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A Holocaust survivor and her family saw ‘Leopoldstadt.’ The Broadway play told their story.
(New York Jewish Week) — On a Wednesday evening last month, three generations of a Jewish family made their way to their seats at the Longacre Theater to see “Leopoldstadt,” Tom Stoppard’s epic Broadway play about the tragedies that befall an extended Jewish family in the first half of the 20th century in Vienna.
The date of the family gathering was a significant one: Nov. 9, the 84th anniversary of the Nazi pogroms known as Kristallnacht. And in the audience was Fini Konstat, 96, who lived in the once thriving Jewish neighborhood after which the play is named, and witnessed the horrors it portrays first-hand. Alongside her were her daughter and her son-in-law, Renee and James Akers, and her oldest great-grandchild, Lexi Levin, 23.
When Konstat was a child, she lived in a “nice apartment” in Leopoldstadt. But exactly 84 years to the day of their theater date, “I was running with my father, seeing all the Jewish stores with all their windows broken,” she told Levin in a short video her great-granddaughter filmed before the curtain rose.
“It’s such a blessing for me to be here with you,” Levin said to her great-grandmother in response. “Ninety-six years old, survived a pandemic, at a Broadway show in New York City.”
Left: Fini as a child on the balcony of her apartment in Leopoldstadt. Right: Fini with her three children in front of the very same building, pictured in 2015. (Courtesy)
Since the beginning of its Broadway run in mid-September, “Leopoldstadt,” with its depiction of a prosperous Viennese family on the brink of destruction, has moved audiences to tears and inspired deep reflections on the Holocaust. Based on the celebrated playwright’s own family history — of which he was barely aware while growing up in England — it has provided a stark counterpoint to news about rising antisemitism and the celebrities who have been purveying it.
But for Konstat, the play was much more personal. “When I heard the word ‘Leopoldstadt,’ this alone gave me lots of thrills and memories,” Konstat, who is known in her family as Mimi, told the New York Jewish Week in accented English. She recalled how Levin, who recently moved to the city, invited her to fly to New York to see one of Broadway’s hottest tickets.
“Leopoldstadt,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “The second district. That’s where we lived.”
At the end of Stoppard’s five-act play, audiences learn that most of the Jewish characters had perished under the Nazis — of the four generations in the show, just three cousins survive to carry on the family’s legacy.
For Konstat too, she and her parents were among the very few in their extended family to survive the Holocaust. “Almost all of them went to Auschwitz or other camps,” Konstat said. “My mother was a twin and only the twins remained alive. [My mother’s] five other siblings and my grandmother perished.”
L-R: Renee Akers, James Akers, Lexi Levin and Fini Konstat at the Longacre Theater to see Tom Stoppard’s ‘Leopoldstadt on Broadway,’ Nov. 9, 2022. (Courtesy)
In a Zoom conversation held over Thanksgiving weekend, Konstat, surrounded by two of her daughters, two of her granddaughters and three of her great-granddaughters, shared what the play meant to her — and how her family has restored what she lost.
In the months after Kristallnacht in 1938, Konstat and her parents hid in a neighbor’s apartment; Konstat recalls hiding under the duvet when German soldiers showed up. Eventually the family fled to Turkey, and then to India, before settling down in Mexico City. There, the teenage Fini met her husband David, also a survivor who escaped Poland. The two of them began to write the rest of their story — starting with the birth of the first of their three children in 1948.
Unlike many Holocaust survivors, Fini and David Konstat were open about their experiences during the war, instilling a sense of pride and duty to remember in their children — something that eventually extended to their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
“They were proud to speak about how they survived this,” said the Konstats’ middle child, Renee Konstat Akers. “Their life was an odyssey. They had the courage to do things that you would never think were possible. We grew up grateful knowing how our family survived in that incredible way.”
Each child moved to different places as they grew up and got married. Manuel, the oldest, stayed in Mexico. Renee married an American and moved to the Midwest, and Denise, the youngest, to Houston. Each became deeply involved in their Jewish communities, sending their children (Konstat’s grandchildren) to Jewish day schools, celebrating Jewish holidays and participating in synagogue life.
“The word ‘miracle’ really does not feel like an understatement in this scenario,” said Sherry Levin, one of Konstat’s grandchildren. “When we think about what it took for my grandmother and grandfather to survive and how they were able to intersect in Mexico, and such an amazing multi-generational family has come to fruition, it feels miraculous.”
