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Soul Exodus (2016)
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You know, Yiddishland doesn't exist geographically anymore. It's absolutely anywhere that things like this happen. And that's a really interesting model of culture. That it's this thing that gets... ...projected into the world and then taken away. It's a very integrated world and community. And their Jewish identity, which is part of their bigger identity, in many ways is formed by being here amongst the community of people, who are studying and living and breathing yiddishkeit. We mess around, we have fun, we create art and culture. We study our past and create the future. Klezmer means music and Klezmer means musician, and Klezmer means the instrument of music, the tool. So, the Hebrew meaning is metaphorical, actually it means the musical instrument. And Klezmer means culture, which is very wide, very multi-polar, and it doesn't have to be Jewish, it doesn't have to be folk or music. Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! From today, 'till I die You will always hear me cry Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! Good Sabbath! Good Sabbath! Good Sabbath! I've known Bob Cohen from before the time I ever heard one note of Yiddish or Klezmer music. Bob Cohen and I met in Boston in the 1970s, and being that his family, part of his family is Hungarian, he played me Hungarian music and I'd never heard anything like this in my life. And I remember when he first moved to Budapest and seeing the entire evolution of post-Soviet Hungary through my visiting Bob, 'cause The Klezmetics, I play with The Klezmetics, we first performed in Budapest in 1991, so right as the transition was happening. And Bob's already over there. Bob Cohen has become more or less the official or unofficial ambassador for all people studying East European and East... especially East European Jewish music. He becomes their ambassador. I think what the Nazaroffs know, and what I know, and what many of us know, is that in this culture of oppression, in this culture that has been through so much hard time, there is a core of joy and love of ecstasy. Yeah, so we'll do "The Jew with his Fiddle" A question... How do you know you're related? How has that been traced? -You can feel it! We just sense... -By a genealogist? No, we just sort of sense it. Everyone else in our family denies it, but we know the truth. -I had a DNA test. -Ask my mother. Mom... This is my mother. He knows his genealogy. He asked his mother. Of course, we're related to the Nazaroffs. My parents were born in the United States. Their parents all came over from Europe. We're having a hard time tracking down precisely where. Galicia was a big area and that's what it says on one of my grandparent's death certificates. Place of birth Galicia. Which means they were from what is now either Southern Poland, parts of, you know, Ukraine. It was a big area. Russian was spoken by my father's parents. -Oh, really? -Right. -The Russian? -The Grossmans. Grandpa Grossman. OK. They were probably from Ukraine. Until the 1950s, but mostly until World War II, Jews in America spoke English, but we all spoke our own Jewish languages. We spoke Yiddish if you were from East Europe, we spoke Ladino Judesmo if you were from the Turkish Empire or Northern Africa, and every little minor Jewish dialect in between. We all spoke them at home. After World War II, after 1950... partially due to the Holocaust, partially due to a lot of factors in society here, many Jews chose to stop speaking their Jewish languages, such as Yiddish. For many reasons. You hear lots of those reasons, enough to keep awake, but at that time, people who did continue to sing in Yiddish tended to prefer to sing Yiddish art songs. Theatre songs. Things that they believed would raise us up through classical music into a higher class of citizen, making art. Fine. Nazaroff didn't do that. Nazaroff, Weck says, sounded like a room full of Jewish drunks, because it was a room full of Jewish drunks. And sometimes, you want a room full of Jewish drunks. I am a, in Russia it's called filolog, philologist. Actually, my theme... my theme was a very interesting Russian writer, Vladimir Korolenko. He dealt a lot with minority issues, territory, diaspora. He was one of the first people to write about Russians in America. He wrote much about Jews. So, and when I became a performer, I called myself, in his honor, Korolenko. I went to Budapest to study for a semester and I was... That's when I met Bob. -That's about the time... -Hanging out a lot. You know, I'd grown up my whole life in New York, doing Yiddish music and all of this stuff. And I wanted to go back to Eastern Europe. And I was curious what kind of Jewish music was going on there. A big round of applause for the Brothers Nazaroff! Who, in the honor of their great-uncle, the "Prince", Nathan... This man, Nathan "Prince" Nazaroff, graced the world with this amazing... Jewish cheerful songs. He came to these shores one hundred years ago. We are all his nephews. My name is Danik Nazaroff. To my left here is Pasha Nazaroff all the way from Moscow, to his left Yankl Nazaroff all the way from New York City, The city of Botosani. And this here is Zaelik Nazaroff, all the way from Budapest. Yid never gets no sympathy or pity Misfortune comes wherever he may roam They try to throw him out of every city And nowhere in the world is Yid at home In moments of great troubles He sings a Yiddish chorus And wrings his hands in sorrow and dismay Ah, so no sorrow But if he still is moping His other way of coping He takes his fiddle