Posted: Mon, 09/21/2015 - 17:23 | Posted by: Emily Snyder | Well Versed
Alexis Fishman in "Club Gelbe Stern: Berlin’s Last Starlit Night." Photo courtesy Hunter Canning

Amidst the clink of cutlery and the gentle murmur of strangers cheerfully bumping elbows in the Laurie Beechman Theatre on 42nd Street, a striking woman rushes in, checks her face in the mirror—a little bruised, but still strong—and then brazenly takes the stage.

Posted: Mon, 09/21/2015 - 16:44 | Posted by: Gloria Kestenbaum | Well Versed
Alex Mendoza, Untitled, from the series “Time and Place,” 2015. Courtesy of the artist.

Remembrance is always part of the Jewish consciousness; our calendar is linked throughout the year to events long past, to ancient rites, to ancient wrongs and to how our ancestors either succeeded or failed in their observance or existence. The High Holidays, though, are not only about remembrance; they are also about forgiving and forgetting — about conjuring up the past year, weighing the good and bad, of others perhaps, but especially of our selves, of letting go and hoping that our sins and misdemeanors of omission and commission, are let go as well.

Posted: Thu, 09/17/2015 - 11:03 | Posted by: Sharon Anstey | Well Versed
Carmit Levite as Leah in “A Happy End.” Jonathan Slaff

The title of Iddo Netanyahu’s play, “A Happy End,” encapsulates irony. Mark and Leah Erdmann, Berliners of the early 1930s, struggle with the decision whether to leave the café society, a language that they love, a culture in which they participate and to which they contribute, and Berlin’s sophistication for an unknown Princeton where they will start from scratch.

Posted: Wed, 09/16/2015 - 03:06 | Posted by: Sandee Brawarsky | Well Versed
Michal Nachmany outside of La Boite, New York City.

Michal Nachmany turns found objects into art, layering memory, memorabilia, meaning and color in her original collages and works on paper.  The work reflects her journey from Israel to America, and also, as is timely for the beginning of the New Year, a journey within. 

Posted: Tue, 09/01/2015 - 12:00 | Posted by: Sandee Brawarsky | Well Versed
Oliver Sacks. Photo by Elena Seibert

One thing I’ll never forget about my 1997 interview with Oliver Sacks was that, after trying for weeks to get to see him, I neglected to turn on the tape recorder. When I left his Greenwich Village apartment and tried to play back the tape, I realized it was blank. And his voice was so soft-spoken and gripping that I barely took notes. I felt like a character out of one of his studies: The Reporter Who Mistook Her Finger for a Microphone.

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