 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|||
|
 |
|
|
|
8/27/2008 False Idols You won't see "Simon Cowell-style tirades" against the contestants on The Upcoming Voice; those "go against God's command that people be kind to one another." The American Idol-style search for "the next big thing in ultra-Orthodox Jewish music" is the brainchild of Radio Jerusalem DJ Menachem Toker, who sees his program as part of a larger cultural project to take "the best from the secular world, but...make it kosher," according to The Guardian. |
|
|
|
8/27/2008 Growth Spurt “I know what it is like to be confused and look for my identity and search for G-d,” says Y.A. author Sonia Levitin, describing her qualifications. Her novel Strange Relations—which just won the 2008 Sydney Taylor Book Award for Teen Readers—follows a young woman as she wrestles with "assumptions about Hasidic Jews and her own relationship to Judaism." |
|
|
|
8/27/2008 Piecing It Together The Dead Sea Scrolls are going digital. Until now, fragments have been dispersed throughout museum collections worldwide, but soon enough, "every undergraduate will be able to have a detailed look" at "one of the most sought-after and examined documents on earth," reports the N.Y. Times. |
|
|
|
8/26/2008 The Lame Games When I first heard about the Heeb Olympics, hosted by Heeb Magazine, my schlock antennae went up. I mean come on, their logo is Olympic rings made out of bagels! The events consist of four videos under two minutes each, just long enough to make you wonder why they exist without sending you into an existential crisis. In the spirit of competition, I will now judge them. In the Instantly Forgettable Gag About Jews and Money category, we have the “Penny Pick-up,” in which the contestants dive for coins. Bonus points for the announcer's use of the word “Shylockian” to describe the winner's enthusiasm. Annoyance level: talkative airplane seatmate. In the Vague Suggestion That Jews Are Not Athletic category, there’s the "Yarmulke Toss.” The prop, a standard-issue special-events yarmulke, was a missed opportunity to select a hilariously multisyllabic name for the couple whose wedding it commemorated. “Celine and Arnold Bayer”? Meh. Also, this category didn’t really deserve its own event, as the whole Olympics made the same point. Annoyance level: hangnail. In the Ashkenazi Food Is Gross category, we have “Gefilte Fish Wrestling,” which takes place in a kiddie pool. This event takes the award for strongest display of whiny hypochondria, with one contestant forfeiting due to a "bad back." Annoyance level: dry contact lens. Finally, in the Jewish Mothers Are Cartoonish and Their Children Can’t Stand Them category, we have the "Disconnecta Yenta," in which people call their mothers only to try to get off the phone with them as quickly as possible. Loses major points for the maternal harassment factor, and for, perhaps, the unfunniest “joke”: a contestant assuring his mom, “I’ll stop seeing the black girl.” Annoyance level: wedgie. I realize that I will not be able to single-handedly end the use of stereotypes as humor, nor do I want to, but I do have one question for the makers of the Heeb Olympics: Why put it out there if it’s not funny? (Plus, if we’re going to lampoon ourselves, a healthy and cathartic amusement when done right, we at least deserve higher production values. After all, don’t we, like, run Hollywood?) This is especially embarrassing given that Hillel Halkin, a journalist at the NY Sun, feels comfortable referring to "the traditional Jewish disdain for physicality" in a non-satirical article today. Halkin makes an argument I actually agree with about why the Olympics are creepy, but his point is not inherently Jewish and has nothing to do with his assertion that the games are "goyishe nakhes." After all, Israelis may not do well at the competition, but it's probably not because their culture is somehow above the "clench-fisted snarl" that Halkin sees as a modern symbol of athletics. |
|
|
|
8/26/2008 Atonement Clearly psyched about the upcoming holiday (42 days and counting!), Slate features "Yom Kippur," a poem by Pulitzer Prize winner Philip Schultz. He writes: You are asked to stand and bow your head, consider the harm you've caused, the respect you've withheld, the anger misspent... |
|
|
|
8/26/2008 A Separate Peace "In addition to being a writer, you are also a human being, a citizen in your own country, extending from your family to your society and the world around you," Nadine Gordimer told an audience at May's Jerusalem International Writers Conference (The Palestine-Israel Journal has a transcript). "I luckily never suffered any threats of anti-Semitism. I only saw us as Jews who were white and part of the struggle against apartheid." |
