Yosef Abramowitz’s Burden, Privilege, and Responsibility of Rebellion

By: Katherine Gianni

Before Yosef Abramowitz was a three-time Nobel Peace Prize nominee, an Israeli presidential hopeful, CEO of a major impact investment platform, or named one of CNN’s top six green pioneers worldwide, he was a student in Elie Wiesel’s classroom.  

“I had the good fortune of being Elie Wiesel’s student in 1986, the year he won the Nobel Peace Prize,” Mr. Abramowitz recalled. “The name of the course was the Burden, Privilege and Responsibility of Rebellion. That really worked for me. He had such a strong moral grounding about the necessity to challenge.”

Mr. Abramowitz isn’t afraid to own up to his rebellious side, at least when it comes to creating what he refers to as, “the good kind of trouble.” On Tuesday, April 16, the Jewish educator, human rights activist, and environmentalist returned to his alma mater to speak and share stories with students on topics ranging from his days of chaining himself to Boston University President John Silber’s fence in an act of protest, to how to win today’s climate change battle.

“There was a confluence when I was a student here of two big issues,” Mr. Abramowitz explained. “One was the fight of the freedom of Jews in the former Soviet Union. The other moral issue of the time, and perhaps the greatest moral issue of my generation, was apartheid in South Africa.”

Mr. Abramowitz and his fellow activists’ demands were clear: divestment of all university shares in companies that were profiting from the apartheid. The students organized rallies, made calls to other campuses urging for involvement, partook in hunger strikes, and even took over Mugar Library to spread their message.

“People in the university didn’t appreciate what we were doing,” Mr. Abramowitz explained. “They were like, “Well, what are you students really going to accomplish? What is this really going to do in the world?” Then what happened was Members of Congress started proposing sanctions legislation in response to this, like lots of Members of Congress.”

The Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid Act of 1986 imposed sanctions on South Africa while outlining five preconditions for lifting said sanctions and ending apartheid. President Ronald Reagan vetoed the bill saying he favored “constructive engagement.” But then, Mr. Abramowitz explained, something tipped the scale.

“The only time Reagan’s veto was overturned was in his first term in office at the height of his popularity–it was on the sanctions against South Africa,” he said, smiling. “And that’s what students can do. I can’t say that when we were chaining ourselves to President Silber’s fence we were thinking about overturning Reagan’s veto, but just social movements–creating the wave and catching the wave, is really, really important.”

Mr. Abramowitz continues to ride the wave of activism today as CEO of Energiya Global Capital, a Jerusalem-based impact investment platform that provides returns to investors while furthering Israel’s environmentalism and advancing affordable green power to underserved populations as a fundamental human right. The organization was founded shortly after Mr. Abramowitz, his wife, Susan Silverman (CAS ‘85) and their five children moved over 5,000 miles across the globe from Newton, Massachusetts, to Kibbutz Ketura, Israel, in 2006.

Mr. Abramowitz and his wife, Susan Silverman. Photo courtesy of BU Today.
Mr. Abramowitz pictured with his wife, Susan Silverman. Photo courtesy of BU Today.

“My family and I arrived to the Kibbutz right at sunset. We opened the air conditioned doors and boom we’re hit with this heat that was so disorienting,” Mr. Abramowitz explained. “The sun was just dipping and felt like superman laser beams going “woosh!” burning us to a crisp. At that point I had the thought, “Oh I’m sure the whole place works on solar power.””

Quickly, Mr. Abramowitz discovered that despite Israel being dubbed a “world leader” in solar technology, no one in the region was utilizing its power.

“The response I got was, “oh yeah, Israel’s a world leader in solar technology but no one’s crazy enough to take on the government,”” he explained. “Then I thought…the burden, privilege, and responsibility of rebellion…”

Mr. Abramowitz was crazy enough for the job. He teamed up with his business partners, Ed Hofland and David Rosenblatt, and together the three founded Arava Power Company. In 2011, the organization unveiled Israel’s first solar energy field at Ketura. Energiya Global Capital came next, with a goal of providing clean, sustainable solar energy for 50 million people by 2020.

