fbpx

March 18, 2015

Dance troupe Pilobolus brings collaborative vision to Malibu

There’s no such thing as a typical Pilobolus performance. The Connecticut-based dance troupe has collaborated with cartoonists, filmmakers, puppeteers, radio producers and children’s authors to create one-of-a-kind spectacles that take dance out of the traditional realm. 

Since its founding by a group of Dartmouth College students in 1971, the company has built a global brand out of genre-defying, boundary-breaking work, combining innovative choreography, performance art and sheer physicality. Its signature shapes and shadow work have been featured on “Sesame Street,” “Late Night With Conan O’Brien” and “Oprah,” and Pilobolus will bring its latest show to Pepperdine University’s Smothers Theatre in Malibu on March 25.

“It’s a defining characteristic of the company that we’re always creating or searching for something new,” said Shawn Fitzgerald Ahern, a Pilobolus dancer and dance captain. “We’re never at a halt. We’re always pressing forward and creating new work, exploring new ideas, and our interests expand beyond strict dance.” 

Pilobolus, named for a fungus that propels itself with speed, accuracy and strength, was created as an artistic collective run by four artistic directors. But by 2004, as the company started to achieve global success, its direction was up in the air. According to media reports at the time, the company was experiencing financial difficulties; there was also friction between the directors and a lack of a long-term vision. That same year, Israeli-born Itamar Kubovy was named the company’s first executive director. “It became clear that [Pilobolus] needed to have a clarification of its goals and its missions,” Kubovy said by phone from New York.

The best-known American modern dance companies were established to present the work of a single choreographer, such as José Limón, Martha Graham, Merce Cunningham or Paul Taylor. Rather than being an eponymous company, Pilobolus was formed to serve the vision of a collective of artists, all of whom participate in choreographing and creating a piece. “So there was a real shot here where Pilobolus could become something new and the people who were guiding it could slowly grow and change,” Kubovy said.

Leading the company required walking a fine line between taking command and maintaining a long-cherished sense of radical democracy. The challenge was to preserve the company’s unique approach to creativity — the “deep, collaborative chaos out of which we make our work,” as Kubovy put it — while allowing business and financial decisions to be made efficiently.

Kubovy was born in Jerusalem and raised in New Haven, Conn., where he later graduated with a degree in philosophy from Yale. He went on to run theaters in Germany and Sweden and get involved in TV and film. Pilobolus’ ties to Israel go far beyond its executive director’s origins. The company regularly performs in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and Haifa. As part of its effort to chart a new path, the company established the International Collaborators Project (ICP) in 2007, and celebrated by creating the inaugural production “Rushes,” a collaboration between Pilobolus co-artistic director Robby Barnett and Israeli choreographers Inbal Pinto and Avshalom Pollak. 

During the company’s January 2008 tour of Israel, renowned photographer Robert Whitman captured Pilobolus interacting with iconic landscapes, including the Dead Sea, Jerusalem’s Mahane Yehuda market, hot springs and the streets of Haifa. In the pictures, the dancers occupy a latticed window in Jaffa, mirror the strata of limestone in the Judean Desert and make a human tower, frozen among Jerusalem passers-by.

“Being able to come back to the country of my birth with the kind of material and creative product of my work has been an enormous gift that Pilobolus has given me,” Kubovy said.

One of the collaborative pieces that Pilobolus will bring to Pepperdine is “The Inconsistent Pedaler,” an ICP project created with acclaimed Israeli fiction writer Etgar Keret and his wife, actress and filmmaker Shira Geffen. The pair directed the Israeli film “Jellyfish” together.

“[Keret] can use language so efficiently and so tersely to evoke an incredibly rich and surreal and paradoxical world that he then uses to say something about humanity,” Kubovy said. “It intrigued me, because so much of what dance is able to do very well is describe interaction between people, to externalize and physicalize emotion very well. What movement doesn’t do very well is convey plot.”

“Inconsistent Pedaler” plays on the idea that every family has a designated member who tries to fix everything and hold the family together. In order to bring that idea to life, the dance troupe placed a young woman atop a stationary bicycle on the side of the stage. When she pedaled, the family could move, and when she stopped, the family would slowly wind down into a state of suspended animation.

Another high-profile collaboration, this time with Pulitzer Prize-winning graphic novelist Art Spiegelman, required freezing time within a frame, much like a comic strip panel. But dance requires motion. “A huge central drama of the process was about the tension between the movement and stillness,” Kubovy said. 

The resulting piece, “Hapless Hooligan in ‘Still Moving,’ ” is a noir love story told in the style of early comics, with dancers interacting in real time to Spiegelman’s spontaneous drawings and a score of early jazz and cabaret tunes. 

In 1999, Pilobolus brought in its first outside collaborators, children’s book author Maurice Sendak and illustrator Arthur Yorinks, to create “A Selection,” a meditation on the Holocaust. Sendak also designed the set and costumes.

In recent years, Pilobolus collaborated with the public-radio program Radiolab, bringing the show’s unique storytelling style about scientific discoveries to life on stage. They also worked with Grammy-winning pop band OK Go to create the kaleidoscopic, interactive music video “All Is Not Lost.”

“There’s a particular way in which we make work, both when we invite these people into our studio and when we make work on our own, and it’s really at the core of a group process,” Kubovy said.

Click Dance troupe Pilobolus brings collaborative vision to Malibu Read More »

Alternate perceptions and #TheDress

At the end of February, I encountered #TheDress, the week’s highest trending hashtag on Twitter. I saw #WhiteandGold, wondering whether those who saw #BlueandBlack were in on a worldwide prank. Like many, I simply could not fathom how others could see otherwise. 

The identification of the dress became an Internet obsession, trending more than Jihadi John’s recently discovered identity. Questions about the dress preoccupied me for days. The dress had to have one color reality, and if my eyes were wrong this time, I wondered how many times my eyes had previously betrayed me. Was this photographic subjectivity the first of its kind? These questions must have haunted millions, as tweets about the dress quickly surpassed 10 million in the first week. For many, the dress provoked an existential crisis regarding the nature of perception and reality.

