I'm better today but yesterday...

I had been in a mood, stuck not at a crossroads, choosing between between the tried and true and the "path less travelled." I chose. As I wrote tdown my thoughts, I was on a train, headed to New York, torn between two temples: the one based mythology but where my history told me I should be, and the one that feeds my imagination and mental health. A place that a very bad playwriting teacher once said was where "you just make shit up." The Theatre.

It was Erev Rosháshonah. Notice the accent mark over the 'a', a sure sign of my heritage. I say it the Yiddish way, not as modern Jews say the more literal Rosh Ha Shonáh, the Head of the Year. In the past, I would know exactly where I belonged on this day. Whether it was at my grandmother's table or my mother's, I would be with my family. There would be a round challah on the table followed by gefilte fish, homemade lukshun soup, a brisket or chicken. On the second day, when we were flush, the main course would be replaced by a stuffed Crown Roast. Crowns are significant during this holiday. There'd be Honey Taeglach, what the Italians call Strufaleh, for dessert, and I would be surrounded by family. 

So, when did it stop, and why?

Even when one rejects the mythology... Perhaps "rejects" is too strong a word. Recognizes the mythology: that's better. Even when one recognizes the stories you grew up with as mythology, the stories endure. There is an almost sentimental attachment to the things you can't possibly believe in a literal sense but that come up to bite you when the calendar says, "The Gates Are Opening." For a moment, as the stations flick past the moving train, you wonder, is God really watching me? 

My husband says I don't need anyone else to make me feel guilty; I do it so well myself. He's right. But is it just guilt, or the sincere desire to belong to something other than myself? At these moments, I beat myself up for having abandoned the practices of my heritage and raised children who don't even consider them as important. I watched a video yesterday of my cousin's Bat Mitzvah. (I'll call her "J" so I don't get lost in pronouns.) I saw the joy in J's parents' eyes as they hoisted her up in celebration of this Rite of Passage. I heard and saw my grandmother, mother, father, aunts, uncles, cousins, so many gone now, beaming with pride as this first child of a new generation entered adulthood according to Jewish tradition.  I laughed, cried, and regretted that my son will probably not know the joy we all felt, the joy I felt when we celebrated at his Bris, (That was exactly 37 years ago today on the Jewish calendar) his Pidyon Ha'Ben when my cousin, who should have been a Rabbi instead of a businessman, accepted silver dollars in exchange for my baby boy to keep him from a life of dedication to the Temple in Jerusalem, (oh, the stories!), and thirteen years later, as he blew us all away with his reading of the Torah, delivered a remarkable speech and then danced in to the party like the King of the World.

How did I let it all get away from me? Why was I on this train?

I think I was on the train because a family dinner doesn't work when the family is gone; when the cousins are 3000 miles away and your children walk other paths. You might want to insist they come but are afraid you'll just make them mad. There is no joy in a dinner that is only an obligation and it's a hell of a lot of work, so I don't do it. Besides, it is imposible to find Honey Taeglach in Newtown. Instead, I watch the stations pass the dirty window of the train. I get to the play reading and meet several other Jews who have chosen to be here and we share our embarrassment, our loneliness, acknowledge our pasts, and our happiness at being together.

I don't really believe there are gates opening and closing, that the next ten days will decide who lives and who dies in 5785, that praying vociferously over the Days or Awe, the Days of Repentance, will change anything. I believe you have to be an ethical person all the time, not out of fear but because it is right. Still, I will go down to the river this afternoon and cast some bread upon the waters, not because I think it will cleanse me of my sins but because it makes me feel good. And since we really don't know... one can never be too careful.

L'Shanah Tovah. 

I'm Back

 It has been several years since I posted to this blog. I hope those who followed me will find me again. I hope you will share this with friends and share your thoughts with me.

My life has changed considerably since I last vented. In 2018, I decided to go back to school. I had already been teaching acting at the University of Bridgeport and wanted to expand on that. So I interviewed at Western Ct State University and, despite forty years' experience in the business, was told I needed a Master's Degree. I was despondent when I left that meeting. It seemed my years of working as an actor, even on Broadway, my teaching experience at a private university, the plays I had written which won awards when I really didn't know what I was doing, the fact that I operated a theatre company in a neighboring town... All this  was nothing when compared to an imagined academic who possessed none of my experience but had the degree.  

On the way home, I happened to stop at the office of our local arts council where I noticed a brochure for the WCSU Masters Program in Creative and Professional Writing.  "Why not," I thought. Two years, low-residency. I could stay home and write. And because I was an old fart, I could go for free! It was a no-brainer. I applied, sent a writing sample and attended my first residency within weeks. Turns out I could only attend for free if I went part-time and I had an agenda: get the degree so I could teach.  So I opted for full-time at half-price and gleefully embarked on my two-year journey. Lo and behold, the University came back to me immediately. It seems they were short a teacher and suddenly my years of experience, plus the fact that I was indeed pursuing my degree at that self-same university, were enough to secure me a position teaching Introduction to Theatre for non-theatre majors.  Now, there are people who love theatre and can't imagine a life without it. I was one of those people. My students were of a different persuasion. Many had never seen a play. Many had only seen plays at their high schools. The class met for an hour and fifteen minutes two times a week so taking them to see professional theatre was out of the question. Because of the hastiness of my hire, I inherited a syllabus that was guaranteed to make these newbie thespians hate the experience. In subsequent semesters, I kept Aristotle to a single lesson, posted his "rules" for future reference, and tried to find plays on tape or film that might stir an interest and, hopefully, lead to them one day buying a ticket to a play. We watched classics like "Death of a Salesman," "Twelve Angry Men," and they liked seeing Lee J. Cobb in two roles.  We compared different versions of "Hamlet" and "Romeo and Juliet" presented traditionally and reinterpreted contemporarily. We watched Mamet's "Oleanna" for an abject lesson in "why are you even in school?" While I subjected them to at least one Greek tragedy, it was the Jean Anouilh version. The best example of Aristotelian structure came from a modern play: Christopher Demos Brown's "American Son" for its adherence to the Three Unities and an almost textbook tragic heroine, but also because the discussion of race was something they could really latch on to.  My best day was at the end of my last semester there when a student approached my after class and said she had purchased tickets for "Take Me Out" on Broadway as a birthday present for her sister. (I did give them a content warning, just to be safe.)

I didn't get to blog during that period. Between teaching and getting that degree, the reading and writing that pursuit entailed. I just didn't have time. But the state budget cuts, exacerbated by the pandemic and low student enrollment brought my teaching career to a halt. Now, I write. The degree may or may not have gotten me a job for very long, but the two years I got to concentrate on writing were magical. I now have four full-length plays under my belt, a collection of short plays that is soon to be published, and a novel due to be released in July, 2026. I also have a stash of random thoughts, flash fiction and bad poetry which I may share with you, my dear friends, from time to time. 

I hope you will enjoy and share as you see fit. I am so looking forward to reconnecting!

Kate