t easy to start a club from scratch.

​Fortunately, the rest of the meeting went smoothly; not that people would wait behind the lectern for the Toastmaster; not that people would shake hands or go in for eye contact, voice variety, etc. etc. But so what? This, our first meeting, with all its shortcomings, was like a baby learning to crawl from one side of the room to the other. But move it did, our Lambda kid.
 
“Join the Successful People”—Lambda’s First Article in GayLife
 
At the same time, Bill Williams, the editor of GayLife, wrote a wonderful article about us, called “Join the Successful People” (Dec. 4, 1981). It covered almost a whole page, including an attractive illustration, introducing Toastmasters to the gay and lesbian community for the first time. In addition, I placed ads in both GayLife and Gay Chicago which ran for many months, initially with my own telephone number and, a few months later, with Hubert’s. From the very beginning the phone wouldn’t stop running: “Could you tell me more about your workshops?”
 
Lambda at Officers Training at Sears Towers
 
Although we were too young to have had elections, we were invited to send our officers to the annual Toastmasters training session.  Of the first six members, five actually showed up: each one an officer from that moment onward. As it turned out, we had one of the largest teams at the training session, but we kept as low a profile as possible. Everybody treated us nicely, and afterwards we celebrated the first public appearance of a gay Toastmasters group with champagne and X-mas cookies at my apartment. We reported on the many suggestions from our respective workshops and brainstormed relevant Lambda topics: how to get more publicity, how to present useful workshops, but above all, how to get more members and, as the ultimate goal, how to get chartered.
 
Membership Growth, Paperwork, and X-mas 1981
 
Making Illinois Bell richer by calling non-stop paid off: at almost every meeting we welcomed new members and guests. And with it came an avalanche of paperwork. Thanks to Hubert’s organizational talents, things went smoothly. Jim invited us to his house to celebrate our first success, to hold our board meetings and to discuss possible charter dates while decorating his X-mas tree.
 
Lambda and the Coldest Day in Recorded Chicago History
 
After two meetings with us, Karen Dowler decided not to return any more. I saw myself faced with the task of raising the Lambda kid all by myself. Looking back, I am grateful to all those members who attended our meetings regularly every second and fourth Sunday afternoon from 2:30–5, including those like Patrick and Carl who were so enthusiastic about our Toastmasters sessions that they insisted we even meet on the day on which Chicago came to a standstill. Yes, I am proud of all you regulars. As it turned out, we never missed any other meeting.
 
The Lambda Rocket, or: How to Encourage Prospective Members
 
Spring arrived and with it the deadline for our charter application. According to the rules of Toastmasters International, we had to have at least 20 paid-up members before we could even apply for a charter. But that’s easier said than done, especially when your annual membership fee is $60.00. To encourage prospective members, we sent out two rocket letters with the number of paid-up members written on its body and the offer to join us for half the price for a six months trial period.

That special offer, together with regular telephone calls and a first-class program every second week, achieved the necessary results. We managed to sign up 23 members and sent our money and our application to Toastmasters headquarters in Santa Ana, California, anxious to know whether we would get accepted. After all, we knew that everybody at headquarters knew that we were a somewhat unusual club.
 
April 26, 1982: Toastmasters International Charters Lambda
 
Our group had become a great success in the gay community, thanks to our constant publicity and our programs, including workshops on assertiveness training, procrastination and time management, and interpersonal skills, but there was no response from Toastmasters headquarters. I was determined to continue my work with Lambda, even if it would not get accepted by Santa Ana. Some of us even developed emergency plans: What if ...?

Finally, tired of waiting, I simply called California. “Oh, yes,” said a woman, “your club has been chartered on April 26. Your club number? Let me see—4820-30. Someone is just lettering your official charter.” That day was probably one of the most exuberant in my life: having managed to convince a large international organization that a gay and lesbian chapter would be an asset to them.

Word spread in Chicago like wildfire: Lambda Toastmasters had been officially chartered (and beaten Los Angeles, San Francisco, and New York). I am proud of Toastmasters International: they are way ahead of Rotary International, Lyons International … organizations which still bar women from membership, let alone gay and lesbian chapters.
 
Preparations for the Celebration of Celebrations
 
We were fortunate in having Dr. Dan Henderson as the chairman for our charter committee; he set up 399 subcommittees (or were there 4,711?) and made numerous invaluable suggestions. Hubert and I, together with Earl and the majority of our club members, helped Dan in bringing about what we considered to be the best of both worlds: the best of Toastmasters and the best of the gay community.

