Kezia Gleckman Hayman - Mostly Dance

Rehearsals Begin for “Let My People Go”

JoAnne Tucker / June 29, 2018November 20, 2018 / "Let My People Go"

Starting work on a new piece always brings a level of anxiety. Will this work? And collaborating with a new person brings additional questioning: How will we get along? Who will do what? With Louis it was hard to pin down a specific schedule of when he would be there and so I learned quickly that I would need to have a whole lot of flexibility on one hand and at the same time a sense of stability for the six performers.

Usually I had to rent rehearsal space for the company. For this piece I didn’t, as Louis generously made a studio available for us at Henry Street. That also gave Louis the flexibility of making himself available as his schedule allowed without having to do any additional traveling.

I remember climbing stairs to a lovely small dance studio, like an attic area of Henry Street, that worked perfectly for us, especially at first when we were working in small groups and not running the full piece. I quickly learned that having a high degree of flexibility was almost an understatement, and I had to be prepared to choreograph or rehearse whether Louis was there or not. Louis and I had talked about the fact I should feel free to choreograph sections of the poem that appealed to me. Quite a few early rehearsals were with Kezia, Loretta and Deborah creating movement to sections of the poem in my typical modern dance style.

When Louis was available, I knew my role was to watch carefully what he was setting so that I could review and rehearse sections he set, at later rehearsals when he wasn’t there. Louis is a true showman, looking for dramatic opportunities. He soon framed the piece with entrances that each dancer invented, crossing the stage while shouting “Let My People Go.” This is followed by a confrontation of the three women that then leads to Kezia’s being pushed to the ground. In the silence that follows, Deborah moves downstage, and picks up a stage prop book of the James Weldon Johnson poem and begins to read from it. I loved watching Louis work and build amazing dramatic moments into the thirty-five minute piece. He found moments to add comedy and surprise twists to the retelling of the poem, and to bring in recent history with references to Martin Luther King and South Africa.

One of the memorable moments of the rehearsal period was when Mark Childs came to his first rehearsal with Louis. Louis assigned him some movement to do, and Mark strongly proclaimed he didn’t dance; he was there to chant. Louis would hear nothing of it and gave him a movement assignment, and before long, Mark was totally engaged in not only singing but in dancing. And then Louis wanted to know what instrument Mark played. When Mark said he played a saxophone, he was told to bring it to the next rehearsal. And so Mark brought his sax to rehearsal. When Louis suggested that Mark slide across the stage while playing his saxophone, Mark drew the line and refused. Louis respected that and so at three different places in the piece Mark added variety by playing both traditional melodies on the sax and improvising while crossing or circling the stage. And so it went . . . Louis’s imagination challenging performers and adding fun theatrical moments. Louis asked Kezia what tricks she could do. Stumped, she said she didn’t do any tricks. Laughing, she added, “I blow bubbles,” referring to children’s soap bubbles that she had brought on a recent tour. And so there is Kezia in the piece, running across the stage waving a child’s bubble wand with a stream of bubbles floating behind her (“Pharoah called for his magic men, and they worked wonders, too”).

At another moment, Loretta breaks into a rap version of “Let My People Go.” At one of our meetings in Louis’s office before rehearsal he shared that he loved to listen to pop music that kids were listening to, so that he stayed in touch with current trends and had new things to inspire him. I loved his sense of “entertainment” and saw that even in dealing with difficult and serious subjects, playful movement worked. I was learning a lot from him.

Loretta had appeared in the Broadway show “Purlie” that Louis had choreographed, and at one rehearsal Louis added a step from that choreography. Loretta carefully coached the other dancers – including Mark — so that the movement and accent would be just right. Loretta was invaluable in helping us when Louis wasn’t there, as she understood his style and what he would want.

Following a dance solo for Rob, Louis added the moment that had sparked his interest in doing the project. Loretta sang the spiritual “Go Down Moses” while Mark chanted the related Hebrew text from Exodus while circling the stage. That remains for me one of the most powerful moments in the thirty-five minute piece.

As we got close to the final rehearsal, our drummer, Leopoldo, joined us, and Louis came up with the idea of the drummer opening the show, entering an empty, dimly lit stage or walking down the aisle to the performing area. The show also ended with just the drummer on stage and one dancer having been pushed to the floor. It worked. We began to have run-throughs and always some new idea came to Louis’s imagination and he eagerly added it. I remember sitting beside him at our final rehearsal which was in a much larger room than usual, and thinking how well the overall piece looked. My husband Murray joined me, since I wanted to make sure he would get to see it and to meet Louis. I was amazed at the new ideas and changes that Louis continued to add, even at that final rehearsal. That was nearly 30 years ago, yet the experience is strongly etched in my mind.

I am so glad that we had photographer Tom Brazil come to one of the rehearsals and capture the early stages of the piece. Later he returned and took pictures at a performance.

Rehearsing the “Purlie” step. From L to R: Loretta Abbott, Rob Danforth and Deborah Hanna.

“And Moses with his rod in hand.” From L to R: Deborah, Loretta, and Kezia

“And Pharaoh called the overseers!” From L to R: Rob, Mark, Deborah and Loretta

All three photos by Tom Brazil

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We Open in Cleveland: Last-Minute Adjustments

JoAnne Tucker / July 6, 2018November 20, 2018 / "Let My People Go"

Note from Kezia: Running a dance company, particularly touring, involves a lot of last-minute surprises. JoAnne was masterful at calmly solving all sorts of challenges, as she reports . . . .

Less than twenty-four hours before we are due to board our flight to Cleveland,where the first performance of “Let My People Go” will be part of a Friday night service, I get a call from our drummer, Leopoldo. He informs me that he has bought a plane ticket for his girlfriend for our flight and she will be joining us on tour. Gulp…. Now I need to provide housing for them, as a couple, and make sure we have room in the van for eight, or two cars . . . .

To keep costs down we often had home hospitality when we were out of town. It was a bit late to ask Temple Fairmount to change the hosting arrangements, so after pacing up and down a bit and wondering what to do, I remembered that I had a second cousin who lived in Cleveland, perhaps near the temple. I put in a call and indeed he and his family lived in the neighborhood of the temple and delightedly agreed to house Leopoldo and his girlfriend. Problem solved.

Next, pack the costume bags for the performers. We were lucky that in Avodah’s costume closet (a makeshift area under steps in our finished basement) were beige jumpsuits from an earlier piece that worked perfectly for “Let My People Go.” The three women each tied a scarf at the waist to add some color. The drummer was responsible for his own outfit. “Let My People Go” was an easy show to tour since generally it was performed alone or with one or two other pieces, while a usual concert might have six different pieces and costume changes. The drummer had the challenge of packing his talking drum and other small percussion instruments. Each of the three drummers who would accompany us this first season brought a different assortment of percussion instruments along with the talking drum, adding their unique flavor… and more about that later.

Packed and ready, off we went to Cleveland. About half-way through the flight, Kezia came over to me and said she had been drafted by the other dancers to plead that they “please have ONE run-through before the performance without being stopped and without being given any additional changes.” I promised this would happen, as I realized that Louis’s imagination always saw something new to change,and even throughout our final rehearsal with him, he had continued to make lots of revisions.