|
|
|
8/26/2008 Against Type Turner Classic Movies is celebrating Tony Curtis, airing a day's worth of films starring the actor known to childhood friends as Bernie Schwartz. The New York Sun's Allen Barra takes the opportunity to recall Curtis's performance in 1961's The Outsider. "Those who can suspend their disbelief of a Jewish kid from the Bronx playing an American Indian," he writes, "can appreciate an extraordinary portrait of a man more alienated from mainstream America than any character played by Paul Newman, Jack Nicholson, or Robert De Niro." |
|
|
|
8/25/2008 Making Faces In The New Yorker, John Updike reviews Fred E. Basten's new biography, Max Factor: The Man Who Changed the Faces of the World, which follows Hollywood's "diminutive Hercules" from his birth (as Max Faktor) in 1904 in the mill town of Lodz, to the forests of Bohemia (where he'd run to escape Russian anti-Semitism), to the Tinseltown labs of his company—where he devised false eyelashes and brewed more than six hundred gallons of light-olive makeup for Ben-Hur. |
|
|
|
8/25/2008 Religious Predisposition Jennifer Traig, the author of Well Enough Alone: A Cultural History of My Hypochondria, confirms that there's something "absolutely" Jewish about the disease. "There's some honor in" being sick, she tells the Forward, "so why wouldn’t we think we’re sick all the time?" |
|
|
|
8/25/2008 Radio Days Shalom Auslander always has trouble relaxing; on This American Life, he describes how an exceptionally charming Holocaust survivor almost ruined his tropical vacation. Elsewhere on NPR, the pianist Menahem Pressler recounts the birth of the Beaux Arts Trio, which debuted at Tanglewood in 1955 and gave its final concert last week. |
|
|
|
8/22/2008 If These Walls Could Talk "The bathroom is an intimate place, and to me the project is very intimate,” Sid Yiddish (aka Charles Bernstein) tells the Chicago Reader. A coordinator of the Bathroom Poetry Project, Yiddish also has plans for projects that extend beyond the stall walls: Next month, he'll be in "a display window of the Flatiron Building performing 'Suite for Furby on Shofar in D Minor,' a solo piece for his 13 Furby dolls." |
|
|
|
8/22/2008 Family Secrets In Haaretz, Shifra Horn pays a visit to Benjamin Disraeli's New Zealand-based great-granddaughter, whose grandmother, Catherine, was the product of the British statesman's tryst with a French woman. While her grandmother never really spelled out her pedigree, "she would give hints...she referred me to one of his books." |
|
|
|
8/22/2008 Coming to Terms Josh Lambert takes on the cultural history of the "dirty Jew," tracing it through the work of James Joyce and Norman Mailer to South Park. Noting that the evolution of the phrase reveals "not just changing perceptions of Jewishness over the years, but also a transformation in the way we talk about 'dirtiness,'" he tries to sort out the idiom's tangled web of anti-Semitism and sex for Jbooks. |
|
|
|
8/21/2008 The Far Side The comics anthology Kramer's Ergot, edited by Sammy Harkham, makes "no compromises of any kind to the history of comic art or any other art, nor to politics, nor...to anyone's interpretation of Jewishness," writes self-professed "semi-scholarly critic" Paul Buhle in Jewcy. Buhle compares Harkham's own work to that of Chagall; it's "less joyous...but not necessarily less lyrical." |
|
|
|
8/21/2008 Teen Spirit When Beverly Hills, 90210 hit the air in the early '90s, some viewers noticed that the show didn't reflect the fact that the real Beverly Hills High was "both predominantly Jewish and heavily Iranian." The forthcoming new version attempts to amend this (sort of), but as Rebecca Spence writes in the Forward, since "most Jewish parts in American film and television have not been played by Jews," the show's casting is "in keeping with Tinseltown tradition." |
|
|
|
8/21/2008 Jerusalem State of Mind "I believe that peace, practically speaking, is closer than anyone realizes," Avrum Burg, former Peace Now activist, Jewish Agency chairman, Knesset Speaker, and (depending who you ask) "post-Zionist," tells The Jerusalem Post. In The Holocaust Is Over; We Must Rise from Its Ashes, he considers the future of the Jewish people and the state of Israel, concluding that "you can be a Jerusalemite in Monsey, and you can be a Babylonian in Tel Aviv. It's about your attitude." |
|
|
|