With a flow chart which took into consideration details as minute as the lighting over the piano and the type of print on the name tags for our guests, we tried to get at least some control of the uncontrollable. In the process, which stretched over many weeks, tempers flew, personalities clashed, threats of resignation outdid the intake of new members, but, lo and behold, the event of events finally did take place.
 
June 19, 1982: Lambda Toastmasters Charter Celebration
 
It so happened that our event coincided with Gay Pride Week. “Lambda Toastmaster Charter Celebration—coat and tie,” I read on numerous posters outside restaurants in Newtown; the same was true of GayLife and particularly Gay Chicago. It dawned on me that, apart from the Windy City Gay Chorus, we’re probably the only group in our community which always dresses professionally. When I arrived at the Bismarck Hotel in downtown Chicago, way ahead of time, I was greeted by live music from Tom H., one of the first members. Earl’s dinner jacket together with his welcome smile, the fresh flower bouquets on the table (one of his presents to us), the dimmed lights, and, above all, the air of excitement and expectation made me realize that my Lambda Toastmasters, when working together, outdid any group of professionals that I had come across in a voluntary organization.
 
But how would our guests from Toastmasters International react? And what would the many representatives of the gay community say?
 
“One of the Happiest Days in Our Life”
 
From the moment Lou Kiriazis and his wife walked in and greeted our parents who were sitting together with their Lambda sons at a special table of honor, I knew that we would experience a very harmonious evening. And when the head of Gay Horizons and the editor of GayLife began to converse with Sherry Sala, our governor, I felt mightily relieved. The two families had come together, at long last, to celebrate the union by chartering Lambda Toastmasters, the world’s first gay and lesbian Toastmasters club.

When the governor officially handed over the charter to me, I felt like jumping to the ceiling with joy (but that you reserve for your talk on, say, body language.) And when all 75 participants stood together and toasted, then held hands to say “Guten Apetit” before eating their dinner (to the music of Tom H., who probably went hungry that night)—gays and non-gays peacefully sitting together and communicating—I pinched myself secretly: had my dream really come true?

After several interesting speeches, including one by Ron Eheman, the lawyer and GayLife columnist, his colleague (in both capacities) and our dear friend, Paul R. Goldman, and Bill Kelley who did an excellent job in representing Chuck Renslow, and after a moving program by fellow Toastmasters (“Guess who’s coming to dinner—Famous gays and lesbians in history”) and a surprise speech by Terry Gorman, the director of the Lambda Resource Center for the Blind—somewhere in the middle of the performance of Garry Jones’ Blackstreet USA Puppet Theatre and the Windy City Gay Chorus’ concert—I realized that, yes, the union had taken place.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everybody who has contributed to this beautiful and historic event by quoting Lou Kiriazis, our International Director and Toastmaster of 14 years’ standing: “We’ve been to many charter celebrations but none could even be compared to yours. Your professionalism and your kindness overwhelmed us. It was one of the happiest days in our life.”
 
Lambda Newsletter
 
Earl, our editor, managed to get the first issue of our new newsletter out on time for the charter celebration and has kept producing one monthly issue ever since. A selection of the many different subjects reflects our development:

Famous Gays and Lesbians at Maturity; Hall of Fame: Lambda Rewards for Outstanding Achievements to Toastmasters and Leaders in the Gay Community; Griping Session; Regular Maturity support; Goldman and Renslow fellowships; Lambda Workshops at Discovery ’82; Lambda at Toastmasters Fall ’82 Conference; Lambda at Third Annual Gay Arts Festival; Lambda buddy system; Quotes from our visitors; Material on Lambda in America’s largest gay paper (The Advocate #356); Election for 1983 Lambda president and board members; and, for the Dec. 12 issue, an anniversary special: “Lambda Dialogue—Things which one usually doesn’t say.”

Again, many thanks to Earl (and Hubert) and to all those people who have helped with the newsletter, if only by creating Lambda Toastmasters news.
 
Paul R. Goldman & Chuck Renslow Fellowships
 
Two of the most active and influential people in Chicago’s gay world are attorney Paul R. Goldman, founder and president of Maturity, and GayLife publisher Chuck Renslow, gay rights activist, and owner of some of the most famous gay establishments (Goldcoast, Man’s Country). After I had successfully obtained a free vacation for two at Big Ruby’s in Florida (won by Adriel) and at the Saugatuck Lodges in Michigan (won by Chuck Renslow’s representative Bill Kelley), I tried to convince both Paul Goldman and Chuck Renslow of the importance of financing gays and lesbians to improve their communication and leadership skills and to pass them on to members of their own gay churches, synagogues, clubs, libraries, or clinics. Both Paul and Chuck agreed immediately.