and he starts to play A little Jew with his fiddle Is worth millions... I travel, I travel, I run and fly I have no time, I have no rest I don't know where, I don't know how I have no there, I have no here. You learnt Hungarian. -Yeah. -So, you speak it very well. I speak Hungarian. How well do you speak it? I was fluent a couple of years ago, but by now I'm forgetting words. I rarely use it. And you learnt some Romanian too, right? -I speak Romanian too. -How come? The reason is... Because Moldavian folk music it is... is closest to Klezmer music. They gave me a Fulbright scholarship to go there. And you two met there? Yes. We were both there. She plays the flute. So, we're going to play a couple of Jewish-Romanian melodies. This was Moldovanian rhythm instruments and you just never hear about it. If you go to synagogues in Eastern Romania and Moldova, they often have a painting, a mural on the wall of the Heavenly Band when we all go to Zion, what kind of music it would be, and it would not be techno. It would be this and that. No techno on the beach in heaven. None! Not for you, Mr. Hitler. That's pretty tasty. As I... Maybe I misremember it, but as I remember it, we came up with the idea to do a Nazaroff project, or we had maybe talked about it a little bit, but like concretely. We were on a plane from Tel Aviv to Warsaw. After spending like a kind of unnerving ten days in Israel having arguments with people about politics. And then we spent like two hours being interrogated by some like 17-year-old girl with a machine gun at the airport... It was very funny. She asked me why I had two kippahs. Then she said: "Why are you bringing these kippahs back home to Moscow? Do you have a kippah in Moscow?" And I said: "Yes, I have one." She actually asked me: "Are you religious?" I said no. And she said: "If you are not, why do you need a kippah? And if you need a kippah, it means you're religious. If you're not religious, why do you need a kippah? If you need it, you have one, why do you need two more?" Something like that. And for me she was saying: "Do you have family here in Israel?" And I said no. And she said: "And, so what were you doing here?" I said I was here to play music. She said: "And do you speak Hebrew?" I said no. She said: "Well, what kind of music do you play?" I said Jewish music. She said: "But you don't speak Hebrew?" I said yes. And she said... She said: "Well what kind of is it?" We play Yiddish music. She said: "Why Yiddish music?" And I said: "Well, because I think it's good music." And she said: "Well, but then why don't you speak Hebrew?" We went around in a circle like this. And she said: "Are you married?" And I said: "No, I'm not." She says: "And you don't have any family here?" She asked me this three times. I said: "No, I don't have any family here." And she's like: "But you speak Yiddish." And I said: "Yes, I learnt Yiddish." And she said: "But you don't speak Hebrew." And I said: "No, I don't." And then she is like: "And you have a relationship with a woman?" And I said yes. And she's like: "And is she... She's not Israeli?" And I was like: "No." And she said: "Is she Jewish?" And I said no. And she said: "But you speak Yiddish." And I said yes. And then eventually I said: "Are you trying to ask me if I'm a Jew?" And she says: "No!" Olaria Olara Beat the black drum Ra-ta-ta And the children love The pretty little horses And the little soldiers With their wooden guns Little vampires In my little verses On the roof, I'm staying up To see the sun Olaria Olara Beat the black drum Ra-ta-ta And the children love The pretty little horses And the little soldiers With their wooden guns Little vampires In my little verses On the roof, I'm staying up To see the sun Olaria Olara In your arms, ah ooh la la The Marquis the Sade Is dancing with a hippie And the murderer And victim are in love And the minister gets married To the Gypsy And the virgin Loves Beelzebub Olaria Olara Violins and tra-la-la And we'll all get together At the banquet I hope all my companeros Make the trip And we'll all share A bottle and a blanket And we'll drink The last bitter sip Everything is far away And getting better And the snow is falling from above Everyone is going round And round together And my girl is full of happiness And love Compare yourself What does all this have to do with you? How does your experience ring true? You're where yourself? You aren't suffering anyone's regime You're free to follow every little dream This was Meyshke's house. The greatest master of Klezmer lived there. The president of Yiddishland. One of them. A great master, a poet, a singer. A poet and a singer and... The last of the Nazaroff Brothers. He is our brother and we are looking for him. We are speaking Yiddish because this is the last time we're going to be hanging out before Michael is here to correct our Yiddish. At which point we can't really speak Yiddish anymore. Among all the Brothers Nazaroff, he is the only one who is a native speaker. He is the only one who's... How do you know when a language is dying? All the speakers started correcting each other. Oh, am I a mighty lucky Mighty lucky Jew! Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! From today, 'till I die You will always hear me cry Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! From today, 'till I die You will always hear me cry Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! Oh, the little Jew with his fiddle Is worth millions He's got the best bow in the whole world His strings never snap He can play without end Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! This is the Israel comma... It's Jewish star comma, Israel comma, Klezmer... The Jewish star section? And look at this Jewish star right here. That's a... That's a group of Jewish stars. Future and past. This is the past. This is the... Yeah. That there is a young Michael Alpert. Back in 1976 or latest '77, I was still... Actually I was living in LA and I was going to UCLA and there was a very good record store that had a lot of international recordings of ethnic music. I wandered in one day and I find this ten inch CD and it said Jewish Freylekh Music, Nathan "Prince" Nazaroff. To me, it was the music of what I called boardwalk music. Music as played by older Jews of my parents' generation and slightly older... from the late Russian Empire. Oh, the little Jew with his fiddle is worth millions He's got the best bow in the whole world His strings never snap. He can play without end. I don't even remember this, but when I was two and a half, my parents said, we were watching Sesame Street, which was a great old kids' TV show. And Ithzak Perlman was playing violin on Sesame Street, classical music, and they said I was fixated on this and I just pointed to the TV and said: "I wanna do that." And they sort of thought that I would forget, you know. They said, OK, he is two and a half, right, whatever. I did not forget it. I was asking them every day, I want a violin, I want a violin. So, my dad cut out a little piece of cardboard and drew a little violin on it and I was walking around the apartment all the time. They would sing in Yiddish, they would sing in Russian, they would sing in Ukrainian at times. Often a mixture of all three. And you know, it would be... This was like social music. It's music for hanging out. This really, this was Jewish music. I mean, this was Yiddish music. It wasn't the so called, what came to be called Klezmer music, which was the more Romanian clarinet-based styles that was played at weddings for dancing. It was our music. The music of our culture. Happily I wander In rain and cold Singing a joyous tune, Whistling at the world When the notion strikes me, I start to speculate My money's now on Wall Street, I sit back and wait Other stocks are rising My friends have all the luck Mine go down and under, I lost every buck! When the notion strikes me, I start to speculate My money's now on Wall Street I sit back and wait Other stocks are rising My friends have all the luck Mine go down and under, I lost every buck! Now I have no money No mill, no cow, no wife, My hard luck has left me I'm enjoying life! I love New York. I have often wondered if Pasha actually exists. He's certainly more everywhere than anywhere. But I think he's also more everywhere than anyone. And it's like he's always somewhere else. I travel, I travel. I run and fly, I have no time, I have no rest I don't know where, I don't know how I have no there, have no here I fly and travel from Novy Dvor To Baltimore and to Shanghai And from Sudeten to Manhattan Through Brazil to Turkey And from Parecany Maladzyechna I travel to Madagascar From Morocco, via Cracow I even fly to Zanzibar This land is your land, this land is my land From Manhattan to Pasadena Did you write the whole thing? No, we just had that, we just had that for fun. From California to Palestine -Too soon? -Too soon. What did one New Yorker say to the other New Yorker? -What? -Fuck you. -How did we guess? -Go fuck yourself. When I was a kid, my only dream was to live in New York. For me it was like, I grew up watching Woody Allen movies, and reading Jack Kerouac and all this stuff, and it was always, it was always about New York. And you know like reading Lawrence Ferlinghetti's A Coney Island of the Mind. New York always had this kind of mythic attraction to me, and I would come here and I would walk around just absolutely speechless, you know. I loved it. I walked into a coffee shop and the first, my first day I was... The first time I came here without my parents or anything, I came here with some friends. And I walked into a coffee shop and I heard some guy get a coffee and he says: "I said regular, not black, you fucking muddlehead!" And I was like, oh wow, it's real, you know, and it's like... But then I moved here and I couldn't find the New York that I read about. When you deeply hate Robert Moses and Brent Rickey then you're a New Yorker. If you don't know what I'm talking about then you are not a New Yorker. I know what you're talking about, but if you want to look for some old time Yiddish folk music or Russian popular music, those buildings right there were... When those people died they would take their junk and sell it right down the street here in these like garage antique stores, where we would come and buy all the 78 rpm gramophone records that we learnt music from. From Amur through Singapore All the way straight to Montreal From Poltave through Libave I get stuck in Oryol Danzig, Bremen, Iraq, Yemen Nagasaki, Port Said Cyrenaica, Lassi in Greece and balalaika A Jew travels! Where a border, where a harbour Where a tavern, I am there! Make way! Make way! For I, Mr. Jew, I am travelling! This is the best city in the world. You ask why we leave it? 