8/20/2008 Soviet Sweetheart I got to Regina Spektor’s concert at McCarren Park Pool last Friday just in time to hear her shout “Shabbat Shalom!” to the crowd. I couldn’t believe I had worried that her music would be too small and intimate for a crowded outdoor venue. As those who have seen her perform know, Spektor is an old-fashioned theatrical diva along the lines of Edith Piaf. She warbles and coos, emotes and speak-sings—but instead of sticking to themes of romance and nostalgia, she sings about finding a human tooth on the street, little bags of cocaine, and chemotherapy. Plus, she plays piano like a goddess and writes her own songs. Spektor is the kind of musician that certain types of women (and, I'm sure, many men) relate to with the passionate certainty that they would be good friends if only they were to meet. She reminds me of the Liz Phair I fell in love with when I was fifteen, for confessional lyrics like, "I want all that stupid old shit, like letters and sodas"—only I was always secretly glad I hadn’t met Liz. I wasn’t totally sure we’d be friends. After all, underneath the angst and creative energy, she was a skinny blond WASP who hung out with a lot of more-blasé-than-thou rock stars. Regina, on the other hand, could be my (preternaturally beautiful and talented) relative. Her intensity feels, besides empathic and beguiling, well...ethnic. This quality came across in Friday’s performance. In her a cappella rendition of “Dance Anthem of the 80s,” she extended the word “sleep” into a reverie of trilling li li li's reminiscent of Middle-Eastern music or a lilting klezmer clarinet. And in “Apres Moi,” she grunted lustily, and sang expressively in Russian (the song includes several lines by Boris Pasternak that, according to Spektor, loosely translate to the deliciously Russian sentiment, “one must always write about February while weeping”). She speaks with a girlish accent that's part Moscow, part Bronx. Her stage presence conveys moodiness and honesty, flirtation and sensuality. She’s a riot grrrl Barbra Streisand. In an interview a few years ago, Spektor, who emigrated here from the USSR when she was nine, shared this familiar insight about how being Jewish influences her work: “It’s inherited, you don’t even have to think about it...it’s just there.” In another interview, she used the word “propagandish.” Although Spektor is often compared to Bjork and Fiona Apple, her appeal is earthy rather than ethereal. She elevates a lyric about stepping in a "fat loogie”—“Everyone who sees him says, ‘Ew’”—to a grandness Apple reserves for sentiments like, “He’s all I ever knew of love” (and Bjork for, uh, nonsensical shrieks), perfectly capturing the indignities of daily life. She’s emotional, but not in the way typically associated with young singer-songwriters; she displays a range of emotions, and a darkly playful attitude ("You cry until you laugh") that would make her entirely at home at one of my family gatherings. (In fact, if she were willing to play a song, one of my cousins might even split his pants dancing along.) Spektor has repeatedly said that for the most part she does not write songs about her own life, but personal moments certainly slip in; her glee was obvious when she sang the last line of “Bobbing for Apples,” like a proud child reciting the Four Questions: “Someone next door’s fucking to one of my songs!” |
|
|
|
8/20/2008 Keeping His Faith When Catholic screenwriter Frank Cottrell Boyce began dramatizing the "apocryphal tale" of a group of Auschwitz prisoners who put God on trial (the verdict: guilty), he was introduced to a "long Jewish tradition of wrangling with God." The resulting film, God On Trial, "became about the fact that people might be capable of having a theological argument on the way to the gas chamber," he tells The Guardian. |
|
|
|
8/20/2008 Mixed-Up Files The N.Y. Times recounts the "research-intensive journey" that led to the identification of the subjects of a mysterious undated photograph as Marc Chagall and his wife Vava. The famous couple in the photo was initially thought to be David Ben-Gurion and his wife, leading the Times to observe that "the human eye can be unreliable in making positive identifications." |
|
|
|
8/20/2008 Leo Abse, Member of Parliament As the grandson of "the first Jew to speak Welsh with a Yiddish accent and Yiddish with a Welsh one," the notably well-dressed Abse was an unlikely choice for British Parliament. The MP, who died this week, made his mark as a social reformer, championing gay rights and the protection of children over the course of his thirty year parliamentary career. |
|
|
|