“If someone could unlock the value, if someone can actually prove that it’s not out of reach, it’s actually doable, if something could change the paradigm, why not us?” he asked. “Why not us?”

A question and answer session followed Mr. Abramowitz’s remarks. A BU senior inquired about his approach to successful activism.

“What were some things that kept you going or helped you succeed during your activism battles and efforts?” she asked.

“Know what your values are,” Mr. Abramowitz answered. “If you believe in them, do something about it. I was privileged to be gifted these very powerful values at a time when they lead to action and world change. I think that’s been lost in this generation because social media make it too easy to like or dislike and you feel like, “Okay, I’ve already weighed in.” You cannot forget about the action.”

To learn more about Mr. Abramowitz, his work, and his hopes for the next generation visit http://www.bu.edu/today/2014/civil-disobedience-a-love-story/.

Enjoying the First Harvest, Celebrating our Freedom, and Caring for All

By: Michael Zank

Passover is the first Jewish holiday I remember. My mother, a German Jew who had survived the war in England and returned to Germany in 1950, took me to a community Seder in the Jewish old-age home in Neustadt/Weinstraße, near our hometown of Bad Dürkheim. The event included sitting at one of the many tables that had been arranged in a large rectangle inside a non-descript hall and listening to a darkly clad rabbi read aloud from a book. We sat right across from the rabbi. The first Hebrew word I caught after a while and remember forever was the most often repeated one: mitzrayim. It also occurred in the variation of mimitzrayim. Mimitzrayim, as I eventually learned, means “out of Egypt.” After the meal, a youth group sang some songs, accompanied by bongo drums.

I am glad that Passover was my first encounter with the Jewish tradition. I have loved it since. When I was a student in Jerusalem, my friend Gavriela, a German convert to Reform Judaism, gathered a motley crew of friends around her living room table for the first Seder I helped conduct. I had studied up by then. I had attended a mock Seder, held in the bowels of the Ratisbonne monastery on Rehov Shmuel Ha-Nagid by the charming Shalom ben Chorin, then a major Jewish German voice in Christian Jewish dialogue, and I had studied the Goldschmidt Haggadah, with its historical commentary. I accrued a collection of facsimile Haggadot with wild ornamentation that indicate what children really did year after year during interminable stretches of reading before dinner. The beauty, care, joy, worry about getting things right, the tastes, the cacophony of voices, the rhythm of the evening, the repetition year after year, all this imprinted Pessach into my DNA as a belated Jew.

IMG_9524
The author in 1984 at a Seder with friends in Heidelberg.

Pessach is now a tradition in my family, though not a simple or straightforward one. We always have Christian friends at our table and the question is always, what is this holiday about? The quick answer is: we celebrate our liberation from slavery in the Exodus from Egypt. The longer answer is that Passover, which coincides with Hag ha-Matzot, the Feast of Unleavened Bread, combines two distinct seasonal traditions, one rooted in the religion of semi-nomadic herdsmen who celebrated the firstlings of their flock, the other rooted in sedentary populations of Canaan, marking the beginning of the barley harvest and the counting of the “Omer,” a fifty-day period, until the beginning of the wheat harvest. Both the firstlings of the flock and the first harvest of the year reflect the fragility of the lives of herdsmen and subsistence farmers in the ancient southern Levant where everything depended on rain falling at the appropriate times. Anyone who has had the chance of seeing the wonders of the Judean desert blooming in early spring understands this dependence of life on the clouds opening their gates at the right time.

What is more difficult to explain to our Christian friends are some of the passages in the traditional Haggadah that reflect centuries of Jewish pain and persecution. The call for God to “pour out his wrath” over our enemies, the ritual of opening our doors in answer to the medieval Christian suspicion that the Jews conducted nefarious rituals in their homes, the sadness of exile embedded in the hopeful call at the end of the Seder to celebrate the next Passover in Jerusalem. No matter the degree to which we have changed and amended the Haggadah to be more inclusive and more universal, Passover ritually reminds us of our foreignness and alienation. It celebrates our origins as a nation singled out by divine salvation. And yet, the Haggadah accomplishes the seemingly impossible. Tonight, we welcome strangers, we invite those who are hungry to come and eat, we imagine the passage from slavery to freedom together with our guests, looking toward a better, more just and less hateful future.