And so we arrived at Temple Fairmount, greeted by Rabbi David Gelfand and Cantor Sarah Sager, in plenty of time to have our run-through. Luckily we were in a stage setting so there were no unusual adjustments of entrances or exits and I remember being very impressed with how smoothly the run-through went. I kept my promise and did not stop the flow or make any changes. I may have given a few notes, mainly positive on how well the piece went.

That evening, January 13, 1989,“Let My People Go” was premiered at Fairmount Temple in honor of Martin Luther King’s birthday. The performance went extremely well and I was so proud of how the company performed.

Deborah Hanna wrote about the first performance:

There were so many entrances and exits and lines to say and songs that we hadn’t had time to get it all under control. Our first performance was at a huge synagogue in Ohio with a marvelously large bema or stage – a great space – and expansive for all the running in and out that the piece entailed. We all had our notebooks positioned in the wings and as we dashed out for a few seconds between one exit and the next split second entrance I recall quickly reading my notes to remember where I was supposed to re-enter and as what character. The whole performance went like that. (An “Avodah Memory” from Avodah dancer Deborah Hanna, upon JoAnne’s retirement as Artistic Director, February 29, 2004)

Meanwhile, Leopoldo and his girlfriend were warmly received by my cousins, whose daughter particularly had fun with the guests. The rest of the home hospitality, provided by the Temple, also worked out.

The next morning we were off to Canton, Ohio, for both a workshop and a performance. More than 350 adults and children attended, representing both the Jewish and Black communities. The evening included the performance of “Let My People Go,” a video presentation on Israeli tributes to Dr. King, a dance workshop and a dessert reception. The whole event was free, having been funded by a grant from the Canton Jewish Community’s Federation Community Development Endowment Fund. I felt a real sense of delight in how this event was truly a community-wide interchange. I also noticed that even though it was just the beginning of a series of performances, the six dancers were becoming a family, enjoying working with each other.

What Rabbi Chuck Kroloff and I had envisioned at our meeting the previous spring was happening.

Loretta Abbott leading the workshop with children from the community.

Children get a chance to meet the performers and ask them questions.

Performers, L-R: Deborah Hanna, Rob Danforth, Loretta Abbott, Leopoldo Fleming, Kezia Gleckman Hayman

Both of these photographs are from the Stark Jewish News, February 1989 (no photo credit was given).

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Bringing Groups Together: Two-Month Tour of “Let My People Go”

JoAnne Tucker / July 13, 2018November 20, 2018 / "Let My People Go"

The next two performances were in the New York area. Rodeph Sholom on Manhattan’s Upper West Side and Memorial Baptist Church of Harlem jointly featured “Let My People Go” as part of their tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr. The congregations had an ongoing cooperative relationship. The Friday night Sabbath Service found Memorial’s Pastor Preston Washington joining the Rabbis of Rodeph Sholom in leading the service, followed by the combined choirs of the Baptist Church. “Let My People Go” concluded the evening.

A week later on Saturday evening the choir of Brooklyn Heights Synagogue along with the choir of the Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian Church of Ft. Greene opened a program at St. Ann’s and the Holy Trinity Church, organized by Brooklyn Heights Synagogue (of which I was a member) under the leadership of Rabbi Richard Jacobs, a former Avodah dancer. We are fortunate that this performance of “Let My People Go” was videotaped by Randy Hayman; here is the link to watch it. When I watch the video it reminds me of the dedication of the performers and their incredible passion as they leaped, sang, and spoke James Weldon Johnson’s words.

The season included three college performances. The first was sponsored by Brandeis’s Hillel Foundation and the University itself, for Black History Month. The second was part of a Jewish Arts Festival with Black History Month in Bowker Auditorium on the campus of the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, MA. The third was sponsored by Hillel and Eracism, an anti-racism student group at the University of Pennsylvania. Two students were quoted as saying the program was part of Black History Month and that the show was aimed at improving race relations on campus. The Pennsylvania Gospel Choir performed after “Let My People Go.”

A unique collaboration in Norfolk, Virginia brought the Urban League and the Jewish Community Center together to sponsor a performance on Sunday night in the Chrysler Museum Theater. It was the first time but not the last that we performed in a Museum where security is heightened and one enters through special doors. The philosophy behind this sharing was well expressed by Mary Redd: “One of the things the Urban League is about is building bridges. So I think ofLet My People Go in terms of letting all people be free.” She went on to share in an interview published by the Virginia Pilot and Ledger Star, “The performance, which comes in the middle of Black History Month, coincides with Urban League Sunday. That’s an annual awareness day commemorating the founding of the National Urban League in 1910.” The following Monday morning the company performed at a local high school in a lively morning assembly (see the following poem by Kezia for more about the morning).

The last two performances were back in the NY area. On Saturday night in Plainfield, New Jersey, the performance was sponsored by the Association for Rehabilitation with Kindness, a joint organization of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church and Temple Emanu-El of Westfield,NJ. The organization focuses on the rehabilitation of housing. This performance was especially meaningful for me, as Rabbi Kroloff, an Avodah Board Member, was the leader of Temple Emanu-El and it was in his office that the idea to develop a program like “Let My People Go” was first discussed (See Blog 2). We were thrilled to get excellent press in the New Jersey section of The New York Times, where Barbara Gilford, having seen the performance earlier at Rodeph Sholom wrote, “The work has both substance and texture with eloquence and emotional forces suffusing spoken and movement sequences. Images and bodies seamlessly melt into one another. A vision of the Israelites in Egyptian bondage becomes a tableau of black slavery as black and Jewish voices become one cry for deliverance”(February 19, 1989).

Additional press in Newark’s Star-Ledger by Valerie Sudol included a quote by Louis Johnson: “’This was a wonderful project,’ he said of his work with Tucker. ‘The piece deals with issues that are right in front of us every day. It’s about life as it’s lived here and now, not in some remote time or place’” (February 12, 1989).

From L to R: Loretta Abbott, Deborah Hanna, and Mark Childs

Photo by Tom Brazil

The last performance of the season was on Sunday, February 26^th, at the Henry Street Settlement in their wonderful old theater. Deborah Hanna wrote of that last performance:

There was a very modest Sunday afternoon audience as I recall, but our performance was breathtaking. After this intense tour, we had arrived to such a free, creative and connected place between all of the performers that we were actually improvising new things, anticipating and working together with that magical harmony that performers live for… That priceless, beyond time and space experience that unfortunately happens so rarely in a performing career. In the end, it didn’t matter where we were or who was in front of us… that last performance was all ours. (From Avodah Memory, February 29, 2004 by Deborah Hanna).

Deborah Hanna (foreground) and Loretta Abbott

Photo by Tom Brazil

The drummer who had first begun the piece was not available and so we had two subs during the season: Eli Fontaine and Newman Taylor Baker. While Eli would occasionally join us again over the next several years, Newman became a regular Avodah touring member and incredible collaborator. More to come about Newman.

