Category: Arts & Culture

A history of Jewish humour

Matthew Gindin takes a pause in his talk, The History of Jewish Humour. (photo from Jewish Seniors Alliance)

On Nov. 24, the first session of the 2017-18 Empowerment Series started with a bang. Almost 80 people came out to launch the series’ season, which has the theme of Laughter and Music: Feeding the Soul. This first meeting was co-sponsored by Jewish Seniors Alliance and Sholem Aleichem Seniors of the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture, and it took place at the centre.

Featured speaker Matthew Gindin spoke on the topic The History of Jewish Humour. Gindin is a journalist, lecturer and teacher, and a regular writer for the Jewish Independent.

Gyda Chud, coordinator of Sholem Aleichem Seniors and vice-president of JSA, began the session by introducing JSA president Ken Levitt, who spoke briefly about JSA, and urged those who hadn’t yet joined, to become supporters and members.

Gindin began his talk by posing the questions, Why speak of Jewish humour; why do these words go so well together? He then proceeded to answer the question.

Jews have been over-represented in the comedy scene. At one time, they comprised 75% of the comics in America, while they were less than three percent of the population, he said.

Humour has a long tradition in Judaism dating back to biblical times. The name Yitzchak, Isaac, means “he will laugh,” explained Gindin. The prophet Elijah said that two jesters in the marketplace already had a place in the World to Come because they made people laugh. Reb Nachman of Bratzlav, the founder of the Chassidic movement, preached about the importance of happiness. Sigmund Freud also spoke of happiness and humour in his book Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious.

Jews are known for making fun of themselves, said Gindin. They have used humour as a means of preparing for things that could go wrong. It was a method of coping with the many negative experiences in their lives. He pointed out that this type of humour was mainly a product of Ashkenazi culture.

Gindin described several different types of humour. For example, jokes about assimilated Jews trying to fit into non-Jewish society, Chassidim telling jokes about themselves, Jewish folk humour, jokes told under Nazism and communism in order to relieve tension, and jokes about Israeli life. An example of folk humour can be found in Sholem Aleichem’s glossary of his stepmother’s curses. For example: “May you grow so rich that your wife’s second husband never has to work for a living.”

In the United States, Jewish humour became popular in theatres and comedy routines starting in the Borsht Belt, said Gindin. Much of this humour was self-deprecating. The comedians focused on such themes as Jewish-gentile differences, Jewish family dynamics, the stereotype of the Jewish mother, Jewish professions, the diminished role of the rabbi. An example is a joke about waiting for Moshiach (Messiah) – “at least it’s steady work.”

Gindin told many stories and had the audience in stitches. He then asked if there were questions or comments and if anyone had any good stories. The audience responded with many amusing jokes of their own.

Chud thanked Gindin and commented on how well he wove the theme of humour into its time and places and how well he explained how the words Jewish and humour went together. She then invited everyone for coffee and dessert.

The second session in this season’s Empowerment Series will take place on Jan. 24, in cooperation with Jewish Community Centre Seniors and will feature the film Broadway Musicals, A Jewish Legacy. This documentary, by Michael Kantor, narrated by Joel Grey, explores the unique role of Jewish composers and lyricists in the creation of the modern American musical.

There will be three more sessions on the Laughter and Music theme: March 21, with Temple Sholom seniors; April 17 with Beth Israel seniors, in conjunction with Jewish Family Services’ lunch program; and June 25, with Kehila Society in Richmond. For more information, visit jsalliance.org.

Shanie Levin, MSW, worked for many years in the field of child welfare. During that time, she was active in the union. As well, she participated in amateur dramatics. She has served on the board of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver and is presently on the executive of Jewish Seniors Alliance and a member of the editorial committee.

 

Play faces our mortality

Kelly Sheridan and Peter Wilson in The Realistic Joneses. (photo by Nancy Caldwell)

The unfortunate truth is that we are all going to die some day. How we cope with our mortality defines our approach to life. Playwright Will Eno encapsulates this concept in his award-winning play The Realistic Joneses, produced by the Mint Collective and currently running at the Vancouver Culture Lab at the Vancouver East Cultural Centre until Dec. 17.

