Act 1: Moriah

A two act play about fathers, sons, and Jewish identity

Background

I was twenty-five and living in LA when my mother committed suicide, a sadly predictable culmination of her chronic postpartum depression, lonely second emigration, and terrible second marriage. The week before, I phoned my father insisting on an emergency intervention. He chastised me for over-reacting and disturbing him at work, and quickly hung up.

Traumas take time to process, especially life-changing ones, so I felt changing my life was necessary, no matter how long it would take. Following her funeral, the cumulative outrage toward my father reached a fever pitch, yet instead of confronting him, I moved back to my home town of Chicago to get as far away as I could. We became estranged for years.

Avoidance is an effective survival technique, one that I had mastered in childhood. The repressed emotions require a catharsis, with oneself and others. Five years after my mother died, I was beginning to process my feelings about her death and our toxic family’s life together — and realized that my father still held the keys to being released from my burdens.

As the smoke further cleared, I began to understand that my father expected fealty. Born a Jew in Budapest a century ago, surviving the Holocaust, he bore the hallmarks of an Eastern European ethnic minority at the bottom end of the Austro-Hungarian hierachy. In other words, he’d gotten his ass kicked his entire life, and expected his son to kiss his.

The biblical story of God commanding Abraham to sacrifice Isaac always bothered me, deception being a major reason. Figuratively pulling the wool over Isaac’s eyes, Abraham promised that God would provide the lamb, his son not realizing his dire fate until a moment before the Angel stayed his father’s hand. I always wondered how it would have played had he known.

Well, in my metaphorical case I did know — and I didn’t like being sacrificed on the altar of our dysfunctional family one bit. So as an expression of my much-needed and long-overdue catharsis, and in lieu of having the balls to finally let my father have it, I decided to retell the Old Testament tale from the vantage point of a sacrificial lamb refusing to lie down and die.

Around this time back in mid-nineties Chicago, headlines blazed with the story about a famous Jewish bookstore on Devon Avenue being vandalized. I don’t remember if any arsonist was ever caught, but I do recall allowing my festering anger toward my father to suggest the possibility of an inside job. That sparked the drama of Moriah, which I wrote into this two act play.

Rereading and sharing this play after three decades, I’m reminded of writing’s power for self-realization. I usurped the styles of Pinter and Mamet to do on a virtual stage what I knew I shouldn’t do on the other side of the proscenium arch — wreak my revenge. Smart enough to understand the consequences, I still wasn’t brave enough to simply talk to my father.

A few years later, perhaps bolstered by writing this play, I reconciled with him. By then Parkinson’s disease had made an irascible, taciturn man even more inscrutable, but none of that mattered. On his deathbed I spoke to him calmly and kindly, told him everything was OK. I had finally learned my biggest life lesson, that of letting everyone go — especially him.

Here goes…

Moriah

A biblical allegory in two acts

Cast

ABRAHAM Kaufman, bookstore owner, early sixties.
ISAAC Kaufman, his younger son, early twenties.
Tad “TADDY” Kiel, family friend, man in his early sixties.
An Orthodox FAMILY: father, mother, young boy and girl.

Settings

Act One, at night in the winter in the vandalized bookshop, takes place five
years previously.

Act Two, during the day in the spring in the restored bookshop, takes place
presently.

Dedication

For Ira Pilchen, a childhood friend with whom I discussed many of the challenges processed through the writing of this play.

Act 1

Late Friday evening. Winter.

Kaufman’s Jewish Bookstore on Devon Avenue in Chicago.

The store is vandalized.

Boarded front door and storefront down stage. Antisemitic graffiti spray-painted on walls and fixtures, including slogans, swastikas, various antisemitic grafitti. Shelves are toppled, in disarray, with many books scattered across the floor. Pieces of broken glass, splintered wood, torn papers and photographs, various Jewish artifacts and paraphernalia are strewn about.

A lit menorah placed on a counter is the only apparent light source, flickering yellow flames, casting eerie shadows. Occasional lights from passing cars on the street outside might also enhance this mood.

ABRAHAM wears black pants, vest, hat, starchy white shirt, and dangling tzitzit. He is by himself in the store, faces the audience, sweeping the debris on the floor. His back is to a boarded front door.

ABRAHAM
War against the Jews. Wherever we are, wherever we may go, everyone hates us. Our persecution continues. No escape…

Front door opens, bell tinkles.

ISAAC enters, wary, dressed much like ABRAHAM, though noticeably disheveled, carrying a bottle of wine. He stops just inside the shop and stares at ABRAHAM, whose back is turned to him.

ISAAC clears his throat. ABRAHAM doesn’t respond.

ISAAC
Shalom?

ABRAHAM
We’re closed. It’s the beginning of the Sabbath. Go.

ISAAC
The door was unlocked.

ABRAHAM stops sweeping, stares straight ahead, back still to the door.

Pause.

ABRAHAM
They broke the lock. They destroyed everything.

ISAAC
I’ve heard that civilization ends when people cease being courteous to one
another. I’ve come to help you.

ABRAHAM turns, squints at Isaac.

ABRAHAM
No. Civilization ends when people cease believing in the divine. Who are you? Another detective? Insurance company? Or one of them, back to finish the job?

ISAAC
Do you remember when I broke your front window? We were just kids then, playing baseball in the street. Do you remember? I’ll never forget.

ABRAHAM slowly turns back around, resumes his sweeping.

ISAAC removes his hat.

ISAAC
I insisted at the time that my little German neighbor friend threw that ball,
but you didn’t believe me. You knew me too well, you could instantly tell when I was lying to you.

Pause.