Several days after I saw the dress, I was in Washington D.C. for the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) conference. Mosab Hassan Yousef, a Palestinian who worked as an undercover informant for Israel’s internal security service, told his story during a plenary session.  As the son of the Hamas spiritual leader Sheikh Hassan Yousef, Mosab’s hatred for Jews was ingrained in him from an early age.  In keeping with family tradition, he had planned to stab innocent Israeli civilians to death. 

His plot was thwarted when he was arrested. In prison, he witnessed Hamas members torturing their own people suspected of being Israeli collaborators. In contrast, the Israelis interrogated Mosab in a humane manner. After internalizing this discrepancy and confronting the truth, Mosab became an informant for Israel.

Mosab explained why he decided to divulge his story, even if it meant never being able to return home:  “to help an entire Palestinian and Israeli generation to see things for what they are. Sometimes we trust our perceptual ability, but apparently our senses are very deceptive and there’s always a different truth beneath what seems or appears.” 

At that moment, it hit me. The enigmatic dress actually exemplified what Mosab was describing.  Something that at first seems so clear can actually be subjective. As a young teenager, Mosab was willing to murder innocent life for Hamas. But just a few years later, he would save Jewish lives and ultimately those of his Arab brothers and sisters, because he was able to see the real Hamas.

I won’t pretend to understand how one person can see blue and the other white. People simply have differing perceptions and it doesn’t take an Internet craze for complicated political situations to illustrate the point. However, there must be an objective nature of the essence of something as tangible as a dress. After the Internet community begged for explanations of the dress, the question was answered just days later by scientists who explained the difference in perception. After all, the color of the dress was not subjective; it was objectively blue and black.

With the dress, misperceiving reality was harmless. But in Mosab’s case, the truth is vital. Sometimes, it may seem just as difficult to truly understand the nature of the conflict, especially with so many falsehoods and photoshopping created by many Palestinians to persuade people of what is, by showing what is not. The more people see a doctored version of reality, the more they negate true reality in order to reconcile the two. 

This is why it is difficult for people to view Hamas as the true aggressor; because the Palestinians are often portrayed as powerless compared to the state of Israel. It is true, Mosab explained, that the Palestinian people suffer. However, he said, it takes true understanding of reality to see that Hamas, not Israel, is at fault for Palestinian suffering.

The relationship between Hamas, its people, and Israel is more complicated than white and gold or blue and black.  But any honest redress of grievances requires that Hamas show its true colors.

Eliana Rudee is a Fellow with the Salomon Center. She is a Core18 Fellow and a graduate of Scripps College, where she studied International Relations and Jewish Studies. She published her thesis in Perceptions and Strategic Concerns of Gender in Terrorism. Follow her @ellierudee.

Alternate perceptions and #TheDress Read More »

Backgammon ‘Shesh Besh’ smackdown

Upon visiting the high-stakes backgammon competition March 8 at Sephardic Temple Tifereth Israel, witnesses were welcomed by the sound of dice on board, the cursing of bad luck and the occasional exclamation of “shesh besh!”

The phrase — another name for the game — comes from the Hebrew word for six (shesh) and the Turkish word for five (besh). Those two numbers represent the best possible rolls of the dice you could hope for to begin the game, giving you an edge over your opponent. When you roll a five and a six, you better call it out loud, shouting “shesh besh” at the top of your lungs so people are impressed not only with your roll, but also with your ability to call it. 

At stake in the inaugural competition, which was held in conjunction with Jews Indigenous to the Middle East and North Africa (JIMENA), was an iPad Air, as well as an iPad mini distributed early in the day to the competitor with the best board. Temple congregant Bob Ourian took home the latter with his bright-hued board, made in Isfahan, Iran, and crafted in the elaborate khatam style — inlaid with bone, ivory and wood.

Before the competition began, Nathaniel Malka, a JIMENA advisory board member, said shesh besh is a staple in Sephardic households.

“I have a huge Iraqi family, and when I’m with family, everyone is always bragging about being the best player in the family — if not the world,” he said. “I think everybody in this room goes around telling their family they’re the best in L.A., and the scary thing is, after today, one of them can say, ‘See? I can prove it!’ ”

Sephardic Temple’s president Alex Rachmanony explained, with sage-like wisdom, “There are two ways to play. You can play offensively or defensively.” Rachmanony went on to play in the semifinals by alternating between the two strategies.

Competitors were a hodgepodge of young and old, men and women. During the preliminaries, 31-year-old Sanaz Meshkinfam took on Saul Mathalon, who at 91 was the most mature player competing at the event and who brought with him a whopping 80 years of shesh besh experience. 

Mathalon attended with his wife, Mereille, who, as the tournament progressed, became a highly coveted good-luck charm. When somebody was down on their luck, they’d call out her name — “Mereille!” — and she’d make the rounds, blow on their dice, and, more times than not, work miracles.

“Saul, you’re keeping my confidence in check,” Meshkinfam remarked after all of Mathalon’s checkers were collected in a neat pile and her chips were scattered across the board, signaling a win for the elder. Meshkinfam, an independent consultant for community and government relations, first heard about the tournament through JIMENA. 

“I knew that I’d be playing different generations,” she said about attending the event. Overall, she decided to participate because the game “brings back childhood memories.” 

“Do you know who taught me how to play?” she asked Mathalon during their game. “My grandmother,” she answered. She learned when she was only 6. 

And although shesh besh could be perceived as a man’s game, her grandmother was one tough cookie who knew her way around a board. Meshkinfam, who grew up in Iran, said that the strategies she employed in shesh besh helped her learn some valuable life lessons — like when it’s wise to be on the offensive or defensive, when to oscillate between the two, and that half the game is luck and half is strategy and smarts.

Another player who used shesh besh as a metaphor for life was Albert Cohen. While watching Mathalon slay his opponents, one after the other, he said, “This is the game of life.” 

Soon after, he relayed the story of the time his granddaughter, Amberly Hershewe, a current student at Shalhevet High School, asked Cohen to teach her how to play. Cohen’s No. 1 tip for shesh besh success was: “Don’t be vulnerable, and if you’re going to be vulnerable, calculate your move.”

By the end of day, the community backgammon competition looked like after-hours at prom. Plastic cups filled with half-consumed soft drinks littered the tables as disheveled tablecloths draped off the tabletops. Competitors with bloodshot eyes due to more than five hours of nonstop shesh besh played their final games. 

