“class” consciousness: we are not safe. again.

Director Igor Golyak (lower right) and the cast of Our Class take a break following an open rehearsal in a Midtown studio (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

Last month I was invited to an open rehearsal of Arlekin Players Theatre and MART Foundation’s timely new adaptation of Polish playwright Tadeusz Słobodzianek’s 2008 drama, Our Class, running January 12 through February 4 at the BAM Fisher as part of the Under the Radar festival. The story was inspired by actual events involving a class of Jewish and Catholic students in the small Polish village of Jedwabne during a 1941 pogrom.

Director Igor Golyak presented two scenes, called “lessons” in the play; the set, by Dresden-born Jan Pappelbaum, features a blackboard on which the characters add — and erase — information. The fourth lesson takes place at a party celebrating the opening of a local cinema at which one character proclaims, “Death to the Commie-Jew conspiracy. Long live Poland!” The eighth details a brutal act of violence that was so powerfully performed that, when it was over and actress Gus Birney was escorted to the side, I couldn’t tell if the play was still going on or the other actors were helping Birney because the scene had been so physically and emotionally draining. Birney and Golyak were not about to provide any easy answers in a play that purposefully blurs the lines between fact and fiction.

Watching the scenes, I was haunted by the thought that Birney could have been portraying my paternal grandmother had her parents not gotten her and her sisters out of Poland right after WWI, when she was a little girl. She ended up in New York City, her siblings in Argentina. Grandma Blanche married a Russian émigré, Max; my mother’s grandparents came from Galicia in Eastern Europe, now southeastern Poland and western Ukraine. So Our Class is deeply personal to me.

Golyak, the artistic director of the Massachusetts-based Arlekin company, fled Kyiv with his family when he was a child. In his introduction to the rehearsal, he said, “I don’t see myself as a teacher in any way, but, contrary to that, I think this play is about not what happened but, more urgently, what is going to happen, and to realize that this will happen with us — us being humankind, being Jewish, or not Jewish, it doesn’t matter — but this will happen, and that’s the urgency that I’m collaborating on with these beautiful people.”

After the rehearsal, Birney, a model, actor, and singer-songwriter who is half-Jewish with Polish ancestry — she is the daughter of Reed Birney and Constance Shulman and the sister of Ephraim, one of New York’s premier acting clans — told me that the play “is awakening something in me that I didn’t have any background knowledge about. It’s seeping into my blood; it’s awakening this anger and rage and deep sadness. I walked around knowing it existed —”

I interjected, “Being Jewish, we live with this all our lives.”

Birney, who made her BAM debut last year in Lorraine Hansberry’s The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window, responded, “These are real human beings; I feel a massive responsibility to portray these people accurately, to portray a situation like this accurately, with care, with realism. I feel so safe up there because I’m with such a beautiful cast, such great people, but there’s so much spiraling in my head.”

Production was well underway prior to October 7; following the rehearsal, via email, I asked several members of the cast and crew, who hail from Russia, Ukraine, Poland, Israel, Germany, and the US, how Hamas’s terrorist attack has affected their relationship with the play.

Grammy nominee Alexandra Silber, who was born in Los Angeles and has played both Hodel and Tzeitel in Fiddler on the Roof, said, “As the descendant of Polish and Ukrainian Jews, it’s impossible to not feel the chilling echoes of both the current events and the events of Jedwabne in 1941. It is imperative that we as human beings not lose our humanity to the senselessness of a global society that cannot seem to learn from its collective past, and do everything we can to honor those who perished in conflict, who left us prematurely — and, as my character, Rachelka/ Marianna, does — those who are left behind to endure what remains in the rubble.”

She added, “I feel this acutely: This play is not something that happened long ago to people far away and unlike us. This play explodes the notion of who we think we even are as human animals when we are squeezed beyond our comprehension of what is possible to bear. The potential for the actions displayed in Our Class exists, lying dormant, within us all. No one is immune. We are not to judge. Our job is to look within. Then — what do we do with that knowledge, and who we become? That’s up to us. Well. Until it isn’t.”

