Louis Rose Society Newsletter #5
April 3, 2007
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LRS Newsletter No. 5
Jewish-interest
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Louis Rose Society Newsletter #5 April 3, 2007 |
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Jewish-interest
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Louis Rose Society Newsletter No. 5
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
It’s amazing to me how certain things seem to come in pairs. I’ll forego the usual hand and glove, peas in a pod, etc. example and jump right to the point. Playwright Paula Vogel, whose plays are controversial to say the least, and her works are shown few and far between because of the risky nature of their content (we did see her How I Learned to Drive at the Rep. in 1998 and The Mineola Twins at Diversionary in 200, but others were done in the ‘90’s, so our track record for her works is scattered) but now, voila, two of her plays are on local stages, playing simultaneously at opposite ends of the county. And the theatres mounting these plays cater to two very different audiences.
Diversionary Theatre in Hillcrest whose artistic director is Dan Hirsch and
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in free
concert and lecture
Liebowitz emerged as one of California’s leading wind soloists after winning the U.S. State Department/Kennedy Center Artistic Ambassador Competition in 1997. Among the last of the classical musicians to win the award, she has since traveled to Latin America once a year to perform and teach. Critically acclaimed tours have taken Liebowitz from Guatemala to Chile, including a special invitation to attend El Salvador’s Third Annual Peace Festival as the U.S. representative. Under the auspices of American embassies, she travels to countries not generally frequented by American artists to present concerts, master classes, lectures and recitals at conservatories, theaters and universities. Liebowitz performs at embassies and offers career development training to emerging artists.
Liebowitz also works as a fundraiser for the School of Music and Dance at
San Diego State University, where she attracts financial gifts to help
promote the training of young musicians. She finds the intersection between
art and philanthropy very satisfying. According to Liebowitz, “The generous
contributions people make to these programs help students make the
transition from academic training to professional careers.” JERUSALEM—The non-news is that Michael S. Roth, Class of 1978, has been named the 16th president of Wesleyan University. Halfway through the biography I received from the college was the information that Roth is, " A native of Brooklyn, N.Y., and in the first generation of his family to attend college." When I was admitted as a member of the class of 1960, information like that would have coded an applicant as one of the Jews who might be allowed into the 10 percent quota. When I made the rounds of the fraternities in 1956, three of the organizations indicated that they could not accept non-Christians as full fledged members, but would be pleased if I joined their eating club. The Jewish quota was a topic of occasional discussion and some embarrassment. I recall one teacher who asked if I had knew why Jewish students had higher academic averages than others. He said it came from having to pass through a finer screen in order to gain admission. A decade or so after I graduated, Wesleyan abandoned the quota, and Jewish enrollment surged to over 30 percent of the total. The university recruited other minorities, and ended its exclusion of women. The current catalog lists Jewish and Israeli Studies along with African American Studies, East Asian Studies, Latin American Studies, Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies. It remains possible to study Economics, English, Mathematics, History, Philosophy, and Government. All this is non-news because it looks very much like the rest of American higher education. The Jews have arrived, along with African-Americans, East Asians, Latinos, women, homosexuals and lesbians. A week ago I received a survey from the American Political Science Association's Committee on the Status of Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals, and the Transgendered (LGBT) in the Profession. It asked if I included issues of sexuality in my teaching and research agendas, and if I felt that Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals, and the Transgendered faced any problems in the selection of candidates for admission as students, as recipients of financial grants, or as candidates for faculty positions. Alas, not all is unremarkably open. One of today's e-mails described "the flames of anti-Semitism in France." It described several of the more prominent recent events, and concluded with a call to "boycott France and French products. . . . Boycott their wines and their perfumes. Boycott their clothes and their foodstuffs. Boycott their movies. Definitely boycott their shores." Some may be concerned enough about the French to join a boycott, but there is more to that country than rampaging Arabs and remnants of Vichy. El Al has more than 3 flights a day (excluding Shabbat) from Tel Aviv to Paris or Marseille. Neither Michael Roth nor I boycotted Wesleyan as students, despite what we may have perceived as less than completely welcoming to Jews. There remain problems, and we must be vigilant. Israel is a focus of animosity, but not all is bleak even here. Just yesterday, while changing clothes in the nearby gym, I chatted in Hebrew with two Arab businessmen who I see there frequently. They wished me a pleasant holiday, and indicated that they, too, would not be working as usual during this week. They are part of the Israeli economy, and were beginning a Passover vacation. On the same occasion, I met Uri's father. The little boy who I first encountered when he was a new immigrant in first grade at our children's elementary school would not be home for the holiday. He is serving in one of the army's elite units, making it possible for the rest of us to enjoy ourselves. In the evening we ate and drank to excess while reading and singing about our freedom.