The event started at 10 a.m. with more than 30 players and dragged on until 5:30 p.m., when the number of competitors dwindled down to two. By 4 p.m., tired players mumbled, standing around, waiting for semifinals to finish and the finals to begin.

Cohen’s skill took him to finals, where he faced John Sherf, a family man who, by the end of day, was glued to his phone, promising his wife he’d be home soon. In a moment of vulnerability, Cohen made a move, making his checker susceptible to his opponent. 

“What are you doing in the last game with a move like that?” the onlookers yelled at him. 

It so happens that Cohen’s risky move is what made him champion. He won the iPad Air and, of course, said he was giving it to his granddaughter. 

Backgammon ‘Shesh Besh’ smackdown Read More »

Breaking Bad: NonKosher

Many Persian Jews in Los Angeles keep what I like to call ‘LA Kosher,’ or ‘Persian-Kosher.’ This is a custom in which you sometimes delve into nonkosher chicken or red meat, but still refrain from doing the more nonkosher things, like mixing milk and meat, or eating shellfish, pork, etc. This was what I adhered to for most of my life, up until I turned eighteen and went to college.

This was also the same time I became roommates with Michael, a secular American Jew, a passionate eater and probably the antagonist of this tale. One night as freshmen, we headed to In-N-Out together, and I ordered my LA Kosher meal–a double-double without the cheese. He inquired about my cheese exclusion, and I explained that I will, from time to time, eat nonkosher beef, but won’t have cheese with it. Michael challenged me and said that no self-appointed foodie could go through life without ever consuming a double-double from In-N-Out.

“There’s a reason the Torah bans milk and meat,” he liked to say. “Cheeseburgers, philly cheesesteaks, just too dank for people to eat all the time. Otherwise they’d all be fat wandering the dessert and get nowhere.”

“They didn’t have cheeseburgers at the time the Torah was written, man.” He ignored this comeback, but still, he was stubborn, and over the course of the next three semesters living with him, I caved in to eating a cheeseburger three times. This decision, I learned later on, marked a turning point in my life: I implicitly permitted breaking kosher rules when the temptation was too high.

That’s also what happened another time, when my two roommates wanted to prepare a fancy, shellfish oriented meal–because these are the sorts of things you do in college, they explained. They asked me if I wanted in, and I denied them flat out. They proceeded to cook shrimp and crab in melted butter, while I warmed up a microwavable turkey and carrots meal. When they added garlic to the shrimp, tossed in some more butter, the irresistible aroma filled the room. “Sure you don’t want any?” they asked mockingly. It didn’t take long for me to toss the microwavable meal in the garbage and break Halacha. Shrimp, a protein almost too delicious to be true at times, became the next bit of Breaking Bad. Then, if you’re going to eat shrimp, what separates you from the other shellfish? Scallops came next.

When I moved back home after school, a diner nearby offered a breakfast of two eggs, hash browns, toast, bacon or sausage, and coffee, for $6.99. And all of it was delicious. My order was consistent: Poached eggs, wheat toast, coffee black, no bacon. A perfect way to start the day, I started going there almost every morning, bringing a book with me to read while waiting on the food. Breakfast started becoming my favorite part of the day.

One morning, though, my waitress brought me the regular, but included two fatty, red strips alongside it.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I ordered no bacon.”

“Oh, sorry about that!” she said, out of breath. “Let me get that out of your way, then.” She started hustling around the diner bar. Realizing I was asking her to do extra work, I told her it was fine. She nodded and walked off.

I took the two strips and placed them on a little plate beneath my cup of coffee I no longer had use for. As I plowed through my eggs and hash browns, however, I suddenly felt like the bacon was talking to me, like in a bad Comedy Central cartoon. And eat me, it kept saying. Eat me. I’m free, and I’m here, and you’ve always been curious about me, haven’t you? I tried to ignore it. I promise I did. I thought about asking the waitress to come take the plate of bacon now, but how weird do you think she would think I was, if I were to request this, after she had already offered and I brushed her off? The voice was incessant.

I always associate breakfast bacon with this one experience I had with my friend Josh, when we were in Las Vegas. While making our plates bigger than either of us could conceivably handle, he clawed a handful of bacon strips and tossed it onto his big plate.

“What?” I asked him.

“Look,” he said, “I eat bacon and I don’t need to hide it from you anymore.”

We ate our breakfast in silence, me trying to convey to him my disapproval. The cherry on top was that he’d shake his head in admiring pleasure from each bacon bite as if to say, you don’t know what you’re missing. Most disconcerting, though, was that nothing was happening to him. He was flat out breaking the rules in my face and nothing was happening. I don’t know what I expected, but an angry text message from God, or a sighting of his deceased grandparents shaking in disapproval, somehow, someway, didn’t seem that delusional of a thought. In result, after this experience I began viewing the meat through a less evil lens.

Back to the diner, where I’m sitting, trying to stay focused while being harassed by two imaginary strips of food. Eventually, the bacon’s talking became yelling, and as you were probably able to predict, I acquiesced. I took a tiny bite of it with an ensemble of droopy yolk and spiced hash browns, and what ensued afterward perhaps changed my breakfast experience forever. Bacon was that smoky, crunchy taste I’d been subconsciously craving to with my breakfast. From that day on, I couldn’t go to the diner without bacon. First I started ordering one strip instead of the two they offered, in order to somehow appease the shame. But then it became the two. Nowadays, I even consider asking for a third, but I tell myself to relax.

For a long time, the degree to which you separate milk and meat or refuse nonkosher meat has been used as a measuring tool of your observance, or, rather an assessment to your ‘Good Jew-ness.’ But in this regard I think Judaism is in a transitional period. There are more pressing issues to Judaism than Kosher rules at present. For example, I believe educating yourself on Israeli affairs, or representing the country in college, is far more helpful to collective Judaism than passing on a bloody steak would be. Or, a willingness to join a group when nine Jews need a tenth to make minyan helps the community more than passing on certain meats. Warning Americans about the dangers posed by terrorist organizations or radical Muslim countries also seems more pressing than our dietary laws.

In another perspective, keeping kosher is a ritual that has kept the Jewish community unified for centuries, and one wouldn’t be faulty to suggest that if kosher rituals were to be totally abandoned, a vital quality to our togetherness could be in jeopardy. The answer is that there probably is no answer—it’s up for interpretation. But these are the sort of questions Judaism allows us to explore and discuss, decide for our own—one of the reasons I love being a Jew.