Belgrade-based costume designer Sasha Ageeva explained, “I came to know this play when there was already a war going on in Ukraine. A war that was unleashed by Russia, the country where I was born. A war that had already taken the lives of thousands of innocent civilians, destroyed Ukrainian cities, and forced so many people to leave their homes. I myself was forced to leave my home because of this war. I often ask myself what I could have done as a citizen to prevent this from happening. Those are tough questions. I think this play reminds us to ask ourselves questions, even if the answer is unpleasant. How would I behave if I were in the shoes of the characters in this play? In essence, they are ordinary people like you and me, facing a difficult moral choice. I think it’s very important to give yourself such inner work, to ask questions, so that you don’t repeat the mistakes of the past.”

New York–based hair and makeup designer Timur Sadykov, who is from Eastern Europe, put it rather succinctly: “The political/social climate will always be crazy, but these stories have to be told through art and, at this point, in theater. That said, my relationship and understanding of the play became stronger. It is important work we are doing here!”

The events of October 7 and the aftermath have led all of us to ask questions about morality. It was very meaningful to me that numerous non-Jewish friends reached out to check on how I was doing after Hamas attacked Israel. One told me how he was in tears watching Jews being escorted one by one by security guards to their cars after Shabbat services in the Midwest. Another described how she knew several people who had lost either loved ones or their home on October 7.

On the other hand, various relatives, acquaintances, and colleagues have been outspoken against Israel and in favor of Hamas (not just the Palestinian people), and I have tried my best to not engage with them, avoiding their social media posts. In one case, a cousin said to me directly, “Let’s not go there,” so we didn’t.

At Patti Smith’s December 29 concert at Brooklyn Steel, a hush came over the audience when, during her improvised section of “Land,” Smith brought up the wars in Ukraine and Gaza, everyone wondering how far she might go; I didn’t know what I’d do if she said certain things about Israel and Hamas, taking sides, but instead she did what Patti Smith does: She condemned all war, all missiles, all bombs, while calling for peace. But it’s not always that easy.

An international company joins forces for Arlekin Players Theatre’s timely production of Our Class (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

Kyiv-born Ilia Volok, who plays Władek in Our Class and previously appeared in Arlekin’s The Gaaga and The Orchard, pointed out, “The war in Ukraine and the Hamas attack on Israel showed the fragility of the world we live in and that peace cannot be taken for granted. For me, these events emphasized even more the importance and the mission of being an artist. I am honored to bring to life this project, which is beautiful but also a painful reminder of what can happen if we let the hate and the anger take possession of our souls.”

Stephen Ochsner, who plays Jakub Katz, was born in Colorado and spent fifteen years living and studying in Moscow. He posited, “Remembering the good news has gained importance. There is still life in Ukraine, Israel, Gaza, and other areas experiencing violence. I am more aware of life being granted for living. I am less accepting of my justifications to hate.”

Three weeks before the Russian invasion of Ukraine on February 24, 2022, Golyak published an article in the Jewish Journal, “Why Do You Hate My People?,” about the virtual Arlekin play Witness — which explored antisemitism and forced migration through the fate of the MS St. Louis, the German ship that carried more than nine hundred Jewish refugees in May 1939 — and its unexpected connection to the January 15 hostage crisis at Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas. “As a Ukrainian Jewish refugee, I thought I understood antisemitism,” he wrote. “I saw America as a safe haven from antisemitism. Working on Witness, my perspective has changed. America could be a temporary place of residence for me; I could be forced to flee again.”

On October 13, 2023, Golyak wrote about Arlekin’s Just Tell No One in his WBUR post “Stopping the inferno: Why this artist supports Israel” (a multimedia staged reading of the play ran last year at Lincoln Center): “Just Tell No One is a play about the human consequences of war in Ukraine, my homeland (is it?), which I fled as a Jewish refugee with my family when I was eleven, seeking refuge in the US where we thought we’d be safe. Jewish relatives and friends from that part of the world also fled, and many of them are now your neighbors in the US; a few even became a theater company. Others escaped to Israel, a new homeland (is it?) for them, where they thought they would be safe. . . . We are not safe. Again.”

I went to school in a privileged community on Long Island that had more than its share of racism and antisemitism, one of the reasons why I dreamed of eventually living in New York City. (Not that social ills don’t exist there, but it is far more diverse and aware.) Several friends of mine have talked about fleeing America, especially as the 2024 presidential election approaches. One couple just bought a place in Portugal as an escape hatch. Perhaps my wife and I should join them.