8/19/2008 Fat Camp In The Guardian yesterday, the columnist Nicholas Lezard noted a rarely mentioned flaw of movies set in Nazi death camps: The prisoners usually look well-fed. “How do you make the inmates look realistically thin?” he asks. His answer: “You don't. You can't starve your extras for four years to give them that so-sought-after degraded, emaciated look. But as anyone who has seen pictures of the camps knows, it is the skeletal appearance of the inmates which stops us from confusing them with the inmates of any other regime.” This isn’t about historical accuracy for its own sake, he argues. “As cinematic representations eventually crowd out actual images of the death camps, we are in danger of thinking that they were no more than unusually murderous prisons. They were worse than that. The Nazis reduced human beings virtually to the point of translucence.” Which makes him wonder: “Should one, then, even be attempting to portray the camps realistically?” Lezard makes this point in the context of praising a movie opening in England next month, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, about two eight-year-old boys on either side of a concentration camp fence. (The movie doesn’t currently have a U.S. release date.) He calls it an “affecting and worthwhile film,” and adds: “It does not offer the consolations handed out by Schindler's List, or Life Is Beautiful (a film which, in my opinion, should never have been made; the memory of it enrages me still).” That angry parenthetical reminded me of something I’d once read in a David Rakoff essay, which I then raced to look up—the essay’s called “The Best Medicine,” in Rakoff’s book Fraud. The passage is a marvelous rant about what he calls Roberto Benigni’s “Holocaust romp.” Life Is Beautiful, Rakoff says, is the most loathsome example of a belief in the curative powers of levity: his recasting as fable the chilling efficiency of the Nazi killing machine; his rendering of a death camp as a budget resort low on blankets; but above all the vile disrespect evidenced by the film’s equation that those who perished were, I suppose, just not funny enough to turn those frowns upside down and survive.Finally, Rakoff lets loose: “One wonders how Benigni might make some of the twentieth century’s other geopolitical tragedies more palatable: A Fish Called Rwanda; The Stop-It-You’re-Killing-Me Fields; To Serb with Love, perhaps?” As one who was similarly enraged by Life Is Beautiful, I’ll say that authenticity is only a starting point when depicting the camps. Artistic intent is everything. |
|
|
|
8/19/2008 Words of Wisdom Max Weinreich didn't want to publish the text of his opus, History of the Yiddish Language, without an equally massive set of footnotes, "even though no more than 10 people would consult them—and he knew all of them," as Ruth Wisse puts it. In the New York Post, Wisse writes that the book "rehabilitates" the language from comic triviality, ultimately arguing that "Yiddish is a repository of the Jewish way of life." |
|
|
|
8/19/2008 Till Death Do Us Part A "serious halachic dilemma" arose when a German man’s dying wish was "to be buried with his best friend, a bottle of vodka," according to the European Jewish Press. Jewish law forbids burying objects with the dead, but after rabbinic consultation, man and bottle were set to rest side by side. |
|
|
|
8/19/2008 Unhappy Families In What Happened to Anna K., Irina Reyn transplants Tolstoy's "Great Russian Soul" to a Jewish enclave in Queens, with an updated heroine who is "human, and wonderfully alive," according to the San Fransisco Chronicle. The Christian Science Monitor questions the book's contemporary social resonance, but concludes that Reyn succeeds in examining "how to forge an identity in an adopted country when your homeland has irrevocably changed." |
|
|
|
8/18/2008 Out of Tune In 1999, conductor Daniel Barenboim and Palestinian cultural theorist Edward Said joined forces to offer what The Guardian calls a "happy consortium as a model for the coexistence of cultures in the Middle East": their mixed Israeli and Arab West-Eastern Divan Orchestra. Yet, according to the review, each man's book on the project disappoints: Barenboim's Everything Is Connected is "an insubstantial volume...with a random sampling of interviews," while Said's posthumous essay collection Music at the Limits is "woefully deficient." |
|
|
|
8/18/2008 Laughter and Tears "If I was making fun of mental illness and I didn’t have it, it would be really tasteless," says British comedian Ruby Wax. "It’s the same rule that says you can make fun of being a Jew if you’re a Jew.” A child of Austrian-Jewish emigrés who's been fighting depression since childhood, Wax brings her latest show to the Edinburgh Fringe as part of a BBC-sponsored campaign for mental health. |
|
|
|