Our friend Susannah Heschel placed an orange on the Seder plate to symbolize inclusion of difference. Originally, the orange symbolized the need to accept every Jew, regardless of sexual orientation. If we associate the fruit with the success story of the “Jaffa Orange,” then perhaps it can also remind us that the orange belongs to all people of Israel and Palestine, Jews and Muslims, Druze and Christians alike; that our freedom remains incomplete until everyone is free to enjoy the fruit of their labor and the produce of the land; until everyone can rest in the shade of their olive tree. May we celebrate Passover Next Year in a Jerusalem rebuilt as a shared city for Israelis and Palestinians alike.

Some Thoughts on Our Recent Rabin Memorial Lecture

Boston, April 2019

I want to thank Mr. Jonathan Krivine (CAS ’72) of New York for his abiding support of the series. Jonathan is passionate about Israeli-Palestinian peace making. It runs in his family. It is a commitment characteristic of a certain generation. The Israeli poet A. B. Yehoshua writes about this commitment, one he has long represented himself. In a recent article in the Guardian, Yehoshua is quoted as follows.

“I remember the [1948] war of independence. We were a small community, attacked by seven Arab states. And really they wanted to wipe us from Earth. But I never heard people speaking about the Arabs in a racist way. Even though justice was on our side. Now the Arabs are very – very – weak, so you can permit yourself to speak like this about the Arabs. Then there was respect. You spoke about peace because you were afraid. Now,” – and he begins to channel the voice of the Israeli everyman – “‘I don’t need peace, what do I need peace for? Because of Syria, which is totally in chaos? And Iraq, which is in ruins? And all the Arabs are killing each other! What do I need peace for?’” And so “the racist and nationalist” discourse rises, a reaction to the weakness of the Arab nations that have arrived, says the writer, at “one of the terrible moments in their history”.

[Source: Jonathan Freedland for the Guardian]

When I read these lines I was reminded of something Peter Beinart, our 2019 Rabin Lecturer, and Rachel Fish, one of our panelists, agreed on. Both underscored the need to hear Palestinian voices. To include Palestinians in our conversations. To rebuild mutual respect.

I was pleasantly surprised by this agreement. I have often wondered why, on the op-ed pages of our liberal newspapers, we so rarely read the opinions of Palestinians. Much of the liberal conversation about the Israel-Palestine amounts to nothing but an internal conversation between post-Zionist and neo-Zionist Jews about the future of Israel. Clearly, this is not enough.

I am glad we have the Rabin Lecture Series at BU. I hope we will include more and different voices, including Palestinian ones, in the future. There is no other way, if we are serious about the legacy of Yitzhak Rabin who gave his life to the preservation of Israel as a Jewish and democratic state.

Passover celebrates our Exodus from Egypt, our passage from slavery to freedom. But let us remember the midrash that tells of the  conversation in heaven, when the angels joined in the triumphant chorus of the Israelites witnessing the drowning of Pharaoh’s army in the Red Sea. “How can you jubilate when my creatures are dying?” This is how the rabbis imagine the Holy One to have responded. We have much to learn.

Michael Zank

Director, The Elie Wiesel Center for Jewish Studies

Where Did all the Dancers Go? Scholar Uncovers the World of Jewish Boy Dancers in Iran

By: Katherine Gianni

Dr. Houman Sarshar’s passion for promoting the art, culture, and history of Iran is well in evidence. It leaps off the pages of the books and articles he’s written, the volumes he’s co-edited, and it is embedded in the Kimia Foundation, an independent humanities organization that Dr. Sarshar founded and continues to oversee.

On Tuesday, April 2, Dr. Sarshar shared his zeal for the subject with the Boston University community in a lecture on The Jewish Boy Dancers of Iran. His presentation came as part of the Leon and Alice F. Newton Family Lecture in Jewish Studies, an event co-sponsored by The Elie Wiesel Center for Jewish Studies and the Boston University Center for the Humanities.