ABRAHAM continues sweeping, more rapidly now, back still turned to Isaac.

ISAAC
When you finally got me to admit that I was the one who broke your window, I begged for your forgiveness, saying that it was, of course, an accident. After all, we were only children. Such things happen — accidents
happen.

Pause.

Sweeping continues, more urgently.

ISAAC
But you slapped me. You told me that accidents don’t happen. You told me that everything has a reason, and that being your favorite son, I was always
accountable for my actions, and that nothing I ever did was any good. You hit me again, and made me confess: you made me tell you not only that I was the one who smashed your storefront window, but that I had meant to smash it.

Sweeping stops suddenly. ABRAHAM stares ahead.

ISAAC
You then said that my punishment would be the confession itself, would be the knowledge not only that I had done wrong, but that you knew all along what I had done, and why I had done it.

ABRAHAM slowly turns to face Isaac.

ISAAC
And of course, I promised never to do it again.

Pause.

ABRAHAM
Why have you come back?

ISAAC
I read about this mess in the papers today. You’ve become rather talked about, in spite of yourself. And I figured that when this whole city knows more about Abraham Kaufman’s bad luck than his own son does, well, maybe the time had finally come for Isaac to pay his dear old Dad a little visit.

ABRAHAM
Five years. Five years. And if this tragedy never would have happened to me?

ISAAC
Then some other tragedy eventually would have, huh? Tragedies have been a part of our family since we were a family. Without something terrible to hold us together, we never would have made it. I guess it’s fitting that tragedy has brought us together again here tonight. our own little reunion?

ISAAC places the bottle of wine on counter.

ISAAC
Shall we celebrate?

ABRAHAM
Yeah, shabbat shalom. Look, look at what they have done. I told you that it would eventually happen to us here in America. Everyone thought I was crazy to think they hate the Jews here, too, that they would take action against us even here. But this. This. Just like back in the old country! Do you see what they have finally done to us?

ISAAC
Not to us, father, but to you. I have nothing to do with this place. This shop, all that’s in it, all that’s left of it, is yours — all, yours.

ABRAHAM
This shop, my work in it, put you and your brother through school. This shop put clothes on your back, and food in your mouth!

ISAAC
Of course. I know. I just told you.

ISAAC extends his arms.

ISAAC
I’ve come back to help you.

ABRAHAM turns his back, resumes his sweeping.

ABRAHAM
In five years, not a phone call, not a letter.

ISAAC
You could have called me. You could have written.

ABRAHAM
I didn’t know where you were. One day, schluss, gone.

ISAAC
Mr. Kiel knew: Tad Kiel, your dear old family friend from after the war, before the war, even. And you knew that he knew.

ABRAHAM
Ach! Don’t talk to me about him.

ISAAC
Does he still want to buy your store?

ABRAHAM
We are still friends.

ISAAC
Business, or pleasure?

ABRAHAM
He offered to help, I told him I didn’t need any.

ISAAC
Looks like you could use all the help you can get…

ABRAHAM
I had times, times here in this shop, I could have used your help.

ISAAC
Wasn’t the impression I got. When I could have worked here, you didn’t seem to want me around.

ABRAHAM
A son is one thing, an employee is another.

ISAAC
And you were “The Boss,” either way.

ISAAC clicks his heels together, salutes.

ISAAC
Yes sir, no sir. What did you always tell me? “Discipline builds character.” I am forever indebted, thank you, father!

ISAAC bows, and tips his hat.

ABRAHAM throws down the broom, faces ISAAC, pointing.

ABRAHAM
You don’t know anything. When I was your age I brought out my whole family, supported them in a country where we didn’t even speak the language. For me, nothing but worry and work for the past forty years. And you? My spoiled American dreamboy? What do you have? What have you worked for? I am “The Boss”? Does that bother you? You think I was hard on you? Look at yourself now: I should have been harder. Maybe then you would have come to something. You want to “help me”? Help me by getting the hell out my store.

ABRAHAM picks up the broom again, turns away.

Pause.

ISAAC
Then what? Wait another five years for some other disaster?

Abraham
You are the only disaster.

ISAAC
I am what I know. I am what I have been taught. What you taught me.

Abraham
Five years!

ISAAC
And so little has changed… Playing the same old tunes, singing the same old songs… Hard to get away from others. Even harder to get away from ourselves, right? Something always brings us back. You’re right, you’re right. Five years…

Long pause.

ABRAHAM stares ahead, away from ISAAC.

ABRAHAM
You are so thin and pale.

ISAAC
At least I’m not old and decrepit.

ABRAHAM turns.

ABRAHAM
Do I look so bad?

ISAAC
No, not so bad.

ABRAHAM scrutinizes ISAAC.

ABRAHAM
You look terrible. Dirty. You have a cut finger?

ABRAHAM grabs his finger, ISAAC pulls it away.

ISAAC
An accident. Just tired. Been busy, you know.

ABRAHAM
Yes. Very busy. Now with this mess more busy than ever before.

Pause.

Father and son stare at each other.

ABRAHAM then leans his broom against a case, removes a rag from his pocket, picks a book off the floor, dusts it, and places it on a tall shelf.

ISAAC watches him. ABRAHAM repeats the procedure.

Several moments later, ISAAC sighs, removes handkerchief from his own jacket, begins to assist his father. They work together in silence.

ABRAHAM
What’s the matter with you? You’re going to mess up that jacket. Take off the jacket.

ABRAHAM helps ISAAC take off his jacket.

ABRAHAM
This is dirty. Your shirt, is wrinkled. Where did you get this? Ach! You have a job? Look at you. You want to get a job, you have to look nice. Who would hire you, looking like this?