* * On the First night of Passover, Morris sat at the Seder table at one end of the house and Sarah sat at the same table at the other end of the house. That table spanned the entire length of the house from the enclosed sun porch, through the living room, continued on past the dining room to the kitchen. Along both sides sat their grown children, spouses, young grandchildren, and a few stray friends and cousins. Though Morris and Sarah could hardly see one another at either end of the table, the satisfaction of having raised and nurtured this thriving family through the Depression and two World Wars was palpable. Their home was filled with the laughter and chatter of forty-five people. This, however, represented only the immediate family – there were many more. Sarah had six brothers; they had wives, children and grandchildren plus additional cousins, their spouses and children. Since there was simply no room left for one more soul at the family table it was woefully inadequate for the Second night Seder at which every member of the entire extended family was expected. As grandchild number five, I had long since given up tracing the relationship of all my first cousins, second cousins, who was an Aunt, who a Great Aunt or who was a second cousin, twice removed. I just knew they all belonged at that table and so did I. In addition to a large number of people, the family’s most outstanding attribute – and it had many – was organization. We were organized. The basis for this organization was what other family groups called a “cousins club.” Our version was called the Bella Family Circle. “Cousin” was not nearly a broad enough term to encompass all we had to enfold. Great Grandmother Bella had given birth to my grandmother, Sarah, and her six brothers and thus it was her name which they chose to honor. No one in the family owned a home large enough to accommodate a Passover Seder for the entire extended family of approximately eighty people. Or more. So, the Bella Family Circle, which met monthly to attend to many other activities, appointed a committee charged with finding a restaurant with a banquet room large enough to accommodate us. And, of course, it had be kosher, within the financial reach of retired people on fixed incomes as well as young families with children to feed. Finding such a restaurant was not difficult in Philadelphia which had a substantial Jewish community. However, kosher restaurants seemed to be notoriously slovenly possibly assuming that ritual slaughter alone conveyed enough sanctity to carry the food clear through the kitchen to eventual digestion with no further sanitary effort needed along the way. Therefore the problem was finding one clean enough and with food that was capable of being masticated. Even after all that research by the committee, there was one restaurant that instead of washing the dishes only wiped them with a damp rag between the gefilte fish and the salad courses. As an eight year old, I witnessed the dirty deed as I walked down the hall to the bathroom. I mentioned it to my mother, but too late, people were already eating off the - unbeknownst to them - unwashed gefilte fish dishes. Maybe after eating the gefilte fish, topped by chrain (horseradish), they couldn’t tell the difference. Perhaps it even made the salad taste better. Then there was the matter of grease – a lot of it – but we called it “schmaltz” in those days and it was considered a “flavoring.” Some kosher restaurants used it to imitate soup – big white gobs floating about on top of gray water. Occasionally the chicken soup included a bone (it was reassuring to know that a chicken had actually been in the kitchen), applesauce was considered a vegetable, and I don’t recall being able to identify the desert. However the importance of the Seder transcended the deficiencies of the restaurant. The Bella Family Circle Passover Seder was a well performed event – and well rehearsed too. We started rehearsals the previous September and continued during the monthly meetings that were held throughout the year. Uncle Israel, Grandmother Sarah’s oldest brother, the patriarch of the family, was automatically the Family Circle President. Aunt Bessie, because she had once been a Synagogue Sisterhood President was the punctilious Parliamentarian (she was always calling for the “question”) and kept us on the right side of Robert’s Rules of Order. During one (very) brief revolt by the