Over the years, thanks to this series, we’ve been able to invite preeminent scholars in all areas of Jewish studies to BU,” said Associate Professor of Hebrew, German, and Comparative Literature Abigail Gillman in her welcoming remarks.

The lecture was established almost 30 years ago by the children of Leon and Alice F. Newton as a way to honor both their father, an alum of what was then called the BU School of Management, and their mother. Past speakers have included scholar Susannah Heschel, theologian Arthur Green, and philosopher Hilary Putnam, among others.

“Dr. Houman Sarshar did his undergraduate work in French and English literature at UCLA and his PhD in comparative literature at Columbia University. He’s a scholar, perhaps my favorite kind of scholar,” Associate Dean of the Faculty/Humanities Karl Kirchwey said, a grin spreading across his face. “One without a university affiliation.”

The event poster featured a Qajar photograph which captured one of the boy dancers.
The event poster featured a Qajar photograph which captured one of the boy dancers.

In his independent study of boy dancer entertainment in Iran, Dr. Sarshar has complied enough research to fill the pages of an entire encyclopedia. Through in-person interviews, thorough analysis of Qajar photography, and countless hours of fact-checking, he has laid the groundwork to learn more about the prevalence of such boy dancers in the past and their eventual disappearance from Iranian culture.

Prior to beginning his presentation, Dr. Sarshar issued a warning to the audience of students and community members gathered in the Florence and Chafetz Hillel House.

“The culture of dancing boy entertainment in Afghanistan has shed much necessary light on the despicable dynamics of enslavement, human trafficking, and sex slavery that today forms the backbone of this heart-wrenching hidden world,” he said. “While many of the features of the dancing boy entertainment of today’s Afghanistan are without doubt remnants of the same long tradition in neighboring Iran in particular, and the entire Persian world in general, there is at the very least one material distinction between what happens in twenty-first century Kabul and what occurred in pre-constitutional Iran. And that difference is time.”

Dr. Sarshar expressed that he was not referring to time in its chronological sense, but rather, “in the fullest sense of zeitgeist as the defining spirit or mood of a particular period of history as shown by the ideas and beliefs of the time.” By examining these dancers, he relayed that he did not wish to coat the realities of the boys’ humiliating position with a sense of nostalgia, but rather, use the images, texts, and testimonies as a means to broaden our understanding of the culture.

In telling the stories of the boy dancers, some of whom began their careers as early as six-years-old, Dr. Sarshar explained the ties between the profession and male homosexuality in Iran. While the dancers dressed in predominantly female clothing, he noted there was no mistaking the allure of their male gender identity. As various photographs and poems flashed across the screen, Dr. Sarshar argued that, despite legal strictures, Iranians widely engaged in homosexual relationships.

“Even occasional bans issued on male homosexual behavior throughout Iranian history had little impact on the love and desire of men over the years,” he said. “If anything, the fact that such bans had to be issued with any degree of frequency suggests that amorous and erotic relationships between men did not just occur in palaces, but throughout the general population.”

Dr. Sarshar concluded that the cultural norms surrounding homoeroticism, specifically when it came to dancing boy entertainment, shifted as Westerners categorized the practice as perverse, rather than something to be celebrated. The resulting shame led to the gradual disappearance of boy dancers. But, Dr. Sarshar, emphasized, there is still so much one can learn from this complicated history.  

“The history of boy dancer entertainment in Iran is a rich one, not only in its scope and breadth, but more importantly in its unique capacity to provide a telescope with which to explore many dynamic nuances within Iranian society, culture, and even art history over the past 500 years,” Dr. Sarshar said. “My research therefore celebrates boy dancers and the culture of boy dancer entertainment precisely for the unprecedented analytic opportunities that the history of this tradition provides.”

To learn more about the Leon and Alice F. Newton Family Lecture in Jewish Studies visit https://www.bu.edu/jewishstudies/calendar/annual-lecture-series/.

‘1945’ is a Haunting Tale of Post-Holocaust Suspicion and Guilt

By: Katherine Gianni

On Monday, April 1, The Holocaust Through Film series kicked off its April movie selection with a screening of Ferenc Török’s haunting feature “1945.” Assistant Professor of French and series co-organizer Jennifer Cazenave introduced the film to the group of students and community members gathered in CAS 224.