In order to discuss the details, I tried to get through to the famous Renslow for many weeks—in vain. My letters were not answered, my calls were not returned—yet the charter celebration was about to take place and with it the announcement of the fellowships. In my desperation I tried a daring act of communication: I called his office and, when told for the umpteenth time that Mr. Renslow was in a conference (which, no doubt, he was), I said to the secretary in a stern voice, “This is the German ambassador. I have to speak to Mr. Renslow at once.” A few seconds later, the King of gay Chicago came on the line and agreed immediately to all the requests and details: the fellowships were secured. I have never found out whether Chuck Renslow was more puzzled by my chutzpah to ask for such an expensive gift or puzzled by my ambassadorial daring. At any rate, we received our ten fellowships on time. Thank you both, Chuck and Paul.
 
The First Three Fellowship Recipients
 
The first three fellowship recipients have become valuable club members: Sharon Davis, co-chair of Northwestern University’s Gay and Lesbian Alliance; Carl Offutt, active member of Dignity (the Roman Catholic gay group) and Black and White Men Together; and Tom M., a young lawyer and member of the Newtown Writers Group. In the future, we will continue to select carefully the recipients, give them our Toastmasters training, and hope that they will apply their skills both in their own life and in their respective community organizations.
 
Women and Lambda
 
Elaine was the first woman ever to participate in our programs; later, Eleonore, Britt, Arneda, Marge, and Harriet joined us. We were delighted. Unfortunately, most women did not stay for long, perhaps because they hardly ever came on the same day and probably felt isolated—a minority within a minority. However, when Faith joined, we all had great hopes that she would help to build up the number of women in Lambda.

​Faith was probably one of the most loved members, whose enthusiasm for our club was infectious: she played Sappho at our charter celebration without being even a club member at that time, she represented us at the Toastmasters training session for new Toastmasters without having a portfolio, and she created a dialogue amongst both men and women which represented the best in Lambda Toastmasters. Unfortunately, she moved to Minneapolis. Let’s think harder of how we can make our meetings more attractive to women in our community.
 
From the Present to the Future
 
The last paragraph already indicates that we have some way to go before we are fully integrated. But, a good beginning has been made. The same goes for our programs. I believe them to be amongst the best in Toastmasters, especially after reading 44 essays by my students at UIC who had visited two different Toastmasters clubs each. Our mentor and friend, Jim McNitt, shared with me the other day what he had told Toastmasters: “Lambda is as good a club as any. They’re doing a fine job.” Thank you, Jim. I am delighted that we have found Jim Merrill who has been elected to serve as the new president in 1983, together with a dynamic new board, all of whom have promised to help the Lambda kid to grow from adolescence to adulthood.
 
Dialogue, Instead of a Final Farewell
 
Before this short history turns into book length—it easily could, just look at the many minutes of our board meetings, let alone the best and the worst which happened and went unreported—I’d like to come to a close by saying that my experiences with Toastmasters and with the gay community in America have opened my eyes to some of the most beautiful aspects of human interaction. For that I’m grateful. But they have also made me aware of some of the traps which await anybody who’s dealing with a large group of people. I have learned a lot. For that, too, I’m grateful. This past year, the year of Lambda, has presented me with more friends than ever before, but also with a few extra gray hairs; I’ve experienced more joy than before, but also more unexpected pain. But that’s life.
 
Sappho & Plato: Lambda Heritage 2500 Years Old
 
Dear Lambda, our “baby,” now that you’ve come of age let me explain your heritage. It dates back 2500 years when all citizens of Athens were required to develop their oratory skills in order to better serve the community—a kind of obligatory Toastmasters society for all adults. Plato, the philosopher who had stressed the search for truth rather than the mere technical approach to the persuasive aspect of rhetoric, and Sappho, the famous poet from the island of Lesbos who taught her art to “a group of maiden to whom she was devotedly attached” (Funk Wagnalls New Encyclopedia 21:109), are amongst the first people in recorded history who have contributed to our gay and lesbian heritage and awareness.
 