ABRAHAM brushes ISSAC’s shirt, straightens his collar.

ABRAHAM
Are you hungry? Something to eat? We clean a little bit, we go get a little something. Good restaurants up the street, remember?

ABRAHAM hangs the jacket on back of a chair. He picks up another book, cleans it, hands it to ISAAC, who places it on a shelf.

Pause.

ABRAHAM speaks as he picks up books, cleans them, and hands them to ISAAC to place back on a shelf.

ABRAHAM
To survive the camps, we dreamed about our freedom. We would have willed anything for liberation, any possibility. If God had to destroy everything we once knew and considered sacred, then so be it, so long as we could one day leave those terrible places.

ISAAC
You never wanted to talk about the war, even when I asked you.

ABRAHAM
The Americans finally came, I returned to my city and found a wasteland. Rubble everywhere, broken glass and broken bodies. Destruction and the tools of destruction surrounded us, as if God truly mocked us, as if for our freedom we really had to sacrifice everything we once knew and loved. All I could think about then was running away. You can’t imagine the conflict. Every street held a memory, every building was like a part of
my own body and my soul. But most everyone I knew, either dead or never to return. I was free, but I no longer had a home.

ABRAHAM stops picking up and dusting the books, then turns and faces ISAAC.

ABRAHAM
Running away, I thought I left my suffering behind. But it has followed me. These wounds never heal, because the guilty never cease their torment. You see? Forever a Jew, forever will I be hated and hunted down. If I have for a second forgotten, then the world will remind me.

They look at each other for a moment.

ABRAHAM suddenly hugs ISAAC.

ISAAC
You’re alive. You seem OK.

Abraham
The burden of the living is having to remember.

ISAAC
We”re as strong or as weak as we make ourselves to be.

ABRAHAM
You’re alive.

ISAAC
Who knew?

They separate. ABRAHAM throws his arms up.

Abraham
But my shop? Everything wrecked!

ISAAC
Let’s fix it.

ABRAHAM
You know, the living have the burden of responsibility, too: work. What is a man without his business?

ISAAC
Is that all you are?

ABRAHAM
And who are you?

ISAAC
I’m your son, last I checked.

ABRAHAM
Who will help me survive now? You?

ISAAC
I told you. I’m your son. I’ve come back to help you start all over again.

ABRAHAM
Ach! When have you worked? When have you supported yourself?

ISAAC
I work.

ABRAHAM
I heard that Taddy helps you.

ISAAC
I do what I can to survive. That you refuse to help me is another matter.

Abraham
Help you? Why should I help you? How can I help you when I haven’t even seen you? When you abandoned me?

ISAAC
I didn’t know what else to do.

Abraham
You left me.

ISAAC
I was disappointed. I felt so alone. You can’t even imagine.

ABRAHAM
I was always here for you. I wanted to help you.

ISAAC
I tried so hard to make you proud of me. I just didn’t know what to do, what was really expected of me. I didn’t understand.

Abraham
I wanted to teach you.

ISAAC
All I learned from you was how to hate myself. I felt so utterly dependent on you. Not only did I have to endure constant failure, but the shame of your watchful eyes.

ABRAHAM
I wanted to protect you.

ISAAC
Protect me? From who? From you?

ABRAHAM
I didn”t want to lose you like I had lost everyone else.

ISAAC
You push people away. You pushed me away.

ABRAHAM
People were taken away from me. My whole life, everything taken away.

ISAAC
I was afraid of you.

Abraham
I didn’t want to dominate you, or tell you what to do. I just didn’t want you to leave me.

ISAAC
Well, I left.

Abraham
I know.

ISAAC
I hurt.

Abraham
I know.

ISAAC
I came back…

Abraham
Hmmm.

Long pause.

ISAAC
I’m sorry.

Pause.

ISAAC lowers his head, extends his arms, walks toward his father as if wanting to embrace him, glancing up. ABRAHAM turns away, rubs his chin as if speculating. ISAAC retreats, arms fallen, head again lowered.

ABRAHAM
Few weeks ago little Yehudi my helper went to Israel, you know, study in some yeshiva there. Near the Wall, they say it’s very nice.

ISAAC
He’s Orthodox?

ABRAHAM
No, but who likes to stay in Chicago?

ISAAC
Could have moved to Florida.

ABRAHAM
This big clean up job, Yehudi now gone, you know, not that he deserved half his goddamned pay anyway, the bum. Meanwhile I’m getting older, I have the varicose veins, can’t chase the kids away, these winters, the night so cold, very dark, ach. Hard for an old man to run such a shop all by himself these days.

ISAAC
You’re telling me! And in this economy, too. I tell ya, the professionals even have a problem finding a decent job. Pay the rent. The cost of modern love. We’re all getting buried.

ABRAHAM
Taxes. Licenses. Insurance? Shoplifting, too. They browse, then they steal what they can, the gonefs.

ISAAC
These days you need a job to get a job.

Abraham
Know someone?

ISAAC
Shit, Dad, it’s too true. Nobody cares about nothing anymore. A damn shame.

ABRAHAM turns, walks slowly toward Isaac.

ABRAHAM
You have a place now?

ISAAC
In Chicago?

ABRAHAM
In Chicago.

ISAAC
A place, in Chicago. Small place. Not much sun.

ABRAHAM walks closer.

ABRAHAM
You have a girlfriend?

ISAAC
You know, they come, they go.

ABRAHAM stops.

Abraham
Shikses? Black girls? I catch you schtumping a schwartze and I —

ISAAC
— Jewish girls, Pop. They like to be treated nice.