The New York Times has called Eno, “a Samuel Beckett for the Jon Stewart generation.” His life view comes through an intellectual lens of verbal dexterity and abstract projections that, at first blush, seem disjointed and oddly out of place, but eventually morph into a revelatory and provocative perspective on death and dying. Eno is a wordsmith but it takes some time and mental effort to understand exactly what is happening on stage.

The play had its debut at Yale Repertory Theatre in 2012 and then went on to a successful Broadway run in 2014, including a Drama Desk Award Special Award.

Next-door neighbours, both with the surname Jones, live in smalltown America. Bob and Jennifer, middle-aged longtime residents, are the foils for the newly wed 30-somethings John and Pony, whose lives intersect through the tragedy of the male side of each couple having the same degenerative neurological condition that affects memory and speech. Both men are undergoing experimental treatments from a local specialist. Each knows there is no cure and deals with this reality in his own way. Their coping mechanisms define the play and expose the vulnerability and pathos of those with terminal conditions.

The action is portrayed in a series of vignettes, snapshot moments in the lives of these two generationally divided families as they forge an uneasy friendship in the dance towards death. These people are real, albeit a little weird. The dialogue is witty and fast-paced – in this play, “the words are the thing.” Despite the dark nature of the subject matter, there are some very funny moments.

Joan Bryans is brilliant as Jennifer, the long-suffering and brave wife who has given up her career to become her husband’s caregiver and tries to give his deteriorating life a sense of normalcy. Community member Charles Siegel plays Bob with an almost childlike, naive demeanor as his memory slowly fades. As the younger couple, Peter Wilson plays John, the quirky doting husband, in a maniacal sort of way and Kelly Sheridan is the scatterbrained Mrs. Jones Junior.

The intimacy of the black-box Culture Lab adds to the audience experience. The divided set is simple: one half is the backyard of the older Joneses, the other half is the kitchen of the younger duo. Lighting and sound design complement the simplicity of the production. It is smalltown in anywhere America on a summer’s eve, replete with chirping crickets, hooting owls, barking dogs and chiming church bells.

There is no easy resolution at the end of the play, no happy ending tied up with a shiny bow to send audiences on their merry way out into the night, just the thought that this is the reality of life, with all its complications, and maybe, just maybe, that’s OK.

Tickets and more information can be found at thecultch.com or by calling 604-251-1363.

Tova Kornfeld is a Vancouver freelance writer and lawyer.

Reinvention of Salomé myth

For the past five years, Jewish community member Adeena Karasick has been working with Grammy Award-winning composer/trumpeter Frank London on Salomé: Woman of Valor, a total art experience, groundbreaking in its interplay of poetry, music, dance and film.

Karasick’s libretto, which she will perform live, is a mix of historical, pop cultural, midrashic and kabbalistic references. The score blends Arabic, klezmer, jazz and Bhangra musics by the recently knighted (for his contribution to world music) London; performed with Indian percussionist virtuoso Deep Singh and Middle Eastern keyboard player Shai Bachar; dance created and performed by two dancers on the New York scene, (fellow Jewish community member) Rebecca Margolick and Jesse Zaritt; video by Elizabeth Mak, which deconstructs Charles Bryant’s 1923 silent film Salomé; and directed by Alex Aron, co-creator of A Night in the Old Marketplace.

After years of research, learning there was no basis for the way Salomé has been historically represented, Karasick wanted to re-insert Salomé back into her rightful place in history as a powerful revolutionary. She refutes Oscar Wilde’s misogynist and antisemitic interpretation, and has translated the myth to (no surprise!) one of female empowerment, socio-political, erotic and esthetic transgression.

Creating a work of this scope is an enormous undertaking, and the creative team has launched a Kickstarter campaign to raise money for the production’s world première at Vancouver’s Chutzpah! Festival, and then to take Salomé: Woman of Valor on tour internationally. The total project budget is more than $40,000 and the team needs to raise at least $20,000 to make its vision a reality. Each $180 gets the creative team an additional hour of time in the studio.

There has been nothing quite like this – poetry as a spoken word opera of exceptional scale and scope. Salomé: Woman of Valor offers new ways of seeing, reminding us how there is never one story or perspective to be told and allowing the unvoiced be celebrated and heard.