Pictured here on their 40th anniversary, Fini and her husband David met in Mexico City after both had fled Europe. They were married 54 years before David died in 2001. (Courtesy)
Reviews of the show have ranged from rhapsodic to resistant, with some critics suggesting the play is simplistic and obvious in its story-telling or that it is less a well-crafted play than a well-meaning lesson on the Holocaust.
But just as the Merz family clashes and argues about everything from antisemitism to intermarriage to socialism in “Leopoldstadt,” each generation of the Konstat family that saw “Leopoldstadt” that night came away with something different — a reaction influenced by their age, their Jewish identity, their nationality and their relationship with their family.
For Konstat, the arc of “Leopoldstadt” was so familiar that it hardly stirred her. “It was just very happy watching it and enjoying it and enjoying my children with me, “ she told the New York Jewish Week. “I didn’t think about anybody else.”
Akers, too, felt an intense familiarity with the story, and, perhaps toughened by her own family history, didn’t experience an intense emotional reaction. Her own parents’ lives gave Akers a sense of purpose in her life — for example, in the 1990s, she was passionate about helping resettle Jews fleeing the former Soviet Union. With her own children, she instilled in them a strong sense of Jewish purpose in their work, their education and their family.
“I was a sandwich in between seeing my mother and my granddaughter,” she said of her “Leopoldstadt” experience. “I was emotional thinking of my mom who went through it, but I was more emotional about seeing my granddaughter be so moved. It really hit her at her core.”
Indeed, it was the youngest member of the family present that night who was most shaken by the play.
“It really felt like a gift to my family and to me, specifically, to be able to see what Mimi’s life looked like before the war,” Lexi Levin said, surmising that, as a fourth-generation survivor, she is among the first in her family to be able to start processing the loss on a grander scale.
“For the first time in my life, I really felt the magnitude of her loss,” she added. “I’ve known her story and I’ve been inspired by her story to be involved with my own Jewish causes, but I have never been able to access and truly empathize with her grief and what it meant that she lost the entire family she had before this one that she created.”
Turning to her great-grandmother, as if trying to make her understand the exact precision of the show, Levin explained, “It’s a play about generations and the family was large and then it was small.”
“You made it large again,” she said, referring to the generations of family that had assembled — in the Broadway theater and again over Thanksgiving weekend. “Look at this room.”
Pictured on her 90th birthday in 2017, Fini Konstat now has three children, ten grandchildren and twenty great-grandchildren. (Courtesy)
There was a coda for the family after the curtain went down. The day after the show, the family wanted to see the 1907 “Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I,” one of Gustav Klimt’s most famous paintings, which currently hangs at the Neue Galerie on the Upper East Side. A version of the portrait’s true story — how a painting of a socialite from a prominent Viennese Jewish family was looted by the Nazis and the family’s efforts to get it back — features in the plot of “Leopoldstadt.”
The gallery, however, was closed on the only day the family could visit. After a call to the management at the gallery, which showcases the German and Austrian art collections of Jewish philanthropist Ronald S. Lauder, the gallery’s director arranged a private tour.
“It felt like we were in a puzzle and everything was finally coming together,” said Akers. “It was an emotional, emotional time.”
When the week was over and the emotions were spent, Konstat and the Akers returned home with a reignited passion for their family story. But there was yet another twist: In addition to the whirlwind trip Levin planned for her grandparents and for Mimi, she had been undergoing the laborious process of applying for Austrian citizenship. Six members in Konstat’s large family have undertaken the process over the last two years.
“Part of the motivation was knowing Mimi’s story, and knowing that she survived because her mother had citizenship in Turkey,” Levin said. “That story was just inspirational to me, knowing that dual citizenship was what saved our family.” She convinced her brother and mother to apply for Austrian citizenship as well.
The day after her grandmother and great-grandmother left New York, Levin called them with news from her small apartment in Manhattan: An Austrian passport had arrived in the mail. The curtain was rising on another act.
Konstat was surprised at how interested her family was in getting Austrian citizenship. “I feel very good,” she said. “I’m very happy.”
“Does it make you emotional?” Levin asked her during the Zoom call with the New York Jewish Week.
“It does — of course it does. I used to love Austria,” she said. “I was sad to leave. I was disappointed. We never thought of coming back. I was happy to be able to escape. Thank God we made it out of hell.”
