storytelling – Page 4

Every year, a new beginning

Barring disaster, this season’s apple harvest would be bountiful. (photo from maxpixel.net)

“I don’t want to do my job any more.” That loud thought just popped into Rabbi Yohon Abrahms’ head.

It was dawn, and the birds were singing. He was lying in bed alone, staring up at the whitewashed wooden ceiling of his small house. Alone.

Summer in Chelm had been hot, with enough rain to produce a bumper crop of wheat, rye, corn, squash, barley and buckwheat. Hard work. Lots of sweat. In a small village like Chelm, when it was time for ingathering, all hands, even the rabbi, joined in the work. From daybreak to dark for nearly a month, the fields had been full of neighbours working and laughing and complaining.

The whole world thought that everyone in Chelm was always happy but, of course, there was complaining. As Rabbi Kibbitz, the wise old man, often said, “Kvetching is one of the greatest pleasures in life! It’s free and opportunities are plentiful. Anyone can kvetch! And you should!”

The harvest was hard. Back-bending, blister-raising, mind-numbingly repetitive tasks. Reach, cut, lift, wrap, tie, and a small sheaf of buckwheat stood in the field, drying under the sun. Bend, grasp, twist, pick, turn, place the cucumber in a basket. Curse the sharp thorn that poked through a hole in the worn leather glove. And repeat.

It had been bliss. For weeks on end, Rabbi Abrahms had lived in his community, outside his house, surrounded by fellows, outside his mind. All summer, he had not had a moment’s peace to think about his own problems. Instead, he’d rushed from field to field, with the occasional visit with Reb Schlum, the butcher, to perform his job as mashgiach, overseeing the ritual slaughter of chickens and cows. He barely had time to eat and, when he fell asleep at night, it was an exhausted and dreamless slumber that left him feeling eager and refreshed in the morning.

Yesterday, though, the last of the crops had been harvested. The fresh vegetables were on their way to market or into barrels for pickling. The seeds in the field weren’t dry enough to begin threshing.

“Enjoy your rest,” said Reb Cantor, the merchant, over his shoulder as he drove his cart toward Smyrna. “Rosh Hashanah is coming soon and, this year especially, Rabbi Kibbitz is going to need your help.”

The great Rabbi Kibbitz was old. He had always been old. When Rabbi Abrahms first moved to Chelm decades ago, Rabbi Kibbitz had seemed ancient. Now he was practically prehistoric, eating nothing but the healthy chicken soup made by his beloved wife, Mrs. Chaipul (she kept her name, which is another story). Rabbi Kibbitz was beginning to fail. Everyone knew it, but nobody would say it. Soon, beloved Rabbi Kibbitz was going to die.

“Chak, chak, chak.” A red-spotted bluethroat, pecked at a piece of straw outside Rabbi Abrams window. “Chak, chak.”

Rabbi Abrahms did not want to lead the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services by himself. For years, he had assisted, ready to take over whenever the senior rabbi got tired or needed a break. But Rabbi Kibbitz had been an indomitable bear of a man, davening his prayers from side to side in his peculiar fashion long after younger men grew weak and sat down for a rest.

Rabbi Abrahms did not want to stand on the bimah alone. Truth be told, he did not want to stand on the bimah at all. For years, he’d been picking at that scab, a sore spot in his thoughts, that perhaps being a rabbi was not for him.

It was nonsense, of course. He had studied hard to become a rabbi. He had moved to Chelm to accept the position. He had worked hard as a maschgiach and even harder to teach the stubborn children in the village’s small yeshivah. Being a rabbi had consumed his life. Of course, he was a rabbi.

He was 55 years old, and still the junior rabbi. What else could he be?

He was not married, something that the yentas in Chelm tutted him about regularly. As a younger man, he had loved and lost and, until it was necessary, he would not walk that road again. So he had no children to occupy his mind and time.

He had written some small books: a thin catalogue called The Wildlife of Chelm and the Nearby Black Forest, an English and Hebrew Haggadah that had been published by someone in America named Maxwell House, even a slender humorous novel in the style of the Russians. Writing, though, was not a job that would pay for eggs and tea and firewood.

