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The legacy of Isaac Babel, Russia’s Jewish Hemingway, is dissected in new Chicago play
CHICAGO (JTA) — All writers strive for a good story. How far they will go to find it depends on their ambition, their wherewithal and their sanity.
Isaac Babel, a Russian-Jewish writer who came from a relatively stable, privileged background in Odessa in the late 1800s, would go to war among Cossacks who murdered Jews, make friends with Soviet agents and then cuckold one of them. The reason why Babel constantly put himself in harm’s way may have been simple, according to another writer.
“I think he wanted something to write about,” said Rajiv Joseph, whose play at Steppenwolf Theater in Chicago, “Describe the Night,” centers on Babel. “He was a young man who had wanted to be a writer but had nothing to write about.”
“Describe the Night” blends three stories from different eras that engage with questions of who controls the truth. The first portrays Babel, the Soviet secret police head Nikolai Yezhov and Yezhov’s wife, Yevgenia, with whom Babel begins an affair. The second follows a young Soviet agent rising through the ranks just before the Berlin Wall falls, and the third dives into a conspiracy behind a 2010 plane crash near Smolensk, Russia.
Babel himself may not rise to the ranks of Tolstoy or Dostoevsky in terms of immediate name recognition in the United States, but the journalist, author and playwright is remembered as one of Russia’s preeminent 20th-century writers. His modernist and bloody tales in “Red Cavalry,” a collection of short stories inspired by his time on the frontlines of the Polish-Soviet War of 1919, vaulted him to the status of a Russian Hemingway. The pithy American war correspondent once expressed his admiration, perhaps even jealousy, of Babel’s writing, saying “Babel’s style is even more concise than mine.”
Like Hemingway, Babel went to war in search of a good story. Combat itself was not the only threat to him: as a Jew, he bore witness to the Cossack cavalry’s antisemitic atrocities. Babel tamped down his Jewish identity while covering the war, though he would feel a sense of isolation in both societies or as his grandson would later describe him “a Jew among the Cossacks, and a Cossack among the Jews.” In his own diary, Babel wrote “Talking to the Jews, I feel kin to them, they think I’m Russian and my soul is laid bare.”
Joseph, who is not Jewish and authored the Pulitzer-nominated play “Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo,” had read “Red Cavalry” years ago but was inspired to write “Describe the Night” after discovering the poetic journal Babel had kept during the war. The title of the play comes directly from the diary, which repeats the word several times in Babel’s own prompts to describe things ranging from kitchens to marketplaces to women to horses. Sometimes Babel successfully answers his own prompts by forcing himself to write, and other times he doesn’t, Joseph said.
Lead actor James Vincent Meredith is also not Jewish and admitted he had concerns about “the choice of casting a black man in the role of a Jewish man living in the world of Russia, the Ukraine and Paris.” He partly found his way to the character by watching the 2015 documentary “Finding Babel,” which follows Babel’s grandson across Russia and Ukraine as he searches for his famous ancestor’s remains.
“I can read Babel’s work (I have), I can travel to Israel (I have, decades ago), I can take Hebrew as an elective in college (I did, not very well), I can read Chaim Potok (I have). But these are at their best, however well intentioned, tourist pursuits for one who is not Jewish,” he said. “I will never come close to knowing the true soul of a Jewish person. Thankfully, Rajiv has created this character that by his design, anyone can inhabit.”
Yasen Peyankov and James Vincent Meredith in a scene from the play about Isaac Babel. (Michael Brosilow)
He added that the play isn’t meant to be historically accurate. “The character of Isaac, as well as others in the play, is meant to be an entry point into a world where the scalpel crafting the ‘truth’ is rarely placed in the hands of those who are adversely affected by it. As a black male and father of a black male in the U.S., I’m certainly cognizant of that world.”
Joseph feels that he and other artists share the instinct Babel had to leave his comfort zone. He wanted to be a writer, but growing up in suburban Cleveland gave him little inspiration. After college, he joined the Peace Corps and spent three years in West Africa.