ABRAHAM
You don’t treat them nice?

ISAAC
Takes some money to treat them nice.

ABRAHAM
How much money to treat them nice?

ISAAC
A little money, a little sunshine…

ABRAHAM turns around, faces away from Isaac.

Following exchange happens in double time:

ABRAHAM
Shop is closed on the Sabbath —

ISAAC
— Hate to work Saturday night.

ABRAHAM
Open early Sunday morning —

ISAAC
— I hate to sleep in.

ABRAHAM
Overtime —

ISAAC
— I can use the extra money.

ABRAHAM
Shovel the snow —

ISAAC
— Good exercise.

ABRAHAM
Run the register? —

ISAAC
— ”A” in Calculus.

ABRAHAM turns around, faces ISAAC.

Back to regular time.

ABRAHAM
In what?

ISAAC picks a random book off the ground, brushes it off.

ISAAC
No respect.

ABRAHAM
No respect at all.

ISAAC
“Cultural diversity.”

ABRAHAM
Diversity, schmiversity.

ISAAC
Who do you think did this to us?

ABRAHAM
Oh, I don’t know. The Patels, the Arafats, the Schwartzes. They all hate us.

ISAAC
And you hate them right back?

ABRAHAM
Hate is the best defense. Hatred alerts you to the dangers surrounding you.

ISAAC
Shouldn’t life be more than that?

ABRAHAM
We must survive. That’s what life is, survival. Have you seen what has happened to this neighborhood?

ISAAC
“Same as it ever was.”

ABRAHAM
Are you blind? Here in Chicago the last month, in one night they burned five synagogues and schools. Something happens in the Holy Land, next day we don”t just read about it in the newspapers, we see it right in front of our faces. Trained terrorists attack Europe: our fellow Americans torment us here. Things are getting worse, not better. What can we do?

ISAAC
Work?

Abraham
Work.

ABRAHAM gestures, father and son bend to lift a tall, fallen bookshelf off the floor, heave it up to stand where it belongs, straighten it, dust it.

They start to stock it with cleaned books, various knick-knacks from the floor again. Roles reversed: this time ISAAC cleans and ABRAHAM stacks.

ABRAHAM
Destruction is so easy. A rabbi once told me that God tirelessly created the world in six days, just so people could fuck it up in six thousand years.

ISAAC
Did that rabbi also try to sell you real estate?

ABRAHAM
This shop is my life. When they came in here late last night, they attacked me, my own heart, my own soul. This shop is my temple, and now I’m again a refugee who has to experience another diaspora.

ISAAC
An Exodus can bring together as much as it can take apart.

ABRAHAM
We have been running for more than two thousand years, Isaac. When are we going to stop? When can we call the world our home, when can we call it our own?

ISAAC
We carry our heritage with us. In our culture, in our ideas.

ABRAHAM
Yes, and look what they do to our ideas…

ISAAC cleans another book, hands it to ABRAHAM.

ABRAHAM takes book, squints at it.

ABRAHAM
What kind of a job is this? Look at this!

ISAAC
It’s dark in here, Father, I can’t really see that well.

ABRAHAM
What is the matter with you?

ISAAC
What’s wrong, Abba?

ABRAHAM starts pulling books that ISAAC has cleaned from the bookshelf, shaking them then tossing them back to the ground.

ABRAHAM
Look at this. And look at this one, just as bad. I said what”s the matter with you? I slap you across the face, you hear me? You can’t do anything right? I sent you to the college? So you learned how to be so stupid. You are worthless, do you know that? You do such a job? Shame! You stupid donkey.

ISAAC stares icilly at ABRAHAM.

Pause.

ISAAC
What did you say?

ABRAHAM
What?

ISAAC
What did you just say?

ABRAHAM
We have much work left to do. My shop here? You remember? You see? Come on.

ISAAC
Tell me again what you said. I’m not a child anymore. Let me hear what you just said.

Long pause.

ABRAHAM
I don’t have to prove myself, you hear me? I’m in this store from seven in the morning past eight at night, six days a week for twenty years. Dirty customers and dirty neighbors, nobody cares. And here you are, my wonderful American son, I work my hands to the bone for you, my sweat, my blood, what thanks do I get? Nothing, from nobody nothing. You come here from nowhere, you — you —

Isaac
— Say it.

Abraham
We get a little something to eat. Too dusty in here. Not enough light. Are you tired?

Pause.

ISAAC
Say it.

Abraham
Patel Brothers have a very good curry. You don’t know what you eat, but you like it. How about the deli? The pastrami, very good —

ISAAC
— Say it!

Long pause.

Abraham
Worthless.

ISAAC reaches up, grabs top of the bookshelf, and heaves it forward.

ABRAHAM and ISAAC dart out of the way as the half-filled bookshelf crashes back onto the floor, dozen of books along with various items spilling out and down.

Extra long pause.

ISAAC
Maybe working together’s not such a good idea, after all.

Abraham
Get out. Get the fuck out of my store.

ISAAC
Your store?

Abraham
My store. Get out.

ISAAC
Your problem.

ISAAC kicks a book across the floor.

ISAAC
Insurance?

ABRAHAM
Get out!

Pause.

ISAAC
Tell me: You covered?

ISAAC kicks another book.

ISAAC
Money for repairs?

ABRAHAM
Get out!

Pause.

ISAAC
What’s this?

ISAAC points, kicks another object.

ISAAC
Looks like they left ooooooone.

ABRAHAM
GET OUT!

ISAAC rubs his hands on his pants, and nonchalantly sits on the downed bookshelf, surrounding by debris.