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The post A Holocaust survivor and her family saw ‘Leopoldstadt.’ The Broadway play told their story. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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This Orthodox filmmaker strove to find common ground between Jews and non-Jews
Menachem Daum (1946-2024) was not your typical Orthodox Jewish filmmaker. In his work, the late director often strove to find common ground between Jews and non-Jews, Orthodox and secular Jews, Polish Catholics and Jews (which he wrote about in these pages) and even between Palestinians and Holocaust survivors.
Fordham University is hosting a free retrospective of his films at Lincoln Center in New York. Called “Hidden Sparks,” the retrospective kicks off with Daum’s 1997 work A Life Apart: Hasidism in America — the first in-depth documentary portrait of Hasidim in New York City, produced and directed by an insider who knew the community intimately. The film is narrated by Leonard Nimoy.
In the documentary, we see a grandfather chatting in Yiddish with his children and grandchildren at home on Purim; a lively scene at the local butcher’s, and a young African-American’s unexpected reaction to a group of Hasidic men engaged in the tashlikh ritual in Brooklyn.
The film will be followed by a panel discussion that includes anthropologist Ayala Fader; filmmaker Oren Rudawsky (Daum’s frequent co-producer and co-director) and Daum’s wife, Rifke Daum.
On Tuesday, Feb. 3, 2026, Fordham will also host a screening and discussion of Hiding and Seeking: Faith and Tolerance after the Holocaust — a documentary that follows Daum as he travels with his two grown sons to the Polish village of Dzialoszyce to track down the Christian farmers who hid their family from the Nazis.
What’s fascinating about the film is the obvious reluctance of his sons, married yeshiva students, to go on the trip at all, poking fun at their father’s liberal attitude towards the Poles — and then seeing their reaction when they finally meet the now-aging children of those farmers.
As Oren Rudavsky put it: “A Life Apart was our attempt to humanize Haredim for outsiders. Hiding and Seeking is our attempt to humanize outsiders to the Haredim.”
The post-screening discussion for Hiding and Seeking will include the Polish-born historian Natalia Aleksiun, filmmaker Oren Rudavsky, and Daum’s son, Tzvi Dovid Daum. To register for the film, go here.
The retrospective also includes the 2026 film The Ruins of Lifta (2016), a documentary centered around the only Arab village abandoned in the 1948 Arab-Israeli war that wasn’t destroyed or repopulated. It will be followed a week later by a conversation with Israeli historian Hillel Cohen about the legacy of The Ruins of Lifta.
There will also be a screening of portions of Menachem Daum’s unfinished film Memory Keepers, about a group of non-Jews — mostly Christian Poles — working to restore and preserve Jewish cemeteries in Poland.
The film retrospective, which takes place at the McNally Amphitheater in Manhattan, runs from Jan. 27 — Feb. 17. For more information and to register, go here.
The post This Orthodox filmmaker strove to find common ground between Jews and non-Jews appeared first on The Forward.
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Could a video game help combat antisemitism on college campuses?
At a time of escalating antisemitism in the online gaming community, Julia Sebastien’s upcoming PC game, StrangeLand, which explores the difficulties of Jewish life at an Ivy League college, offers an alternative: the digital game not as an agent of antisemitism, but as a bulwark against it.
“What I want players to experience with this game,” Sebastien told me over Zoom, “is the sequence of choices and trade-offs a Jewish student in a really rigorous institution has to make.”
Yet she also has a longer-term, and perhaps loftier, aim for StrangeLand: That college educators and administrators use it as a guide of sorts to Jewish student life in general, and in particular, to “antisemitism on campuses,” she said.
Still, its target audience is one you might expect — current and former Jewish students at North American colleges, who, Sebastien believes, need help communicating “to family and friends when they’re feeling too tired or burnt out by everything that’s been going on.”
Sebastien has made digital games before. Indeed, she’s had a couple, both also academic in tone, published in digital journals. (One explored the effects of burnout in academia.) But thanks to a grant from the nonprofit Maimonides Fund, StrangeLand is her most ambitious, well-funded effort yet.
It’s also a little more personal.
Sebastien grew up in what she described as a “pretty religious Jewish suburb,” a modern orthodox community in Toronto. She attended Jewish day school and was fluent in Hebrew. But she never really took to prayer, she told me, and even as a teenager she had begun to see her Jewishness as an intellectual pursuit more so than a religious one.
She stayed in Toronto for her BA at York University, but then ventured south to Cambridge, Mass., where in 2022 she got a Master’s in Learning, Design, and Technology from Harvard, before starting a PhD in media psychology at Cornell (she’s partway through).