Kezia, in the March 1989 Avodah Newsletter, playfully and elegantly summarized the season and I end this Blog with her poem:

And About That Black-Jewish History Project….
IN the beginning, were doubts, we admit;
Would visions and methods and temperaments fit?
Soon the group’s gathered, and quickly we’re friends.
Just into rehearsal, surprises descend:

We’re told we must sing. “We’re just dancers,” we rant,
Cantor Mark, told to dance, cries, “I can’t; I just cant.”
(If Louis said “Fly!” he’d want wings to unfold);
Rumpelstiltskin, we need, to turn straw into gold.

En route to our premiere, we can’t help but fret;
We realize we’ve not done one full run-through yet!
They love all our dancing, the music, the text.
They don’t know we still whisper, “Help!” Which part comes next?”

For two months we travel, most weekends and more;
The dust in our homes slowly covers the floor.
Our friends rarely see us; we don’t get much rest,
But the piece grows with each show, from better to best.

We’re scheduled with choirs or questions and answers;
New groups come together in sponsoring dancers!
We hope that such links grow as fast as our piece;
(Next year, how ‘bout soul food with matzoh ball feasts?!)

A high school performance – a morning assembly –
That audience still makes us smile, remembering;
We run and we roll and we moan and we scream;
It’s the funniest thing that they ever have seen!

They not only enjoy, but they do understand,
And perhaps they see clearest the point right at hand:
If the world were just like the small crew of our show,
No one would need cry, “Let My People Go.”

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“Let My People Go” Meets “Let It Snow”

JoAnne Tucker / August 3, 2018November 20, 2018 / "Let My People Go"

“Let My People Go” toured throughout the United States for 11 years, with performances in high schools, colleges, community centers, churches and synagogues! While I’m not sure of the exact number of performances, it was certainly over 50. The original cast made a tremendous impact on the creation of the piece. New cast members each brought their own personality and talent to their role. Each performance had its own story. However, as I continue this series of blogs related to “Let My People Go,” I will focus on the more unusual events as well as programs that grew out of the work. I continue with two different concerts that were strongly impacted by snowstorms.

On Friday night, February 2, 1990, we performed “Let My People Go” at Beth Israel Synagogue outside of Atlantic City in a joint event they had organized with members of the Salem United Methodist Church. Part of the company returned to New York City right away because of commitments they had on Saturday. The next morning, Kezia, Deborah and I began our drive from Atlantic City to Hamilton, New York to be joined on Sunday by the rest of the cast for a performance at Colgate University. Hamilton is located in a rural part of upstate New York. The ride was uneventful until late afternoon, when we were on a small country road not far from Hamilton and it began to snow. A deer came flying out of nowhere and we hit it. Luckily the car did not spin and we easily brought it to a stop. We got out to see the condition of the deer. It didn’t survive the hit. We were devastated by this, and Deborah spent a few prayerful moments by the deer. Since it was a fairly large deer, the front of the car was quite damaged. I can’t remember the next detailed sequence of events,but soon there was a highway patrolman helping us. After he did his paperwork, he said, “Well, the deer’s yours; do you want it?” Kezia was astounded by this request, as if we had been engaged in no-frills hunting of the animal we were mourning. We offered the deer to either him or the tow truck driver, and it was accepted appreciatively. The tow truck driver graciously took us to his cozy home where we waited for a ride to our Colgate hosts. Finally we arrived at an elegant farm-house and enjoyed our lovely hosts’ warm hospitality and their view of the snow beautifully highlighting the trees and surrounding landscape.

The next morning, after awakening again to the magnificent expansive view and silence of snow, we heard from the four other performers that they had rented a car as planned and begun the drive, but the roads were simply too bad and they were turning around and heading back. Hum… here we were with a program planned as a joint celebration of African and Jewish culture in recognition of Black History Month with only two “White” dancers and one “White” choreographer to represent our multicultural piece. Our contact, Moshe Gresser, who was an Assistant Professor in the Philosophy and Religion department as well as faculty advisor of the Jewish Student Group, was supportive and cooperative in helping us to redesign the program the best we could, including involving the audience at points to provide and experience some of the vocal accompaniment. In my scrapbook is a review of the event, published two days later in The Colgate Maroon, which is very kind to our efforts. But we certainly remember some displeased comments made to us, such as, “They couldn’t make it because of the snow??!!??” accompanied by disbelieving faces. We definitely felt self conscious about not representing our piece well. The program also included the wonderfully energetic Sojourners Chorus and the Dean of the College quoting from Dr. King and setting the mood for the event.

Krista Pilot wrote in the review:

Moshe Gresser then introduced the Avodah Dance Ensemble by explaining both its name and its goal in producing the program entitled “Let My People Go.”…. After the introduction, two out of five dancers took the stage and began what the audience assumed was the performance. A few minutes later, however, JoAnne Tucker, the choreographer, interrupted the dance to explain that three of the dancers were stranded in (surprise!) the snowstorm and could not make the performance. The program did continue with an abbreviated version of the entire piece with Ms. Tucker and Moshe Gresser narrating and the audience joining in to provide chanting and background noise. Despite the missing half of their ensemble the remaining members managed to give the Colgate audience a good representation of the complete program.

I am glad I saved the review because our memory was more of a disappointing, strange performance and I am delighted to know that we managed to pull off something respectable. The next morning, after a phone discussion with my husband Murray,and evaluation of the condition of the car, we decided to leave the car in upstate NY since it wasn’t worth repairing, and we all returned to NYC via bus, the weather no longer a problem.

Kezia, in a moment that was easy to perform for the Colgate event.

Photo by Tom Brazil.

Fast forward to 1994. It’s four years after Colgate, and we are scheduled to perform on Saturday, February 12 in Detroit, and then drive to Toledo, Ohio for a performance on Sunday night. Our cantor for these performances is to be Ida Rae Cahana, who performed the role with us in NYC and on tour after Mark finished cantorial school and left the cast.

Ida had graduated in 1993, and it had been almost a year since she had worked with us. Her last performance had been at Metropolitan Synagogue in NYC, where she had a placement as student cantor. It was an excellent, memorable performance, reviewed by Back Stage, but Kezia remembers it particularly well for an additional reason. With her notoriously poor sense of direction, Kezia had left the “dressing room” in the synagogue and gone through a door that she thought was taking her to the performance space, only to find herself locked outdoors (on a cold day), in costume, having to race around the outside of the building and enter through the bustling front-door crowd and audience to get “backstage” for the start of the piece.

But back to Detroit. We were looking forward to a good long rehearsal on Saturday afternoon to refresh Ida Rae’s memory and practice together. I can’t remember whether we were scheduled to fly out on Friday or first thing Saturday morning but our flight was cancelled due to major snow in the New York area. We were due to leave from Newark airport, which was not going to reopen until maybe late on Saturday, and so the airline recommended we fly out of JFK where they could get us on an early afternoon flight. OK, that could work and we would still have time for a rehearsal.