“That was a real life-changing event for me that opened my world and opened my mind,” Joseph said. “Not nearly as traumatic as traveling with the cavalry through Poland in 1920, but the same impulse to break out of your norms.”
Yet Joseph believes Babel’s desires went beyond pushing boundaries and into a deep, pathological need to associate with danger.
“The thing I find really interesting about Babel, both through his writing and through his personal life, is this inexorable draw towards danger and filth,” Joseph said, adding that Babel would hang out in taverns with Soviet soldiers, members of the secret police and executioners like Yezhov. “He was already treading on such thin ice. So he had a recklessness, you could call it a death wish if you want.”
Meredith was also stunned by the writer’s intense flirtations with danger.
“Why get that close to the flame? That to me is one of the things that really appealed to me about this guy,” Meredith said. “I tend to play it safe, as safe as an actor can play it, but I see this guy who had these kinds of desires, he had this quest to make this amazing art as far as his stories and I just I’m just so attracted to that.”
Joseph said he saw some parallels between Babel’s story and the exodus of some of his artistic peers in Russia, who have fled to Europe. In his time, Babel was seen as subversive by nature, existing as a Jewish man in early Soviet Russia. His relished writing about prostitutes and mobsters, transforming underworld characters into urban legends. His 1935 political play “Maria” was canceled during rehearsals and by 1939, Soviet police arrested him and confiscated his writing. Throughout the 1940s, his works disappeared from circulation. Though some believed Babel had spent time throughout that decade in a prison camp, the government had executed him in 1940.
“In the 1930s and ‘40s, I think if you are a Jewish creative writer, you’re automatically subversive,” Joseph said. He noted one pivotal scene where Nikolai Yezhov labels Babel as such because his writing portrays Russia as gloomy rather than inspiring.
“If you’re telling the truth, you are subversive,” Joseph added. “So I think that pretty much any creative writer worth his or her weight would be considered subversive at that moment.”
“Describe the Night” runs until April 9 at the Steppenwolf Theater in Chicago.
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Is the art world finally ready to celebrate Diana Kurz?
Diana Kurz is on a roll. Last April, the 89-year-old, Viennese-born New York artist had a solo show of her abstract paintings, “Diana Kurz: A Journey of Discovery,” at the Lincoln Glenn Gallery in Chelsea. Motorists on the New York State Thruway can now see “The Hudson River Downtown, Triptych,” her large landscape reproduced as a permanent installation at the Ardsley Service Plaza, the first stop outside Manhattan. The US State Department recently chose two of Kurz’s still-life paintings for the US Embassy in Paraguay. And a series of Instagram reels featuring Kurz explaining aspects of her practice have earned her more than 24,000 followers. Kurz’s work will also be included in Lincoln Glenn’s “American Women Artists and the Century of Change,” opening later this summer.
“This is a time in New York to celebrate women artists of a certain age,” Kurz told me, mentioning that painters Joan Semel, Martha Edelheit, Lois Dodd and Judith Bernstein, all in their eighties and nineties, have been receiving renewed attention. “If you live long enough. But then, the work itself is what keeps you going.”
“Diana has been part of New York’s art culture since the early 1960s,” said Douglas Gold, co-founder of Lincoln Glenn, which focuses on artists who worked in New York between 1940 and 1980. “The women of this era continued painting despite an incredibly misogynistic culture. Dealers wouldn’t handle them or if they did, wouldn’t raise their prices, and the men of the period drank together and networked in downtown bars where women didn’t feel welcome. Historians, museums, people motivated to research this period, have taken note. It’s a moment to recognize the women who kept moving forward no matter what.”