All donations are tax-deductible. To donate, visit kickstarter.com/projects/womanofvalor/salome-woman-of-valor. The all-or-nothing campaign deadline is Jan. 12.

A toast to love, Onegin

(photo by Baila Lazarus)

Josh Epstein raises a glass to toast lyubov (love) in recognition of the theme of the hit play Onegin, in which he plays a jealous lover. In a rare opportunity, theatre-goers are actually encouraged to bring their drinks with them into the auditorium in order to join the cast when they toast. Onegin, which is a musical with comedic overtones, has been brought back to the Arts Club after a successful showing in 2016 and runs until Dec. 31 at the Granville Island stage. For tickets and more information, visit artsclub.com.

Modern ancient Jewish tales

“Golem,” by Dina Goldstein. Pigment print on paper. 32 x 40 3/8 inch. (© Dina Goldstein)

Artist Dina Goldstein is a proven storyteller, so it’s not surprising that she was asked to take part in the exhibit Jewish Folktales Retold: Artist as Maggid, which opened at the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco on Sept. 28. Metro Vancouverites will also have the chance to see her photographic interpretations of 11 “classic Jewish tales” – Snapshots from the Garden of Eden – at the Zack Gallery this month.

Jewish Folktales Retold was inspired by the book Leaves from the Garden of Eden: One Hundred Classic Jewish Tales by Howard Schwartz (Oxford University Press, 2008). As CJM executive director Lori Starr explains on the exhibit’s website: “Schwartz elucidates four varieties of these tales: fairy tales, folktales, supernatural tales and mystic tales. Fairy tales, he writes, are ‘fantasies of enchantment.’… Folktales ‘portray the lives of the folk as they imagined them, with … magical and divine intervention.’… Supernatural tales portray fears about the powers of evil entities and, finally, mystical tales are teaching stories of the great rabbis.”

“I was asked to participate over a year and a half ago,” Goldstein told the Independent. “At first, I discussed this with the curator, Pierre-François Galpin. At that time, I was planning on starting another series and I told Pierre-François that I just couldn’t take this on, as I saw it as quite an ambitious project.”

But, Goldstein was curious enough that she asked Galpin – who worked with CJM chief curator Renny Pritikin on the exhibit – to send her Leaves from the Garden of Eden so she could take a look.

“After receiving it,” she said, “I found that I really enjoyed reading these ancient stories. I told him that I could possibly photograph a few pieces as a contributing artist.

“I became intrigued by a few specific characters in the book and proceeded to take on more than I had anticipated at the beginning. I continued to photograph 11 pieces for the exhibit. I also decided to photograph the series in black-and-white large-scale tableau.”

Goldstein had free creative rein. “The museum did not give me any direction at all,” she said. “In fact, I came back to them with the chosen characters and ideas that I had for the retelling of these folktales. They did not see the work until it was completed.”

photo - Dina Goldstein was one of the artists whose work was commissioned by the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco for the exhibit Jewish Folktales Retold: Artist as Maggid
Dina Goldstein was one of the artists whose work was commissioned by the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco for the exhibit Jewish Folktales Retold: Artist as Maggid. (photo from Dina Goldstein)

The characters Goldstein has reinvented for contemporary audiences include Lilith (from the story “The Queen of Sheba”), Elijah (“The Cottage of Candles”), Golem (“The Golem”), King Solomon (“The King’s Dream”), the Princess in the Tower (in the story of the same name), the positive spirit Ibbur (“The Soul of the Ari”), the malicious spirit Dybbuk (“The Dybbuk in the Well”), the Tree of Life (“An Apple from the Tree of Life”) and Ashmodai (“The Bride of Demons”). She has also created an image inspired by the story “The Hair in the Milk.”

“I selected characters that were relevant and reappear throughout many of the tales in the collection,” Goldstein told the Independent. “I chose characters from each of the four types of tales: folktales, fairy tales, supernatural and mythical tales.”

She created two images for Ashmodai.

“I very much enjoyed this narrative, ‘The Bride of Demons,’ with relevant themes of desire and retribution,” said Goldstein. “The story is quite long, so I wanted to create a diptych to illustrate and interpret it in my own way.”