We all managed to make it to JFK, finding various ways to get there. I was on the phone with Cantor Harold Orback (1931-2014), a much loved member of the clergy of Temple Israel. I told him I would keep him posted as to our progress as it already looked like the early afternoon flight was delayed. The program was scheduled to begin at 7 and included a dinner, so most likely we wouldn’t perform until 8 or 8:30. Delay after delay. Finally around 5 we boarded the flight. More delays getting off the ground but at last we took off and I figured we might just get there in time to perform, probably just going over a few cues first for Ida Rae.

We landed in Detroit at 8 p.m. in fairly bad weather. The pilot came on the speaker to inform us that we had slid off the runway and had to wait to be towed in. That added another half hour. I called Cantor Orback. “No problem,” he said, “just come when you can.”

Thankfully, Newman offered to drive the rental minivan, as it was snowing and he had experience driving in snow. As he carefully drove us there, I observed several cars that had slid off the road. We made it to Temple Israel at about 10 and expected that everyone would have gone home. To our surprise, there was a large group that greeted us enthusiastically and appeared to be having an enjoyable evening. I think Cantor Orback, an outstanding performer, and maybe Ida Rae, had been doing an impromptu performance. Kezia thinks the crowd may have been singing, as well as conversing happily. The mood was very energetic and welcoming.

The dancers changed into costumes. We practiced a lift with Ida Rae that Louis had added to the piece. The dancers did a few warm up pliés, and “Let My People Go” began to an attentive audience. Ida Rae remembered all of her part wonderfully, except one cue, when she forgot to come in. Newman kept ringing a bell to get her attention. I was on the side trying very hard to wish her in and struggling not to laugh at Newman’s efforts. After what seemed like a long time to me but was probably just a few seconds, Newman’s prompting worked and in she came, never missing another cue. What a nice ending to a very stressful travel day. The next day we continued on to Toledo for a performance at Ida Rae’s congregation.

Ida Rae on an earlier tour to Denver and Boulder. Pictured from L to R: Loretta Abbott, Newman Taylor Baker, JoAnne Tucker, Deborah Hanna and Ida Rae Cahana. The picture was taken by Kezia on a rare day off when we went sightseeing. Note the snow on the mountains in the background, which was beautiful to look at, while we enjoyed good weather where we were.

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After School Program for Children Living in Temporary Housing

JoAnne Tucker / August 17, 2018November 20, 2018 / "Let My People Go"

Thirty children, along with a few parents, arrived at our home base of Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR) on West 4^thStreet in NYC to spend several hours with the Let My People Go Company. For five weeks, twice a week they participated in 45 minutes of dance and 45 minutes of music education, as well as journal writing, dinner and other short activities related to Let My People Go. The program culminated in a special sharing for parents and invited guests, where the children performed, celebrated at a special dinner and went home with souvenirs including a Let My People Go T-shirt, a rainstick, and books (generously donated by Scholastic Press) about music and Harriet Tubman.

We learned about the Cultural Arts Program for Children Living in Temporary Housing from H.T. Chen and Dian Dong, as we rented rehearsal space for a number of years from Chen and Dancers in Chinatown. They had received grants from the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs for several years and suggested we apply. We did and were thrilled to receive grants for the next several years until the program ended. It was one of the most satisfying teaching experiences that we had.

Kezia shared some of the experiences of the first year in Avodah’s December 1995 Newsletter:

The talking drum shouted with anger and then whispered a secret. The 12-year-old drummer had expressed her frustration clearly, without using a word. Words might come later, too, in her journal, but right now the drum was more satisfying, simultaneously announcing her feelings while keeping the specifics private.

Think of all the emotions, the alarms, the summonses, the celebrations, the unifying rhythms, the messages –throughout history, throughout the world – that have been spoken by drums. Nor did the power of the drum escape the attention of those who feared it; just as slaves in America were forbidden to learn to read, forbidden to gather, so too, their drums were taken away. But as the children who worked with our drummer, Newman Baker, would tell you, if you don’t have an actual drum in front of you, you always have one on you. And these children would further demonstrate for you the variations in tone when you slap the top of your thigh, pat the side of it, or tap your knee, all while beating complicated rhythms on this “hambone.”

It was during these programs that we witnessed Newman’s incredible talents teaching and I am thrilled to report that Newman continued to share his talents with Avodah as a regular collaborator and today continues as my very dear friend. You will be reading lots more about him as this blog continues.

Newman and Elizabeth teaching in a junior high school classroom. We often had grants to bring programs into the public schools.

All the company members proved to be excellent teachers beautifully guiding the children in various activities. For example, Loretta talked about Harriet Tubman and asked the children to go quietly from their lively school bus through a long lobby downstairs to their activity room as if they were fugitive slaves following Harriet Tubman on the Underground Railroad. Loretta, of course, became Harriet Tubman.

Loretta Abbott leading the children in the final presentation.

The facilities at HUC-JIR proved to be outstanding for the program. The large kitchen was ideal to make tasty and healthy dinners. Thank you, HUC-JIR, for making this possible. I learned that I could shop at BJ’s in Jersey City for large amounts of food at a reasonable price enabling me to add treats that the children were able to take home with them. For the first year, a former Avodah dancer, Peggy Evans (then a professional clown), coordinated the cooking. With classes, journal writing and eating together, the program flowed smoothly.

The Chapel at HUC-JIR was just perfect forthe dance classes and especially for the final presentation.

The director of the program for the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs was Rhonda McLean Nur. And much to our delight she sent Jeannine Otis to observe our work for the Department. We had met Jeannine before, when she appeared in a program that we had shared with Faith Journey at HUC. As we got to know Jeannine more, I kept thinking there had to be a way to collaborate with her. (See the next blog for how this came to be.)

In the second year of receiving the grant and developing a very strong relationship with the children, I arranged a field trip/reunion for the staff and children to attend a performance of the Broadway show Bring in ‘da Noise, Bring in ‘da Funk. While I don’t remember all the details of how we were able to pull this off, I believe the producers made special price tickets available to school groups for the matinee. It was exciting to have Savion Glover and other cast members talk to the children after the show.

Our field trip to see Bring in ‘da Noise, Bring in ‘da Funk.

Reflecting back on these unique teaching opportunities my heart again fills with the joy that we received from the children. They were eager and hungry to learn from us, and their enthusiasm brought out the very best in our teaching skills.

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Bravo’s in California!!

JoAnne Tucker / August 24, 2018November 20, 2018 / "Let My People Go"

It’s 1997 and “Let My People Go” is in its 9^thyear of touring. We are preparing for a tour to Northern California and the cantor who has been singing with us is not able to continue so I need to find someone new. The voice I keep hearing in my head chanting the Hebrew text belongs not to a cantor, but to Jeannine Otis. Hum… that would be different– having an African American artist do the cantor’s role. Why not!!

As mentioned in a previous blog, we first knew Jeannine both from her performance in Faith Journey, and from her work as an evaluator with the Cultural Arts Program that gave us a grant to run a program for children living in NYC temporary housing. After that first grant, Jeannine accompanied one of our performances of Negro Spirituals, and we danced — with her accompaniment — as part of an AIDS memorial service at St. Mark’s Church in-the-Bowery, where she was (and is still) the Musical Director. As Kezia noted in a 1997 Avodah Newsletter, “the whole company had fallen in love with Jeannine’s voice, her poise, her sincerity, her soul and her striking lack of ego.”