'Cause if you're born and raised here, it's gonna be with you for the rest of your life. It's in your blood. You can go anywhere else in the world, you gonna be a New Yorker. You left the city... I never left the city! But you lived in Budapest for... -It's a suburb. -25 years now. -It's a village over there. -Ah, OK. But you never leave. As a New Yorker, mentally you're always a New Yorker. So much of the freedom of what there was about New York, has in part disappeared. You know, now it's like, it's become a playground for the rich. I just moved away after living there for 35 years. You know, I didn't leave New York. I left America. Something's changed. I mean like the cops are going up and down the beach, blowing their whistle, giving tickets to kids who swim too far out. When the fuck did that start? Like, it's just a fucking racket. I got a fifty dollar ticket for falling asleep on the subway, at three o'clock in the morning. I was woken up by a cop and given a fifty dollar ticket. And I said: "What the hell is this about?" And he said: "Well, you know..." I was like: "Can't you just like let me go?" And he said: "No, ever since 9/11, we can't let anybody go on anything." It's like, that's why I don't live in your fucking town. You know the joke, there's two old men on a boardwalk in Tel Aviv and one old man starts crying and weeping. The other old man says: "Friend, what are your tears for?" He goes: "I want to die in the Jewish homeland, in a Jewish land." He goes: "But you're in Tel Aviv. You're in the Jewish homeland." And he goes: "No, I mean New York!" The Russian joke... -Which one was that? -The one about the two worms. The daddy worm and the little worm. And they live all day on this big pile of shit. And all they do is they eat the shit, all day long. And the baby worm says to the daddy worm: "Dad, is it true that some worms live on apples? And all they do all day is eat apples?" He says: "Yes, son. It's true. Some worms do live on apples." And he says: "Is it true that some worms, they live on pears? And all they do is eat pears all day?" He says: "Yes, some worms, they live on pears." And he says: "Then, papa, why is it that we live on this pile of shit? And eat shit all day?" He says: "Because son, it is our Motherland!" Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! From today, 'till I die You will always hear me cry Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! Everyone here, except you, had their people come through Ellis Island? Yeah, except me. Not your people. And then except him. And you? My family came through Ellis Island. I tried to find them in the database. I don't think it's... The thing about Ellis Island is like, one of the things that came out is like, there is apparently not a shred of evidence that anybody's name was actually changed at Ellis Island. -Really? -Of course, like you know, when you come to the United States now, do they change your name? You have a travel document. -Yeah. -Well, my great-grandfather... My great-great-grandfather was the one who came over. And he was named Cohen. And his son was named Khan. But that was a... I'm sure they meant to do that, you know. I don't know why. Maybe he thought Khan sounded less Jewish, which I can testify doesn't. And they came, they came even before... That was my dad's dad's family, came in before Ellis Island. They came in like 1869. This land is your land This land is my land From California to the New York Island From the Red Wood Forest To the Gulf Stream waters This land was made for you and me In the squares of a city By the shadow of a steeple Near the Relief Office I saw my people As they stood there hungry I stood there wondering If this land was made for you and me This land is your land This land is my land From California to the New York Island From the Red Wood Forest To the Gulf Stream waters This land was made for you and me This land was made for you and me Love, the rights of expected Love, we have to respect it Love, it comes for a long time Comes forever and more Love, a beautiful story Love, it won't make you sorry It comes in all of its glory Like no one ever before Love takes its course Makes love everything Love, every day What sustains everything? It is love Love takes its course Love takes its course And once more the blood Makes love everything Love every day What sustains everything? It is love Ah, New York. Once again. But they're facing each other. What city is this? The whole world is Vegas. Yeah, I don't know. I get this feeling from Paris like Paris doesn't care. Paris is just doing fine. Paris... Paris doesn't care. It doesn't need to know me, I don't need to know Paris. Well, that's the fanciest synagogue I've ever seen. You choose Berlin. I choose Paris. Yeah, well, I have a deeper relationship with Berlin. I don't know. Berlin just spoke to me somehow. You know, I come from a city that needs a lot of love, you know. Detroit needs love. And I don't know, I think Berlin needs some love too, somehow. Paris doesn't need any more love. Paris gets enough. Paris is a satisfied city. I'm not sure that I love Paris. The thing is that all my life... I've been in Moldova, Romania, Hungary. All my life, I've been attracted to the periphery, you know. And France, and Paris is the centre. French was a language that was like... It was a language of high culture to me. It was a language of snobbishness and kind of not what I wanted to identify with. So, a Jew once travelled to Paris and a friend takes him to the Jewish cemetery. And there they see Rothchild's grave. And there is a big, beautiful, fancy monument on top of it. And his friend looks at the grave and says: "You see, Yankl? That's living!" You see, Yankl? That is living! Do you have any idea, why in the Soviet Union, of my parents' generation, you know why Jews were referred to as French. He is a Frenchman. Why did they call Jews Franzuse? You know what? Especially given where your family comes from, I'm gonna take a guess. There is a Yiddish word, a frenk, which means a Sephardic Jew. Meaning a Jew from, not a Sephardic Jew from Turkey, but originally Jews from the Spanish lands. Jews from Catholic