younger family members for power sharing, Uncle Al, the second brother, became president for a year and then we went back to the true leader, Uncle Israel. Aunt Bessie never shared power. Robert’s didn’t allow it. Uncle Israel was our respected leader in every sense but he really came into his own during the Seder Rehearsals. Everyone from the oldest to the very youngest (who was able to speak or squeak) was assigned a part either spoken or sung. Annie (First Cousin -once removed) always sang “Kling Shtandeleh” because her clear alto voice was perfect. Uncle Willie (third in line of succession) sang “Zug Marran” (memorializing the plight of the Marranos) because he gave it the seriousness it deserved. I sang “Ani Mamin” because I had learned it in Hebrew School and no one would have to take the extra time to teach it to me. The youngest boy who could read would ask the Four Questions and the youngest child able to walk in a diaper would open the door (bewildered that no one was there) for the Angel Elijah (while we sang “Elijohu Hanovi”) and everyone watched carefully to see if the wine in the Angel’s cup had diminished by even a single drop! A bevy of children (diaper crowd excluded) were at the ready for the afikomen search. It’s not easy to hide matzoh in the bare catered room in a restaurant. So, we knew it was probably on a window sill behind the drapes along with the departed flies from last summer. But the hidden matzoh was wrapped in a white napkin – so it was all right. When we all sang together there was a blending of the sonorous tones of the Uncles, the tremulous sopranos of the Aunts, the hurried-lets-get-er-done (interspersed with giggles) of the teenagers, the pipings of the younger set and an occasional wail from the youngest for the need of a quick trip to the bathroom. Several babes in carriages slept through it all. They were lucky – no dirty dishes or greasy food for them – just a nice wholesome bottle of formula. The highlight of the evening after all the pre-supper praying was “Half-Time.” Now came the Parade of the Grandfathers and Grandmothers. Each pair took up in arms the latest additions to the family tree, and paraded up and down the length of the large room to cries of “Mazel-tov” and “What a beauty!” “A New Miss America!” “A regular Super-man!” Flushed grandparents and blushing children were intensely gratified. Then came the “introductions.” The Bella Family Circle Passover Seder was the perfect time (if you discount the summer picnic at the lake event) for introducing a potential “intended.” I don’t remember the word “fiancé.” “This is Sidney/Susie, my intended.” More shouts of “mazel-tov” along with engagement ring admiring (scrutinizing) – and either smiles or furtive eye rolls (or both) as the “intended” was welcomed. I’m sure Uncle Israel was already planning what part he/she would get in the next year’s Seder. Half-time ended when Uncle Israel, himself a prime Parader, called everyone to order and the Seder resumed. By then, we were all seated, sated and less than completely serious. It was time for jokes, games, and other unrehearsed nonsense. If Uncle Israel was the patriarch, Grandfather Morris was the fount of fun and laughter. It was impossible to be in his company without both – he couldn’t be without laughter and song for too long a stretch of time. Life was too important to be taken seriously. His very fine musical voice was soon heard singing whatever song was taking the country by storm at the time (Passover notwithstanding). He was the yeast in an evening of unleavening. Finally, all the requisite portions of the Seder complete (and then some) from the stuffiness of the Kosher restaurant (probably heated with a stove that used chicken fat as a fuel), after an evening of singing and laughter, parades, introductions and matzoh hidden on windowsills, we made our Exodus into the cold (often snowy) streets of Philadelphia. Uncle Israel, no doubt, was already planning on how we would rehearse even more intensely next year. Sheila Orysiek is a member of the Dance Critics Association, a critic mentor for DCA, and writes for Ballet.co.uk; Journal of the Dance Critics Association, and Tinnitus Today.
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Arts
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Gray
brought the crowd to its feet for the March 29 preview and will return for
the April 5 preview and the Easter Sunday April 8 matinee.