“Chak, chak,” the bluethroat chided.

Foolish thoughts.

But, even after Rabbi Kibbitz left the world behind (may that day be distant), Rabbi Abrahms knew that he would always be the junior rabbi of Chelm.

It wasn’t the relative position or lack of prestige that bothered him. Rabbi Abrahms hated listening to other people’s troubles. He didn’t like cheering people up. He was bored with morning prayers, afternoon prayers, evening prayers and Sabbath prayers, let alone the special prayers for holidays and festivals. He dreaded officiating over wedding and bris ceremonies. Visiting the sick made him feel sick. And the idea of saying the Mourner’s Kaddish at Rabbi Kibbitz’s funeral left him weak and heartbroken.

Even being called Rabbi Abrahms chafed like a burr.

“My name is Yohon,” he whispered at the wall. “Can’t you see?”

Perhaps if he had mentioned his affliction to Rabbi Kibbitz a few years earlier, they could have worked something out. Put an advertisement in the Jewish newspaper in Pinsk for a new rabbi for Chelm. Or together found passages in the Torah or Mishnah that would have eased his mind.

But the great man was dying. Rabbi Abrahms shouldn’t trouble him.

Maybe he wouldn’t die this year. Maybe there would be time.

Barring disaster, this season’s apple harvest would be bountiful.

Sukkot was early, right at harvest time, and Rabbi Abrahms would take to the fields, climb the thin triangular ladder with a basket looped over his shoulder. Reach. Pick. Drop. Until the basket was full.

Then move the ladder to another tree, and begin again.

Every so often, he would stop, near the top of a tree heavy with fruit. He would lean against the trunk, take a bite of a crisp just-picked apple, and look up through the leaves at the wide, blue sky.

Mark Binder is a writer and storyteller, who lives in Providence, R.I. He is the author of more than 20 books and audio recordings, including The Brothers Schlemiel, a novel of Chelm. Follow him on Instagram, @MarkBinderBooks, or visit his website markbinder.com.

Around the world in 382 days

Naomi Steinberg has toured the world with Goosefeather and is now working on a book of her travels. (photo from Naomi Steinberg)

Naomi Steinberg’s Goosefeather started in 2011. “It began with interviewing my French maternal grandfather in Paris before he died,” she said. “I wanted to know how he had helped my Jewish grandmother survive the Second World War and why he was a collector of maps, weights and scales. Given his work with the metric system, I also thought it would be interesting for us to talk about measurements in general.”

Fascinated by her grandfather’s story, the kernel of Goosefeather was born. “I made him a promise that he would see the final result,” she said.

She immersed herself in research. “Measurements are extremely important to humans,” she said. “We measure everything, but we have to realize that no measurement is 100% accurate; we have to accept that…. As I went deeper into it, I wanted to know how we measure the truth. What is the truth? What is reality? Same as when measuring length and weight, measuring reality can’t be 100% accurate. We have to accept this area of the unknown. We have to let ourselves ‘not know.’ We have to let everyone just be.”

The show that emerged out of her research is a multifaceted tale involving maps of places and relationships, measurements of physical elements and of abstract concepts. “How should we measure the space between me and another person? Between me and the planet?” she asked herself. “It soon became clear not only that I had a complicated story to tell, I also had an entertaining show that wanted to be on the road…. Goosefeather was going adventuring and I would be going around the planet, by land and sea, carrying a performance with me. As I journeyed, I would be carrying my own prime meridian in the form of presence. I had hypothesized that if, with this, I charted the space-time between myself and others, I might be guided in a good way.”

As the show was still coming into form, Steinberg’s grandfather was dying in a hospice in France. In 2013, she visited him in the hospice one last time and showed him the first draft of Goosefeather. “I shared with him all my ideas, and he said I got it ‘correctly.’ For a man obsessed with measurements, that was a high praise.”