ISAAC
Who’s going to pay for this damage? The glass? The shelves? The paint? Not to mention the junk in here they ruined. Now this?

ABRAHAM
None of your goddamned business.

ISAAC
Business? What do you know about business?

ABRAHAM
I have been in my own businesses, running my own businesses, for longer than you have been alive.

ISAAC
Oh. This business. What about that offer Taddy made? You know, to take the store off your hands?

ABRAHAM
Forget about Taddy already. We play cards, we have a little dinner, we drink a little apricot brandy.

ISAAC
I heard that Taddy made you an offer long before the place even got smashed up.

ABRAHAM
Yeah? And he made me another offer, gave me a little insurance advice after they ruined it, early today. So? So?

ISAAC stands, faces ABRAHAM.

ISAAC
So? So, why don’t you think about it?

ABRAHAM
What difference does it make to you, you gangster. You hoodlum.

Pause.

ISAAC
Taddy, you know that Mr. Kiel. He thinks I’m a Good Man.

ABRAHAM
Then maybe he”s better at rummy than psychology.

ISAAC
Taddy figures that I’d do a fine job running this place. Fine job.

Abraham
You? Run this store? Run my store? You make me laugh.

ABRAHAM sighs heavily, bends, struggles to lift fallen bookshelf. Fails. Tries again. Struggles. Gasps. Fails again.

ISAAC watches, hesitates, then finally helps ABRAHAM lift bookshelf.

ISAAC
I’ve been to college, you know. You once said it yourself, I got brains.

ABRAHAM
With no common sense.

They struggle with the bookshelf.

ISAAC
I’m well traveled, too, been to that Liverpool, England, you know.

ABRAHAM
Yeah? You, the Beatles, and Adolf Hitler.

ISAAC
Hitler visited England?

ABRAHAM
According to his sister-in-law.

ISAAC
Never trust family stories.

ABRAHAM
What about family?

ISAAC
I learn fast.

ABRAHAM
Forget even faster.

The bookshelf is finally up.

ABRAHAM and ISAAC lean against it to rest.

ISAAC
Taddy gave me a the chance to work for him, I turned it down. Why don’t you give me a better one?

ABRAHAM starts to clean and stack books again. ISAAC offers to help.

ABRAHAM skeptically scrutinizes books, grimaces, then accepts them from ISAAC and places them on a shelf as he speaks.

ABRAHAM
Ach! Taddy disappeared when the Germans came. I heard many rumors, various stories that he worked as a kapo in Auschwitz, that he was a runner for the black market in Budapest, that he impersonated a fascist officer in Rome, that after the war he pimped in Paris, and sold contraband in Amersterdam. Me, I don’t know and I don’t care. I don’t talk to him about the war, and I don’t talk to him about business. Maybe that’s why we are still friends.

ISAAC
He’s rich, he has connections, and taking over businesses is his business, his specialty.

ABRAHAM
I don’t care. I work for my money. Things in life you don’t talk about, and people in life you never do deals with, understand?

ISAAC
But aren’t you afraid?

Abraham
Of who? that Hebrew Hooligan?

ISAAC
No, no, not Taddy. He’s a businessman. I mean here. Aren’t you afraid that something like this will happen to you again?

ABRAHAM
A Jew should always be afraid. But he should never live as though he were. That’s why I stay.

ISAAC
Run away.

ABRAHAM
No! You are the one who runs away.

ISAAC
Why stay then?

ABRAHAM
This is my home now.

ISAAC
This bookstore?

ABRAHAM
What else? We dreamed of America as children, watched the American movies. We didn’t want to return to the Promised Land, we wanted to be stars in Hollywood. Here since after the war, I still do not know this country, I do not understand it, and I to this day feel on foreign soil. So to answer your question, yes, I am afraid. Everyone is afraid.

ISAAC
Retire.

ABRAHAM
What would be left for me then?

ISAAC
Come on. Why take all this pressure? Business, can’t be all that great. Now
this mess. I know you like to complain, so maybe, this time, your complaints are legit. The neighborhood really has changed, you know that.

ABRAHAM
I have a responsibility to stay.

ISAAC
To who?

ABRAHAM
To my community, to my family, to the Jewish people.

ISAAC
The Jews wander.

ABRAHAM
No one is forcing me to leave.

ISAAC
Redecorating?

ABRAHAM
We have endured so much. I have endured so much.

ISAAC
Why endure more? What are you trying to prove?

ABRAHAM
I am trying to make a living. Earn a living. Once upon a time, that had meaning to people.

ISAAC
Why here? Why now? Why this way?

ABRAHAM
This is what I know. This is who I am.

ISAAC
So if you don’t sell out to Taddy, then you’re going to let me help you?

ABRAHAM
We talk about it.

ISAAC
I thought we already did.

ABRAHAM
You have to learn.

ISAAC
Learn what? How to say “Hello, Mr. Schwartz… How are you this evening Mrs. Rosenberg?… New candles for the Sabbath Mrs. Stern? Oh, did you hear that old Meyer is screwing Mrs. Pfeigenbaum? Didn’t think the old fuck had it in him… No Rabbi, ‘fraid we don’t have it but perhaps we can order it, a little something extra for you? But of course…”

ABRAHAM
Learn the philosophy, the culture that we continue here. We are an intellectual people, books are like food to us. You must know about our tradition.

ISAAC
What do you know about it? Tell me. What do you even know about these books you sell?

ABRAHAM
I know history. I lived history.

ISAAC
You are a victim of history. You almost died of history.

Abraham
Yes, and that’s exactly why people must remember. The new generation must learn about the Holocaust, so that it will never happen again.

