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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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Loved ones remember two Jewish women killed in Midtown Manhattan mass shooting one year ago
One year after Blackstone executive and Jewish community leader Wesley LePatner was killed in a mass shooting in the lobby of her Midtown Manhattan office, her family is marking the yahrtzeit by launching a foundation in her name.
“What we are officially launching today is not just the start of a love letter to my amazing wife,” her husband, Evan LePatner, said in a statement. “We are building programs and a community that she would have led, nurtured, and inspired many others to join.”
The Wesley Mittman LePatner Foundation aims to cultivate 1,000 leaders in the coming decades through a mentorship program. The two-year leadership accelerator will connect fellows with mentors to hone their skills supporting nonprofit organizations and civic institutions, according to a press release. Sheryl Sandberg, the former COO of Facebook, is among the foundation’s supporters.
LePatner was shot and killed at age 43, along with Julia Hyman, a 27-year-old associate at the real estate company Rudin Management, who was also Jewish.
The gunman, identified as 27-year-old Shane Tamura, opened fire at a Park Avenue office building, killing four people before turning the gun on himself. Investigators said Tamura — who claimed in a note to suffer from CTE, the brain disease associated with repeated head trauma — had intended to target the office of the National Football League, but took the wrong elevator.
The foundation is one of several initiatives to honor the victims of the shooting. Earlier this year, UJA-Federation of New York — where LePatner was on the board — created the Wesley M. LePatner Emerging Leadership Award, which will honor a rising star on Wall Street who strives to make a positive difference.
Hyman’s friends organized a fundraiser for March Fourth, a nonprofit that aims to end mass shootings.
“Her smile lit up every room and her hugs could brighten even the worst days,” Megan Arden, a friend of Hyman’s who ran the New York City marathon in her honor, wrote in a statement. “There will be a hole in my heart forever.”
On Tuesday, Mayor Zohran Mamdani and Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch led a memorial service for NYPD Detective Didarul Islam, who was off-duty working as a security guard when he was shot and killed.
A new law, raising the minimum wage for private security officers to $22.20 an hour, also took effect on Tuesday in honor of security officer Aland Etienne, who was killed while trying to shut down the building’s elevators during the attack.
Jewish legacies
Both Hyman and LePatner were active members of the Jewish community.
LePatner was a board member of UJA-Federation of New York and the Abraham Joshua Heschel School. She won a Youth Enrichment Center Award from Park East Synagogue, and was involved in the founding of the Orthodox Altneu congregation on the Upper East Side.
She also received the Alan C. Greenberg Young Leadership Award at UJA’s annual Wall Street Dinner in 2023. In her acceptance speech, LePatner shared how, growing up, her parents always reminded her that she “was an American, but first and foremost Jewish.”
At LePatner’s funeral, her father, Lawrence Mittman, recalled how her passion for Judaism began early, studying Talmud the summer before starting college at Yale University.
Others recalled her love for the state of Israel, including a “solidarity mission” she led to the country in the wake of the Hamas-led Oct. 7 attacks on Israel.
“Israel is Wesley, and Wesley was Israel,” her husband, Evan LePatner, said at the funeral. “Small in size, insanely productive, wrangling with being religious and pragmatic all at once, inclusive of all who want to be inside the tent, fierce in the defense of its people.”
Hyman grew up in Manhattan and attended the Riverdale Country School in the Bronx. She went on to study hotel and restaurant administration at the Cornell Nolan School of Hotel Administration, where she graduated summa cum laude in 2020.
At Hyman’s funeral, former classmates of Hyman from Riverdale sang “Shalom Rav,” a song that a friend recalled the two had sung together at her bat mitzvah.
Rabbi Maurice Salth of Central spoke at the funeral about how Hyman “took a stand for Israel, and continued to do so during what has been a deeply challenging and demanding time.”
“Let us be careful about trying to make this tragedy feel better by saying such things as, ‘At least she went quickly,’ or, ‘At least we had her for 27 years,’” Salth added. “There is nothing that can make this tragedy better or logical.”
The post Loved ones remember two Jewish women killed in Midtown Manhattan mass shooting one year ago appeared first on The Forward.