The Snapshots catalogue explains, “A devil king, Ashmodai is mentioned in talmudic legends and Renaissance Christianity. He is regarded as the demon of lust and is responsible for twisting people’s sexual desires.”

In one of the Ashmodai images, a woman in a bridal dress looks happily at herself in a half-length mirror; there are other mirrors in the room, which show her from different angles. In the second image, we see what looks like a garden, with the woman, buried, screaming, only her head and bridal veil above ground. The quote accompanying this disturbing scene is, “… And he longed to look at her … but he remembered the words of the rabbi and did not turn his gaze away from the king of demons. If he had, he would have seen his bride buried in the earth up to her neck, for she was almost lost to the Devil.”

All of Goldstein’s tableaux are striking, fascinating to explore and contemplate.

“I very much enjoyed uncovering these richly textured ancient tales and short stories, which include magnificent characters: kings and queens, princes and princesses, witches, mystics and malevolent wandering spirits,” she said. “Each of the characters face extraordinary challenges – placed in front of them by fate – that they must overcome. Every society is replete with myths and legends that transform and bend into parables that attempt to make order of life. It is this impact on culture, old and new, that led me to create a body of work that plays with satire, metaphor and irony.”

Goldstein’s photographic creations challenge viewers’ perceptions, asking them to reconsider the stories they’ve been told. Her collections include Fallen Princesses, which imagines how 10 of Disney’s princesses would face the challenges of real women; In the Dollhouse, which focuses on Ken and Barbie’s not so happily ever after; Gods of Suburbia, which brings various deities down to earth; and Modern Girl, which looks at consumerism in Western culture using the imagery of Chinese pinup girls from the 1930s.

The creative process for Snapshots from the Garden of Eden was similar to that of these previous works.

“I do my usual research online and then I hit the library for historical references,” said Goldstein. “I like to get a sense of how these characters have been depicted in art throughout history, what has been written about them from various sources. Many of these characters are actual historical figures. Others are supernatural and exist in various forms throughout the stories.”

It took her eight months to produce and photograph the series, she said. “Much of my work is in preproduction, organizing the cast and crew, the locations, and collecting all of the props and costumes and details that are germane to the final result of the piece.”

She concluded, “I am very fortunate to live in the city which has so much talent to utilize. All of the cast and crew are from Vancouver. I reached out on Facebook and social media to find all sorts of strange items – people pulled together to help out. I am thankful to Gordon Diamond, who has been a great supporter of my work throughout the years. Gordon will donate the series for viewing at the Jewish Community Centre in December.”

And, because of that, local community members will have the chance to see Goldstein’s work at the Zack. Snapshots from the Garden of Eden opens Dec. 14, 7 p.m., and runs until Jan. 20.

Reinventing old-time music

Woody Forster and Devora Laye of the Burying Ground. (photo by Mary Matheson)

Contrary to what you might expect, given the band’s name, there is much joy in the Burying Ground. Woody Forster and Devora Laye obviously love what they do, and it comes through in their music, their performances, their promotional photos and even in their responses to an email interview. So, from where does the name come?

“The name came from the Blind Lemon Jefferson song ‘One Kind Favor,’ where he uses the line to describe his resting place,” explained Forster. “I also see it as maybe a metaphor for us finding this music for ourselves that has essentially been buried and forgotten in popular music today, and we are trying to draw from that place and explore those musical styles again.”

The Burying Ground plays 1920s and ’30s blues, ragtime, country and jazz, as well as original works in those genres. Their upbeat songs evoke images of musicians jamming away on the wooden porch of a farmhouse, people dancing and enjoying some moonshine. Their hurtin’ songs, with Forster’s gravelly voice, can make you feel like pouring yourself a stiff drink. The pair share the vocals, with Forster on guitar and Laye on myriad instruments, including the washboard, cymbals, tin can and cowbell – the sounds she produces with the saw will make you shiver. Various other musicians join the duo for performances and recordings.

“I can’t exactly find a reason why I love the music from that era,” said Forster. “I just seemed to get drawn deeper into it as I explored the history and the musicians that created it all. There is certainly a raw intensity in the sounds, as well as a very genuine feeling that I maybe don’t get out of other types of popular music through the last century.”