Breaking Bad: NonKosher Read More »

Survivor: Guta Peck

Guta Peck nee Kasz was sitting on the sole latrine inside her Auschwitz barracks one evening in early September 1944, when a drunken SS soldier picked her up. He carried her the length of the overcrowded building — “You become like a stone; there’s no way out,” she recalled — to the small quarters he shared with some soldiers at the opposite end. But Guta, almost 19, spied the barracks supervisor, a Czechoslovakian survivor. “Please save my life,” she begged. The supervisor began speaking with the drunken soldiers and motioned for her to leave. “Just get out of here,” he said. Guta ran to her mother, who had watched the abduction from an upper bunk. “She was scared to death,” Guta said. 

Guta was born Oct. 20, 1925, to Sara and Benjamin Kasz in Lodz, Poland. Older sister Fredda was born in 1923, younger sister Brenda in 1930.

Benjamin was a businessman who sold and installed radio antennas, and their middle-class family lived in a three-room apartment. They were “very Jewish,” according to Guta, celebrating Shabbat and attending synagogue on Jewish holidays. But on Saturdays, Guta usually met her friends in the park or at the movies. 

Anti-Semitism was always present. From an early age, Guta knew that, to avoid being beaten up by Polish boys, she should never walk alone on certain streets. 

The family spent summers in the village of Wisniowa Gora, where they rented a room from a farmer, with Benjamin joining them on weekends. “These were the best days of my life,” said Guta, who loved walking in the forest, picking berries and playing with friends. 

But life changed on Sept. 8, 1939, when the German army occupied Lodz. After that, Guta rarely ventured outside, and by early February 1940, the Jews were ordered to relocate to a ghetto.

Guta’s family, including her grandmother and a cousin, occupied a small house — two rooms and a kitchen — which had been vacated by a gentile friend of Benjamin. Food was scarce. “We were always hungry, always talking about food,” Guta said. 

Guta went to work in a factory, cutting rags and weaving them into large rugs while standing on scaffolding. 

Deportations were a constant threat. Guta remembers seeing people rounded up in the surrounding blocks. “You never knew when,” she said. 

Deportations were halted in October 1942, resuming in June 1944, as the ghetto was being liquidated. Guta and her family were deported on Aug. 29, 1944, in the last transport leaving Lodz. 

When the prisoners arrived at Auschwitz, they were ordered to form two lines — men in one, women in the other. There was no selection.

The women, after sitting in a field all day, were processed and, with little space available, assigned to a barracks in the men’s section, with 200 or more prisoners crowded together. The first few nights, some men –—Guta doesn’t know who they were — entered the barracks and raped some of the women. Guta heard screams as she and her sisters huddled in an upper bunk, their mother covering their heads. 

There was no work at Auschwitz, only standing at roll call for long hours twice a day. After two weeks, the entire transport was shipped by cattle car to Stutthoff, which, Guta said, “was worse than Auschwitz.” 

There the women were placed in a large barracks, where they slept on a bare floor. Their main occupation became picking lice and, again, standing in endless roll calls.

In late November 1944, the transport was shipped by cattle car to Dresden. They learned that the group, originally about 500 men and women, had been specially selected by Hans Biebow, the chief Nazi administrator of the Lodz ghetto, who had been responsible for setting up the ghetto factories. Biebow had profited handsomely from the factories and had relocated two of them. Guta’s group, primarily Jews who had worked in the ghetto’s metal factory, were being sent as slave laborers to a munitions plant.

The company, owned by Bernsdorf & Co., was housed in a beautiful building, with the women living in a huge room with bunk beds and cold running water. Plus, the kitchen staff brought them buckets of hot water for washing. “Maybe 10 of us used the same bucket,” Guta said. “We were so excited.” 

The women worked in the basement, where Guta remembers operating some kind of machine. For lunch, they were brought a kettle of soup. Guta always tried to grab the empty kettle to return it to the kitchen upstairs, where she could peek into the men’s quarters in hope of seeing her father. 

One day, she saw him lying on a cot in the sick room. She walked in and started to talk, but he remained motionless. She sensed he had just died, so she ran out to tell her mother and sisters. “We were all hysterical crying,” she said. 

On the night of Feb. 13, 1945, as the Allies began heavily bombing the city, the SS entered the women’s barracks and urged them to retreat to the basement, but they didn’t budge. “We didn’t care,” Guta said. The following night, however, windows started shattering, and the women hurried down the stairs. 

The next day, the SS walked the women through the city, where Guta saw parents fleeing with their children, two English pilots lying dead on the ground and rubble everywhere. They spent the day on a field. When they returned, they were crammed into a shed behind the destroyed factory.

Right away, Guta and some other prisoners were taken to work rebuilding the post office, moving bricks from one place to another. After a few weeks, however, with the Russians approaching, the women were transferred to various camps. 

Eventually they were loaded onto a train, which was forced to stop in Carlsbad, Czechoslovakia, because of bombed-out tracks. They disembarked, but Fredda, who was sick, remained inside. Guta never saw her again.

The women were dispatched on a death march. There was no food, but once, when they were confined to a barn with no SS in sight, Guta and two young women sneaked out and went house to house, begging. They were given soup, bread and other foods. “The Czech people were wonderful,” Guta recalled.  

Then, on May 8, 1945, they awoke to discover that the Germans had fled. Russian soldiers soon rode up on bicycles. The women, despite their weakened condition, ran out to greet them. “It was just an unbelievable moment in our lives,” Guta said.  

The Russians provided food and medical care. And in a suitcase discarded by a female SS, Guta found clothes and shoes that fit her perfectly. “Right away, I looked normal,” she said. The Russians then put the women on a train headed to Poland. 

Stopping in Prague to change trains, they met some young men returning from Poland. “Don’t go back. They’re killing the Jews,” they warned. Guta, Brenda and Sara remained in Prague, where they were treated well and where Guta met Henry Peck. 

But as the communists took control, Guta, Henry, Brenda and Sara traveled to Germany’s American zone of occupation, settling in Plattling. Guta and Henry married on Dec. 16, 1947. 