I asked Jeannine how her Hebrew was and if she was interested in joining the “Let My People Go” cast. She said she was good at learning different languages for singing and that she would be willing to be tutored. The first tutor didn’t work out but the second one did and Henry Resnick did a super job coaching Jeannine with the Hebrew text. As rehearsal got underway I couldn’t have been more thrilled with Jeannine as part of the cast.

Our first performance was in Santa Rosa on a Sunday afternoon in February co-sponsored by Congregation Beth Ami and Community Baptist Church. Either the day before or that morning we went over to Community Baptist Church to lead a workshop with teens from both congregations. The leaders of the two congregations couldn’t have been more different. One preached boldly in a vibrant African America Baptist style while the Rabbi from Congregation Beth Ami was quiet and reserved. They got along beautifully and we noticed that later in the day when the Rabbi spoke before our concert he was bolder and livelier. Fun to see how we can learn from each other.

A packed audience from both congregations watched with intensity and enthusiasm and rapidly rose to its feet as soon as “Let My People Go” ended. The six-member cast was superb. Newman Baker, Kezia Gleckman Hayman, Carla Norwood, Jeannine Otis, Mark Walcott, and Lisa Danette Watson blended beautifully with each other, and the bravo’s and cheers they received were well deserved.

The Full Cast. Photo by Tom Scott.

We had a few days off before our next performance so we toured the wine country and then a few of us did mud baths at Calistoga. Carla, in a memory of that Avodah tour, wrote of “sitting on the cliffs above the Pacific Coast at Point Reyes National Park, a detour from the nerve-wracking drive along California’s Highway 1.” (Kezia also remembers that she and Carla decided to explore some of San Francisco on foot, armed with a simple local street map. They were proud of themselves, until they discovered that the map failed to indicate that some of their chosen streets were so steep they had staircases built into the sidewalks!)

Jeannine and Carla at Point Reyes National Park. Photo by Kezia Gleckman Hayman.

Lisa doing an attitude on the path at Point Reyes. Photo by Kezia Gleckman Hayman.

Other performances on the tour included Hillel sponsored programs at Berkeley and Stanford,and then Friday night at Congregation Sherith Israel in San Francisco, with the Jones Memorial Church presenting traditional music of South Africa and the African Diaspora. I remember the spacing at Sherith Israel was challenging as the “bema” was narrow and yet with just an afternoon rehearsal the company made it their own. Cantor Martin Feldman and Jeannine sang together at one point adding another dimension.

Cantor Martin Feldman and Jeannine in rehearsal. Photo by Tom Scott.

I could (but won’t) go on and on about all the amazing performances and talented dancers and cantors who shared their gifts in this piece, and the communities that chose to come together to sponsor a performance, often with accompanying workshops or Question and Answer sessions. I will mention that Jeannine continued to perform this piece with us after the California tour. She had learned the Hebrew so well, and performed so beautifully, that an audience member once asked whether African American cantors are common.

Newman at the San Francisco airport before we headed home.

Photo: Kezia Gleckman Hayman.

Here are links to some excerpts of Jeannine in the Cantor’s role from a performance she did with us at a church outside of Chicago.

Excerpt 1: Moses you are standing on Holy Ground

Excerpt 2: “M’Chamocha” and “Hallelujah”

Excerpt 3: End of the piece: Spiritual, “Go Down Moses”

To learn more about Jeannine visit her website.

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A Special Visit with Louis Johnson

JoAnne Tucker / September 7, 2018November 20, 2018 / "Let My People Go"

It was exciting to be contacted in 2015 by a filmmaker doing a documentary on Louis called Up in the Air. We had several phone conversations and he let me know that Louis was doing well and living in the Amsterdam Nursing Home, across the street from St. John the Divine in New York City. Louis had told him about Let My People Go and he wanted some more information. Learning where Louis was, I resolved that I would go and visit him on my next trip to New York City. I let other Let My People Go cast members know that I would be visiting Louis and invited them to join me if they were able. So on a Friday afternoon in September of 2015, Newman Taylor Baker, Loretta Abbott and I had a wonderful visit with Louis.

One of the first things Louis asked was, “How is that little girl who did the article on me doing?” And he said how much he loved that article. Here’s what he was referring to.

______________________________

From Avodah Newsletter, February 1999 (by Kezia Gleckman Hayman)

INSIDE VIEW: AN APPRECIATION OF LOUIS JOHNSON, CHOREOGRAPHER

Avodah’s newest piece is Make a Change, co-choreographed by Louis Johnson and JoAnne Tucker. Ten years ago, this pair created Let My People Go, and it was my lucky privilege to be part of the original cast. JoAnne and Louis equally have shaped both these pieces, but for my limited purpose here (and with JoAnne’s encouragement), I have temporarily cropped the picture to include only Louis. Choreographers can sometimes adapt their working styles to suit each particular forum or group of performers; I have not had the fun of observing Louis in any of his other extensive and varied professional encounters, but please allow me to share an insider’s fond view of Louis Johnson as choreographer for Avodah. –KGH-

“It still works,” says Louis, sounding amazed each time he attends a performance of Let My People Go. His bewilderment would surprise anyone hearing him, because it is his own work about which he speaks. But then Louis is a modest guy. The community member chatting and laughing with Louis recently at Snug Harbor, and being praised for his gusto as a community performer with us, might have known that Louis is the Director of Dance at the historic Henry Street Settlement in New York City, but our conversationalist probably had little idea that he was talking to an artist who regularly sets pieces on the Dance Theatre of Harlem, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and other dance companies of similar distinction. Could he guess that Aretha Franklin counts on Louis to stage her shows or that Michael Jackson does Louis’s moves in the movie The Wiz? Would he know that Louis was a pioneering African American male dancer to appear with the New York City Ballet in Jerome Robbins’s Ballade and on Broadway in Damn Yankees (choreographed by Bob Fosse)? No. Because Louis never boasts about his accomplishments, never “name drops,” never even volunteers information about his work. When Louis is talking to you, child or adult, his focus is entirely on you, whether he’s hearing about other work you’ve done or he’s worrying that you’re not wearing a winter hat. This complete attention to the present moment – this “commitment” – is precisely what Louis expects from his dancers and what makes Let My People Go“still work” after 10 years.

A young Louis Johnson in performance (note the arms and head!). Photo from http://iforcolor.org/louis-johnson/. (Photo did not appear with original Newsletter article; it has been added for this blog.)