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Shmuel Plavnik: A classic example of Jewish-Belarusian identity
מיט צוויי חדשים צוריק האָב איך געשריבן אינעם פֿאָרווערטס, אַז איך האָב צופֿעליק אַנטדעקט מאַגישע כּתבֿ־ידן אויף ווײַסרוסיש, אָנגעשריבן מיט ייִדישע אותיות. דאָס געפֿינס איז ממש אויף אַ מיסטישן אופֿן צונויפֿגעפֿאַלן מיטן 160־יאָריקן געבורט־יוביליי פֿונעם ייִדישן שרײַבער שמואל־נחום פּלאַווניק, באַקאַנט אויף רײַסיש ווי זמיטראָק ביאַדוליאַ.
פֿאַר וואָס איז דאָס אַ חידוש? אין 1921 האָט פּלאַווניק פֿאַרעפֿנטלעכט אַ קורצן אַרטיקל וועגן אַ ייִדישן כּתבֿ־יד, וווּ צווישן עטלעכע סגולות אויף לשון־קודש און ייִדיש טרעפֿט זיך אויך רײַסיש. ביז איצט האָבן די פֿאָרשער געמיינט, אַז יענער אַרטיקל איז פֿאַרלוירן געגאַנגען, און נאַט אײַך – אָט האָט ער זיך אָפּגעפֿונען, פּונקט צו פּלאַווניקס יוביליי!
סיאַרהיי שופּאַ, אַ ווײַסרוסישער שפּראַך־אַקטיוויסט, וועלכער קען גוט ייִדיש און האָט איבערגעזעצט אַ סך ווערק פֿון משה קולבאַקן אויף רײַסיש, האָט געלייענט וועגן מײַנע געפֿינסן, און האָט פֿאַרגליכן איינס פֿון זיי מיט יענעם, וואָס ס׳האָט אָנגעהויבן פֿאָרשן ביאַדוליאַ. ער האָט באַמערקט, אַז ער שטימט אין אַלע פּרטים מיט איינעם פֿון מײַנע. כ׳האָב צוערשט געמיינט, אַז דער כּתבֿ־יד איז טאַקע פֿאַרלוירן געגאַנגען; נישט געוווּסט, אַז ער געפֿינט זיך שוין לאַנג דיגיטאַליזירט, אָפֿענערהייט אין דער אינטערנעץ. באַקומט זיך, אַז איך בין פּלוצעם געוואָרן זמיטראָק ביאַדוליאַס אַ ממשיך־דרך.
אַ געבוירענער דעם 23סטן אַפּריל אינעם דערפֿל פּאַסאַדזעץ אויף צפֿון פֿון מינסק (הײַנט וווינען דאָרט אַרום 150 תּושבֿים), האָט זיך שמואל פּלאַווניק פֿון קינדווײַז אָן געפֿילט היימיש סײַ אין דער ייִדישער קולטור פֿון זײַן היים, סײַ אין דער אַרומיקער קולטור פֿון די רײַסישע פּויערים. אין זײַנע ווערק באַטאָנט ער, אַז אַזוי איז געווען דער דורות־לאַנגער שטייגער פֿון אַ סך ייִדן אין רײַסן.
ס׳איז כּדאַי דאָ צו באַמערקן, אַז ווי באַלד דער אַלטער ייִדישער נאָמען פֿון בעלאַרוס איז רײַסן, להיפּוך צום פֿאַרעלטערטן דײַטשישן וואָרט „ווײַסרוסלאַנד‟, איז בעסער הײַנט אויף ייִדיש צו רופֿן די שפּראַך רײַסיש, הגם אין דער סאָוועטישער נאָמענקלאַטור איז אָנגענומען „ווײַסרוסיש‟. „בעלאַרוסיש‟ קלינגט, דאַכט זיך מיר, איבעריק, ווײַל בײַ ייִדן איז שוין במשך פֿון דורות פֿאַראַן אַן אייגן וואָרט פֿאַרן דאָזיקן סלאַווישן לשון.
פּלאַווניק האָט געלערנט אין אַ חדר און אַ ישיבֿה; בײַ זײַן זיידן, דעם אָרטיקן אײַזן־ און קופּער־שמיד, איז געווען די איינציקע ביבליאָטעק אינעם דאָרף, וווּ לעבן דער גמרא זענען אויף דער פּאָליצע געשטאַנען ביכער וועגן מאַטעמאַטיק און מעטאַלורגיע.