Europe, right. So, you know these names, frenk, frenkl, frankl so forth usually refers to a Sephardic Jew. It was like euphemism. If you didn't want to say loudly that someone was Jewish you would say, a franzus. I grew up with this guy and he was my god-brother, because his mother was my godmother. Which isn't a very Jewish tradition, but it was something that we did. And he did. He changed his name and he moved to Israel and became the media spokesperson for the IDF. So when you watch the interviews from 2009 where they're like: "Why did you bomb this hospital?" He is like, "Well, it's not our fault." You know. He was the guy who had to go out... He's a Zionist. A hardcore... OK, he is the contrary of you. Well, in many regards, yes. But we come from the same place. That whole issue, you know, like about Israel and Zionism and Palestine and what that means, and what the conflict in the Middle East and... You know, how the whole world is obsessed with it and it's like literally, in many ways physically and geographically and... I mean, I don't know, in every possible way it's totally torn apart, the Jewish community all around the world. And it's doing it right now, more than ever, I think. That it's really like there's a line and you're on this side or that side. I don't like that line, but it's not up to me whether or not there is that line. And so I find myself on one side of the line. So, we're just different people. You took your name All the way to the desert And you were changed In the name of your Lord You gave your word Onto Zion And your hand To the sword We were the sons Of American plenty Your mother held me as her own We grew to cross many borders Different roads, different homes Oh God, brother What have you done? Gone to Judea With a shovel and a gun But this is amazing. He is holding a baby and a sword and he's standing on a smashed swastika. I mean, that's pretty hardcore. I don't know exactly the reason why I don't like this kind of monument. 'Cause you grew up with it. "Yet, again walls and fences were being built and you persecute these poor souls seeking a home. You drive them anew from your gates, hunting them through nights of broken glass. What chutzpah you have to act like that? Are we supposed to forgive you? Again, you devour your own children, turning them into murderers, bloodthirsty dogs, and turning a blind eye to all their crimes, until all of Europe has been laid to waste." This song is more appropriate now then when you wrote it. Yes. I mean, or just as appropriate now. This whole like debate and the way refugees are being used as a political football right now. People who are running away from horrible, genocidal situations in Syria, in Africa, and, and being kicked out or relegated to these third, third, you know, zikhere dritte lender. That's what it means to be a new European Union country. A third class country. Like Romania. -Romania, Bulgaria... -And Albania. -Yeah like... -And Albania which is not in the EU. Yeah, but it's now an acceptable "third country", which means they're turning these countries that can barely afford anything on their own, into giant concentration camps. You know, this is what's happening right now, and what's so fucking great about this song is that it's not about Vergangenheitsbewltigung. It doesn't have to do with getting over the past, or dealing with that. It has to do with the fact that the past didn't go anywhere. That it's still the same fucking problems. -Right. -The same politics. What chutzpah You must have to act like this? Are we supposed to forgive you? Again, you devour your own children Turning them into murderers Bloodthirsty dogs Turning a blind eye to their crimes Until all of Europe and the whole world Has been laid to waste So, sing my fiddle Play, my fiddle Like no one has played before And play me a sweet diaspora song Of pure longing Yesterday is buried, yesterday is buried Yesterday is buried There is no tomorrow There is but a little high But it's filled with sorrow Grab yourself a bottle While you still can swallow You won't cop a single drop In the world to follow Brothers wail and howl Let your beard be wild That's the way to dance away Sorrow and exile Brothers wail and howl Let your beard be wild That's the way to dance away Sorrow and exile Everybody, rightfully so, is talking a lot about fascism now. Because there is like in every country in Europe, there is a resurgent fascist party. Whether they're... They're not all as big as they are in your country. -Or in France? -Or in France, or... Well, that's the thing, like, I would love to single out Hungary but I can't. 'Cause it's like Hungary, Austria, France, Greece, Bulgaria. You know, in England. We shouldn't have to fucking leave because of the Nazis, you know. They should fucking leave. The return of Jews to Germany, you know, after the reunification. They're always talking about like, as if it's like a new era. But the fact is that the same articles are being written now about the Israelis who are moving here. Journalistic bullshit, clich questions over and over again. Like how is it to be a Jew here? Do you feel uncomfortable because of the past, or are they all anti-Semites and is it... In the Tterland, the land of the perpetrators? This is also the land of the victims, if you wanna put it in those terms. And it's also the land of the non-perpetrators. It's a space and it's always been an international, cosmopolitan space. And you know, it's not weird that Jews are coming back here, it's weird that there was a period when Jews were supposedly not here. -Yeah. -But they actually were. Like, there was never, I mean... What do