Lambda: From Greek Letter to International Symbol
 
Lambda, the eleventh letter of the Greek alphabet, stands for love, learning, liberation, and leadership. During the last few years, the international gay and lesbian community has adopted the name Lambda as a significant symbol which links us with all gay and lesbian people in the past, in spite of all the historic documents which were either manipulated, destroyed, or never written in the first place. Lambda stands for gay and lesbian sensitivity and awareness, and so, dear Lambda kid, carry your name proudly, for you represent the best of both worlds.
 
From Lambda to Stonewall and Triangle Toastmasters?
 
In the years to come, dear Lambda, you might even grow and mature in such a way that you want to spawn and raise your own children: Toastmasters clubs which you might want to call Triangle, or Stonewall, or. . . Remember, the future is yours!
 
Happy Birthday, Dear Lambda
 
I hope that all of you at Lambda Toastmasters and you, our gay and non-gay friends, will continue to give us your support. We need you to grow. We need you to become the club we really would like to be: not the best or the biggest, but a Toastmasters club which works consistently, professionally, and effectively, made up of members who care and who show an active commitment to Toastmasters and the communication and leadership program—a club which is open to all people who believe in equality and growth through dialogue. Once more, many thanks to all of you who cared for the growth and development of our kid. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR LAMBDA.
 
I Will Always Remember
 
I have been honored to serve you as the founder and first president of Lambda Toastmasters. I will always remember this year, and I will always remember and be grateful for your encouragement and your support.
 
With all my love,
Martin Thomas [my pseudonym at the time] 

By “event,” I employ the Passover question: “Why is this night different from all other nights?” In other words, why is the story that’s being told happening tonight? What was happening yesterday? How would it differ if it began the day after? The stakes must be high for the characters in the play for sparks to fly.

Eger: Which plays that show characters with “sparks flying” inspired you the most?

Margulies: My playwriting curriculum contains plays I read and was inspired by when I was becoming a playwright—plays like Betrayal, Glengarry Glen Ross, Top Girls, Mad Forest, Six Degrees of Separation, Fires in the Mirror, Aunt Dan and Lemon, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and Our Town.
​
Eger: I have seen many performances of COLLECTED STORIES over the years. Two of the most powerful ones featured the late Lynn Redgrave as Professor Ruth Steiner and Karina Mackenzie as her protégée (at the Grand Opera in Wilmington, DE). I also witnessed an even more brutal performance by Renee Weisband as the aging professor and Kirsten Quinn as her enthusiastic graduate student and assistant at Walnut Street Theatre’s Studio 5.

Could you describe some of the most striking and creative productions of COLLECTED STORIES that you have seen?

Margulies: I regret that I didn’t get to see Lynn Redgrave’s performance. I met her only once, a short time before her death, and she told me that playing Ruth was one of the highlights of her career.
​
I have been honored by the great actresses who have taken Ruth on, starting with Kandis Chappell, who was present at the play’s creation at the Sundance Playwrights’ Institute in 1995, and later did the premiere at South Coast Rep (SCR), and at least two other regional productions before returning to SCR for the 20th anniversary production; Maria Tucci (opposite Debra Messing) and Uta Hagen, who starred in off-Broadway productions; Helen Mirren was in it on the West End with Anne-Marie Duff; Stockard Channing and Laura Benanti did a marvelous one-night benefit reading in New York; and Linda Lavin first played Ruth at the Geffen, on PBS, at a small theater in North Carolina, and finally on Broadway, in 2010, opposite Sarah Paulson.

Eger: Do you try to see all productions of COLLECTED STORIES? 

Margulies: I don’t make a habit of seeing productions of my plays beyond their premieres, so aside from the ones listed above, I haven’t seen too many of them. I was intrigued when I learned that a Berlin production was performed in someone’s living room, and that a recent reading in New York took place in the Rare Books Room at the Strand Book Store—those I would have liked to have seen.

Eger: You once wrote, “I think COLLECTED STORIES has traveled well because its themes cross cultures. Mentors and protégés exist everywhere.” Into how many languages has your extraordinary drama been translated, and how was it received overseas? Similarly, how many productions have taken place in North America and overseas?
​
Margulies: I don’t know the exact number of productions in regional and nonprofessional theaters across the United States, but I would guess dozens—over a hundred in the U.S. in the past eight years. I am aware of foreign-language productions taking place in France, Germany, Denmark, Japan, Italy, Bulgaria, Romania, Israel, Brazil, Belgium, and Spain. It’s also been done in Australia, Canada, and the U.K.

Eger: What do you think is the ultimate secret of the success of this shocking, yet profoundly moving play?

Margulies: Ruth and Lisa may be teacher and student, but theirs is also an intense surrogate mother-daughter relationship; parents get old as children grow and succeed them. It’s a timeless story, really.