מיט זײַן טאַטן האָט ער זיך אָפֿט פֿאַרנומען מיט געהילץ־אַרבעט אין וועלדער. דערפֿאַר איז פֿאַר אים די וואַלדישע נאַטור פֿון רײַסן אויך געווען פֿון קינדווײַז אָן היימיש. זײַנע ערשטע דערציילונגען אויף ייִדיש און העברעיִש זענען געווען געווידמעט דער שווערער מי פֿון געהילץ־אַרבעטער. דערנאָך האָט ער זיך באַקענט מיט דער רײַסיש־שפּראַכיקער פּרעסע, וועלכער האָט דעמאָלט ערשט אָנגעהויבן זיך אַנטוויקלען. פֿון 1910 אָן האָט ער זיך כּמעט אין גאַנצן אָפּגעגעבן מיט רײַסיש אונטערן פּסעוודאָנים זמיטראָק ביאַדוליאַ. אַ ייִד און אַ ווײַסרוס מיט אַ טאָפּלטער עטנישער אידענטיטעט, האָט ער איבערגעזעצט פֿון ייִדיש אויף רײַסיש שלום־עליכמס ראָמאַן „מאָטל פּייסי דעם חזנס‟ און שמואל גאָדינערס ראָמאַן „דער מענטש מיט דער ביקס‟. גאָדינער איז געווען זײַנער אַ לאַנדסמאַן, אַ ווײַסרוסישער ייִד.
ווען די נאַציס זענען אָנגעפֿאַלן אויפֿן ראַטן־פֿאַרבאַנד, האָט דער שרײַבער זיך עוואַקויִרט פֿון מינסק. דעם 3טן נאָוועמבער 1941, איז ער געשטאָרבן פֿון אַ האַרץ־אַטאַק צו 55 יאָר.
ביאַדוליאַ האָט איבערגעלאָזט אַ גרויסע ליטעראַרישע ירושה: לידער, דערציילונגען, בתוכם גאַנץ לאַנגע און דעם ראָמאַן „יאַזעפּ קרושינסקי‟. אין 1932 האָט ער בשותּפֿות מיט נחום רובינשטיינען אַרויסגעגעבן אונטער זײַן אמתן נאָמען, שמואל־נחום פּלאַווניק, דאָס ערשטע ווײַסרוסיש־ייִדישע ווערטערבוך, וואָס מע קען הײַנט געפֿינען אין דער אינטערנעץ.
זײַן מיינונג וועגן די באַציִונגען צווישן ייִדן און ווײַסרוסן אין רײַסן האָט ער אויסגעדריקט אין זײַן אַרטיקל וועגן דעם מאַגישן כּתבֿ־יד, ווי אויך אין אַ צאָל שפּעטערדיקע עסייען. ער האָט געהאַלטן, אַז אין פֿאַרגלײַך מיט די אַנדערע פֿעלקער פֿון מיזרח־אייראָפּע, האָבן די רײַסישע ייִדן געלעבט באַזונדערס נאָענט צו זייערע סלאַווישע שכנים, אָנגעהאַלטן מיט זיי פֿרײַנדלעכע באַציִונגען, גערעדט אויף זייער שפּראַך, געזונגען אייגענע לידער אויף רײַסיש. ממילא, האָבן זיי אויך אָפּגעלערנט אַזעלכע ענינים, ווי שפּרוכן קעגן וועלף און שלאַנגען.
ס׳זענען פֿאַראַן אַ סך אַנדערע סימנים, אַז אַזוי איז טאַקע געווען. בײַ די ליובאַוויטשער חסידים זענען פֿאַראַן עטלעכע ניגונים אויף רײַסיש, און אין די זכרונות פֿונעם זעקסטן ליובאַוויטשער רבין, יוסף־יצחק שניאורסאָן, ווערן דערמאָנט סלאַוויש־שפּראַכיקע דאָרפֿישע ייִדן, וואָס האָבן קוים געקענט ייִדיש. אין דער אמתן, שטעלן זײַנע „זכרונות‟ מיט זיך פֿאָר חסידישע מעשׂיות, ליטעראַריש באַאַרבעטע דורכן שרײַבער און זשורנאַליסט דוד־לייב מעקלער. פֿון דעסט וועגן, איז דאָס גאָר אַן אוצר. נאָך פֿריִער האָט דער פֿילאָסאָף שלמה מײַמון דערמאָנט אַזעלכע טיפּן ייִדן אין זײַנע טיף פּערזענלעכע, מײַסטעריש אָנגעשריבענע דײַטשיש־שפּראַכיקע מעמואַרן.