StrangeLand is loosely based on her own experiences in the academy, though it also comprises anecdotes from dozens of other Jewish undergraduates, graduates and alumni, whom Sebastien consulted via a survey. Players will “inhabit the life of a Jewish student who has just left home to start graduate school at an Ivy League university, sometime in the 2010s,” she said. There, they’ll be presented with a series of scenarios, organized thematically.
These scenarios will be “evergreen” Jewish student dilemmas: negotiating obligations around Jewish holidays alongside the traditional academic calendar; staying late at a laboratory on a Friday night versus leaving to meet other Jewish students for Shabbat dinner. And some will have a grain of antisemitism, at least according to Sebastien: how to respond to an off-color remark in a social setting, say, or whether or not to wear a Magen David necklace in public.
There’s no winning or losing, per se. Rather, StrangeLand will aim to illustrate the “impossibility of satisfying the demands of these two worlds; that, really, is the crux of the gameplay,” Sebastien said.
Notably absent from StrangeLand, however, are Zionism and Israel, the very topics that have elevated the Jewish collegiate experience to something of a national issue. Their omission is no accident. “I’m not trying to shine a light on what’s happening now,” Sebastien said. “I’m trying to educate people about antisemitism.”
And to include such divisive subjects wouldn’t help Sebastien fulfill this aim, she feels. “As a designer, I need to consider the very real possibility that for some players, StrangeLand might be their first exposure to antisemitism as a distinct concept,” she said. “And I feel that the best way to bring antisemitism awareness to diverse audiences is to use examples that are clear, universal, and evergreen.”
These hot-button issues, moreover, would seriously upset the vibe Sebastien is going for. “I actually don’t want characters in the game shouting horrific things,” she said. “I don’t want to jar the player. I want to explore concepts in a safe way that can still be emotionally poignant and meaningful and educational.”
The game will have a retro feel, then, a lo-fi aesthetic — the heavily-pixelated, Game Boy-style gameplay that Sebastien adored as a child — which she’s confident will reinforce these feelings of comfort and safety. (She cited Tomorrow, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, Gabrielle Zevin’s best-selling 2022 novel about a pair of Jewish, Harvard-educated video game developers in the ‘90s, as one of the game’s inspirations.)
In short, Sebastien wants StrangeLand to be a respite from the pressures of campus life, while at the same time illuminating, especially for those non-Jewish players, the complexities of the Jewish student experience.
How it can accomplish this without meaningfully discussing Zionism is an open question. To my mind, StrangeLand seems to be as much a work of history as anything else. The antisemitism Sebastien repeatedly referenced during our conversation was of the classical U.S. variety, the WASP-y strain of the 1960s and 1970s often found in Roth and Bellow novels. Nowadays, of course, discussions about campus antisemitism are typically focused on something else entirely. So it’s a little hard to square Sebastien’s broader goal for StrangeLand, that it eventually be part of DEI curricula, with its lack of contemporary examples.
But Sebastien is confident players will leave StrangeLand with a more complete understanding of Jewish student life. “I want this to speak to and for Jewish students now and in the past,” she said. “That’s what this game is to me.”
The post Could a video game help combat antisemitism on college campuses? appeared first on The Forward.
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People are enchanted with this 12-year old singer of Yiddish songs
דאָס איז איינער פֿון אַ סעריע קורצע אַרטיקלען אָנגעשריבן אױף אַ רעלאַטיװ גרינגן ייִדיש און געצילעװעט אױף סטודענטן. די מחברטע איז אַלײן אַ ייִדיש־סטודענטקע. דאָ קען מען לײענען די פֿריִערדיקע אַרטיקלען אין דער סעריע.
אין זומער 2020, בעת די װעלט איז געװען פֿאַרשפּאַרט צוליב קאָװיד־19, האָב איך געקוקט נאָך אַ מאָל און װידער אַ מאָל אױף אַ װידעאָ װאָס האָט זיך באַװיזן אױף דער סאָציאַלער מעדיע. דאָרטן האָבן צװײ קינדערלעך — דינה סלעפּאָװיטש און פּיניע מינקין — געזונגען אַ ייִדיש פֿאָלקסליד װעגן די בולבעס װאָס אָרעמע ייִדן האָבן געגעסן אין מיזרח־אײראָפּע.
איך בין פֿאַרכּישופֿט געװאָרן. אַ פּנים בין איך נישט געװען די אײנציקע, װײַל באַלד נאָך דעם איז אַן אַרטיקל װעגן דעם װידעאָ אַרױס אינעם פֿאָרװערטס.