8/18/2008 Halachic Law "If you give a Jewish guy a ticket, it's very hard," worries new NYPD cadet Shmuel Tenenbaum, who's hoping for a post outside of his native Crown Heights. This is just one of many concerns facing the ten Orthodox Jews joining the force as part of the most observant class to date. The New York Post seems to have learned Yiddish for the occassion, reporting that the new, bagel-shmearing officers have successfully convinced their verklempt parents they ain't meshugana. |
|
|
|
8/15/2008 Everyone Says They Love Him Why do so many big-name critics lose their faculties when it comes to Woody Allen? For Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Allen’s latest half-baked effort, they’re swooning like schoolgirls—and not because it features Scarlett Johannson and Penélope Cruz getting it on. Andrew Sarris says Allen “has managed to astound me by coming up with one of the most felicitously written, edited, acted and directed romantic comedies of his entire career.” David Denby says the film “has a natural, flowing vitality to it, a sun-drenched splendor that never falters,” and gushes: “You can feel Allen’s excitement in the sensual atmosphere. Spain!” Roger Ebert calls Woody “the poet of Manhattan” and says, “Allen has directed more than 40 movies in about as many years and written all of them himself. Why isn't he more honored? Do we take him for granted?” “We” certainly don’t. I gave up on Allen long ago. In fact, Vicky Cristina Barcelona is the first movie of his I’ve watched in over a decade. And nothing’s changed: It’s as blinkered and lazy as the ‘90s films I got sick of. And critics who haven’t drunk the Woody Kool-Aid agree. “Allen's films have become increasingly underwritten and indifferently directed,” says Kenneth Turan in the Los Angeles Times. “Vicky Cristina Barcelona remains half-formed from beginning to end, sullenly refusing to resolve in any satisfactory way and getting increasingly sour and misanthropic without offering anything that even resembles a perceptive glimpse into human behavior.” In the Charlotte Observer, Lawrence Toppman writes, “Allen's laziness is startling, even in so mechanical a filmmaker. He uses a monotonous narrator to tell us what the characters think and do, though he then shows them performing the actions that have just been described.” At Salon, my friend Andrew O’Hehir can’t contain himself: The world of Vicky Cristina Barcelona seems both borrowed and sloppy. We're supposed to accept that Vicky [played as well as possible by the British actress Rebecca Hall] has come to Barcelona expressly to write her thesis about Catalan identity, but can't even speak restaurant-level Spanish or Catalan. That's some kind of inherited Allan Bloom screed about the lameness of American education, not viable satire. Her fiancé (Chris Messina), a one-note dork bound for a Wall Street job and a house in Westchester suburbia, likes to play bridge. Hello? What century is this, Woody? When was the last time anybody under 40 played bridge, except at some so-square-it's-hip 1950s retromania party?I’ll say this much for Allen. Even at his lamest, he creates great roles for great actors. Javier Bardem and Cruz are staggeringly funny and sexy in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, more than compensating for their characters’ implausibility. If you must see it, see it for them. |
|
|
|
8/15/2008 Now That's a Metamorphosis! Some Kafka scholars are refuting unseemly intimations about the writer that appear in James Hawes' new bio. "To call the illustrated magazines he subscribed to as hardcore porn, is like comparing a poem by Heinrich Heine with an advertising slogan for McDonald's," Anjana Shrivastava is quoted as saying in The Guardian; Hawes tells the paper his detractors "have pored over every memorandum he ever wrote, every insurance report he ever compiled, looking for clues. Yet they have chosen not to show this undoubtedly very dark stuff." |
|
|
|
8/15/2008 To Have and Have Not "In caste-attuned India, there was always a Jewish pecking order," says The Economist in an appraisal of Edna Fernandes' The Last Jews of Kerala. The book examines the tensions between the different communities, including the Bene Israel. |
|
|
|
8/15/2008 Jerry Wexler, Music Producer Raised in Manhattan by immigrant parents, Wexler worked as a reporter for Billboard, where he coined the term rhythm and blues. After journalism, he turned to producing, signing on Led Zeppelin and working with other musicians, including Bob Dylan and Dire Straits. He died today. |
|
|
|
8/14/2008 By Any Other Nationality Had they been French and not Italian, Elsa Morante and her husband Alberto Moravia "would have been as much celebrated as Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir," according to Lily Tuck. Her biography, Woman of Rome, is a kind of "personal essay about the flights and vicissitudes attendant on a life...devoted to the imagination," according to The Washington Post. |