you think about this Holocaust Memorial that the German state made? You know, there are still people who go there every day, from all over the world who've never heard of the Holocaust. And there is a little museum there and they go down and it's very impressive. And I think it's a good way for them to learn about it. But it's not for me. It's not part of the conversation that I'm part of, you know. It's... It's like... I don't know. It's... What does it mean to have a beautiful place about an ugly piece of shit, like the Holocaust? You know like, there is no... There is no appropriate... You know, it's like, OK... It's like a kidney, you know. It's like a kidney for history. And all of the bad history flows through that one place. But that's not how history works. I like the Stolpersteine more. You'll see... They're like everywhere. These little brass, golden stones. There is one in front of the house. They're everywhere. You never know when you run into them. It just says, in this house lived so and so and they were born then and this year this happened to them. They were deported to Minsk, they were murdered in Auschwitz, whatever. These kinds of constant, you know, ubiquitous memorials to the presence of Jews here, to the Holocaust and so forth... When I first started coming here, very little of that was here. I mean, the memorial was Berlin itself, or the... It wasn't exactly a memorial, but just being in the city itself was exactly what, you know, if you were aware of it, every step, every stone kind of made you think about that. Yeah, the past didn't go anywhere here, it's like... Right. I was just about to say, I was like, Germany, especially you know, if you come from the US... I mean it's true for Europe in many ways, but especially for here in the late 80s and especially after '89, history was not something that happened in the past, it was a living thing. And then they get sent to Zuglo. And they get sent to a Budapest university. The 14th district of Budapest, where we go shopping. And this is a little bit, different than to what you find like in a FastMart. Basically, you can buy everything, and it's not a Walmart. You can buy pickles. -Pickles? -Pickles. We must buy pickles. Are those sweet or dill pickles? -Sweet, but we also have dill pickles. -Can I have half a kilo of dill pickles? -That's fine. -Sixty... Have a pickle. Try these pickles. There's a soft drink... It's good. You know, what you miss in New York is a fresh pickle. -Yeah. -You get them in a jar... You're getting jarred ones... It used to be before we got in the EU, you could buy palinka and wine back here... And you can, kind of, still. But it's black market. And wine, not so much. Hey, maybe Hungary will get kicked out of the EU and then you can buy palinka again. You can buy palinka now. Yeah, right. But I used to like to walk around the Jewish district, look at all the bullet holes. Well, they're still there. Who is cleaning them up, right? L'chaim, brothers! Drink with me May the host have a long life! May God give all of you strength And health from top to toe May God send us the Messiah soon That's when we will be kings And wine will flow like a river Those will be good times We'll live happily together Next year in Jerusalem! I don't believe in religion. Actually, religion... I do believe there exist religions. There didn't before 600 AD. Then it was just cultures. We Jews, we're a tribe. We don't really care what you believe. We kind of do, there are various beliefs over different periods of history... -Some of us do. -But we write down what you have to do. What the rules of our tribe that you're born into do. So, these people who are buried in here, they were buried in there in 1944 when they could not get access to the Jewish cemetery outside of this ghetto area. I don't know what they believed, but I do have a good idea about what they did. -Because that's what makes us a Jew. -And how they lived. When they did things and when they did not. Those things we share in common, whether we are in Morocco, whether we are in Corazon, whether we are in Poland or whether we are in Budapest or New York. Or they knew what it was when they were not doing it. That's what defines us amongst ourselves. How others want to define us, depending on the period of history, that's up to them. They can either let us continue to be who we are, or they can choose, as they did in 1944 here in the ghetto, to find a final solution for us. I think being a Jew is about thinking about what it means to be a Jew. If you spend a lot of your time thinking about what that means, then you're probably Jewish. I don't know. I don't believe in God. -I'm not sure he believes in you. -He probably doesn't. I mean, Jewish religion is about law, it's about, you know, you know, in a lot of ways, it's about disputing and questioning logic. Yeah. That leap is what we call the finklen yid, the spark of being Jewish. The spark that we shared at Mount Sinai when we got all these laws. And a lot of it comes down to the rituals and the holidays. And the laws regarding eating or bathing or dressing, which are basically defining space and time Giving us a Jewish space and time to exist in. We don't need a land if we have space and time. And when did you learn Hungarian? At home? When the 1956 refugees, who fought the Russians came out, they were generally taken to various stateless person camps. And when they got to the United States, they were sent to Camp... Fort Dix usually, to learn English and to learn a trade. And after that, to go out into the world. And so many people had my mother's address from Veszprem. They would come and live in