‘One painting leads to another and another’
I first met Kurz in 1995 when I profiled her for the New York Jewish Week. Back then, the loft where she lives and works, a former doll factory in SoHo, had been taken over by a project both personal and enormous: larger-than-life paintings based on photos of men, women and children lost in the Holocaust, many of them her family members. She’d never intended to explore this material, had spent much of her artistic life avoiding the pain of her family’s narrow escape from the Nazis in 1940, when she and her parents boarded the last boat out of Southampton. Her father’s eyewear business had franchises beyond Austria, critical outposts that helped them flee.
When Kurz was growing up in Kew Gardens, Queens, in the 1940s and ‘50s, she was aware of family who’d perished in the concentration camps, but she also wanted to be an ordinary American and fit in. For many years, she denied her European background. Then, in 1989, on a trip to California, an aunt showed her a tiny photo of her uncle holding his baby daughter, both of whom died in the Holocaust (the family never learned the details of their fate) and she decided to make a painting based on the photo. “I never start out saying I’m going to do a big project, but sometimes one painting leads to another and another,” she told me.
A painter with roots in abstract expressionism, Diana is known for her dynamic use of color. “All that I learned painting abstractly, about composition, color, form and space, that’s in my figurative work too. It’s just as important to me as the image itself,” she said.
The luminous vitality of her palette and the depth it creates is what stays with me most in these works. In “Three,” which is nine-feet high, a father stands on crutches. He’s missing a leg, and on the lapel of his suit, he’s wearing the medal he earned in World War I. He holds the hands of his two small children, a little girl and boy each wearing the yellow star. The portrait is based on a photo of Eastern European Jewish war veteran Victor Fanjnzylber, whose heroic status exempted him from wearing the star but didn’t exempt his children. In the end, all three were still deported.
The little girl’s dress is a deep blue that almost glows, the boy’s shirt is apple green with yellow undertones (rhyming disturbingly with bits of the yellow star peeking out from under the suspenders of his short pants). The grey-violet of the father’s suit, with its folds and pleats, is deepened by its proximity to the daughter’s dress.
“Because of all the black-and-white photos we tend to associate with the Holocaust, people don’t realize how often the horrors took place on beautiful days, under clear skies,” said Kurz, “When reading people’s recollections, I was often struck by the irony of the fact that terrible, unspeaking things occurred while the sky was blue, with birds singing.”
‘I had no choice. I had to do that work.’
Kurz told me that she always knew she was an artist. “I remember my father saying to my mother that they’d better start frequenting museums because ‘if she’s going to be an artist we’d better know about it,’” she said. While working towards her MFA at Columbia in the late 1950s, she painted large, classically abstract expressionist paintings, and says she often learned more from her fellow students than from her teachers, who didn’t always take women seriously. Yet she persisted, and in 1966 won a Fulbright to Paris, where she was mentored by painter and art theorist Jean Hélion.
Hélion, a survivor of a German prison camp, encouraged her to try incorporating figures into her abstract work; he was the one who first gave her the photo that would become the painting “Three” two decades later. During residencies at Yaddo in 1968 and ‘69, she met Philip Guston, an important influence, who was remaking himself in those years, moving from the abstract to the tangible. Back in lower Manhattan, she became part of a group that included Mercedes Matter, Philip Pearlstein and Lois Dodd, all of whom were exploring figurative art and drew and painted from live models.
Solo shows followed, including three at the Green Mountain Gallery in the 1970s, and three at the Alex Rosenberg Gallery in the 1980s, highlighting her still life and portraiture. “Then I took on the Holocaust paintings and had no major shows for many years,” she said. “But I had no choice. I had to do that work.”
Kurz said she knew these paintings would be difficult to sell. “These are not portraits to hang over the couch or whatever,” she told me. Thus far, there have been 13 solo shows featuring the work, mostly in college and university galleries. “It’s allowed me to tell the history to newer generations, many of whom don’t know it.”
In 1998, the Bezirksmuseum Josefstadt in Vienna showed the “Remembrance” series in total as it existed then. Wien Museum (formerly known as the Historisches Museum der Stadt Wien) purchased two of the paintings. Another small canvas is at Yad Vashem. A major American museum has never done a comprehensive exhibit of all 18 portraits. This would seem the time for it.