בײַ רײַסישע ייִדן איז פֿאַראַן אַן אויסדרוק: „האַלב טײַטש, פּאָלאָווינאַ רײַסיש‟. פּאָלאָווינאַ מיינט אויף רײַסיש און רוסיש אַ האַלב. ער טרעפֿט זיך בײַם דיכטער יהודה־לייב גאָרדאָן, בײַ מענדעלע, אין שלום־עליכמס אַ קריטישן עסיי וועגן ייִדן אין אַמעריקע, אין נחום סטוטשקאָפֿס „אוצר‟ און אַנדערע קוואַלן. אַזוי רופֿט מען דאָס שפּראַך־געמישעכץ, וואָס איז געווען פֿאַרשפּרייט בײַ שטעלטדיקע און בפֿרט בײַ דאָרפֿישע ייִדן און רײַסן.
עס קאָן זײַן, אַז דווקא צוליב אַזאַ פֿאַרשפּרייטער צוויי־שפּראַכיקייט האָבן געוויסע ייִדן געפֿירט גאַנצע זשורנאַלן פֿון סלאַווישע שפּרוכן, פֿאַרשרײַבנדיק זיי מיטן ייִדישן אַלף־בית. פֿון אַנ־סקיס עקספּעדיציעס ווייסן מיר, אַז אין אוקראַיִנע פֿלעגן ייִדישע פֿאָלקס־רופֿאים, געוויינטלעך פֿרויען, אָפּשפּרעכן אויף אוקראַיִניש, נאָר קיין אַלטע שריפֿטלעכע באַווײַזן דערפֿון האָב איך דערווײַל נישט געפֿונען. שאַפֿט זיך דער אײַנדרוק, אַז בײַ אַ סך ווײַסרוסישע ייִדן איז די שפּראַך פֿון זייערע שכנים טאַקע געווען זייער צווייט מאַמע־לשון.
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Our greatest folksinger wrote about America, Dust Bowl refugees and Jewish identity
Woody Guthrie is best known as one of the giants of 20th-century American folk music. From the late 1930s through the early 1950s, he wrote thousands of songs, many of which became modern-day standards, including “So Long, It’s Been Good to Know Yuh,” “I Ain’t Got No Home,” “Tom Joad,” “Hard Travelin’,” “Pastures of Plenty,” and, of course, “This Land Is Your Land.” His songs gave voice to working people and Dust Bowl refugees. He wrote playful children’s songs and songs that railed against fascism and greed. He even wrote a protest song called “Old Man Trump,” about developer Fred Trump, the father of the current president of the United States, decrying the strict racial segregation he enforced in his housing projects.
Guthrie’s influence on generations of singer-songwriters cannot be overstated. His songs have been recorded by hundreds of singers around the world, including Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Bruce Springsteen, Lucinda Williams, Ani DiFranco, Lou Reed, Sweet Honey in the Rock, Lila Downs, and Susan McKeown. The desire to meet Woody Guthrie, who was his hero, is what led Robert Allen Zimmerman to hitchhike from Minneapolis to New York City, where he subsequently fell upon the thriving Greenwich Village folk scene and reinvented himself as a rootsy singer-songwriter named Bob Dylan. The latter’s eponymous first album included an original song entitled “Song to Woody.”
As Steven Pressman makes clear in his new documentary film, Dust Bowls and Jewish Souls: Another Side of Woody Guthrie, there was another side to Guthrie and his songs. As his son, Arlo Guthrie, explains in the film: “My father studied Judaism and he knew something about it. He never exchanged his faith for something else; he added to his faith. And that something else he added … was a Jewish identity. He understood what that meant traditionally, historically, culturally. And he knew more about Judaism than my zeyde. And so, my bubbe was thrilled.”
It just so happens that Arlo’s bubbe — his grandmother — was acclaimed Yiddish poet and lyricist Aliza Greenblatt. When Guthrie married Aliza’s daughter, Marjorie Mazia (née Greenblatt), the two chose to raise their children in Coney Island, and Marjorie’s parents, Aliza and Isadore Greenblatt, moved from Philadelphia to be close to their expanding brood. And it was primarily through his close relationship with his mother-in-law that Guthrie became knowledgeable about and enamored of Jewish history and culture. Says Arlo, “My father saw something inside the Jewish tradition that inspired him.”
Pressman’s documentary traces the close links between Aliza Greenblatt and Woody Guthrie. “My father and my bubbe had a respect for each other as writers, as thinkers, as people of the heart,” says Arlo. Arlo’s sister, Nora Guthrie, echoes her brother’s comments: “Bubbe would share ideas and lyrics with Woody. So, they were able to form a relationship.” Nora’s daughter, Anna Canoni — seen in the film at the Guthrie family plot in a cemetery in Woody’s hometown of Okemah, Oklahoma — elaborates on the special relationship between her grandfather and great-grandmother: “Aliza and Woody were actually interestingly similar in terms of a hardship and displacement that happens at a young age. There were so many interesting parallels between the two of them, which is why there was so much understanding, empathy and love between the two of them.”