The first performance of Goosefeather occurred in 2014 in Vancouver. (For a short review, see jewishindependent.ca/storytellers-excel-at-fringe.) But Steinberg needed to take it on the road. “I knew the show should travel like a Canada goose, all around the world,” she said. “I love traveling. I have a nomad soul, and I value my experience as a traveler, but I care very much about the environment. I didn’t want to just take a plane. You don’t experience your travels fully when you fly. It should be closer to the ground, slower, so I could stop and perform.”

In November 2014, she left Vancouver for California, where she boarded a cargo ship heading to Australia, which started her journey around the world. “It was easy,” she said. “The cargo companies sell tickets. They often have a couple cabins vacant – an owner’s cabin and a pilot’s cabin. That’s where I stayed on the cargo ships.”

She also performed Goosefeather on the first ship, as a Christmas gift for the sailors. When the captain asked her for a repeat performance, she bartered: a show for a phone call to her father, who celebrated his birthday while she was on the water.

It took her 21 days to reach Australia. From there, she took another cargo ship to China. Her further travels – by boat, bus and train – included Japan, Russia, Belgium, France, Switzerland, the United States and, finally, back to Canada. The entire trip took 382 days.

In every country, she performed Goosefeather, facilitated workshops and participated in creative collaborations. In every country, she stayed with friends. “I came back with $100. I lived in a cash economy for over a year and I fully supported my journey with my shows and workshops,” she said. “In the entire time I was away from home, I only paid for a hotel for seven nights.”

Despite the crazy itinerary, she didn’t prepare all her stops beforehand. “Sometimes, I didn’t even know where I would spend the night when I arrived in a city or a country, but I always found friends,” she said. “I researched storytelling organizations on the internet. I put my scheduled countries on my Facebook page and asked my friends for help. They asked their friends, and the word spread around the world like a goose feather. Everywhere, people wanted to see my show. I got contacts in every city and country. Everywhere, people wanted to help.”

Even the language barrier in countries like Japan and Russia didn’t deter Steinberg. She can perform Goosefeather in either English or French, and she always found a translator when she needed one.

“In Japan, they asked me to perform for children, and I created a special show for them: a Kamishibai show.”

For Steinberg, a professional storyteller, a storytelling tradition like Kamishibai is extremely compelling. According to Wikipedia, “Kamishibai is a form of Japanese street theatre and storytelling popular during the Depression years and the postwar period … until the advent of television.” Storytellers would travel from town to town, performing on “street corners with sets of illustrated boards … narrat[ing] the story by changing each image.” Some consider Kamishibai to have influenced manga and anime.

“For my first Kamishibai show, the adventures of a little goose feather, a talented 8-year-old drew the illustrations,” said Steinberg. “It was a big success. Now, I perform it with the pictures created by a wonderful Japanese artist, Shiho Oshita Beday.”

Currently, Steinberg is busy writing a book, a travelogue of her journey around the world with Goosefeather. She aims to publish it next year. To learn more, visit goosefeather.ca.

Olga Livshin is a Vancouver freelance writer. She can be reached at olgagodim@gmail.com.

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Note: This article has been edited to reflect that Steinberg’s total journey took 382 and not 386 days.

Musical tribute to dear friend

Perla Batalla brings the music of Leonard Cohen to the Rothstein Theatre March 11. (photo from Chutzpah!)

I didn’t choose singing. It chose me,” Perla Batalla told the Independent in an email interview. Batalla brings her personal and moving tribute to her good friend, Leonard Cohen, to the Chutzpah! Festival March 11.

“He was not only a mentor and a friend, but also a very great inspiration. Being as I was young when I worked with Leonard – I was in my 20s – I watched him like I was watching a master and learning as much as I possibly could,” she said. “His need to always seek the comfort of his audience was truly generous – and all too rare. We began working together in the 1980s and we never lost touch, even after I was touring on my own.

“In Leonard’s earlier tours,” she said, “he would tell stories before every song – very funny, honest stories about his life. Each night he’d tell similar stories, but they always seemed fresh – like I’d never heard them before – I think that was because of his honesty, and his ability to show up and always be authentic, be authentically Leonard Cohen.