ISAAC
What kind of guarantee is that? I have a friend, yes, a Jew, and he went to an Ivy League college. One day, almost by chance, the Holocaust was discussed. The question was raised as to whether the concentration camps should be destroyed, or if they should be left intact, as living memorials of genocide.

ABRAHAM
And of course he said they should be kept?

ISAAC
He raised his hand, stood up, and announced to the class of future American financiers and engineers that the camps should all be burned to the ground.

ABRAHAM
Eh?

ISAAC
Yes. He insisted. Because he felt that otherwise, they would be used all over again.

ABRAHAM
So! You agree with me.

ISAAC
How so?

ABRAHAM
That persecution continues. That genocide hangs over us like the sword of Ha’Shatan himself?

ISAAC
Jews don’t believe in the Devil, Dad. They don’t need to, since they’ve got their God. But anyway, that’s not the argument. Long as you have Jews, you’ll have antisemitism.

Abraham
Then why do you mock me?

ISAAC
I’m not mocking, I’m not even arguing. You’re absolutely right. I mean look at this act of violence and racism right before our eyes, an active symbol of everything that we fear. All I’m saying is that you should pack it up and go already before it’s too late. Retire. Let me handle it. You’re too old to continue such a fight.

ABRAHAM
But the shop must continue. The tradition must continue.

ISAAC
I’ll take good care of it. I’ll spread the word. Give it to me. As my rightful inheritance.

ABRAHAM
What about your older brother Izzie? The first born son is in line, he should get this store, and not you.

ISAAC
Izzie does very well for himself out in the wilderness of business already. He doesn’t need it like I do. If anything, he’ll start his own… Besides, he knows nothing, he’s no intellectual, like you and me. He doesn’t have my sensitivity, our sensibility. You know that I’m the inevitable candidate, the only candidate, to continue our family and cultural tradition.

ABRAHAM
This shop is meaningful to many people.

ISAAC
I can respect that.

ABRAHAM
You respect nothing and no one. You are lazy, foolish, inexperienced. You care only about yourself.

ISAAC
I am intelligent and assertive, but also practical. My heart goes out to my family, my people.

ABRAHAM
You’re so clever, so assimilated, but not yet American enough to make it on your own? That’s why I had to send you money for years, only to find out that Taddy started to do the same thing?

ISAAC
I’m working for Taddy now.

ABRAHAM
I thought you said you turned him down.

ISAAC
At first, but then I changed my mind.

ABRAHAM
When? Five minutes ago?

ISAAC
While you were busy insulting me — again.

ABRAHAM
Mail room? Secretary? Something mysterious and macho?

ISAAC
You owe me this shop. How can you live with yourself, big house in the suburbs, vacations all over the world, when for years now I have lived in a dump, starving to death, the whole world passing me by? The best years of my life, wasted, while you’ve lived here like a king.

ABRAHAM
I came to this country with nothing — nothing — do you understand? No family, no money, no education, after surviving the greatest tragedy of all our history, and I have built what I have now all on my own. I have given you a home, fed you, sent you to school. What else could I, as your father, possibly do for you?

ISAAC
You have done enough. You have done too much.

ABRAHAM
I don’t know what you’re talking about.

ISAAC
I worshipped you. Do you understand? The only holiness I have ever known was how I felt about you. I looked up at you as if I looked into the eyes of a God. You did everything I ever wanted to do, everything I could have imagined doing, since I imagined those things for the very reason that you were the one doing them.

ABRAHAM
Then why treat me like a fucking peasant?

ISAAC
Because that’s exactly what you are. It took me a long time to realize that. You did not encourage me. You did not guide me. You did not support me. You did not love me.

ABRAHAM
I can show you photographs of the things I bought for you. Ask our friends how I treated you, go ask Taddy.

ISAAC
Sure, all the toys, and the vacations, and the weekend meals in restaurants. But underneath our boring middle class American family life was a scourge, a creeping shadow of guilt, shame, and denial. On the surface, we lived, breathed, and carried on, while every moment was thick with your subliminal abuse, your vicious persecution.

ABRAHAM
Every night I picked you up at Hebrew school. I got you hair cuts, ice cream, new shoes.

ISAAC
With no love, do you hear me? Worse, you actively sought my self-destruction. Just short of continual physical violence, you attacked with your accusations, claiming that I had done something horribly wrong, that I was guilty of an unnamable, unknowable crime from which I could never vindicate myself, for which you could never forgive me, and I should forever feel ashamed. And since you could do no wrong — for a God could never be in error — every problem was my problem, every mistake, solely my fault. The closer I tried to get to you, the farther you pushed me away, and I could only blame myself for my own alienation and shame. Not only did I suffer from your rejection, but from the feeling that I deserved it, that I was unworthy of even the horrible life you had constructed for me, for our entire family. Of course I failed. How could I have possibly done otherwise?

Pause.

ABRAHAM
You are my favorite son! How could you be saying these things, how could you even believe these things?

ISAAC
Because I now know exactly how you treated me by finally coming to understand how I viewed myself. I have failed because I believed myself to be a failure, because from birth you have fit me with the chains of being the favorite son of a slave.

ABRAHAM
I survived. Do you understand? While so many others died, I survived.

ISAAC
And the burden of that survival you have placed onto the shoulders of your own family. Who else could you punish, who else could be more vulnerable to the collective guilt and horror you brought with you? I was a threat to you, I had everything that you never had, and the deepest part of you could never accept that. I threatened you, and you systematically went about destroying that threat, destroying my soul in the process.

ABRAHAM
I have done everything so that my son could be an American.