While Aliza Greenblatt took to Woody right away, her husband Isadore was not thrilled about his daughter marrying a Gentile. He did, however, give Guthrie a gift of a Hebrew-English version of the rabbinical text called Pirkei Avot (The Ethics of the Fathers). In the film, Nora Guthrie displays the book, which is filled with Woody’s notes and annotations — even drawings. Woody provided the cover illustration for one of Aliza’s poetry volumes.
The film includes interviews with dozens of people who either knew Woody Guthrie and Aliza Greenblatt or who became familiar with their story. Among them are Guthrie biographer Will Kaufman, who has written three books about the folksinger. Kaufman suggests that Woody and Aliza bonded over being artists and socialists. “[Woody] would have seen in Aliza and Isadore kindred spirits politically,” says Kaufman. “[As refugees], Woody would have seen in them a real fellowship with the Dust Bowl refugees that he had been championing….”
A who’s who of contemporary Yiddish musicians, including vocalist Eleanor Reissa, singer-songwriter Daniel Kahn, and Lorin Sklamberg, cofounder and lead vocalist of the Klezmatics, are among those who pay tribute to them and are heard performing Guthrie and Greenblatt songs. Kahn says, “[Woody] was a staunch anti-Nazi, which makes him Jewish in the most important ways to me.” When the U.S. became involved in the Second World War, Guthrie signed on with the Merchant Marine, and he was overseas for nearly two years. What he experienced there found its way into songs like “You Fascists Bound to Lose,” “Mister Hitler,” and “Ilsa Koch,” about the so-called beast of Buchenwald. In it he sang,
I’m here in Buchenwald.
My number’s on my skin….
The guards have shot a man.
Some more have starved to death.
Here comes the prisoner’s car.
They dump them in the pen.
They load them down the chute.
The trooper cracks their skulls.
He steals their teeth of gold.
He shoves them on the belt.
He swings that furnace door.
He slides their corpses in.
I see the chimney smoke.
I see their ashes hauled.
I see their bones in piles.
Lamp shades are made from skins.
Old Ilsy Koch was jailed.
Old Ilsy Koch went free.
The song was brought to life when Nora Guthrie, president of the Woody Guthrie Foundation, gave the Klezmatics a sheaf of lyrics with Jewish themes that Guthrie never put to music or recorded. The modern klezmer group released two albums worth of these songs in 2006, including “Wonder Wheel,” which garnered the group a Grammy Award, the only klezmer group ever to have received such honor. The album also included their version of the song “Mermaid’s Avenue,” a tribute to the very Jewish Coney Island neighborhood where the Guthries lived. The song even includes the Yiddish word meydele:
Mermaid Avenue that’s the street
Where the lox and bagels meet…
Where the prettiest of the meydeles
Leave their legprints in that sand….
Where the smokefish meets the pretzel
Where the borscht sounds like the seas….
The film also recounts the relationship between Guthrie and Moses “Moe” Asch, a Jewish-Polish immigrant whose father was Sholem Asch, the great Yiddish novelist and playwright. Moe Asch had a recording studio and record label based in New York City. In addition to recording and releasing many Guthrie songs, Asch encouraged Guthrie’s Jewish education and helped steer him to write songs with Jewish content, such as “The Many and the Few,” which retold the story of the Jews. The song was “basically the entire story of Hanukkah set up as an Appalachian ballad,” says Lorin Sklamberg, who recorded it with the Klezmatics on their album “Woody Guthrie’s Happy Joyous Hanukkah.”
Woody Guthrie died in 1967. His ashes were scattered at the beach in Coney Island. “For a guy from Oklahoma, that was pretty unique,” says Arlo Guthrie. Aliza Greenblatt died in 1975 at the age of 87. With Pressman’s Dust Bowls and Jewish Souls: Another Side of Woody Guthrie, their common legacy is now cemented for all time.
Dust Bowls and Jewish Souls: Another Side of Woody Guthrie will screen at the Nashville Jewish Film Festival (Aug. 18), Circle Cinema in Tulsa (Aug. 20) and the Yiddish Book Center — where Marjorie Mazia Guthrie was a board member — in Amherst, Mass., on Sept. 27.
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