Eger: In spite of any social restraints—real or perceived—have you found that over the course of time you have become increasingly willing to tackle sensitive subjects?

Margulies: Readers and observers of my work may be better equipped to make that judgment because I’m not aware of approaching my work any differently. I don’t set out to write political plays, but am often told that my plays are political. I just try to tell the truth. If that’s political, then I’m a political writer.

Eger: With more experience and plays under your belt, has writing become any easier? Have audiences and critics impacted your way of writing and seeing your work?
​
Margulies: When I was just starting out as a writer, I used to imagine that time and experience would make writing come more naturally, that it wouldn’t always feel like, well, work. Instead, I’ve discovered that it hasn’t gotten any easier; the expectations that accompany honors and a growing audience make writing more difficult. There are more eyes on you. People are eager to see what you come up with next. Critics compare your work and rank them.

Eger: I loved your admission, “My writing process is fitful.”

Margulies: It can take me four years between plays, during which I’m busy with teaching, productions, and film projects, even if I don’t immediately have a new play in the works. I’m not the kind of playwright who has ten play ideas sitting in a file. My inspiration comes one play at a time; I know it when I feel it, and I can’t fake it.

When my latest play, The Country House, was on Broadway, I accepted a fellowship from Nashville Repertory’s Ingram New Works Festival because I thought it would give me the impetus to start a new play. It did. I began exploring the relationship between estranged adult brothers, in Long Lost.

Like most of my work, it began with snippets of dialogue, chunks of monologues, and over-writing. I don’t know where I’m going when I start out, only that I have a visceral feeling that something is indeed there and I have to locate it. I can only find it by writing; sometimes the writing isn’t toward it but around it or nowhere near it.

Eger: What are you working on these days—fitfully or otherwise?

Margulies: I don’t always start at the beginning. I start wherever I think my characters will have the most interesting things to say. A structure begins to emerge from the pages; I rarely know how a play is shaped when I’m starting out. I like staying busy, so I always have more than one project in the works, each at a different stage of development.

While doing press for the film, The End of the Tour—which I adapted from Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip With David Foster Wallace by David Lipsky—it’s difficult to concentrate on much else.
Long Lost has been dormant for weeks but tugs at me incessantly; I’m writing the book for a musical based on Father of the Bride, for Disney Theatricals, while researching a new screenplay, this one based on Kevin Birmingham’s book, The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle For James Joyce’s Ulysses, and I will soon begin research for a historical miniseries.
Now I’m getting anxious thinking about all the work I have to do.

Eger: I’m sure I’m not the only one who can’t wait for your next play—anxious or non-anxious.

​The folk opera A Night in the Old Marketplace had its world premiere at Philadelphia’s Prince Music Theater. Based on Isaac Leib Peretz’s Bei Nakht Oyfn Altn Mark, the play presents poetic images in a dream-like atmosphere where a multitude of different characters appear onstage. 

According to Glen Berger, who wrote the book and lyrics for Marketplace, “Peretz’s original play is filled to brimming with moving, startling poetry, but is lacking in anything that could be called ‘plot’.” Not wanting to lose the poetry of the play, he and composer Frank London and director Alexandra Aron (who conceptualized the project), “married it to music, with many of Peretz’s original lines either directly incorporated into song or inspiring the songs.” 

Berger’s editing of Peretz’s language allowed for one unusual statement after another, for example, “he will drown in a spoonful of water,” turning the old marketplace into a landscape of hell, and stripping the original Yiddish text down to its essence while trying to translate old joys and fears into our own hopeful, though angst-ridden times. 

The creative team—Aron, Berger, and London—tried to stay true to the absurdist view of Jewish life that Peretz had presented, while at the same time incorporating it into a modern medium where Eastern European klezmer music blends with American jazz. 

Peretz presented an almost Gordian Knot for the New York-based theatre artists who recognized that to make this old play come alive again, they had to cut through the many hundreds of figures, apparitions, and even animals that appeared in Peretz’s original Yiddish manuscript. 

The resulting work, part musical, part folk opera, looked and felt like a Vaudevillian mosaic, created out of the “seemingly unproduceable vision in verse,” which brought to the stage what Aron calls “a fevered dreamscape” that showed the “contradictory impulses toward Jewish culture” in a writer “whose heart was devoted to the religious world of the shtetl, despite all of its seemingly backward mores.” To create some kind of coherence, the team foregrounded three protagonists: the Recluse, the passed-over bridegroom Nosn, and the wedding jester Badkhn, who planned rebellion in Russian-dominated Poland—ten years before the October Revolution of 1917—raising his fist against "God or whoever is running this universe." 