The late choreographer Antony Tudor observed wistfully, about the generation of dancers who came after the early casts of his dramatic ballets, that the trouble was, one could hardly find “bad dancers” anymore. What he meant, Louis would understand. Neither, obviously, would want untalented dancers, but a Tudor ballet is not about how high a ballerina can fling her leg or how many times a male dancer can spin in a pirouette. Louis, I confess, has a weak spot for high kicks and multiple turns, fast feet and gymnastic feats, but he doesn’t tolerate any of that if there isn’t passion behind it. And more important, he can shape the proper intent, context and force that can make a low leg appear as spectacular as a high kick. Louis preaches sincerity, whirlwind energy, rhythm and dynamics, theatricality. He can demonstrate it, too. Belying his generously round appearance, Louis can explode from his seat and execute movement with a terrific quickness of feet, a piercing sharpness of focus, a beauty of timing and a ham-it-up grin that is incomparably endearing.

You can get a whole education in theatricality by watching Louis work. Whether it’s a small detail of pacing or spacing, an adjustment of focus, the insertion of a “trick” to make the audience smile – every tiny bit of molding makes a significant change for the audience’s eye. Louis may indeed be concerned with the guts of his dancers, but he is simultaneously able to view the packaging through super-sensitive internal opera glasses that transform him into an audience member seeing the piece for the first time. Allow me to share a glimpse of the way this approach actually presents itself in rehearsal, however.

Unlike some choreographers who enter the studio with a complete set of steps that the dancers are to reproduce, Louis does not. Unlike his co-choreographer JoAnne, who expects her dancers to collaborate in creating movement but who nonetheless enters the studio with a fairly clear structure and movement assignments to be fulfilled, Louis does not. Louis enters the studio, dedicates himself to the current rehearsal (he has invariably raced over from some other consuming appointment) and proceeds to balance himself at a point hanging between that audience’s eye and the soul of the piece. This most delicate perch is characterized outwardly by a faraway squint and substantial stretches of silence. Then there is quite a bit of vague blocking, during which dancers plot out designated spots like human chess pieces, usually with the assurance, “Don’t worry about how you’re going to get there.” Then Louis points to one dancer and directs, “Do some kind of big leap thing down to this corner.” The dancer, new to working with Louis, and having only one second to think, does a lovely traditional grand jeté across the floor. “It’s not BALLET class,” Louis booms. “Give it some dynamics! Get your arms UP! Look up! (He demonstrates strikingly.) Do it again, please.” Dancer goes back and does a magnificent, electrifying grand jeté with non-ballet arms.

This arm business is a signature trick of Louis’s, I’ve found. Louis is actually fond of ballet vocabulary, but his means of conquering its sometimes academic effect is to use the arms and head in an upward shout of exultant energy. This is so characteristic of Louis’s work that when I came into a rehearsal for Make a Change recently, I found Tanya, a dancer who at that point had only rehearsed with Louis a few times, reviewing material with another dancer and reminding, ”That leap is with Louis arms.”

But back to our modified ballerina who has just done the spectacular leap. “Gooood . . . that’s good” Louis murmurs. Pause. Long squint. Long pause. “Can you do that again and play a trumpet at the top of the leap?”

I am kidding about the trumpet. But the essence is accurate. Added to the first simple request, just when the dancer might be caught off-guard by Louis’s reassuring hum of “Good,” comes a challenge to do something the person has possibly never done before and probably never expected to do on a stage. Working with Louis, you learn to revel in the quick laugh of shock and then “go for it.” Trust is indispensable in this process.

After the “trumpet” scene will follow the putting together of one small phrase of non-stop, nearly frenzied movement. It will be triple-high energy and slightly flashy, and we will repeat it endlessly as Louis squints and refines details. The next day we will not be able to walk up stairs or sit down. At the end of the 2-1/2 hour rehearsal, when some choreographers would have set at least five minutes of constant movement, we have the dance equivalent of the 100-meter dash and lots of walking around. Are we worried? Not a bit. Besides appreciating the luxury of not being pressured to learn excessive material quickly, anyone who has worked with Louis has come to trust him entirely; by the performance (though perhaps not much before), we’ll have a finished piece, and it will all work theatrically. At the next rehearsal, Louis will claim, in partial truth, not to remember most of what was set. But at the change of one detail, he’ll cry out, “Didn’t you twirl that trumpet when you picked it up last time?”

Rehearsals will continue, a bit muddled, with thinking periods, and lots of squinting, and refreshing laughter, and eventually, almost magically, there will be a full piece. The completion of this stage is like the magic button on the pinball machine. Louis is catapulted to the “polishing” stage. Suddenly he is like a firecracker or the embodiment of an exclamation point, his arms shooting out right, left, up, as his voice punctuates, “Bop! Vap! MOVE, people. Make us love you!” And here we are at the core. Louis is not a choreographer enmeshed in movement studies. His choreography sets out to communicate. His movements speak.

Sometimes this means, for example, that the male dancer in Let My People Go must convincingly convey with his movements the panic of a slave trying to escape. But this is a basic example – even when powerfully done, it is only a generation or two beyond mime. The unique force of Louis’s choreography is that even when movement appears to be eons removed from gesture, it still speaks. In his movements, Louis captures the rhythms, the inflections, the pauses and overlaps, humor, compassion, confusion and speed of human conversation. When he tells a dancer, “Sell it! Take your moment,” he is reminding the dancer that for that brief paragraph of movement, he or she is the one having the most intense conversation with the audience. “Your movements have to SAY something,” Louis insists. The script is in the movements he has choreographed. But it is ultimately Louis’s gift as a director that clinches his talent as a choreographer, because it is through his extraordinary coaching that his dancers are brought to eloquent delivery of those lines.

Always, ultimately, the product is an entertaining presentation with an urgent soul. Yes, Louis can put on a gruff voice and say sternly, “People, don’t talk while I’m talking,” as we try occasionally to interpret pointed instructions that are in utter conflict with other pointed instructions. But five minutes later, he’ll say pseudo-confidentially, “You’ve got to let dancers solve these problems themselves – you know, dancers are smart.” And ten minutes later, this man of renown in the world of dance and theater will turn to his cast and with quiet seriousness ask each member, “Do you think this is working?”

Yes, Louis, it’s working. Ten years from now it will still work.

______________________________

Now back to the 2015 visit. We had planned to have lunch together and since Louis is wheelchair bound, I thought we would be able to find a place in the neighborhood. But that wasn’t what Louis had in mind. He definitely wanted to go to a restaurant that was a cab ride away on West 125^thStreet, a favorite of his, and just like when creating Let My People Go, there was no way to say “NO” to Louis. So with instructions from staff at the Nursing Home, off Newman, Loretta and I went. Our first challenge was finding a taxi that would accept a wheel chair. Finally one stopped for us and it was with incredible determination that Louis was able to move himself from the chair to the cab’s seat. The driver was quite wonderful and told us how to call for a van cab where Louis would be able to stay in his chair. We did that after lunch and it made it so much easier for him. It was indeed a very special lunch and I am so glad to have this picture of us taken at the restaurant.

From L to R: Newman Taylor Baker, Loretta Abbott, Louis Johnson, JoAnne Tucker.