דעמאָלט האָב איך אָבער נישט געװוּסט אַז דינה סלעפּאָװיטש, נישט געקוקט אױף איר צאַרטן עלטער, איז שױן געװען אַ געניטע זינגערין פֿון ייִדישע לידער. דאָ זעט מען װי זי האָט צו פֿיר יאָר אויף אַ חנוכּה־פֿאָרשטעלונג אין דער ניו־יאָרקער אַרבעטער־רינג שולע געזונגען פֿון אױסנװײניק דאָס קינדער־לידל „האָב איך מיר אַ מאַנטל“. איר טאַטע, דער כּלי־זמר און כּלי־זמר־מוזיק פֿאָרשער זיסל סלעפּאָװיטש האָט זי אַקאָמפּאַנירט אױף דער קלאַװיאַטור. מען הערט אינעם װידעאָ װי דער עולם זינגט מיט מיט איר דעם רעפֿרען.
דינה און איר טאַטע האָבן רעקאָרדירט אַ היפּשע צאָל װידעאָס פֿון ייִדישע לידער במשך פֿון די לעצטע פֿינעף יאָר. אָט איז אַ שפּיל־רשימה װוּ מען קען קוקן אױף זײ. איך האָב ספּעציעל ליב „שנירעלע פּערעלע“, װאָס דינה זינגט מיט אַ בעכער אין דער רעכטער האַנט, װי דאָס ליד באַשרײַבט. „דײנו“, װאָס זי זינגט מיטן טאַטן, איז מונטער און אָפּטימיסטיש. „דאָס עלנטע קינד“, קאָמפּאָנירט אין דער װאַרשעװער געטאָ מיט װערטער פֿון שמערקע קאַטשערגינסקי, זינגט זי װײך און מיט טרױער.
אין 2025 האָט דינה צו צװעלף יאָר אָפּגעהאַלטן אין אַ ניו־יאָרקער טעאַטער די װעלט־פּרעמיערע פֿון איר טאַטנס ליד „אױפֿן טײַכל שלום“. די קאָמפּאָזיציע איז באַזירט אױף אַ ליד פֿונעם פּאָעט און שרײַבער באָריס סאַנדלער, װעמענס 75סטן געבוירן־טאָג האָט דער קאָנצערט אָפּגעמערקט. זי האָט אױך דעבוטירט װי אַ סאָליסטקע מיט דער נאַציאָנאַלער ייִדישער טעאַטער־פֿאָלקסבינע בעת זײער חנוכּה־פּראָגראַם אין היברו־יוניאָן קאָלעדזש. זי פֿיגורירט אויך אין װידעאָס, אַרײַננעמעננדיק „זאָל שױן קומען די גאולה“, קאָמפּאָנירט נאָכן חורבן מיט װערטער פֿון שמערקע קאַטשערגינסקי.
לעצטנס האָב איך געשמועסט (אױף ענגליש) מיט דינה און איר טאַטן װעגן איר באַציִונג צו ייִדישע לידער — אַמאָל, הײַנט צו טאָג און האָפֿנטלעך אין דער צוקונפֿט.
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שטערן׃ װי אַזױ האָט דינה אָנגעהױבן צו זינגען לידער אױף ייִדיש?
זיסל סלעפּאָװיטש: זינט זי איז געבױרן געװאָרן האָב איך איר געזונגען אױף ייִדיש. זי האָט נאַטירלעך אָנגעהױבן נאָכצוזינגען די ייִדישע לידער. מיר רעדן רוסיש בײַ אונדז אין דער הײם, װײַל איך און מײַן פֿרױ זענען אױפֿגעװאַקסן אין בעלאַרוס. אַװדאי רעדט דינה ענגליש אין שול, און ענגליש און רוסיש מיט די חבֿרים. ייִדיש און ייִדישע לידער זענען אָבער געװען אַ טײל פֿון אונדזער משפּחה־לעבן, און זי האָט זײ אײַנגעזאַפּט אין זיך במשך פֿון איר טאָגטעגלעך לעבן. כאָטש זי האָט זיך נאָך נישט געלערנט ייִדיש סיסטעמאַטיש — גראַמאַטיק אאַז״װ — הערט מען װי נאַטירלעך זי זינגט אױף ייִדיש.
שטערן׃ דינה, װי לערנסטו זיך אַזױ גוט אױס די לידער?