“He had a huge impact on what I do and how I perform. If I approach a song with unconditional honesty, the meaning is not static – it can ebb and flow as I relate the words to my own life and experiences.”

In Vancouver, Batalla – who lives in Ojai, Calif. – will be joined by pianist Michael Sobie.

“He recently returned after touring as assistant conductor and pianist with the Game of Thrones Concert Stadium Tour,” Batalla said. “Michael also performs as the principal pops pianist with the Grand Rapids Symphony and has toured internationally as pianist/conductor with Broadway musicals like Les Misérables, Wicked, Aïda and tons more. He is a dream to work with.”

Perla Batalla in the House of Cohen features songs and personal stories that “reveal Cohen’s lighter side,” notes Batalla’s website. It also shows “her sincere respect and deep love for the music, the poetry and, most of all, for her dear friend, Leonard Cohen.” Cohen passed away Nov. 7, 2016.

Batalla released her first recording in 1994, an eponymous CD on the Warner/Discovery label, and has since produced six CDs on her own label, Mechuda Music, one of which, Bird on the Wire, was a tribute to Cohen. Internationally known, Batalla composes and performs in both English and Spanish. The names of two of her CDs, Discoteca Batalla and Mestiza, more than hint at how important her heritage is to her.

“I grew up in Venice, Calif.,” she said. “Our family owned a Mexican record shop called Discoteca Batalla, which served as an important hub for Latino culture in West L.A. I constantly feel the push and pull of the Afro-Mexican influence from my father and the Euro-Argentine-Jewish elements from my mom. This is my own mestiza, mix – I wouldn’t trade it for the world. From all sides, theatricality is in my bones, my roots. I don’t only use my voice to sing a song. To completely engage, I have to use my entire body. And it has to be sincere. It has to come from within.”

She said she comes from a long line of musicians on her father’s side in Mexico and theatre people on her mother’s side in Argentina. “My father was a singer and my uncle, Cipriano Silva, was a trumpet player with the world-famous Mariachi Vargas de Tecalitlán,” she added. “My desire to sing came early – when my family took a camping trip, I can remember sitting by myself among the redwoods singing to them. I made up a song and it felt strange, but good. Trees are a very attentive audience.

“When I was a little older,” she continued, “I remember watching my uncles and my father (who were usually pretty scary) singing traditional songs after dinner and openly weeping as they sang – and it occurred to me at the time that music seemed to have a unique power. By the time I was in my teens, I was studying opera privately and singing in clubs at night; I have never wanted to do anything else.”

When asked about her creative process, how a song comes to her, she said, “Research and serendipity. My current Frida Kahlo project, Blue House, is an example. I wanted this song cycle to be a love letter to the creative spirit. My songwriting partner, David Batteau, and I began by reading everything we could get our hands on; we spent a lot of time in museums; I even started to paint and do art pieces. Through research and discussion, ideas begin to appear like ghosts. It starts as a thread, and then we follow the thread to wherever it leads; destinations we had no idea were even there when we embarked.

“I am also inspired by stories. When I keep my ears open, I can hear stories everywhere. Sometimes there can be a great story hidden within a painting, a black-and-white photograph, or a symphony.”

Not only has Batalla been recognized for her work in music, but she also has been awarded for trying to heal the world in other ways, as well.

“I am most grateful for having the opportunity to do educational outreach with at-risk youth in underserved communities around the U.S.,” she said. “I take a lot of time to talk with the students about how being creative can give you power. Sometimes young people just need to be given permission to explore the artistic horizon.

“Passing on love and appreciation for music, poetry and the beauty of the Spanish language to the next generation of artists is paramount. I want young people to discover the magic of song. When words and music collide with honesty and humanity, the result is the foundation on which everything of life is built. At a time when art and music are marginalized in the education of youth, I am now more than ever committed to educational outreach as I travel throughout the world. Exposing young audiences to the beauty of art, music and poetry through music and live theatre may be our best defence against the current onslaught of cynicism.”

As for her love of Cohen’s music?