Sara wrote letters to the Forverts, the Yiddish version of the Forward newspaper, searching for family that had earlier immigrated to the United States. Kasz relatives responded, sending letters and packages. 

They applied for visas and arrived in New York in June 1949. A few days later, they traveled to Los Angeles, settling in a small, furnished apartment in Boyle Heights. Guta and Henry’s daughter, Elyse, was born in June 1950, and their son, Jeff, in July 1954.

Henry worked at a cousin’s furniture store and later managed an upholstery factory. In 1959, he and a partner opened their own upholstery factory, Hart Manufacturing, in downtown Los Angeles. 

Brenda, who had come to the United States earlier and lived with a family in Atlanta, died of intestinal strangulation in 1950, at age 20. Henry died in 1986. 

Until her interview with the Journal, Guta, now 89 and the grandmother of one and great-grandmother of two, had never told her story in its entirety. “I couldn’t talk about it,” she said. But she agreed to talk at her granddaughter’s request.

“If my granddaughter is interested, then I have to do it,” Guta said. 

Survivor: Guta Peck Read More »

Anti-Israel ad can be barred from Seattle buses, appeals court rules

County officials in Seattle can prohibit an advertisement criticizing Israeli policies toward Palestinians from appearing on local buses without violating constitutional protections on free speech, a U.S. appeals court said on Wednesday.

In a 2-1 ruling, the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco found that King County acted reasonably when it barred the ad, which sparked threats of vandalism and violence that could have endangered passengers.

The American Civil Liberties Union of Washington, which helped challenge the ban, is disappointed in the ruling, Executive Director Kathleen Taylor said.

“The government should not be able to suppress speech because it arouses passionate debate,” Taylor said in a statement. “Sadly, King County allowed its fear of controversy to trump a commitment to free speech.”

Harold Taniguchi, director of the county transportation department, said in a statement that the county was “pleased the court found that our actions to ensure the safety of our passengers were reasonable.”

In 2010, a non-profit group opposed to U.S. support for Israel proposed a bus ad that read: “ISRAELI WAR CRIMES YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK,” along with a website address. The county originally flagged the ad as controversial, but decided it did not violate bus advertising policy and approved it.

After a local news broadcast about the impending ad, officials faced a public furor. Photos depicting dead or injured bus passengers appeared under the door of a transportation authority service center, the ruling said.

The county eventually rejected that ad, along with others proposed by pro-Israel groups. The pro-Palestinian Seattle Mideast Awareness Campaign sued, and a judge in a lower court sided with the county.

“Because the county simultaneously rejected all of the proposed ads on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict – from opposing viewpoints – no reasonable jury could find that it engaged in viewpoint discrimination,” 9th Circuit Judge Paul Watford wrote on Wednesday.

In dissent, Judge Morgan Christen said that while safety is a concern, “it also may be that the county inappropriately bowed to a 'heckler's veto' and suppressed speech that should have been protected.”

She said the case should have been sent back to the lower court for more fact-finding.

The case in the 9th Circuit is Seattle Mideast Awareness Campaign vs. King County, 11-35914.

Anti-Israel ad can be barred from Seattle buses, appeals court rules Read More »

Eden Memorial Park faces second suit

Jewish cemetery Eden Memorial Park in Mission Hills is facing a new, multimillion-dollar lawsuit related to allegations that it mishandled burial vaults, threw disrupted human remains into a pile on cemetery grounds and concealed potentially damaging information from its existing and potential customers. 

A civil suit filed Feb. 19 in Los Angeles Superior Court on behalf of more than 50 people accuses Eden and its parent company, Service Corporation International (SCI), of inflicting emotional distress, negligence, interfering with dead bodies and violating the rights of families over their deceased relatives.

This new suit comes just a year after SCI agreed to pay about $80 million to settle a 25,000-person class action lawsuit alleging similar grievances. Many of the plaintiffs in this most recent lawsuit were not eligible to participate in the original class action suit, which only covered people affected between February 1985 and September 2009. Gary Praglin, an attorney with Engstrom, Lipscomb & Lack, the firm representing the plaintiffs, explained that this second suit includes plaintiffs affected both before and after that time frame, as well as people affected during those years who opted out of the class action.

Steven H. Gurnee, a lawyer for SCI, said he believes those plaintiffs whose complaints fall within the time period of the previous class action suit are subject to that settlement, and that their claims will be barred from this second suit. If that were to occur, only 13 plaintiffs would remain in the current case, he said. 

The most recent suit claims that plots at Eden are so close together that groundskeepers have difficulty digging new graves without damaging the protective vaults of the graves on either side. The suit alleges that the cemetery purposely plotted graves 1.5 to 3 inches apart to maximize profits.

Although not commenting on the Eden case in particular, Russ Heimerich, a spokesperson for California’s Department of Consumer Affairs, told the Journal that some overlap is natural. 

“You may find a vault or a coffin where you were digging that shouldn’t be there. A lot of times — in California, anyway — that is the result of seismic activity. When there are earthquakes, things tend to shift around a little bit. We’ve seen that at other places,” Heimerich said. 

When this occurs, cemeteries often will move the shifted grave back to its intended location, he said, though Heimerich admitted he is not knowledgeable on current best business practices.  

The suit goes further, however.

“Even more shocking, current and former groundskeepers at the cemetery have admitted that breaking burial vaults will often cause human remains to spill out of the broken vaults,” notes the complaint, citing sworn testimony from cemetery employees. “In such situations, the groundskeepers were instructed by their supervisors to throw away the bones and other remains in the cemetery dump located on the cemetery premises. According to the evidence, this has occurred on likely thousands of occasions.”

Gurnee denied that any such thing has occurred. 

“There is no merit to these claims,” he told the Journal. “There has never been evidence discovered that people were thrown out in bone piles, and there has never been evidence that people were instructed to break vaults. Not one misplaced bone has been found. There were two former disgruntled employees, and we think they have been discredited.” 

The suit further alleges that family members who purchased plots in the cemetery after the time SCI became aware of the negligent burial practices were not informed of the potential for harm. 

“Defendants further instructed the groundskeepers and their supervisors not to tell anyone outside of the cemetery about these problems, and threatened retaliation if they did so,” asserts the complaint. 