“The movie is an adaptation of a short story called ‘The Homecoming’ by a Hungarian writer named Gabor T. Szanto,” she said. “The story centers on two Jews that return to a small Hungarian village, and the events that follow.”

As the title proclaims, the tale is set in 1945, a turbulent year that saw the liberation of the concentration camps, the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, and the subsequent end to the second world war.

The film, however, opens with far more tranquil scenes shot in stunning black and white. We watch as two men disembark from a large steam train transporting wooden crates filled with what they claim to be women’s cosmetics and perfume. Their work is slow and deliberate as they shift their cargo from the locomotive onto a horse-drawn flatbed. Once everything is properly loaded, their journey through the village begins.

An air of mystery and suspicion swirls around an elderly Orthodox Jew (Ivan Angelus) and his adult son (Marcell Nagy).
Mystery and suspicion swirl around an elderly Orthodox Jew (Ivan Angelus) and his adult son (Marcell Nagy) in ‘1945.’

There is a continual air of mystery swirling around these two men, an elderly Orthodox Jew (Ivan Angelus) and his adult son (Marcell Nagy). This ambiguity exists, in part, because the pair remains eerily silent throughout the majority of the film. They do not stop to chat with any passersby, nor with each other. Their identities and withdrawn dispositions send the townsmen and women into a complete frenzy as each fear the duo have returned to reclaim their property post-Holocaust.

“We’ll have to give it all back,” Bandi (Jozsef Szarvas), the portly village drunk proclaims to Istvan, the hot-tempered town clerk. Calamity ensues, as women and men band together to hide valuables, burn deeds, and destroy photos of their friends’ past–friends that had been subjected to unfathomable cruelty at the hands of the Nazis. This defensive group mentality is a direct extension of said cruelty. The townspeople turn their guilt and terror into damning action, shoving stolen goods into cupboards and the car trunks, all while clinging to the facade that they have done nothing wrong.

“It’s interesting to see that with all this chaos the people in the town don’t actually talk to the strangers in their midst,” said Associate Professor of Hebrew, German, and Comparative Literature Abigail Gillman in a conversation following the screening. “There is this cloud of suspicion between what they want and why they’re there, but no one actually asks them until the very end.”

That conversation consists of a brief exchange between the strangers and the town clerk who asks them what business they had in the village.

“We’ve come for a burial,” the elder Jew replies.

“Who are you burying?” Istvan counters.

“What’s left of our dead.”

Istvan offers a handshake and his condolences, but ultimately nothing is done to recognize any past wrongdoings. The two men simply gather their remaining belongings and move onwards on a second journey, this time with a far less certain destination.

The Holocaust Through Film Series continues on April 8 with a free screening of “Son of Saul.” This event is open to all Boston University students, faculty, and staff. For more information visit http://www.bu.edu/jewishstudies/calendar/events/.

The 2019 Yitzhak Rabin Memorial Lecture | US Jews and Israel: Are we headed for divorce?

Dear Friends of the Elie Wiesel Center:

The 2019 Yitzhak Rabin Memorial Lecture at Boston University, which will be held Thursday, April 11, is dedicated to an issue that is on the mind of many, namely, the culture of discourse, here in the US, on the issue of Israel and Palestine.

This culture of discourse, not the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as such, will be the focus of our event. Peter Beinart, our main speaker, believes–rightly, I think–that the current rise in the temperature of the debate here in the US, a debate that is perhaps not so much about Left and Right than it is about a difference between the generations, has more to do with developments in the American political and cultural landscape than with what is going on in Israel and across the Middle East. Today, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, a foreign policy issue, provides a kind of lithmus test on who we are as Jews and Americans. This is the reason why we thought it might be time to have a conversation on Jewish Americans and the increasing polarization in how we think about Israel. For better or worse, Israel has become a touchstone in the American culture wars of the moment, or, as Mr. Beinart formulates, a proxy for American Jews to define themselves as Jews and as Americans.