דינה סלעפּאָװיטש: קודם־כּל זינגט מײַן טאַטע פֿאַר מיר אַ נײַ ליד, אַזױ פֿיל מאָל װי איך דאַרף. כ’האָב אַ גוטן זכּרון, הײב איך גיך אָן צו געדענקען די מעלאָדיע. דערנאָך דיסקוטירן מיר די װערטער, זעצנדיק זײ איבער אױף רוסיש און אַ מאָל אױף ענגליש. װײַל איך קען אַ סך ייִדישע לידער זענען עטלעכע װערטער מיר שױן באַקאַנט — מער און מער װערטער מיט דער צײַט.
שטערן: װאָס זענען דײַנע באַליבטסטע ייִדישע לידער?
דינה סלעפּאָװיטש: איך פֿיל זיך פֿאַרבונדן מיט „שנירעלע פּערעלע“, װײַל איך האָב דאָס געזונגען אין מײַן ערשטן װידעאָ בעת קאָװיד־19. און אַװדאי איז דאָס ליד װעגן בולבעס נאָענט צום האַרצן, װײַל אַ סך מענטשן האָבן געקוקט אױפֿן דאָזיקן װידעאָ און הנאה געהאַט פֿון אים. „אַרום דעם פֿײַער“ האָב איך אױך זײער ליב. װען איך זינג דאָס ליד פֿיל איך זיך רויִק און פֿאַרבונדן מיט אַנדערע מענטשן.
שטערן: װאָסער מין רעאַקציע באַקומט איר אױף די װידעאָס?
זיסל סלעפּאָװיטש: מיר באַקומען זײער אַ פּאָזיטיװע רעאַקציע. איך פֿאָר איבער דער װעלט צוליב מײַן מוזיק־אַרבעט, הער איך אָפֿט אַז מוזיקערס און ליבהאָבערס פֿון ייִדיש אין אַנדערע לענדער קוקן אױף די װידעאָס, אָפֿט מאָל מיט זײערע קינדער. לערערס פֿון ייִדיש און פֿון ייִדישער מוזיק װײַזן זײ אין די קלאַסן.
דינה סלעפּאָװיטש: מײַנע חבֿרים קוקן אױף די װידעאָס, און איך מײן אַז זײ האָבן זײ ליב!
שטערן: דינה, װי פֿילסטו זיך װען דו זינגסט פֿאַר אַן עולם, ספּעציעל אין אַ טעאַטער אָדער אױדיטאָריע?
דינה סלעפּאָװיטש: נערװעז. מײַן מאַמע העלפֿט מיר אָבער אַ סך. זי איז אַלע מאָל בײַ דער זײַט װען איך האַלט בײַ זינגען. מיט איר הילף באַרויִק איך זיך און מאַך זיך גרײט צו גײן אױף דער בינע.
שטערן: צי װילסטו זיך לערנען ייִדיש סיסטעמאַטיש, אפֿשר מיט ייִדיש פּאָפּ?
דינה סלעפּאָװיטש: יאָ, דעם קומעדיקן זומער, װען איך װעל נישט האָבן אַזױ פֿיל שולאַרבעט צו טאָן. האָפֿנטלעך װעל איך זיך לערנען רעלאַטיװ גרינג, װײַל כ’האָב געהאַט ייִדיש אין די אױערן לעבנסלאַנג. און איך קען שױן אַ סך װערטער.
שטערן: צי װעסטו װײַטער זינגען ייִדישע לידער פֿאַר אַן עולם און רעקאָרדירן װידעאָס?
דינה סלעפּאָװיטש: יאָ. נאָך דעם װי איך װעל זיך לערנען ייִדיש מער סיסטעמאַטיש װעל איך קענען זינגען װײַטערדיקע לידער. איך זינג מיטן ניו־יאָרקער פֿיליאַל פֿונעם נאַציאָנאַלן קינדער־כאָר, װאָס העלפֿט מיט געזאַנג־טעכניק. מיר זינגען אױף ענגליש, שפּאַניש, יאַפּאַניש, העברעיִש, האַװאַייִש…די דיריגענטן העלפֿן אונדז מיטן גוט אַרױסרעדן די װערטער בעת מיר זינגען. איך האָב ליב דאָס זינגען אױף פֿאַרשײדענע שפּראַכן. ייִדישע לידער װעלן מיר אָבער בלײַבן ספּעציעל װיכטיק, װײַל ייִדיש איז אַזאַ גרױסער טײל פֿון מײַן לעבן.
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