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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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Italy Arrests Nine Over Alleged Hamas Funding Through Charities
President of the Palestinian Association in Italy, Mohammad Hannoun, carries a Palestinian flag during a nationwide strike, called by the USB union, in solidarity with Gaza and against the government and its plan to increase military spending, in Rome, Italy, November 29, 2025. Italian Interior Minister Matteo Piantedosi said Mohammad Hannoun is among nine people arrested on December 27 on suspicion of financing Hamas through charities based in Italy, in an operation coordinated by anti-mafia and anti-terrorism units. in Italy. REUTERS/Remo Casilli
Italian prosecutors said on Saturday they had arrested nine people on suspicion of financing Hamas through charities based in Italy, in an operation coordinated by anti-mafia and anti-terrorism units.
The suspects are accused of “belonging to and having financed” the Palestinian group, which the European Union designates as a terrorist organization, prosecutors in the northern Italian city of Genoa said in a statement.
Those arrested allegedly diverted to Hamas-linked entities around 7 million euros ($8.24 million) raised over the last two years for ostensibly humanitarian purposes, prosecutors said. Police seized assets worth more than 8 million euros.
The investigation began after suspicious financial transactions were flagged and expanded through cooperation with Dutch authorities and other EU countries, coordinated through the EU judicial agency Eurojust.
Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni thanked the authorities for “a particularly complex and important operation” which had uncovered financing for Hamas through “so-called charity organizations.”
The Israeli prime minister’s office did not immediately respond to a request for comment.
Meloni’s support for Israel during its war with Hamas in Gaza has triggered large and repeated street protests in Italy.
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The Holocaust survivor writer who can help us through this ominous era
This fall, I read a story set in Prague during World War II in which three boys, two of whom escaped from a concentration camp, watch as armed Czechs consider forcing two Germans to jump out an apartment window to certain death — but decide to hand them over to authorities instead.
One of the three boys then “had an unquestionable feeling that what he had just experienced had been justice.” At first, this perhaps reads as a bit strange. Why would a Czech boy think letting Germans go, after they occupied his city and took over his life — not to mention imprisoned and tortured members of his community in concentration camps — constitutes justice? Yet all the same, the boy “felt satisfaction that those two people, whom he’d seen for the first time in his life, and probably for the last, hadn’t jumped. That they didn’t have to jump.”
Justice, in this story, isn’t doing to your enemy what he’d done to you. It’s having the opportunity to do so, and instead choosing not to become your enemy.
That story, “Black Lion,” was written by the Czech Jewish writer and Holocaust survivor Arnošt Lustig, who would have been 99 this December. (He passed away in 2011). Lustig drew on the unthinkable series of events he was forced to endure — being forced into the Nazi ghetto of Theresienstadt at the age of 15 and then sent to Auschwitz and Buchenwald — and made it into art. And while his novels, short stories and films look unflinchingly at the worst of humanity, they always treat their characters humanely.
This year, we have lurched from crisis to crisis, at home and abroad, while many in power around the world demonstrate a capacity for cruelty matched only by their cynicism. So, as we come to 2025’s end, I have found myself thinking of “Black Lion,” and Lustig’s work more generally. What does it mean, I’ve wondered, to stare into the darkest void of inhumanity and pronounce, as Lustig did, that life is still a miracle?
As Lustig’s daughter, Eva Lustigová, told me, “The leitmotif in all of his work is: what can we do in a world where people kill one another? That was the thematic question.”
‘That darkness never breaks him’
Lustig’s works are largely set during or immediately after the Holocaust. His protagonists are often Czech or other Central Eastern European Jews; and the stories and books often feature children and teenagers.
The short story “The Last Day of the Fire” zooms in on one old man and his grandson during the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising; the novel Dita Saxová is about an 18-year-old concentration camp survivor making her way in postwar Prague, balancing the hell from which she just emerged with considerations like which boy to date; The Unloved: From the Diary of Perla S., is about a 17-year-old in Theresienstadt working as a prostitute; Darkness Casts No Shadow, the novella that became the (beautiful and wrenching) film Diamonds of the Night, is about two boys trying to escape a train carrying them to a camp.
The choice to so often focus on the very young does two things.
First, it makes the juxtaposition between darkness and light that much starker. The worst things imaginable are happening to people who should be out playing or daydreaming or shuffling their schoolbooks. Yet they still, in Lustig’s works, hold onto their humanity, even as their innocence is stolen from them.
As Dalibor Rohac, a senior fellow focused on European affairs at the American Enterprise Institute, wrote me in an email: “Lustig writes about a lot of very dark stuff…but somehow that darkness never breaks him.”
But second, Lustig’s focus on the young gives his work, as specific as it is, a kind of universal urgency. Read a novel about teenagers running from transports in Central Europe and how their neighbors treat them — and then go and read the news about ICE raids and schoolchildren here in the United States. The point isn’t that the situations are one to one — they never are — but that, as people, we all grapple with similar challenges: What it means to be human; what we owe to our own and other people’s children; how to refuse cynicism when it seems like moral depravity is a prerequisite for holding actual power.
“I write about people under pressure, I write about tests that people are not ready for and which they did not expect,” Lustig said in 2002.
We are in an era of such tests. It sometimes feels like I spent the past year talking about crises: of liberal democracy, of American and Jewish identities, of human rights. So many are in so much pain; so many worry that 2026 will represent a continuation, or worsening, of tests we have no idea how to meet.
Perhaps fittingly, 2026 is also the centenary of Lustig’s birth. The Arnošt Lustig Foundation is preparing a year-long festival in 10 countries over four continents. One goal, Lustigová said, is to promote the idea, which so often appears in Lustig’s work, that humanism “doesn’t need to be imported or exported. It just needs to be cultivated.”