our basement. And I was five-six years old and I would take them around and translate for them. So, I thought that was great. They would tell me stories about throwing hand grenades at Russian tanks and I would go to the supermarket with them. And then, one of them turned into a major criminal. So... Uncle Tibor, Tibor bcsi, was a complete gangster. For real? Yeah, my father was a New York policeman, so he kicked Tibor out of the house and said: "I never want to hear the Hungarian language spoken in this house again." So, it became a secret language. And then, and then, you wanna be American. That was the attitude, you know, so you wanna speak English. You've never been in Israel? I've never been to Israel. It didn't... Israel wasn't a part of my Jewishness. It wasn't really a part of my Jewish life. I'm not anti-Zionist. I'm not Zionist. I just... I've never been, and I don't need Israel to relate to me being a Jew. It's not a big question of identity to me. I'm a Jew, you know. It's interesting to come here to Hungary, where people have all these fabricated ideas about what that means. So, even the Jews here call themselves the... The Mosaic faith, Hungarians of Mosaic faith. You know. Or Israelites. Or any number of things in the Hungarian language. You're a Yid! So, you're just a Yid. Which is like, no, I'm better than that. No, you ain't, you know. Next time they, you know, haul us off to Auschwitz, we'll make sure they'll call you a Limo. You know. You don't have to go in those dirty cattle cars anymore. With us. The Yids. -And we're always being filmed. -Oh, always? Yes, 'cause in America, you watch a film... Ah, that's right. But in Communist Budapest, Hungary... The film watches you. What a country. In the 1800s, in the 19th century, to be a Hungarian was based kind of as they were breaking away from the identity of being one of many peoples of the Austrian empire. It was the way citizenship was granted in France. If you moved here and you spoke our language, you could be one of us. So you've got guys, little short guys from Corsica, becoming the emperor of France, you know. You've got all these people from all over the world going and saying:"Oui, monsieur." and they become French. That was basically the ideal here. So, everybody, like Petofi, stopped speaking Slovak and became Hungary's greatest poet. And it was accepted, OK? That was the creation of a mythical new identity, which lasted until the Horthy years. And then after '45, there's a new definition of what makes a Hungarian, and then after 1990, a new one. And now you have people running around in Hun costumes, going: "I'm ancient Hungarian." and all of you are not, yeah? And these are all created identities. The Jewish identity in Hungary was forged like from 1820 until 1900, that you could become a Hungarian. It was one of the very few places besides France, in Europe, where that was outright a given. You were a full citizen, a participant member of this nation, regardless of your religion. And there were very few places in Europe that granted that. France and Hungary. -Right. -And... it settled well, people felt really comfortable with it, and they feel truly schizophrenic when that is taken away from them. I never felt comfortable with the other identity. I'm an American, OK? I have a choice. I could be an American, I could be a Hungarian, a Jew I could be whatever. Any number of things. People here don't have choice, you know. You grew up thinking you're a Hungarian, you know, and then one day someone says: "Ah, you came from Nagyvrad. You're a Romanian." Or: "Ah, your name is Steinberg. You're a Jew. You're not Hungarian." That's suddenly taken away from you, and nothing is left in its place. So, what do you run to, if you don't have any of your own real... you don't have a grasp of what the Jewish culture is. All you are told is: "Oh, that's Israel." Then you run to Israel for an identity. Well, that's what most people did, OK. And you get another created identity built out of mythology. Very old books about a desert people who don't eat pork, you know. And pork is tasty. Where a border, where a harbor Where a tavern, I am there! Make way! Make way! For I, Mr. Jew, I am travelling! I don't know, I don't care, I don't know what kind of aesthetic standards you have, from, I don't know Westchester or wherever you're from. But where I'm from, there's nothing more beautiful than... Farmington Hills, you mean? -My part of the world, I mean. -The famous Farmington Hills. Even in Farmington Hills, the most beautiful thing around are like giant industrial cranes and... It's too much. I have to go up very small steps. Let's toast to the... Michael, you grew up in Venice Beach, or in LA? I was born in Hollywood, you know the Hollywood sign, the famous Hollywood sign? I was born right underneath that. -Underneath the second L. -Yeah, yeah. And that's where we lived when I was a little kid. Was it still Hollywood then? What sign were you born under? The Hollywood sign. Which letter? I would say, probably around the W. -The W! -The W or the first O. -I lived in Yugoslavia for two years. -Why? I wanted to go where my parents were from and my family was from, but they were border areas of the Soviet Union, which was, you know, harder. -Yeah. -The plan was to do one month in Yugoslavia, one month in Romania. So, I might have met you, but I never got beyond Yugoslavia. -Yeah, if you were born then. -I was born in the year of Eleonor Rigby. And it's just miles and miles and miles of nothing but factory. One gigantic factory. And they have their own steel mill and oil refinery. These, these are giant, I mean these are like