I don’t believe that this is a very healthy situation, but it may be inevitable for Jews to think that way. It is inevitable because Jews cannot but be emotionally touched by Israel, a sovereign Jewish nation state founded by and for Jews, the first such state since biblical times.

Yet, how healthy can it be when American Jews feel compelled, or are expected, to define themselves, or be judged, by what goes on in a country of which they are not citizens, even if it is a Jewish nation state? And how healthy can it be for Israel when, what goes on in Israel for reasons grounded in the Israeli situation, becomes an echo chamber for a significant Jewish community in America, Israel’s most powerful ally, especially if that community is increasingly divided over Israeli politics and possibly frustrated with the entire Zionist project? Israeli attempts to influence American public opinion are legitimate, but charges of disloyalty, ethno-national betrayal, and Jewish self-hatred are not. Many young American Jews resent the lack of choice implied in these kinds of charges. Like other Americans they want to be able to decide for themselves what causes to support and what alliances to seek with others at home and abroad. They want to be able to decide whether or not they support Israel and for what reasons, precisely because they care and because their American Jewish identity is at stake.

This is a deeply emotional and divisive subject. A difficult conversation. But what better place than a university to try to model a difficult conversation across the political spectrum and give room to a variety of perspectives. Our goal is to move us out of the comfort zones of our respective “bubbles,” hear what moves others with whom we may disagree, and assume that people can disagree with one another without doubting one another’s good faith or humanity. This is called “dialogue.” It is also good political practice, a practice modeled for us by the ancient Athenians, as described by Hannah Arendt.

Impartiality (…) came into the world when Homer decided to sing the deeds of the Trojans no less than those of the Achaeans, and to praise the glory of Hector no less than the greatness of Achilles. This Homeric impartiality, as it is echoed by Herodotus, who set out to prevent “the great and wonderful actions of the Greeks and the barbarians from losing their due meed of glory,” is still the highest type of objectivity we know. Not only does it leave behind the common interest in one’s own side and one’s own people which, up to our own days, characterizes almost all national historiography, but it also discards the alternative of victory or defeat, which moderns have felt expresses the “objective” judgment of history itself, and does not permit it to interfere with what is judged to be worthy of immortalizing praise.

Somewhat later, and most magnificently expressed in Thucydides, there appears in Greek historiography still another powerful element that contributes to historical objectivity. It could come to fore ground only after long experience in polis-life, which to an incredibly large extent consisted of citizens talking with one another. In this incessant talk the Greeks discovered that the world we have in common is usually regarded from an infinite number of different standpoints, to which correspond the most diverse points of view. In a sheer inexhaustible flow of arguments, as the Sophists presented them to the citizenry of Athens, the Greek learned to exchange his own viewpoint, his own “opinion” – the way the world appeared and opened up to him (dokei moi, “it appears to me,” from which comes doxa, or “opinion”) – with those of his fellow citizens. Greeks learned to understand – not to understand one another as individual persons, but to look upon the same world from one another’s standpoint, to see the same in very different and frequently opposing aspects. The speeches in which Thucydides makes articulate the standpoints and interests of the warring parties are still a living testimony to the extraordinary degree of this objectivity.

(Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future (1961), pp. 51-2.)

 The academy is founded on the ideals of objectivity and impartiality, and it behooves us recall these ideals as we think about how we can move beyond the impasse of polarization. Let the other side be heard! Or, as the rabbis taught, the School of Hillel prevailed because it was in the habit of reporting not just the opinions of their own school but also the opinions of the opposing school.

I hope you will join us for “US Jews and Israel: Are we headed for divorce.”

Sincerely,

Michael Zank

Director, EWCJS

‘What Life Wants’ Explores The Never Ending Lesson of Parenthood

By: Katherine Gianni

On Saturday, March 30, Boston Playwrights’ Theatre welcomed Israeli Stage founder and creative director Guy Ben-Aharon, Israeli actor Dror Keren, and a group of eager theatergoers for the world premiere staged reading of Mr. Keren’s gripping family drama, What Life Wants.