Jean Bergman, a resident of Los Angeles County and one of the plaintiffs, claims in the suit that she and her husband — he was buried in the cemetery in 2011 — were not informed of the risks prior to purchasing plots for themselves in 1990. 

“[Bergman’s husband] is buried in a section of the cemetery where there have been a number of broken and damaged protective vaults as well as disturbances of graves, all of which have scarred and tainted the hallowed ground upon which the Plaintiff’s loved one has been buried since burial, and where the Plaintiff similarly intended to be buried,” the complaint states. “Ms. Bergman and her husband would never have purchased property, funeral services and burial services from Defendants had this information been disclosed.”

Eden has an active cemetery license and has never been subject to disciplinary action, Heimerich said. The cemetery received a citation in 2002 for failing to submit a legal document on time, but that was not operational and is not uncommon in the industry, he explained.

Eden Memorial Park faces second suit Read More »

Baseball and ‘bat’ mitzvah

A few weeks prior to his wedding last June, Jeremy Oberstein looked at his calendar and foresaw the possibility of a dangerous doubleheader: should his Adat Ari El team from Valley Village be fortunate enough to qualify for the championship of the Los Angeles Synagogue Softball league, the game would conflict with his wedding day. 

It was discussed and quickly settled: If the team made it that far, he would play. They did, and he did. 

Late in the game, the groom-to-be rounded third in a close affair and was called out on a collision at the plate. After the play, the catcher told Oberstein he did his best to avoid contact, to ensure Oberstein’s face didn’t meet with any damage the day he needed it most. 

A grateful Oberstein and his team lost the title in a 10-inning classic, but a few hours later he got married in front of family, friends and teammates, going a respectable 1-1 on the doubleheader. 

“My wife knew how important it was to me, that it isn’t just your average league or wayward pastime,” said Oberstein, 34, who manages the A division and serves as an executive committee member. “Still, she laughed about it.”

Currently in its 20th season, the 34-team league (synagoguesoftball.com) is thriving under the helm of 31-year-old commissioner Kevin Weiser, an outfielder for Stephen Wise Temple’s team. The league is made up of teams scattered all over the Greater Los Angeles area, representing synagogues of all denominations. 

Oberstein describes gameplay as modified slow pitch. The rulebook is reviewed each offseason in a meeting of team managers, an event he claims is almost a talmudic-like debate. 

Weiser, now in his second season in charge, is quick to give credit to 64-year-old Barry Schoenbrun of Temple Judea in Tarzana, the godfather of the league and still a player. Schoenbrun served as commissioner for 18 years and propagated the league from a seven-team afterthought into a permanent fixture of the city’s Jewish community, now catering to more than 500 Angelenos from all walks of life. 

That would most certainly include the league’s oldest player, an effervescent 75-year-old catcher for Adat Ari El named Zisel Sansanowicz. A true baseball romantic, he grew up in the small town of Camajuani, Cuba, idolizing sugarcane mill workers who moonlighted as ballplayers in local leagues. These “industrial leagues” produced legends such as the late Chicago White Sox standout Orestes “Minnie” Miñoso, the first Black Cuban in the majors. 

“I like the idea of Jews playing sports. I just love that idea, period,” Sansanowicz, who has been playing in the league since 2011, told the Journal. “It promotes community, the community around you, and the idea of not just remaining insular within one synagogue. It encompasses the mixing of different people in different synagogues.”

Jodie Francisco is the league’s first female player/manager. She has been in the league for four years, playing for and managing one of University Synagogue in Brentwood’s teams for the past three. As dedicated as anyone on the diamond, Francisco’s busy life as a realtor simply won’t stop her from patrolling second base on Sundays.

“I actually showed up to an open house in uniform. I explained it to the client ahead of time. It was game day,” Francisco said. “All around, the league is just a really good thing.”

The still-growing league offers a cross-denominational, cross-cultural experience for Jews to come together and connect in a city whose sheer size often prevents such a thing. Furthermore, increasing participation in the league from millenials has been a welcome development at a time when many synagogues are struggling to involve and engage this younger demographic, Oberstein said. 

“Getting them in temples, that’s the biggest concern,” he said. “This is an avenue, through softball, where they become motivated to be allegiant to a temple and the charitable things that we do. We come together every Sunday and display great camaraderie and it goes beyond softball. We try to implement this level of tikkun olam.”

Tikkun olam, or “repairing the world,” is a common theme discussed when talking to Weiser and Oberstein about the league and its broader efforts. Each season is highlighted by a charity project that calls upon efforts from every team. Last season, the league raised $7,000 as well as a plethora of sports equipment during a monthlong donation drive. Players from the league hosted a four-week sports seminar benefiting New Directions for Youth (NDY), a nonprofit organization based in North Hollywood that provides services to at-risk youth. 

“We had 50 or so kids use our equipment, and we taught them how to play softball. We brought in really good coaches who donated their time,” Weiser said. “The kids’ faces just lit up when they got to learn how to play the game. Some of them were really good. You never know, the introduction of sports could present new opportunities in their lives.”

This season’s tzedakah project is a charity golf tournament and silent auction that will take place June 22 at Braemar Country Club in Tarzana. Proceeds will go to NDY and the Jewish National Fund.

The league’s success has Oberstein and Weiser thinking even bigger. They hope to expand and help interested parties form teams in Orange County, San Diego and possibly even the Bay Area. 

“Hopefully we can grow this thing so we can have an even greater impact,” Oberstein said. “More people can get involved with their local synagogue in a way that they may not have been able to, or simply would not have traditionally. If anyone is interested in setting up a team they can email us or come check out a game.” 

Baseball and ‘bat’ mitzvah Read More »

Wisdom of layers: Reflections on the Collaboratory

“What am I supposed to wear to a ranch?” 

The “ranch” in question was the headquarters of the Leichtag Foundation, a major funder of Jewish and Israeli causes, headquartered in Encinitas, Calif. (in northern San Diego County). My snow-logged East Coast pals were consulting me on wardrobe for The Collaboratory, a 24-hour gathering at the ranch for 140 innovators, activists and entrepreneurs to “gain new connections, new skills and new energy to take back to your work,” as organizers promised. My major piece of advice: “Bring layers.” And they did. Not just literally, in their suitcases, but also metaphorically, in their skills and networks, forming a delightfully complex and multifaceted presence. 