In November, the Burying Ground released a vinyl version of their eponymous album, which came out in June this year. It followed by a mere six months the group’s January 2017 release, Country Blues & Rags, which is “a collection of the band’s renditions of some of their most beloved songs.” The Burying Ground’s first album was Big City Blues, in 2015.

“The new EP is 11 original songs,” Laye told the Independent. “Our process is different from song to song. The last song on the album, ‘Longing for Home,’ is a song that I wrote for guitar and voice. The melody often comes to me while I’m walking around. For this particular song, I was walking around Vancouver when I smelled woodstove smoke, which made me miss living on Hornby Island, where I spent a couple years in my mid-20s. I sang it for Woody and he played along.

“‘Mean Spirit Blues’ was a trickier process for it’s a more complex song. I hummed the melody to Woody and he put the music to it. He often suggests a bridge or middle part of the song and we just play around with the ideas. We bounce ideas off of each other and give each other feedback. It’s fun, challenging and a nonstop learning process.”

“We are always bouncing ideas off of each other creatively to see whether we are liking what the other is bringing to the table, and tweaking the songs so we are both happy with the final outcome,” agreed Forster.

“We are learning a lot about writing music together and pushing ourselves to constantly grow and improve – and, at the same time, having a lot of fun doing it,” he added.

The two are definitely in sync. They have known each other a long time.

“Devora and I met around 15 years ago now, although we didn’t start playing music with each other until much later,” said Forster. “The Dire Wolves [band] started around 2008 and it was originally formed as a three-piece with me on mandolin, Blake Bamford on guitar and Joshua Doherty on harmonica, with Devora joining in on washboard a short time after. When the band split up around 2013, Devora and I kind of threw around the idea of starting a new project – we were both huge fans of early Americana music and both got more serious about it. And, from there, it has grown into the project we have created, and continues to grow.”

Both Laye and Forster come out of Vancouver’s punk scene, having been in different groups over the years. “As time went on, I gradually got more into old-time, and started studying it seriously in the last five years,” said Forster. “One of our first performances was at a venue called the China Cloud and I can remember being super-nervous, my hands were shaking, and I forgot lyrics, but somehow got through it with out train-wrecking the show. It has taken me awhile to get used to singing and playing guitar in front of people in such a stripped-down form of acoustic music. Not to say I still don’t get nervous, but I can hide it a little better now.”

Laye’s musical path has been varied.

“At home,” she said, “I was always surrounded by music. My dad plays guitar and has always written songs. He used to sing and play for us at bedtime and, of course, many other times. Growing up, I was exposed to different types of music, from classical to folk to Jewish music (Shlomo Carlebach was a big hit for me). My part of going to synagogue every week was the singing. When I was old enough to walk to the synagogue on my own, I would go for the evening/ma’ariv service on Saturdays to sing the zemirot with the enthusiastic congregation.

“I always loved to sing and play,” said Laye. “My eldest sister, Aviva, played the flute and I thought that was really cool and decided I wanted to learn how to play. I started taking lessons from Andrea Minden when I was 7 years old. Started on the recorder, of course, because my hands were too small for flute!

“Anyhow, I studied with Andrea until I was about 14. She was in a family band called the Minden Ensemble and they’d play all sorts of unusual instruments, such as vacuum hoses, bottles, spoons, pots and pans and the saw. Andrea showed me how to hold and bow the saw. When I was in my early 20s, I decided to pick it up and teach myself how to play along to songs, and have been having a lot of fun with it ever since.”

And how did she come to the washboard, which she also plays in the Myrtle Family Band?

“I’ve always loved to tap on nearby objects,” she said. “I’d tap on tables, chairs, find music and rhythm in glasses. I think my parents have learned to appreciate that side of me! Haha. I taught myself to play a drum kit when I moved out of my parents’ house, and played drums for some years before picking up the washboard. I had a partner who played old-time banjo and he suggested that I pick up the washboard so we could jam. I wasn’t sure it was a real instrument and thought it slightly inferior to a stringed instrument but, soon after, realized it added a lot to the music and can really be the backbone of a band. I ended up getting more and more into the old styles and into the playing and here I am today playing every day.”