Our Class producer Sofia Kapkova passionately admitted, “I made the decision to produce Our Class after Russia invaded Ukraine, as I couldn’t stand the fact that my country, a place where I was born and raised, was killing our neighbors. It was horrifying witnessing the impact of propaganda. Recently my heart broke when Hamas assaulted Israel and, once again, I was struck by the power of disinformation that led people to align themselves with terrorists. Now, as never before, I am sure that our play is timely and important because it prompts a crucial question in all of us: In the face of such crises, will we choose silence or action, violence or kindness? The play delves into the need for self-reflection, emphasizing the importance of empathy and understanding. For me, nothing is more important than kindness. And we, humans, often forget about it.”

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The cast also includes Russian Andrey Burkovskiy as Menachem, American Jack DiFalco as Zygmunt, Cuban-Jewish José Espinosa as Rysiek, LA-born Tess Goldwyn as Zocha, and Ozarks native Will Manning as Heniek; the lighting is by native New Yorker Adam Silverman, with sound by American Ben Williams, projections by Berlin-based New Yorker Eric Dunlap, original music by LA-based Russian composer Anna Drubich, music direction by Brooklyn’s Lisa Gutkin, and choreography by the Jerusalem-born Or Schraiber.

Rich Topol, who is from Larchmont and has starred as Jewish characters on and off Broadway in such works as Indecent, The Chosen, Awake & Sing, Prayer for the French Republic, and King of the Jews, said, “Certainly the violence that is occurring in both Ukraine and Israel/Gaza is impacting my relationship and understanding of the play. And it’s making Our Class a story that feels even more important to tell. Because it’s based on true events that occurred not far from Ukraine. And because it’s about cycles of hate. And the violence that can come from that hate.”

Topol plays Abram Baker, who serves as a kind of Our Town–style narrator and participant in the show, reminiscent of his roles in Indecent and Prayer for the French Republic. He continued, “My Jewish grandparents were driven out of Ukraine by Cossacks who behaved not that differently than the Poles behave in Our Class. The enmity that exists between some Russians and Ukrainians and between some Israelis and Palestinians has been around for generations. Some have found ways to rise above that enmity. But we are living in a time now when a lot of hate is being released into the world. My fervent wish is that by telling stories like Our Class, I can help those who want to rise above the hate. As a Jew, I feel a responsibility to speak up more now, as antisemitism is on the rise in this country, and it’s fulfilling to have this play be one of the ways I do that.”

When I took a DNA test in 2015, it revealed that I’m — surprise! — more than ninety-six percent Eastern European Jew. So I unapologetically have skin in this game.

So does actor Stephen Fry. In his 2023 Alternative Christmas Message for the British public on Channel 4, Fry, whose mother is Jewish but was not raised in that faith, shared, “I’ve been warned that I’ve been on lists of British Jews that some ultra-right-wing newspapers and sites have published over the years, and I’m frankly damned if I’ll let antisemites be the ones who define me and take ownership of the word ‘Jew,’ injecting it with their own spiteful venom. So I accept and claim the identity with pride. I am Stephen Fry, and I am a Jew.”

At the rehearsal, Golyak told me, “I wanted to talk about the fact that the tragedy and the hate and the monstrosity live in the mundane, live around us, can live not far away, not in some mystical Germany of Nazis but actually can live around us, and even though there is an ocean between us, geography does not cure hate. So for me, it was always about the urgency of what is going to happen, and as an immigrant where my family fled antisemitism and persecution, I feel it. I feel it.”

I feel it too.

We are not safe. Again.

At my first job after college, at a small, privately owned nonfiction book publisher, one year the editor in chief gave permission for all Jewish employees to take Yom Kippur off without counting it as a vacation or personal day. When the CFO found out about it later, he decided to renege on the deal. He went through the list of employees, calling each one he thought was Jewish, and asked if they had come to work on Yom Kippur. If they said no, he docked them a day’s pay.

I had taken Yom Kippur off.

Filled with rage, I sat at my desk, waiting for the call, but it never came. I guess my name isn’t Jewish enough.

In the words of Rich Topol, as a Jew, I feel a responsibility to speak up more now. I don’t want to think twice before wearing my Star of David earring, or putting on my Israel Day baseball cap, or walking into shul on Shabbat or the High Holidays.

And in the words of Stephen Fry, I accept and claim the identity with pride. I am Mark Rifkin, and I am a Jew.

[You can follow Mark Rifkin and This Week in New York every day here.]