Although it has always been true, only now, in this hyper-connected time, have we become acutely aware that when we see someone, we are also seeing his or her social and professional context. We try to peel their layers, playing Jewish geography to help us collate them into our own contexts. Who do they know? Who have they worked with? Which organizations have supported them, and which have abandoned them? 

Having been involved with this sector for more than a decade, I also see the network layers. For me, The Collaboratory itself is a microcosm of people from different towns and countries, with familial layers — cousins, friends, neighbors, partners and exes — even the ones I don’t know, if you go not-so-far back, we’re all connected. 

The gathering was created by a number of the major Jewish innovation groups, all of which I’ve worked with in some capacity over the past decade. Former and current Upstart Bay Area and Bikkurim fellows peppered the room, representing projects that stretch back to the early Jewish innovation years. Charles and Lynn Schusterman Family Foundation partners and ROI Community members were also present, from ROI cohorts stretching back to the first annual summit experience for young Jewish innovators in 2006. I recognized some participants as empowered leaders whose projects have been strengthened and amplified by the Joshua Venture Fellowship. PresenTense-trained social entrepreneurs from different cities represented their own organizations as well as the intensive fellowship itself. 

The Los Angeles innovation cohort was well-represented, including gap-year program Tzedek America, philanthropic research and design lab Jumpstart, Silverlake Independent JCC, The Jewish Federation of Greater Los Angeles, Temple Emanuel of Beverly Hills, crowd-funding platform Jewcer, Jewish Entertainment Network LA, Moving Traditions, Venice’s Open Temple, Moishe House, Neesh Noosh (writing on faith and food, as seen in the Jewish Journal) and USC’s Center for Religion & Civic Culture. The layers of overlap between and among these network circles reveal different cities and projects, but a similar dedication to new ways of creating meaning. 

Innovation translates texts into new vernaculars: visual, auditory or experiential. The five performances of the “Collabaret” showcase illustrated this perfectly. Comedy duo YidLife Crisis (Eli Batalion and Jamie Elman) showed an original Yiddish comedy sketch with English subtitles. Alicia Jo Rabins from Girls in Trouble applied contemporary song styles to classical narratives, using a looping pedal to record and play back in layers over previous ones. Miriam Brosseau from Stereo Sinai played original songs, influenced evenly by pop music and traditional texts. British import storyteller Rachel Rose Reid performed a narrative poem — spoken word and song commissioned for a festival marking Woody Guthrie’s centenary. And Jay Stone beat-boxed a Michael Jackson medley, and then the Shema. 

As emcee, I stepped onto the stage between acts, sharing interstitial comedic bits (in one case, a spoken word response to our beloved Pew Study) and performer bios, and watched the room from a literal step above. I could see our affiliations hovering above us, intersecting in broken and solid lines of connection. I remembered “The Source,” the James Michener novel about a tel — a hill whose layers contained the remnants of several civilizations, hundreds or thousands of years apart — in the cross section, you could see some of the pieces, but you had to unpack the layers to learn their stories.

Innovators are the next generation of farmers in this work, overturning the layers, mixing in new seeds in old earth, taking the things we know and adding layers of meaning and relevance. The application of a contemporary cultural gloss on passed-down traditions is simply a new fertilizer to activate growth. 

While many “Collaboratorians” work to create meaning for the innately fundable “next generation” (widely defined as those in their 20s to mid-40s), others work on a larger communal level. All of them know that tradition and the embrace of new modes of Jewish storytelling — regardless of age group — requires a consensus that can be challenging to obtain. But now there’s an international collective of wisdom that can be dipped into when innovators face challenges. 

“Innovation starts from a discipline of discovery,” said Collaboratory keynote speaker and innovation strategist Lisa Kay Solomon. For participants in the Collaboratory, who are inclined toward this “discipline of discovery,” knowledge of the diverse skills, interests and personalities within a network is a first step toward the spirit that unites them as they continue their layered work of continuity, creativity and collaboration. 

Wisdom of layers: Reflections on the Collaboratory Read More »

Framing L.A.: The Jews who helped us to picture art

In the post-World War II years, Jewish businessmen figured out how to price and frame art so that almost anyone who wanted it would be able to afford it.

In the late 1940s and early ’50s, with veterans having families and buying homes in the San Fernando Valley and on the Westside, people needed framed photos and art to fill their walls; as a result, dozens of Jewish-owned framing businesses sprang up to fill the need.

Jews were involved at every level of the picture-framing business in Los Angeles — from wholesale to retail, from milling moldings to carving custom frames, from framing oil paintings to publishing and mass-producing readymade prints.

Forming an informal subset of the Jewish community, these business owners bought framing supplies from one another, provided first jobs in the business, shared family news on sales calls and trade shows, and married into one another’s families.

The most famous were two of the Aaron Brothers: Len, born in Antigo, Wis., and Al, born in Chicago, who in the early 1940s established a photography business on Hollywood Boulevard.

During the war, Len (born in 1917) was stationed in Anchorage, Alaska, where he took pictures and ran a photo lab for the U.S. Army; his brother, born Allmore (1914-1997), was stationed in Culver City at Hal Roach Studios, working as a still photographer under Commanding Officer Ronald Reagan. The youngest brother, Chuck (born in Antigo in 1920), was a pilot flying missions in the Pacific theater.

In Los Angeles, both before and after the war, “We were in the ‘kidnapping’ business,” Len said, referring to the business practice of knocking on people’s door, taking pictures of their children and returning a few days later to try to sell the parents the 8-by-10’s they had printed up on spec. “Our average sale was $3.75,” Len said.

We graduated into the frame business,” Len said, remembering how he and Al started. “We each kicked in 50 bucks and sold out of our car,” including paper frames and photo albums.

In 1946, they opened Aaron Brothers Co. at 126 N. La Brea Ave., selling photography supplies, including frames. “We never really tried to do any retail,” Len said. “We just moved into this big store with a lot of windows, and people started knocking on the door, and that was the beginning of it.”

“We were strictly wholesale at first,” added Chuck, who became involved with the business around 1947 and left it around 1949, eventually opening his own company, Valley Molding and Frame, in 1975 with his then-son-in-law David Labowitz.