Meanwhile Kurz continues to paint. “For me, inspiration comes through working,” she said. “You can’t sit there and wait for it.” Since 2005, she’s been painting a series of “small portrait heads,” mostly of actors, musicians, and dancers, young people from every possible background and ethnicity who are now filling up the same walls where “Remembrance” once dominated. The sitters are mostly under 30, and “I can look at them and see all this potential.” There are 43 so far, though she hopes one day to reach a hundred, and perhaps do an installation.
“I tell the models just to sit and look at me, and everyone puts such different energy into it. I find it fascinating,” said Kurz. “I love painting from life.”
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A Jewish soldier died saving a Christian friend. Eighty years later, a grave reunited their families.
At a cemetery outside Florence, Italy, two families gathered around the grave of a young American soldier. For decades, they were unknown to each other. Yet they had been connected for 80 years.
Private First Class Frank T. Kurzinger was born in Germany and arrived in the United States with his family in 1938 after fleeing Nazi persecution. A few years later, he returned to Europe in an American uniform as a soldier in the 10th Mountain Division.
During training, he became close friends with a soldier from Wisconsin named Del Riley. The two met in 1943.
In February 1945, the division was preparing to assault Mount Belvedere in northern Italy. The attack would take place at night. Soldiers climbed in silence. Even their weapons had been unloaded to prevent an accidental discharge.
Ahead of Riley, a scout stepped on a landmine. The explosion tore through the darkness, severely wounding both men.
Riley called for a medic, and Kurzinger responded. He took several steps toward his friend, stepped on another landmine, and was killed. He was 21. Riley survived.
For the rest of his life, he wondered whether Frank Kurzinger might have survived the war had he never shouted for help.
“It really pained him,” said Shalom Lamm, co-founder and chief historian of Operation Benjamin. According to family accounts, Riley lived with survivor’s guilt for the rest of his life.
For a time, it seemed possible that Kurzinger himself would slowly fade from memory.
His family was small. The Holocaust had left gaps in family memory and silenced many conversations about the past. In remarks delivered at the 2025 dedication of Kurzinger’s new headstone, family member Michael Stern reflected that Frank had become little more than a distant name.
“There were no photographs,” Stern said. “No yahrzeit to observe, no role for him in stirring the longings for the warmth and intimacy of the larger family.” He might have remained, Stern said, “an anonymous stranger.”
Instead, a grave brought his life into relief.
The ceremony at Florence American Cemetery was organized by Operation Benjamin, a nonprofit that identifies Jewish servicemembers and veterans buried beneath incorrect religious markers and helps restore headstones that reflect their faith.
Kurzinger had been buried beneath a Latin Cross. Aware of the danger a German-born Jew would face if captured by the Nazis, he identified as Catholic on his dogtags.
Eight decades after he was buried, a Star of David was placed above his grave.
Yet the headstones are only part of the work. There is also the responsibility of restoring stories before they fade.
Operation Benjamin’s researchers reconstructed Kurzinger’s story. They traced descendants and gathered family memories. They also located the family of Del Riley, the Wisconsin soldier whose life Kurzinger had tried to save. The two families met for the first time in Italy ahead of the ceremony.
The next day they stood together at the cemetery.
For Lamm, Operation Benjamin is not simply about correcting the historical record. It is about zachor, the Jewish obligation to remember. He points to an unexpected moment in the Book of Exodus. As the Israelites leave Egypt, Moses fulfills a promise made generations earlier: “And Moses took with him the bones of Joseph.”
Joseph asked the Israelites to swear that when God redeemed them, they would carry his remains with them.
Lamm sees Operation Benjamin’s work as a series of “Moses moments.”
“No matter what’s going on in the world,” he said, “never forget your heroes.”