I had no idea that would be the last time I would see Loretta. Several months later she had a stroke. For a short while she was at the same nursing home as Louis (where she played the piano daily) before returning to live on her own. A true theatre person, she was already involved in rehearsals for a new production when she passed away on June 5, 2016. Kezia was able to get to a memorial held for her at George Faison’s Firehouse Theater, the very place where she had been rehearsing the new work. Later we would have our very own small and intimate gathering, put together for us by Jeannine Otis at St. Mark’s Church in New York in October 2016. Here we are gathered around Loretta’s picture. Missing from the photo is Beth Millstein Wish who had joined us earlier.

From L to R: Kezia Gleckman Hayman, Newman Taylor Baker, Larry Marshall, JoAnne Tucker and Jeannine Otis.

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More on Sisters: A Peek into the Rehearsal Studio and Some Dancers’ Reflections

JoAnne Tucker / March 29, 2019April 1, 2019 / Dance Midrash, Dances on Biblical Women

In the Summer 1992 issue of Outlook (the Women’s League for Conservative Judaism’s magazine), Kezia and I wrote an article entitled “Midrash in Motion” which shared more about our process of creating Sisters, including some of the dancers’ thoughts and conversations in the rehearsal studio.

            “Maybe Leah’s eyes were weak from crying,” Deborah suggests.
            “Maybe,” muses Kezia. I don’t think she really had weak eyes. Other people just called them weak because she was thoughtful and withdrawn, especially compared to Rachel, and sensitive in a way people would not see.”
            “Deborah, your interpretation matches a traditional midrash,” interjects JoAnne. “However, I want to focus on Rachel and Leah’s reactions when they were described as the beautiful Rachel and the weak-eyed Leah.”
            This snatch of conversations did not take place in an ordinary midrash class. Deborah Hanna and Kezia Gleckman Hayman, professional modern dancers of the Avodah Dance Ensemble, are rehearsing….
            Focusing on the initial question, two dancers improvised as [Cantor] Stone repeatedly chanted, “Rachel was beautiful, Leah had weak eyes.”  Coached by Tucker, Stone moved closer and closer to each dancer, first shouting the text in their ears, and then whispering.  The dancers reacted, their movements altered by the forceful suggestions of the intruder.  It was immediately clear that such chanting would be powerful.

Since the article was written and published several years after the piece was created, it ended with some reflections by Deborah and Kezia about performing the piece.

In mentioning the company’s community of performers, we must mention that when Sisters (and other works) toured over the years, if the original cantor could not travel with the company, exceptional local cantors occasionally agreed to take on the role in the piece – not an easy task, since it meant learning the role mainly by studying a video and then having usually only one quick rehearsal both to coordinate with the dancers and to master the staging. And staging was complicated – for everyone – because it required customizing the choreography to fit most safely and dramatically into each unique performance space, which often included features such as stairs. We are grateful to all the local cantors who performed so artistically and soulfully with us over the years, for Sisters and other company repertoire.

The form of the piece has remained substantially the same. Kezia and Deborah are still stepping into the sisters’ lives. And yet, they still ponder the meaning of Leah’s weak eyes – in discussions and in dance. In each performance, Leah discovers a new element of her feelings toward Rachel. In each performance, Rachel feels a bit differently when she chooses to reveal the secret sign, thereby surrendering her bridal veil. Each time, the cantor’svoice reveals new shades of emotion. Each time, the company’s community [of performers] creates a bond distinct from the previous performance. Each time, new midrash is created.

In 2004 when I was getting ready to leave the New York area I invited dancers and company collaborators to a Sunday afternoon gathering. I asked both those that attended and those that couldn’t make it to write an Avodah Memory. Rabbi Susan Freeman shared this one:

Besides all the laughing and intense improvising…. I often think of the awe-inspiring moments of holding a pose in “Sisters” at a synagogue in suburban Detroit – with the sanctuary in the style of an enormous tent. Any gaze extended into the “folds” of this amazing architecture. I felt so alive – spiritually, intellectually, emotionally, socially, aesthetically. It was one of those unique experiences of being wholly present – when the immediate moment becomes aligned with the eternal moment.

The performance Susan is describing took place at Temple Beth El in Bloomfield Hills, outside of Detroit. The cantor’s role there was beautifully performed by Cantor Gail Hirschenfang. With a satisfying sense of life’s circles, Kezia is delighted to note that Cantor Hirschenfang is now the cantor of the temple to which Kezia belongs in Poughkeepsie.

The photograph of the building’s outside is by Rob Yallop from the website MichiganModern.org. A photo of the soaring inside of the temple, with the “folds” described by Susan, can be found at the following link.

Here is a link to see a video of the first performance of Sisters.

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Rehearsals Begin for Binding

JoAnne Tucker / April 12, 2019April 12, 2019 / Dance Midrash, New York Company

Rehearsals began with four collaborating dancers. Deborah, Kezia, Susan and Beth (Bardin) had all helped to create Sisters. There was an ease and comfort of working together that I really appreciated with a text like the Akedah which is challenging and disturbing. I knew where I wanted to begin and that was opening with an angel ballet. Having been introduced to a wide variety of percussion instruments by Newman Taylor Baker I also had decided that we would use text, chanting and percussion to accompany the movement. That gives a certain freedom to choreographing as there is no music we need to follow. It also means we don’t have any form to follow or any musical drive to motivate the piece.

I asked Mark Childs, the cantor we had worked with in Let My People Go, to help create the cantorial score of the piece and to be in at least the first performance in December 1989. I was very grateful that Rabbi Norman Cohen had indicated his willingness to both speak before the piece was performed and to be part of the performance as well.

So we began with the angel ballet and played around with movement that might reflect a surreal appearance. This included the dancers walking on tiptoe backwards, making diagonal crossing paths. Ritual movement from the Kedusha prayer would be incorporated. The Kedusha is part of the Amidah, “the standing prayer which is central to every Jewish service.” The Kedusha “calls us to imitate the choirs of angels singing ‘Holy, holy, holy.’ There is a custom of rising on our tiptoes with every repetition of the word kadosh, holy.” (https://velveteenrabbi.blogs.com/blog/2015/08/shabbat-morning-gratitude.html)

We would take it a step further by turning the rising on the tiptoes to three jumps! And toward the end of the opening angel ballet which is accompanied by a triangle percussion instrument, Mark would elegantly and boldly chant the traditional prayer. Following that, the angels would birth the ram, inspired by Frederick Terna’s painting, to the accompaniment of the traditional sounds of the shofar.

Costumes can sometimes help create a mood. Somehow I wanted to have a very simple look to the piece and yet have the dancers have fabric that could indicate angel wings. I loved the pants we had for performing the piece M’Vakshei Or and thought they could work with a black leotard. The pants had a wrap-around design that gave a perfect place for fabric to be added. Sometimes when I don’t know what to do for costumes I wander in department stores, particularly in designer areas. As I was wandering around a store I came across a very simple and elegant chiffon poncho. It had an irregular cut to it. The price was over $200 and definitely out of our budget. I drew a quick sketch of how it was constructed and realized it would be simple to make. Next stop was the fabric store to pick out four different pastel colors in chiffon and enough extra to add some fabric to the pants. The costumes worked and gave just the effect I wanted.