“For me, it is his imagery, use of metaphor and painful honesty, which gives Leonard’s lyrics such depth of meaning,” she said. “His poems and songs are also intrinsically personal. When I sing his songs, Leonard’s lyrics help sustain me – I reinterpret them with each performance. Plus, his lifetime dedication to his craft at the expense of all else is the epitome of devotion to beauty.”

She added, “For an artist, reading reviews or caring what everyone thinks is the kiss of death. Since I’m human, I do care what some people think, but, in the end, I do what will satisfy my creative goals and desires. I am grateful every day that I have the freedom to take chances and continue my own journey.”

Perla Batalla in the House of Cohen is at the Rothstein Theatre for one performance only, on March 11, 7:30 p.m.

For all of the Chutzpah! music offerings and the full festival schedule, visit chutzpahfestival.com.

Time to light the lights

Chanukah lights (photo from pxhere.com/en/photo/285940)

Rabbi Kibbitz! Rabbi Kibbitz!” Young Doodle ran into the rabbi’s study, breathless and excited. “Rabbi Kibbitz! It’s time to light the Chanukah candles!”

Doodle stopped cold. The senior rabbi of the village of Chelm sat behind his desk, with his head drooping in his hands, staring blankly into nothing.

“Rabbi Kibbitz, are you all right?”

The wise old man shook his head.

“Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Indigestion?!”

Again the rabbi shook his head.

“You’re not getting a divorce are you?”

The rabbi’s head shot up. He stared at Doodle, and firmly shook his head, no.

“Then, Rabbi, what is it?”

“The world, Doodle,” the rabbi said. “It’s falling apart. The czar is going crazy and so is the king of Poland. It looks like war may happen at any time, and Chelm is right in the middle.”

“That’s not new,” said Doodle. “The czar is always crazy. I hear last week he commissioned a jeweler to make a dozen eggs out of gold!”

“What’s crazy about that?” asked Rabbi Kibbitz.

“Eggs come out of chickens for free,” Doodle said. “With real eggs, you can eat ‘the gold.’ But golden eggs, it seems like you’re paying a lot for nothing.”

The rabbi nodded. He’d never been able to understand how Doodle thought.

“Come, Rabbi,” Doodle said. “It’s time to light the Chanukah candles. Everybody is waiting.”

“The harvest was poor this year,” the rabbi said. “It’s been poor the last four years. I don’t know how we are going to feed ourselves this winter. And, if next harvest is bad, then I’m sure we will all starve.”

“Actually, rabbi, it’s been six bad years,” Doodle corrected. “And you know what they say in the Torah? After seven years of famine, there will be seven years of feast!”

“I’m not sure it says that.”

“Perhaps not,” Doodle said. “But we will figure it out. We always do. If nothing else, we can always move somewhere.”

“Borders are closing, Doodle. Nobody wants to have poor refugees.”

“In America, there is plenty of opportunity!”

The rabbi shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Come, let’s light the candles,” Doodle said.

“People are becoming so hateful.” The rabbi’s head slumped back into his hands. “Neighbours fight each other. Everyone looks out only for himself or his tribe. I always thought that, over time, the world would become a better place, but I hear the news about this revolution or that uprising or this massacre and that famine and all I see is darkness.”

“Let’s light the candles,” Doodle insisted.

“Enough with the candles!” The rabbi burst with frustration. “Chanukah is not even a major holiday. With all the problems of the world, it just doesn’t matter.”

Doodle stood still and stared at the rabbi. “It does matter. Every year, on the last night of Chanukah, our whole community gathers in the synagogue to light the candles. We kindle a shammos from the eternal lamp, and then that flame is passed to every shammos. We sing the blessings, and then one light becomes eight lights, multiplied by every single family in the village. It doesn’t matter how cold it is outside. We are warm and together in celebration. Even in the darkness the menorahs glow as bright as day.

“Come, Rabbi. Let’s light the candles.”

Rabbi Kibbitz looked up at the young boy. The wise old man had tears in his eyes. He nodded and stood.

Just then, Reb Cantor the merchant burst into the rabbi’s study.