After opening 16 stores in California, Aaron Brothers, by the mid-1960s, had also branched out into a franchise program called “Picture and Frame Marts,” of which many Jewish families were franchisees, said Labowitz, who for a time was an outside sales rep for Aaron Brothers.

As to the appeal of the art-framing business to Jewish families, Labowitz explained, “At the time, there were some businesses they couldn’t get into.”

Frames, however, “took so little money to get into. For a few thousand dollars, they could open the door,” said Chuck, who today is a rancher and investor in commercial properties.

Realizing that reasonably priced prints could boost frame sales, Aaron Brothers began publishing its own images.

“Al dealt with all the artists and was very much into the art business,” Len said. “Al picked the artwork.”

In the late ’60s, in addition to selling art supplies and readymade frames — custom framing didn’t come until the 1970s — Aaron Brothers sold prints of flowers, nudes, Western images, seascapes and landscapes, “all good sellers,” Labowitz said. Included in the Aaron Pix catalog were even a few pictures of Jewish interest, including a tefillin-wearing “old rabbi,” and a still life with prayer book and tallit.

The prints sold for a dollar or two, and, “If it wasn’t a good seller, you got stuck with 5,000 sheets of paper,” said Len, who for decades has painted canvases of his own in what he calls an “abstract-expressionist” satirical style.

Len takes credit for coming up with the idea for the “One-Cent Frame Sale,” a concept the company uses to this day.

Were there any obstacles? Chuck, while on sales calls to Palm Springs and La Jolla and looking for overnight lodging, was surprised by several motels whose managers told him, “Sorry, we don’t let your people in here,” he said.

Although by the early 1970s, with around 35 locations, Aaron Brothers was preparing to go public, that did not mean that the expansion had come easily.

“There were many times when making the payroll wasn’t easy,” said Labowitz. “It wasn’t all peaches and cream.”

Since the business was sold to the Chromalloy American Corp. in 1977, it has had several owners, with Michaels Stores Inc. being the current one, operating around 155 Aaron Brothers stores in 11 states.

Each brother also had offspring who went into the business, with Len’s daughter Paula Aaron Hurwitz, having worked in the company’s Beverly Hills location, where she remembers doing frame work for Mickey Rooney. Al’s son David worked in the company’s retail area, and his son Michael in the publishing division, and Chuck’s daughter Suzanne (Aaron) Ehrmann became senior vice president of Valley Molding and Frame.

The Aarons were not alone in passing along the art-framing business to their children.

Allan Marion of Allan Jeffries Framing is third generation in the business. His grandfather, Morris Marion’s Marion Manufacturing made frames in the 1930s in Los Angeles and came up with the idea of selling them with multiples of etchings by French Art Deco artist Louis Icart, that “sold in chain stores like J.J. Newberry’s,” Marion said. “He paid Icart 50 cents per print,” Marion said. In about 1959, his father, Sam, along with his brother Jack started the Gemline Frame Co. in L.A., which manufactured readymade wall frames for chain stores, including Aaron Brothers. “The technology that [Jack] invented is still used today,” Marion said.

Adding to his art-framing yichus, Marion’s mother, Lucille, along with a partner, Beverly Abraham (his godmother), started a chain called Discount Frames in the San Fernando Valley in 1962. “We all knew everybody,” said Marion who is also Chuck Aaron’s godson.

Marion had his first job at 15 working for his mother. He also worked for his father at Gemline and opened a frame outlet store in Boyle Heights. After going into acting for a couple of years in 1984, with the help of the Jewish Free Loan Association, he opened a framing gallery on Third Street and Sweetzer Avenue.

Today, Marion owns three galleries and is part owner of a framing business near downtown. “It’s a great time to be in the art business,” said Marion, who regularly donates to several Jewish institutions and charitable organizations and has been honored by Jewish Free Loan.

Alan Greenstone, whose father, Norman, was one of the Aaron Brothers’ early employees and eventually a franchisee, owns United Picture & Frame Co. in Pasadena, which was founded in 1959.  “There are a lot of Jews in the business,” said Greenstone, who recalled Marty Goodside, who owned a Picture and Frame Mart and became a vice president at Aaron Brothers. Still active are Jerry Solomon, who has custom framing shops in Los Angeles and Agoura Hills and also hails from a picture-framing family, and Bob Stanley, a second-generation owner of Foster Planing Mill in L.A., which produces hundreds of styles of unfinished wooden moldings used in picture framing.

Richard Gibson is a second-generation owner of Ted Gibson Picture Frames, at 4271 W. Third St., in Koreatown. His father was born in Brooklyn in 1907 and grew up in Jewish orphanages, according to his son, and became a “legend” in the business. “He started working when he was 9,” and when he was 15, “stretched canvases for Georgia O’Keeffe.”

The day in 1933 his father came to Los Angeles “was the Long Beach earthquake,” Gibson said.

After opening his first store, at 2940 W. Seventh St., in 1947, Ted Gibson put everything in the store on skids and moved to 2866 W. Seventh. “Fortunately it was downhill,” he said. When his father married Lillian Kassovsky in 1949, the wedding dinner was held at Canter’s, said Richard, who was one of the last in the 1950s to have his bar mitzvah at Sinai Temple at its home on New Hampshire Avenue and Fourth Street.

Gibson was known for his quality frames, many of which he cut, carved and painted by hand. “My dad worked with some of the finest artists,” said Gibson, including painter Millard Sheets, famous for his Home Savings mosaics, and abstract expressionist Hans Burkhardt. Actors Zero Mostel and Vincent Price, both of whom he did framing work for, were close friends. He was also friends with Meyer Flax, who opened M. Flax Art Supplies in 1931 (and was the father of Harvey Flax, who opened Flax in Westwood in 1950). “He wanted every frame job to hang with its own integrity. He earned people’s trust,” his son said.

A picture hanging in Richard Gibson’s shop frames a moment of Jewish affinity in the framing business. Ted, who died in 2000, and who, in his later years, wore suspenders printed with a tape measure design, is shown in 1998 receiving an award “in recognition of a lifetime of service to our community” from the local chapter of the Professional Picture Framers Association. Presenting it is his friend Chuck Aaron.

Have an idea for a Los Angeles Jewish history story? Contact Edmon Rodman @ edmojace@gmail.com

Framing L.A.: The Jews who helped us to picture art Read More »