The Angels birthing the ram. From l. to r. Beth Bardin, Susan Freeman (as the ram), Deborah Hanna, and Kezia Gleckman Hayman in the chapel at Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion, NYC. Much to my disappointment we have neither formal professional pictures of this piece, nor any taken in dress rehearsal. Luckily we have a video of the dress rehearsal. So I have copied the VHS to a DVD and then to an MP4 file. Using a screen shot I have captured some moments from the piece that I will be sharing in the blog.

The next section of the piece is based on exploring this line of text: “After these things, God put Abraham to the test.” What were these things? A duet begins between Deborah and Susan inspired by this poem:

Ishmael the older brother, boasted of his
Blood and brayed: My blood was drained when I was thirteen:
The younger Isaac whispered: if God
Wishes to take me, let God take all of me.

Deborah (standing) and Susan in the forefront as the brothers

At one of the early rehearsals Susan arrived with two poems she had written that she offered for the piece. With her permission I share these poems which became part of the piece (with slight variations) and inspired choreography.

Abraham’s Trial

Hagar is crying – –
Banished and weary – –
In the wilderness.
The desert horizon is
Thirst and starvation.
Collapsing to her knees
She buries her face – –
Not to watch as Death’s path
Unwinds its parched fingers
Ready to take her son
In its suffocating embrace.

Hagar is crying in the – –
After these things
Abraham was put on trial. Abraham is crying,
Forced to turn,
Return to the place
Familiar in his dreams – –
Wilderness.
(written by Rabbi Susan Freeman)

Beth and Kezia (l-r) as Hagar interpreting this poem in dance.

The piece continues using the second poem that Susan wrote:

The Birth of Isaac

Before these things
Sarah lay breathless.
Her eyes full, her cheeks damp,
Abraham holding their newborn son,
Joyous astonishment – –
And Sarah laughed.
Amazing is the One
Who creates life and death,
Laughter and tears.
And they called the child Isaac.

After these things
Sarah lay breathless,
Her eyes full, her cheeks damp.

A dance follows with Deborah as Sarah holding her new son and the three other dancers giggling and laughing in movement until the movement changes to a more hysterical, crying tone.

As the story unfolds Norman and Mark join the dancers on stage portraying Abraham and Isaac.

I could go on describing how the piece continues but instead let me invite you to click this link and see the final rehearsal for yourself.

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Adding Kaddish to Avodah’s Repertory

JoAnne Tucker / June 7, 2019June 7, 2019 / Avodah's Early History, Holocaust Repertory, New York Company

It’s February 5, 1981, and we are premiering a new piece in Avodah’s repertory for a Holocaust Memorial Program at The Savannah College of Art and Design. It is part of a program entitled “Light Through The Darkness,” which has been organized and planned by Congregation Mickve Israel for February 5^ththrough 12^th. It is part of a three-part program which includes a dance performance, an art exhibit, and a lecture by a prominent collector. We have decided to create a new piece for the program, to the first eight minutes of Leonard Bernstein’s “Kaddish” Symphony.

This was not our first performance in Savannah. This was our third. An article on February 4,1981, in the Georgia Gazettesums up our special relationship with Savannah very well:

The company has performed on several occasions to standing-room-only crowds in Savannah, and Tucker credits Rabbi Rubin (Saul Rubin) with encouraging her efforts during the company’s early years.

The first time we performed in Savannah was in March 1976 using female dancers from the congregation and bringing a male dancer from Tallahassee. I went in a week before and totally enjoyed my time there working with the dancers, who were lovely. Temple Mickve Israel is an old congregation with an historic sanctuary. It is located on a beautiful square, and a March 17, 1976 article in City Beat mentions that “while traffic circled about the verdant oasis, the dancers kicked off their shoes, and in leotards and jeans ran through their paces, barefoot in the park.” The publicity, with several articles and pictures of myself and composer Irving Fleet, was excellent for the Friday night service. In fact, when Irving joined me to rehearse the musicians and we had some time off to stroll along the river walkway and wandered in a shop, the owner recognized us from the newspaper. The Friday night service was indeed packed and standing-room-only. We performed Sabbath Woman and In Praise as part of a creative service that Rabbi Saul Rubin wrote.

We returned to Savannah in the fall of 1976 to repeat the two pieces as part of a regional Biennial Convention of the Southeast Union of American Hebrew Congregations (now called Union of Reform Judaism). That helped us become better known with congregations in the Southeastern part of the country. (My favorite memory from the performance in the Shabbat service is that I met a cousin and his wife that I hadn’t seen in years.)

We had a special relationship with Rabbi Saul Rubin and Temple Mickve Israel and I was really pleased to have an opportunity to be part of the Light Through The Darkness Holocaust Program. I also liked the fact we would have a good space to perform in at the Savannah College of Art and Design. This was a great opportunity to create a new piece to go with I Never Saw Another Butterfly. I remember listening to lots of music and giving much thought to what to create. I stumbled across Bernstein’s “Kaddish” Symphony and loved the first 8 minutes. The piece opens with about a four-minute reading by a solo voice, with some music. The recording I first found, and originally choreographed to, featured Leonard Bernstein doing the vocal part. So I created the solo on Michael Bush, the male dancer in the Tallahassee company at that time. What follows the vocal section is a wonderful burst of music during which the solo dancer joins the other dancers in one of my favorite phrases, which we often used for auditions over the years. With hands fisted, the dancers rise slowly as a group into a suspended relevé in simple parallel, from which they explode into a skip and leap, and a fan kick into a knee walk into a tilted attitude turn.

The performance in Savannah went well but more important to me was that the new piece Kaddish became a signature part of the repertoire for over twenty years, regularly performed before the Kaddish prayer in services and ending many concerts. Shortly after that first performance I discovered a recording with a female voice (Bernstein’s wife, Felicia Montealegre) doing the part, and when I returned to New York, I used that recording and taught the solo to Lynn Elliott who did a magnificent job with the part.

We used the female recording from that point on except when Rick Jacobs performed the solo. (I obtained the permissions I needed to use the music and each year reported the number of performances so I could pay the appropriate royalty.)

Over the years so many wonderful dancers performed the solo part, and it was great fun for me to see how each dancer made it their own. Kezia continued to teach the group section to new dancers even when she was no longer in the company. She adds the following note:

One of my proudest moments, both as Assistant Rehearsal Director and as ensemble member, was during a performance at an arts festival, when the music suddenly disappeared in the middle of the group section of Kaddish – a tricky section with changing tempos. We continued dancing without pause. Our ensemble work was so reliable that when the music resumed, we were exactly where we should have been, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Another one of my most memorable performances was in that same festival, a rain-or-shine, mainly-outdoor event. Let it never be said that we ever performed with less than our full focus, technique, heart and soul – not even when we performed under that LEAKING tent top, for that ONE audience member sitting under his umbrella in the pouring rain to watch us. We laugh at these memories, like other touring mishaps, but they don’t detract from the pleasure of being part of such festivals. This particular occasion also gave us the rare opportunity to enjoy performances by other artists, including most memorably the lovely music ensemble Voice of the Turtle.

Lynn Elliott inKaddish. Photo by Amanda Kreglow.

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