“Rabbi Kibbitz! Have you heard? They’re devaluing the currency. The money – all the money – is going to be worthless!”

“Reb Cantor,” said Rabbi Kibbitz. “It seems very dark and bleak sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Reb Cantor nodded in agreement.

“Isn’t it wonderful,” the rabbi said, “that it is time for us to gather in the synagogue and light the Chanukah candles?”

Reb Cantor took a deep breath and nodded. “You are a very wise man, Rabbi Kibbitz.”

Together, the rabbi and the merchant left the study and their troubles behind.

Doodle rolled his eyes. Then, he grinned and ran to catch up. “Rabbi Kibbitz, Reb Cantor! Wait for me!”

Mark Binder is a Jewish storyteller and the author of A Hanukkah Present! Twelve Tales to Give and Share and Matzah Mishugas. These and other books are available in print and ebook on Amazon, iBooks, Google Play Books and other booksellers. To learn more about Binder, visit markbinder.com.

Stories that empower

Shanie Levin brought Sholem Aleichem’s stories to life with Al Stein. (photo by Binny Goldman)

Tell me a story, please…. Which one of us has not made this request of a mother, a father, a zayda or bubbie?

On Oct. 30, almost 70 people gathered at the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture, where they were welcomed by Peretz president Gene Homel, who shared some of the activities that the centre hosts, including the Sholem Aleichem speaker series (SASS, or “SASSY,” as they call it). The Tuesday night event was held by Jewish Seniors Alliance of Greater Vancouver in partnership with SASSY.

Gyda Chud of both JSA and Peretz introduced the first session of this year’s JSA Elders Empowering Elders series, which focused on storytelling.

photo - Myrna Rabinowitz — The audience sat enraptured as they listened to Myrna Rabinowitz. *(photo by Binny Goldman)*

The audience sat enraptured, traveling back to their kinder yorn, childhood years, as they listened to Myrna Rabinowitz. She sang several Yiddish songs. Among her original compositions was one that she had composed for the birth of her grandson.

From stories told in song, to those spoken, Shanie Levin and Al Stein read stories that came alive with their interpretations of the text and their excellent delivery. Enhanced by the clever use of minimal but appropriate costuming, and done with humor, the characters and the way of life of Shayneh Shayndel and Menachem Mendel became real to those listening, as did the ongoing dilemma that they each faced. As Sholem Aleichem once famously stated, “You can take the Jew out of the shtetl but you cannot take the shtetl out of the Jew.”

In thanking the performers, Chud quoted Stein, who had said in his preface to reading his first story: “In keeping with the Narodnik movement (Power to the People), the young Russian intelligentsia at the time and not the elite, Sholem Rabinovitch chose the name Sholem Aleichem, the common Jewish greeting, as his pen name, ‘Peace be unto you.’” Chud commented on the fact that Power to the People motivated Sholem Rabinovitch to change his name, and that the theme of JSA’s Empowerment series is “Elders Empowering Elders.”

photo - Al Stein, with Shanie Levin, entertained with their lively storytelling — Al Stein, with Shanie Levin, entertained with their lively storytelling. *(photo by Binny Goldman)*

Ken Levitt, one of JSA’s vice-presidents, rose to the occasion by thanking the performers partly in Yiddish, having researched the phrasing on the internet. He explained that he hadn’t grown up in a Yiddish-speaking household, although Yiddish had been used as a secret language between his parents. His valiant effort endeared Levitt to all the Yiddish-speakers in the audience.

The session ended with eppes zees mit a Yiddish taam, something sweet with a Jewish taste, accompanied by hot drinks. To quote one of the characters in the story that Levin read: “If you have a piece of bread, take your eyes off the cake!”

Volunteers of both JSA and SASSY helped make the event a success, as did JSA staff Karon Shear and Rita Propp.

Es eez given a mechayeh, it was a pleasure and an oisgetzaichent, outstanding and enriching time together.

For more on JSA and future events, visit jsalliance.org.

Binny Goldman is a member of the Jewish Seniors Alliance of Greater Vancouver board.