ISAAC
“Rock ’n’ roll!” “Yippie-Kike-Eh-Ky-Oh!” An American, born under the red, pasty white, and blue. Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, bursting with success in the land of milk and honey, mortgages and credit cards, ready for the good life. Everything sounds like an endless gingerale afternoon, so peachy keen. Then why have I failed?

ABRAHAM
We spoiled you. Izzie is at least from the old country, too. He knows struggle, he knows what it takes to make it in the jungle that is the world. You never had to push yourself, to work. You always had it easy.

ISAAC
Is misery easy? Is unhappiness easy? Is alienation and isolation and shame easy? I was set up to fail. My totally fucked life is proof that you raised me exactly as you intended. You took away by giving, you could only give by taking away.

ABRAHAM
I never chained you down, I never prevented you from doing whatever you wanted to do.

ISAAC
You ate away at my soul, slowly, methodically, cutting me down in subtle
ways, destroying my personality, perhaps in ways you yourself didn’t even
realize or understand. It took me years to figure out what was happening to me, who was really to blame. You brought me to this pathetic state. It’s your fault. You therefore owe me the chance I need to fix it. You owe me this shop.

ABRAHAM
I’ve already given you everything I can give.

ISAAC
You”ve given me nothing but misery and madness. I feel unclean.

ABRAHAM turns away, looks down.

Long pause.

ABRAHAM
We still have very much to do here.

ISAAC
Closed tomorrow?

Abraham
Open on Sunday.

ISAAC
Think we’ll be done by then?

ABRAHAM
Work all day tomorrow, on the Sabbath no less about because we have to, hopefully the windows will be replaced.

ABRAHAM and ISAAC, with some hesitation, resume the cleaning and stacking. They work silently for several moments.

ISAAC stops, scrutinizes the books, and points to various items and entire shelves as he speaks.

ISAAC
Shouldn’t we put these back in proper order?

ABRAHAM
What order?

ISAAC
Look. Over there you’ve got Hebrew cookbooks amid commentaries on Maimonides. Over here you’ve got travel guides to the Dead Sea next to a biography of Rashi. And right here, this pile, you’re mixing fancy translations of the Talmud with Israeli comic books, political analyses of the Holocaust with dirty Yiddish joke books, mystical Kabbalist codices with radical right wing newspapers.

ABRAHAM
I don’t sort, I sell.

ISAAC
You mean you don’t understand.

ABRAHAM
Understand what? I know where everything is, I know and respect my customers.

ISAAC
This place is no bookstore. This is no more than a cheap gift shop, a tourist kiosk, a Hebraic cultural rip-off.

ABRAHAM
What are you talking about? I cater to my community. My customers, idiots that they are, are always right, and they get exactly what they want, exactly the way they want it. You see, everything has its place, and I know where it all is. You look: The spiced yortzheit candles are over in that part there, designer passover plates next to the Zionist bumper stickers. The floral prints with Esther and Golda were on that wall, readings from the Baal Shem Tov, cassette tape speeches of Moshe Dyan, Woody Allen all on that other rack. You see? Don’t worry, we’ll get to those other things in a little while, fix it all up again. One step at a time, the books, let’s arrange the books for now, then the tchotchkes…

Pause.

ISAAC
You don’t know how to run this store.

ABRAHAM
The store has been running fine until this happened.

ISAAC
You have a responsibility.

ABRAHAM
Hmmn?

ISAAC
You have a responsibility to our tradition.

Abraham
I have the deepest responsibility to my family.

ISAAC
You have betrayed both.

ABRAHAM throws down his cleaning rag, turns and faces ISAAC.

ABRAHAM
I have had enough. Who are you? What has become of you? What kind of a person are you?

ISAAC
Am I? What about the people who did this to you, huh? What kind of people could come in here and try to destroy an old man’s livelihood, huh?Hoodlums, degenerates, not even bothering to take your money, not even stealing anything, just messing things up, doing this just to hurt you. Doing it for no practical reason than to spread more hatred and fear. Scapegoats, that’s all we are: Just like the rabbis and politicians keep telling us.

ISAAC goes back to his work.

Long pause.

ABRAHAM
What did you say?

ISAAC
Nothing. Just shaking my head at all the prejudice and ignorance in this world. Where does this one go?

ABRAHAM
How did you know that nothing was taken?

ISAAC
What?

ABRAHAM
You just said that nothing was taken from here, that the money, then, it must have been left in the register?

Pause.

ISAAC
Yeah. And? So?

ABRAHAM
And they only smashed and painted, they did not take anything from here?

ISAAC
What’s your point?

Abraham
How would you know that?

ISAAC
Know what? About this place? I told you, I read the papers, I got concerned, I wanted to see you.

ABRAHAM
I read them, too. They didn’t say anything about the money. About anything being taken. That’s because I never told them. I never told anyone.

ISAAC
Yeah, right. Great. So the vandals didn’t take anything, right?

ABRAHAM
The papers didn’t say either way.

Long pause.

ISAAC
Ohhhh, ho ho. I get it. Just another cheap-assed scheming Jew. Sure, you probably hit this joint yourself for the insurance money. Naw, you wouldn’t do all this. But what you would do is come back here, see what happened, only to report a drawerfull of cash missing, and report it stolen. Make something out of nothing, take shameless advantage of your own bad luck. Typical.

ABRAHAM stares at ISAAC.

ISAAC
If you could lie about the money in the register, then you could do anything. It all makes sense to me now.

ABRAHAM
Eh?

ISAAC
How much did you report? “Thousands taken” probably. “Pile of money underneath the prayer shawls,” no less. Ha ha ha. Give me a fucking break. What a fraud you are, what a liar and a phoney and a fake.