Forster and Laye are based in Vancouver now, but this has not always been the case.

“I spent much of the past year on the Sunshine Coast and commuting to the city for gigs and to see family and friends,” said Laye. “The coast has been really great. I love to be surrounded by the trees, down the street from the ocean – bears, deer, coyotes and cougars through my backyard! Room to think in the quiet.

“The community on the coast has been so supportive of the Burying Ground,” she said. “I didn’t really have any expectations of what it would be like. I didn’t really know anyone when I moved over to Gibsons, and feel very grateful to have met such kind, supportive and inspiring people. Smaller communities are often more supportive, there is the time for that when the pace is slower. The city can be real tricky to break into. There are so many musicians, so much going on all the time.

“The coast is also limiting,” she added. “As professional musicians, there are only so many gigs you can play. Our band lives in the city.”

For more information about the Burying Ground, to hear their music and check out their upcoming shows – including the JI Chai Celebration on Dec. 6 – visit theburyingground.com.

Help share aliyah story

An illustration from Yerus Goes to Jerusalem. (photo from Sid Tafler)

The Ethiopian aliyah to Israel inspired people around the world when it was first revealed in the 1980s. Today, there are 125,000 first-, second- and third-generation Israelis from Ethiopia.

The story of the courage and determination of the community to return to Eretz Yisrael after 2,000 years of isolation from the rest of the Jewish world is told in the beautiful children’s book Yerus Goes to Jerusalem. About a young girl’s experience making the difficult journey from her village in Ethiopia, the award-winning book, written in Hebrew and illustrated by Ethiopian artist Moran Yogev, is well known to thousands of Israeli students and their parents. A new crowdfunding campaign will translate it into English, to make it accessible to Jewish schoolchildren everywhere, so they can share in the triumph of the Ethiopian community in achieving their dream.

Everyone is invited to join this venture with a donation of any amount, large or small. Only $20 will reserve one of the first copies of Yerus Goes to Jerusalem published in English for your children, grandchildren or your synagogue or Hebrew school.

This campaign is led by Dror Yisrael, a service organization in Israel, and a committee of organizers, mostly in Israel and the United States, including Sid Tafler of Victoria, the only Canadian on the committee.

To donate to the crowdfunding campaign, which ends Dec. 1, and for more information, visit jewcer.org/project/yerusgoestoyerusalem or facebook.com/yerusgoes. For the options of how to donate after Dec. 1, email Gilad Perry at gilad@drorisrael.org.il.

The prayers within the walls

Nolan Hupp and Annika Hupp play two schoolchildren who protest to save the shul in The Original Deed. (photo by Gayle Mavor)

When Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, z”l, sometimes known as the “Singing Rabbi,” visited Victoria on a concert tour in the 1960s, he heard about a plan to move the city’s downtown synagogue, Congregation Emanu-El, to the suburbs. According to local lore, the singer/songwriter’s impassioned advice to the shul community was, “Don’t sell the place. There’s too many prayers in the walls!”

In The Original Deed, staged for the first time last month by the play’s author, Sid Tafler, a similar thought emerged from the lips of the story’s main character, Sam Abelman, played with pathos and humour by Toshik Bukowiecki.

Sam, an amalgam of several longtime Victoria residents, invited his granddaughter, Ellen (delightfully portrayed by Ava Fournier), to listen as they walked together through the synagogue on a wet November day.

All Ellen heard was the sound of traffic outside. Sam smiled and said he heard people praying, even though the two of them were the only living souls walking around the old shul.

The plan of Sam’s son, Morris, to sell the old synagogue puts him at odds with his father, who had his heart set on restoring it. Their struggle fills most of the play, providing a perfect storm of difficult family dynamics made even more poignant by Jewish geography.

An active city-centre heritage synagogue is rare in Canada. During the last half-century, most urban Jewish communities moved to the suburbs, but not Victoria. This play helps us imagine why.

photo - Zuzana Macknight plays Rivka Abelman
Zuzana Macknight plays Rivka Abelman. (photo by Penny Tennenhouse)

Performed at Congregation Emanu-El, the action unfolded within the synagogue’s sanctuary, mystically directed from the bimah by the ghost of Sam’s wife, Rivka.