The plot centers on the transformation of a wealthy, ugly old man (Guil Fisher) who marries a beautiful young woman (Deborah Grausman) who pines for a handsome young fellow (the lively Steven Rattazzi), but for economic reasons gets forced to put her family over her feelings. After she commits suicide by drowning in a well at the marketplace of the little shtetl, the old husband turns into a recluse, making him act like the half brother of Moses in a mental desert and the blinded King Lear in a Polish shtetl. 

The mad Badkhn (the stunning Ray Wills) adds to the play’s coherence. His extraordinary wide-range presented a kind of visual vox populi, with as many facial expressions as characters in the original Peretz play, and a voice so alluring that he even managed to get the audience to sing along. 

With these eccentric characters, plus a very tall, attractive young woman Gargoyle (the beautifully voiced Charlotte Cohn), made to look like a pre-op transvestite with platform-heeled boots racing, almost flying, across the stage, and playing tricks on the main characters, some theatre-goers may misread this musical as a campy Halloween entertainment. 

However, the Gargoyle acted as one of the prime movers in bringing out the multi-layered character of this play where past, present, and future come together as frighteningly as in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, but without Dickens’ neat and logical plot. Rather, the viewers are drawn into a wild, medieval, Jewish Totentanz—a modern Danse Macabre—uniting everyone, the living and the dead alike. 

Tine Kindermann and Mor Erlich’s brilliant stop motion animations flashed onto a backdrop above a cemetery (designed by Lauren Helpern), making old woodcuts come alive, and enhancing the eerie nature of a production in which a headless (Melinda Blake) and a tongueless (Mathew Burrow) character added to the surreal, dream-like, nightmarish atmosphere. 

Tyler Micoleau’s lighting ran a red beam across the stage like curdled blood when the dead were being called from the grave, all supported by Nick Kourtides’ electrifying sound design. The costumes by Levi Okunov, the 22-year old Hassidic wunderkind fashion designer from New York City, might have stunned on a catwalk in Paris, but here they varied between illuminating the dream-like quality of the play and giving design historians a reason to cringe. 

Lauren Helpern’s scenic design seemed plain in contrast to the rich subject matter this play explored, although when the gates to the cemetery opened, the stage came alive, as it did beautifully when a white chuppah flowed from above like a blessing with the young couple walking right underneath it. Recent Barrymore winner Karen Getz’s choreography tried to blend traditional Jewish dances with modern elements, but only managed to create embarrassing, awkward movements, particularly when the four Yashiva students—two “Yashiva boys” and two bearded “Yahiva girls” dressed like men with stuck on beards—were prancing across the stage. 

To appreciate this unusual musical, one has to accept melodrama as part of the dream-like convention that was popular in 19th C. drama, with young women dying and spirits bringing them back to the stage. To understand this play, one has to see the wider picture, namely, the attempt to create a whole new vision of life, however fantastic, and I admire the Prince Music Theater for their courage to once again open their season with an ambitious new work. 

In a way, experiencing A Night in the Old Marketplace feels like seeing Dadaism having reached a Polish shtetl. This musical unearthed a wide-range of human experiences, including doubting God, conflicted feelings about “the revolution,” a belief in the supernatural, and a chance for redemption that Job, the torn soul in the most difficult part of the Bible, experienced, except that the Jobs in this play are down-to-earth, small-village folks who rise and fall with their feelings and experiences for the entire uninterrupted 90 minutes of the play. 

The scene with the smashed wedding glass presents perhaps one of the most symbolic parts of the play. Nosn, once a hopeful young bridegroom who got deprived of his bride, now an aging bachelor, permanently carries around a red bag with the wedding shards of his rival—a daily reminder of his defeat and his guilty memory of his part in the premature death of his bride. However, at the end, in the wedding with the dead, the Badkhn transforms those splinters and shards of the past into a new glass and holds it up for all to see: a moment where hope wins over guilt and even death.
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A Night in the Old Marketplace
at Philadelphia’s Prince Music Theater 
September 28 - October 21 2007 
Book and Lyrics by Glen Berger 
Music by Frank London 
Conceived by Alexandra Aron 
Inspired by I.L. Peretz

This review was originally published by All About Jewish Theatre, Tel Aviv, Israel, September 2007. Available via the Wayback Machine.