|
|
|
8/14/2008 There Will Be Blood Brad Pitt's signed on to Quentin Tarantino's remake of Inglorious Bastards. The heartthrob is set to play Aldo the Apache, an American Jew named for his "signature move of scalping Nazi soldiers," according to the Forward. |
|
|
|
8/14/2008 Moving On Up In the United States, says Chaim Waxman, "the cost of Jewish living has become increasingly intolerable." His solution? Move to Israel. He makes his economic argument in The Jerusalem Post. |
|
|
|
8/13/2008 The Daily Mirror A major part of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart’s M.O. is the merciless, politically incorrect skewering of all kinds of people by reducing them to their most obvious stereotypes, or sometimes not even bothering with the stereotypes but jumping directly to insults. Obviously, even at its most simplified, Judaism represents a Venn diagram of race, religion, and ethnicity. But it feels like a relief from this cultural conundrum when The Daily Show treats Jewishness in the same way it treats race—as a primarily unchosen (if cherished) quality that nevertheless affects every aspect of people’s lives. In a recent segment mocking the well-publicized concern that elderly Jews in Florida will not vote for Obama, the show sent African American correspondent Wyatt Cernac to a retirement community to talk with a group over early-bird specials. Although the subject certainly gave the residents enough rope to hang themselves, there was only the occasional silly remark. Instead, the piece was a lighthearted jab at racial stereotyping, with Cernac attempting a joke about a “ferkakte mofo” and declaring, “I love a good shmear of liver,” to which one of the older Jews replies, “And I love fried chicken!” Cernac asks who among the residents has been robbed by a black man, and raises his own hand. A woman suggests that Obama's middle name is a problem for some voters; one man offers, “His first name, Barack, is a Hebrew name,” while another responds, “Why does it matter if his middle name is Hussein or Yankel?” After recently attending a panel on blacks and Jews that, while interesting, was a bit of a lefty lovefest, I appreciate this irreverent but unusually straightforward treatment of the issue. Another segment from last week pokes fun at the media’s over-attention to the “race card.” Stewart procures a lamp and unleashes the Race Genie (Jason Jones), who refers to Stewart as “Jewboy” and “Dr. Kikenstein” and warns him that he has only three wishes and shouldn’t “try to ‘Jew it up’ to four,” before posing the question, “Am I an intrinsic tendency to be with one’s own, or a pernicious fear of the other?” This kind of racy goofiness demonstrates yet again how ethnic stereotypes lose their power when hurled at everyone at once. Of course, the show could just be playing all of this for laughs. Last night’s show included a sight gag in which correspondent Rob Riggle mistook the Great Wall of China for the Wailing Wall, and prayed there—although as Stewart pointed out, Riggle seems to have learned Jewish prayers by watching Jerry Lewis, as he mostly just “chemmed” and “chawed.” |
|
|
|
8/13/2008 Roman Holiday "In that room on Via Clelia, I managed to create a world that corresponded to nothing outside it," writes André Aciman of his years in Italy. Retracing paths trod in adolescence, Aciman considers the nature of his art: "writing sees figures where life sees things; things we leave behind, figures we keep." Meanwhile, Milton Glaser talks about designing book covers for Philip Roth. |
|
|
|
8/13/2008 Ghetto Fabulous A French shop owner is facing accusations she incited “racial hatred by inscriptions with anti-Semitic character,” reports the European Jewish Press. She was selling T-shirts bearing the slogan "Jews forbidden from entering the park" in Polish and German, inspired by 1940 banners from Lodz. |
|
|
|
8/13/2008 Sing Out, Louise! With stage and screen projects pending on both sides of the Atlantic, Israeli director Uri Paster's clear about his goals: "I don't want to become an American director, but I do want to make modern Jewish movies." Upcoming projects include a film about the early roots of Zionism, a musical billed as "a contemporary take on the biblical story of Noah's ark, with a twist," and the launch of the Jewish Academy for the Art of Musicals in L.A. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Nextbook © 2003 Keren Keshet - The Rainbow Foundation Contact: mail@nextbook.org Privacy Policy/Terms of Use