“The answer is, yes, we can keep our humanity,” she added. “We decide that ourselves, even under the harshest of circumstances. It’s a choice to be able to live with our conscience and keep our human dignity.”
“You can put that into Gaza, Israel, Sudan, Tanzania. You can put it anywhere.”
Listening to her, I thought again of what it means to live in pursuit of dignity and justice at a moment when that can feel at best foolish and at worst impossible — and of “Black Lion,” and the stories that can help to show us how.
The post The Holocaust survivor writer who can help us through this ominous era appeared first on The Forward.
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What if Donald Trump puts his name on the US Holocaust Memorial Museum?
What if I told you that this morning, I found the following Truth Social post on my newsfeed?
“THE TRUMP US HOLOCAUST MEMORIAL MUSEUM HONORS will be broadcast tonight, on CBS, and Stream on Paramount+. Tune in at 8 P.M. EST! At the request of the Board, and just about everybody else in America, I am hosting the event. Tell me what you think of my “Master of Ceremony” abilities. If really good, would you like me to leave the Presidency in order to make “hosting” a full time job? We will be honoring true GREATS in the History of the Holocaust, from the Elders of Zion and the NSDAP to John Birchers and Groypers. THANK YOU FOR YOUR ATTENTION.”
If you said this post wasn’t real, you would be right. If you said that I tweaked a recent Truth Social post, swapping the US Holocaust Memorial Museum for the former John F. Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts, you would be right about that too.
But if you said that this post was unthinkable, my response would be “Think again.”
The phrase “Thinking the unthinkable” was all the rage in the late 1950s and early 1960s. It was an era darkened by the threat of mushroom clouds, the theatrics of Peter Sellers in Stanley Kubrick’s film Dr. Strangelove, and the theories of Herman Kahn, whose notion of the Doomsday Machine features in Kubrick’s masterpiece. Kahn coined the term “unthinkable,” insisting that while “nuclear war may seem highly unlikely, indeed unthinkable, to many people — it is not impossible.”
To this very day, the threat of a nuclear holocaust remains all too real and thinkable. But it has been sidelined by a different kind of threat, one that has buried the very concept of the unthinkable.
So many words and acts once considered unthinkable have, under the two Trump presidencies, become not just thinkable and not just doable, but also increasingly unremarkable. Is there any word or act we still consider safely and surely unthinkable? Is there anything at all that, to quote Herman Kahn, while it may seem highly unlikely, indeed unthinkable, to many people — is not impossible?
To find an answer, it helps to suggest a limiting case on our government’s effort to make all things thinkable, and thus acceptable, even normal. Consider the fake post with which I began this column — namely, that Donald Trump would one day plaster his name on the building that houses the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Can there be anything more unthinkable than Trump stamping his name on the USHMM, the very institution that is dedicated to reminding the world of the consequences of acting on the unthinkable?
In his reflections on life under totalitarian rule, The Captive Mind, Polish poet and Nobel Prize Laureate Czeslaw Milosz observed that all “concepts men live by are a product of the historic formation in which they find themselves. Fluidity and constant change are the characteristics of phenomena. And man is so plastic a being that one can even conceive of the day when a thoroughly self-respecting citizen will crawl about on all fours, sporting a tail of brightly colored feathers as a sign of conformity to the order he lives in.”
We see such plasticity on the sets of Fox News, the corridors of Congress and in the board rooms of media, legal, and tech titans where talking heads, politicians and CEOs happily crawl about with many-colored tails of feathers. This is also true in the board rooms of the Donald J. Trump and John F. Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts and the Donald J. Trump Institute of Peace. (The names of these sites must be written in full to fully grasp the absurd character of this era.)
But the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum will always be exempt from this creeping rot of the absurd, right?
Wrong.
In early May, the USHMM, which like the Donald J. Trump and John F. Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts is both privately and federally funded, announced an overhaul of its board. Nearly all its Biden-appointed members were fired, replaced by a choice assortment of Trump appointees. They include Sid Rosenberg, a conservative talk-show host who spoke at a Trump rally last year, denouncing the Democrats as “a bunch of degenerates.”
Another Trump appointee, Martin Oliner, published an op-ed in The Jerusalem Post earlier this year in which he called for the forcible removal from Gaza of Palestinians, whom he described as “fundamentally evil.” In another piece, titled “Make the Holocaust Memorial Council Great Again,” he warned that the USHMM was not meeting its “important role.”
Equally troubling was this fall’s temporary closing until next February of the museum exhibit dedicated to America’s wartime response to the Holocaust. The ostensible reason was to “upgrade the exhibit,” an Orwellian phrase that some staffers fear means the blurring the historical record, one that includes the disinterest of the White House, the fecklessness of most Jewish leaders, and the polite, yet potent antisemitism at the State Department.
In his landmark work The Abandonment of the Jews, the historian David Wyman offers a similar conclusion on the American public’s response to the Holocaust: “Few American non-Jews recognized that the plight of the European Jews was their plight too. Most were either unaware, did not care, or saw the European Jewish catastrophe as a Jewish problem, one for Jews to deal with. That explains, in part, why the United States did so little to help.”
Is it possible that because too many of us remain unaware of or indifferent to the Trump administration’s abandonment of the unthinkable, we have invited the catastrophe now enveloping our nation? A catastrophe that already announces itself in the mass and often violent arrests and deportations of men and women because of their skin color? In the lawless killing of civilians in international waters? In the unconstitutional deployment of the National Guard in our cities? For those who do not yet have an answer, it is worth giving the matter a bit of thought — even if you find those thoughts unthinkable.
The post What if Donald Trump puts his name on the US Holocaust Memorial Museum? appeared first on The Forward.