The role of Rivka was tenderly portrayed by Zuzana Macknight, an accomplished Czech actress forced from her homeland in 1968 after it was invaded by the Soviet Union and its Warsaw Pact allies. Macknight expressed a deep affinity for Rivka’s emotional journey through life as a child Holocaust survivor. Rivka felt such a passion for peace in her family that she managed to influence the play’s happy outcome from beyond the grave.

The greatest magic in this play swirled around its youngest actors. As Sam tells his granddaughter the story of his solo escape from Germany on a Kindertransport train to England during the Second World War, Nolan Nupp stole the show as Sam’s younger self. Nolan is a natural as Young Sam, who gave his bewildered little sister, Esther (played by Nolan’s real sister, Annika), a candy to help her remember him, as their mother tearfully forced them apart at a German train station.

In another flashback, Nolan communicated the horror Sam experienced as he watched the destruction of his beloved German synagogue during Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass, which unmasked the Nazis’ murderous intent in November 1938.

All four child actors staged a protest as Victoria Hebrew School students, chanting and waving signs proclaiming, “Save our Shul,” dressed as the elders who inspired them.

Although you may have missed this heart-warming show, which only ran four nights to packed houses in Congregation Emanu-El’s storied sanctuary, you can still visit. Come for Shabbos on a Saturday morning when you can hear prayers in the walls and add your own.

Shoshana Litman, Canada’s first ordained maggidah (female Jewish storyteller), lives in Victoria.

The power, beauty of music

On classical favourite is Beethoven. (image from Schirmer’s Library of Musical Classics)

Music, my love! Where can one start with this subject? For many, it is a highly emotional issue. Watching young people at a rave or rock concert, we can see how totally they are consumed by the sounds, the words and the experience. Though it may leave profound traces in what they become, in the person they are, other priorities will ultimately dictate their behaviour. Nevertheless, don’t so many of us retain some place in our being where the music of our youth, once recalled, takes us back to those times with immediacy, carrying with it all its emotional weight? All the good and all the bad!

Carried away by a political consciousness early in my growing up years, I missed all that. Busy, busy, busy. My attitude was coloured somewhat by having had music thrust down my throat by a mother who felt that no education was complete without a person having the capacity to play a musical instrument. To my distress, the violin was her instrument of choice – weren’t there all those famous virtuosos Jewish? But, my output was in continuous dissonance with the beautiful music I heard in my head, no matter how hard I practised. I struggled with it for a number of years, while my sister achieved some facility, until my teacher suggested I could more productively focus my efforts on attaining celebrity in basketball, where I, as a short person, also had unreasonable expectations. I did, however, gain an appreciation of how beautiful music could be when offered by those with talent.

It was the folk music of the ’60s, the music of protest and rebellion, that most marked my consciousness in those early years. I trafficked in other forms, but it was the emotional appeal of that particular material that captured me. Some of it can still bring me to tears. Over time, though, a few favourite classical works were accumulated as top of mind: Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Ravel, Dvorak, mainly their stuff stirred my emotions. Gershwin, some Joni Mitchell and Dylan, Joplin and Leonard Cohen round out the picture of less formal music. Do we begin to see a pattern?

I am not an addict. I can go for long periods of time without insisting on being surrounded by melodious strains. But, when the occasion arises, and the stars are aligned, I am totally captured by the music that is available – preferably one of my favourites, but no matter. I become enraptured by the immersion. I know I am an inconstant lover, but a lover I am, nevertheless.

The right sort of music can transport me to places where I feel I could remain forever, a nirvana that wipes away all the stuff that is usually filling my head. There is so much in there, catalogues and timetables, agendas and orders of priority; for the time that I am in a place of music, these things do not exist. In some ways, music becomes for me a refuge. I do not want to imagine life without it. The need for that escape accumulates within me over time until, unconsciously, I am forced to find the occasion for relief.

I know I do music an injustice. Those involved in music-making in all its forms devote the essence of their lives to it; it is their lives. I can only imagine the sacrifices that are made, the years that are spent, by those who have had music take them by throat and totally seize their souls, so driven are they. How insulting that it should descend to being merely a palliative to one like myself!