“What you’ll be seeing is the culmination of a two week long process,” Mr. Ben-Aharon explained to the sold-out crowd moments before the 4:00 p.m. show time. He, Mr. Keren, and a cohort of seven American actors had been rehearsing the show from March 17-31 as part of a two week residency at the Elie Wiesel Center for Jewish Studies, made possible by a grant from the Jewish Cultural Endowment.

“We’ve been workshopping this script every day. In fact, the last scene was added today, just for you,” Mr. Ben-Aharon said to applause.  

What Life Wants navigates the complications of parenthood through the lens of a devoted father and husband, who grew up without a comparable father-figure. In the wake of his mother’s death, Dudi (Tom Kee), is reunited with the man who walked out on them, a man who he never refers to as dad, only coldly by his first and last name, Benjamin Nino (Patrick Shea).

The performance ran for 90 minutes with no intermission at Boston Playwrights' Theater. (Photo courtesy of Mr. Ben-Aharon.)
Saturday’s performance ran for 90 minutes with no intermission at Boston Playwrights’ Theatre. (Photo courtesy of Mr. Ben-Aharon.)

Dudi and his twin siblings Miri (Deborah Martin) and Amos (Kadahj Bennett) are not primarily concerned about making up for lost time with Mr. Nino. Instead, the trio questions his motives for returning, while simultaneously reliving the details of their painful childhood.

Their ongoing conversations, quips, and conclusions about the elusive Benjamin Nino highlight the focal point of the show: you can’t always escape your past. But you can learn from it.

Hardened by unresolved feelings of abandonment, Dudi is unsurprisingly austere to his father in the beginning of the show. He chastises him for leaving the family, for his lack of morality, and for his seemingly aloof attitude.

Benjamin retaliates, in a stern parental reprimand, that Dudi’s perception of both his character and his actions are far from reality. We watch both men’s exteriors begin to soften as they share bits and pieces of the years gone by and the complex flood of emotions of wanting to be there for one another, but not quite knowing how.

This conundrum is also exhibited on-stage through their body language. The pair is always seen standing across from one another, their feet planted firmly in a pseudo face-off. There are no hugs or handshakes ever exchanged, as if an invisible barrier keeps the two far enough apart to never truly be able to reach out.  

Dudi, however, is the only family member that interacts with Benjamin in person, in part because he was the only one his estranged father contacted directly. A twist towards the end of the performance reveals why such is the case. Dudi’s daughter, Tali (Maya Tripathy), frequently asks about her grandfather, her adolescent curiosity insistent on piecing together her family’s past. Dudi’s wife and Tali’s mother, Anat (Jackie Davis), is cautious about asking too many questions of their interactions, knowing how contentious the relationship is.

Dudi’s decision to see his father, despite his deep-rooted anger, plays to another crux of the show. Instead of leaving his relationship with Benjamin to fate, he acts on his own free will. In other words, he makes his decisions not by what life wants, but rather, what he wants out of life. Amos and Miri choose also choose the latter, although in a less confrontational way. Their choice of silence, of not engaging or interacting with Benjamin is still a declaration of free will, one that is heard loud and clear by both the audience, and their older brother.

Mr. Keren and Mr. Ben-Aharon took questions from the audience following the staged reading. Photo courtesy of Mr. Ben-Aharon.
Mr. Keren and Mr. Ben-Aharon took questions from the audience following the staged reading. (Photo courtesy of Mr. Ben-Aharon.)

A brief question and answer session with Mr. Keren and Mr. Ben-Aharon followed the reading. Many inquiries from the audience focused on Mr. Keren’s inspiration for the script and the many themes and motifs within the plotline.

“Parenthood is a never-ending lesson,” Mr. Keren said conclusively. “The main battles people face are within the walls of their homes. I’m happy I was able to dig deeper into these characters to show that.”

“Here at the Elie Wiesel Center we are very eager to foster a relationship between the humanities and the arts,” said EWCJS Director Michael Zank following his viewing of the 8:00 p.m. reading. “Israeli Stage has enriched our conversations through plays; conversations that we have in our classes and through writings coming out of Israel.”

For more information on Israeli Stage visit https://israelistage.com.