The stories beneath the stones
The organization’s work grew from a simple question. In 2014, Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter visited the Normandy American Cemetery and remarked that he expected to see more Stars of David among the graves. The observation led researchers to discover cases in which Jewish servicemembers had been buried beneath crosses because of wartime paperwork errors, mistaken records, or decisions made under extraordinary circumstances.
Since then, Operation Benjamin has reviewed thousands of cases and helped facilitate dozens of headstone corrections.
But a new headstone is only part of the story. Operation Benjamin’s researchers reconstruct lives that might otherwise be forgotten. “We will not forget you,” Lamm said. “We go back. We tell your story.”
In his remarks at the graveside, Stern reflected on what the journey had meant to his family. “Through the unlikely context of death and burial,” he said at the ceremony, “he has become a tangible link to life, to our roots, our history and the lineage from which we come. A second cousin once removed no longer feels as distant or abstract.”
In prepared remarks released by the U.S. Mission in Italy, U.S. Consul General Daniela Ballard noted that Kurzinger’s name was one of 4,392 at the military cemetery.
“Every name represents a young life lost and a family left behind,” she said. “But today, we are all Frank’s family. We are the ones who carry his memory forward.”
In remarks shared by Operation Benjamin after the ceremony, members of the Riley family described climbing Mount Belvedere with a commemorative challenge coin. One side bore Del Riley’s name and a Christian cross. The other bore Frank Kurzinger’s name and a Star of David.
The two men had set out for the mountain together in February 1945. Neither completed the mission. Frank was killed. Del was wounded. Eighty years later, the Riley family carried both men to the summit. They buried the coin at the 10th Mountain Division memorial.
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Israeli citizen Michael Mizrahi killed in Montreal shooting
(JTA) — Michael Mizrahi, an Israeli citizen and longtime member of Montreal’s Jewish community, has been identified as the civilian killed in Monday’s shooting involving a gunman and Canadian police officers in Montreal’s Côte-des-Neiges neighborhood.
The suspected gunman was killed during the incident, the investigation of which is ongoing. Police have not publicly released the suspect’s identity or provided details about a possible motive. They also have not confirmed who shot Mizrahi.
The Israeli Consulate in Montreal confirmed Mizrahi’s death, saying in a statement that he was an Israeli citizen and extended condolences to his family “on behalf of the people and the State of Israel.” The consulate said his family “knows all too well the horrors of terror and violence, making this tragic loss even more painful.”
Montreal police Constable Mohamed Lamine Benredouane, 34, was also fatally shot responding to the incident, according to police.
The Service de police de la Ville de Montréal said Benredouane died in the line of duty while protecting the public during an intervention in Côte-des-Neiges, a heavily Jewish neighborhood. He had served with the force since 2021.
A second officer, who is female, was also shot and remains in critical condition, police said.
Quebec’s Bureau des enquêtes indépendantes, the province’s police watchdog, has opened an independent investigation into the use of a firearm by a police officer in a fatal confrontation.The Quebec police watchdog group states that it is “mandated to fully investigate the facts surrounding police interventions. The BEI investigates all cases where a person, other than a police officer on duty, dies, suffers serious injury, or is injured by a firearm used by a police officer during a police intervention or while in police custody.“
A number of Canadian Jewish groups published statements assuring the Jewish community that they were not in danger. The UJA-Federation of Toronto put out two statements explaining that the Jewish community did not appear to be a target.
The Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, the advocacy arm of Canadian Jewish Federations, also put out a statement mourning the loss of a community member.
“We mourn the tragic loss of Michael (Michel) Moshe Mizrahi z”l, a beloved member of Montreal’s Jewish community, an innocent victim of today’s events,” the group posted on X on Monday night. “Our thoughts and our deepest condolences are with his family, friends, and loved ones during this time of unimaginable pain.”
Israel’s Foreign Minister Gideon Sa’ar wrote on X that he had called the Chabad Rabbi of Montreal Mendel Raskin to extend his “deepest condolences to the families of the victims, to the Jewish community of Montreal, and to all Canadians mourning this terrible loss.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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