Many of the things we need in life have their devotees. Fortunately for us, what musicians/composers are offering to us is central to their lives, so they lead a life of service to others, in many ways, without their necessary volition. For us, their raison d’etre may be only incidental, but insofar as they are consumed in making music, in all its various forms, we are blessed by their commitment to finding their joy in their métier.

As a failed musician who knows how much devotion and hard work meaningful music-making takes, I can only express my gratitude. Some of the best moments of my life – and, undoubtedly, for many others – have come from their creativity.

Can we fully express our love for another person without turning at some point to music? Can we fully express our love of country without music? Would we be willing to surrender all that music brings to our lives?

Music came into being because humanity needed this medium to express those feelings that cannot be put into words. The oldest known instrument ever found – thought to be 3,500 years old – is a five-hole flute made from a vulture’s wing bone. Anthropologists estimate, according to Wikipedia, that music is 55,000 years old and originated in Africa. It has been said that humankind fundamentally changed its nature about that long ago. Maybe music played a crucial part in that.

Regardless, I have a love affair with music. I truly believe that music was invented all those eons ago so that I could get to dance with my Bride. Care to join me on the dance floor?

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

To leave a community

A still from One Of Us. (photo from lokifilms.com/one-of-us)

The riveting Netflix documentary One of Us follows three New Yorkers in various stages of the painful process of leaving their Chassidic community. The lone woman among them is far and away the film’s most memorable character, in part because she has the most harrowing journey.

“Etty was in the middle of a case and under massive personal duress from the beginning,” co-director Rachel Grady recalled. “She was apprehensive at first [about being in the movie] because she’s somebody that does not seek attention and would never under normal circumstances want to be filmed or photographed for her ego.”

Etty had filed for divorce after 12 years, claiming physical abuse, and she was fighting an uphill battle for custody of her seven children. At the same time, her family and friends abandoned her.

“We had agreed we wouldn’t show her face,” said co-director Heidi Ewing. “She had very good reasons for not wanting her identity to be shown to the world. What happens in the film is what happened to us in life, which is, about halfway through the project, she said, ‘I’ve got nothing to lose anymore. I’m not going to hide.’”

“She was very much alone and isolated and this insane, unexpected reaction from the community was happening to her,” said Grady. “She couldn’t believe it herself. I think she needed some documentation that this was real.”

One of Us debuted on Netflix in mid-October, but the New York-based filmmakers were recently on the West Coast for screenings and Q&As with Academy members who will vote on Oscar nominations.

Grady and Ewing, whose films include last year’s Norman Lear: Just Another Version of You and Jesus Camp, took steps to include the Chassidic community’s perspective, including a portion of a rabbi’s speech at an assembly at New York’s Citi Field that laments the threat – assimilation on steroids – that the modern world poses to Chassidism.

“Anything we had to show the warmth among the people in the community is in the movie,” said Ewing. “If you’re in the community, if you’re standing by all the rules and doing the right thing, there’s a lot to be gained. People will know about you and care about you. It’s when you deviate a little bit to the left or right, there’s going to be consequences.”

While most of the duo’s films focus on a religious community, Grady noted that they are interested in the belief systems that create community rather than matters of doctrine.

“It’s really about the community, how you identify yourself, how you identify yourself compared to others, your worldview based on your community,” Grady explained. “It’s something we could explore over and over and over, and religion is just a great way to do it. You could do the same thing on the zealots at my food co-op.”

Grady, who was raised Jewish in Washington, D.C., confided that she had never thought more about being a Jew than in the three years that she and Ewing were making One of Us.

“This idea that Jews always talk about, is it an ethnic group, is it culture, is it religion? It’s all of those things, and it weighs heavily one way or another depending how you were raised. In this case, there’s a group of people who are my neighbours in Brooklyn that I see every day and I know that I have a deep connection with them.

“I’m always thinking, ‘Did my great-grandfather do that? Would I have done that?’ It was kind of like an exercise every day when I was working on this film.”

While those questions will come up for some viewers as well, they are more likely to be moved by Etty’s struggle to leave the only society she’s known and forge a life in the wider world.

One of Us is now streaming on Netflix (unrated, in English and Yiddish, 95 minutes).

Michael Fox is a writer and film critic living in San Francisco.