ABRAHAM
Yitzhak. How, do you know, that I, wasn’t, robbed?

ISAAC
I know you, Father. You probably just made it all up.

ABRAHAM
Made what up?

ISAAC
The money in the register. Not to mention the “various valuable articles” stolen, ha ha ha ha ha. They didn’t take anything, And you, know it.

ABRAHAM
I know it. But how do you know it?

ISAAC
So you actually admit to lying to the insurance people!?

ABRAHAM
Tell me. How do you know what happened here?

ISAAC
Because you’re a cheap, scraggly old man.

Pause.

ABRAHAM
How did you know that nothing was taken from this store?

ISAAC
You must have lied for the insurance. You couldn’t afford to fix the place if you didn’t. You lied. You lied to get more money. I know you lied. You’re a liar. You’ve been lying to me all your life. You could easily lie this time for the money.

ABRAHAM
How do you know that I lied?

Pause.

ISAAC turns away from ABRAHAM.

ISAAC
Leave me alone.

ISAAC reaches onto a shelf, picks up a ceremonial silver knife, examines it intently, recoils and accidentally drops it. Knife falls to floor. ABRAHAM watches ISAAC bend to pick it up, place it delicately on a shelf.

ISAAC
Whoops.

ISAAC rubs a finger, shakes his hand, sucks on finger as if bleeding.

Long, penetrating pause.

ABRAHAM stares at Isaac, approaches, points to him.

ABRAHAM
You.

ISAAC
Me. What?

ABRAHAM
You! You did this.

ISAAC backs away.

ISAAC
What? Did what?

Abraham
You wrecked my store.

ISAAC
You’re a crazy old Jew.

ABRAHAM rushes up to ISAAC.

ABRAHAM
You did this, you came here last night, you wrecked it, you wrote all these things on the walls, so you could come back, and I would be afraid, and I would give the place up to you — You! — You were afraid I would give it to Izzie, you were afraid that I disowned you — You! — You who aren’t even able to make it in the world on your own. You, my favorite son.

ISAAC
You are old.

ABRAHAM
Confess! Tell me. Tell me what you did.

ISAAC retreats, walks to shelves, removes two silver goblets, places them on the counter next to the bottle of wine he brought. He picks up bottle, uncorks it, looks at ABRAHAM, pours wine into both goblets. ISAAC takes the goblets, walks to ABRAHAM, hands him one. Toasts.

ISAAC
L’Chaim. “To life.”

ISAAC drinks. ABRAHAM stares. ISAAC returns to the counter, puts the goblet down. ISAAC turns to face his father.

ISAAC
Will you hit me, Father? Will you slap me across my face? Or better, now that I am a man, will you call the police again? This time, to turn me in? Will you send me up the fucking river, Pops?

ABRAHAM puts the goblet down.

Pause.

ABRAHAM stares ahead, then turns to ISAAC.

Abraham
You are no longer my son.

ISAAC
Fuck you.

ABRAHAM turns away.

Abraham
He is dead to me.

ISAAC
Better late than never.

ABRAHAM
He is dead to the world.

ISAAC
It’s a small world, after all.

ABRAHAM tears at his clothing, starts to chant the Mourners’ Kadish while ISAAC rants at the same time.

ISAAC
Who did this, Father? — You! — You. Tell. Me. You tell me who did this, then. You want to put me away? Do you have the fucking guts to do to me what you always wanted to do? My fate now rests completely in your hands — You! — You want me to go to jail? You want me to have a record, you want to ruin my life? Come on! I know you’re listening to your ghost of a son, your favorite son, always a ghost to you anyway. You are the sole witness. Confess! Put me away! You have that power. You tell me who did this, and then you go and tell your police friends. Tell me, Father. Tell me who did this crime. Tell the whole fucking world.

ABRAHAM completes the Kadish, walks dejectedly to a stool, slumps down on it, stares emptily ahead of him.

Extra long pause.

ABRAHAM
Ach!… Look at this mess… This street has gotten full of Africans, Indians, Pakistans… Dark, deceitful people… They should all go back to where they came from… Dirty, uncivilzed, lazy people… Jealous of The Chosen, taking their anger on the hard working Jews, who make everything happen…

ISAAC
I can’t hear you, Father. What did you say?

ISAAC takes a baseball from a shelf, starts to toss it up and down in air.

ABRAHAM
Italians, Polskies, all happy when any Jew suffers … French, English, they kicked us out of their countries… The Irish wouldn’t even let us in… Of course the Germans, guilty forever… Never to be forgiven for six million dead, their souls crying out for the State of Israel…

ISAAC
I said I can’t heeeeeeeeear you…

ABRAHAM
The Arabs, of course, Palestinians… Palestine is the ancient home of the Jews, our birthright… “Hear oh Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One”… They must have broken into my store, trying to take back that which has been mine, that which has been ours forever and ever…

ISAAC drops the baseball, which rolls across floor.

ISAAC goes to the counter, and picks up the lit menorah. He holds menorah in the air in front of ABRAHAM.

ABRAHAM rocks himself slowly. He stops, reaches over to shelf, takes the goblet full of wine, recites a prayer.

ABRAHAM
“Blessed are You, God, Ruler of the universe, who creates the fruit of the vine… Boreh p’ri hagafen…”

ISAAC
Do you know what they call the time after the destruction of the Second Temple?

ABRAHAM drinks the wine. He holds the goblet, and stares blankly ahead.

ISAAC
They call it “The Dark Ages”…

ISAAC blows out all the candles.

B L A C K O U T.

End of Act 1

Act 2 is continued here…

Act 2: Moriah