not for humans. Oh, when I die, please bury me low Where I can hear the petroleum flow The sweetest sound I ever did know The rolling mills of New Jersey Oh, down in Trenton, there is a bar Where the bums come from near and from far They come by truck, they come by car The dirty bums of New Jersey Oh, when I die, please bury me low So I can hear the petroleum flow The sweetest sound I've ever known The rolling mills of New Jersey I fell in love with the city of Detroit, when I was raised to fear and hate the city of Detroit. And I fell in love with black culture, when I was raised, not by my parents, but I was raised in an environment, which feared and hated black culture. And I was raised to be an unquestioning, unwavering lover and spiritual citizen of the nation of Israel. And I never would have had any opportunities to sit down with somebody who grew up in a refugee camp in the West Bank or in Southern Lebanon. Or to speak with people who lived their lives in exile, because they can't stand where they came from. Because where they came from is a hellhole. You know, and what I was taught the Holocaust means when I was a kid, was largely a very specific meaning, like, never again will this happen to us. Never again will the Jews be like the Jews were. Which is so deeply self-hating, and distorted and ideological, but that's how I was raised, you know, like, we will defend, we will kill, we will have our land, you know. And I, you know, I probably wouldn't have changed my mind about that, had I not gone out, you know. Oh, am I a mighty lucky, mighty lucky Jew! From today, 'till I die You will always hear me cry Oh, am I a mighty lucky Jew Lots of Armenians in the Central Valley. You don't even know. See how Western you are! I was trying to thank you for playing. My favorite song. I don't know, like an earthquake or something. And I called my dad in. So he came in, and he is naked except for a towel. So I have this picture of him holding up the cabinet and then holding the towel. And I like, of course, I go and get my camera. I thought the towel fell off. No, no, no! Well, he is sort of holding it, and... Yeah, fuck... My dad! Yeah, take some of this. Cheers! David Khan. Cheers! Botosani was, before the war, it was more than 50 percent Jewish. And there was also a very large Armenian population. A third, or fourth, was Romanian Christians. What about the... When I was here, I once took some, some pants to get repaired to this tailor and he wanted to write my name on the inside of the pants. So, I said Schulman. "What kind of name is that?" And I said, well, I'm American, but I'm Jewish. It's a Jewish name. And he said, "Ah, Jews! All of the best tailors in Botosani were Jewish. And I learned from them. I learned..." He was very proud to have learned from Jewish tailors. So, the next day I came back. Got my pants. And I walked in there and he said: "Mr Schulman, the Jew. Come in!" I lived here in Botosani for a year. I learned Moldovan music. -Do you understand Yiddish? -Yes. Are you enjoying yourselves? The guest are almost ready For the dancing to begin They've come to toast the wedding Between Zion and Berlin So raise a glass up to the bride and groom But don't confuse the Deutsch with Yiddish Nor the night with day And if a Kaddish sound like Kiddush Bow your head and pray We never step upon the glass too soon. My grandfather was known as Morris Cohen. Born Moishe Olitskansky, about 30 kilometres east of here, in a village called Kulieni, which in Yiddish is Kuvelyan. By the time he was twelve years old, the family had moved here, to this place, which we called Kishinev. In April of 1903, a newspaper here, called the Bessarabetz wrote a series of inflammatory articles, accusing Jews of having killed children, Christian children for their blood, for Passover matzos. Crowds gathered two blocks down the road, two streets away, on Ashya Street and besieged the house of a wagon-man. And it broke into violence that went on for three days against the Jews, with Jews killed, 49 people killed, hundreds badly wounded and 2000 families made homeless. This was known as the Kishinev pogrom. In my family, when I was growing up in New York, those were issues that could have happened just yesterday. We spoke as much about the pogroms as much as we did about any Holocaust. Those were things that still had a psychic echo in our family, and... ...widely noted and reported on are the big pogroms. And they poured huge amounts of Bessarabia Jews out to France, to the United States, Argentina. What we brought was a lot of this culture. I mean that became part of what very deep New York, Ashkenazy Yiddish culture. Actually, the pogrom here was the reason that my family, my grandfather decided to leave Russia. But the thing is, the climate here, the richness of the soil, the melding of the cultures, made this sort of a paradise. And everybody has good memories of having come from here. That's the other funny thing, which is... Then basically, if you want Klezmer music, it came from people singing their memories of this place. You know, Moldavia. Bessarabia. Gib mir Bessarabien. You know, I don't know, I just feel like you don't wanna get caught in the past, you know. -Caught in the past? -Yeah. I just found out that my father's grandmother on his dad's side was from Romania. Elisabeth. Elisabeth. Yeah. Elisabeth came from Romania. I have no idea where. The disconnect between my family and Europe is so deep. Like, my family's been in America for four generations, sometimes five, and like... I have no idea where my people are from. And I didn't meet most of them, you know. So speak not of your righteousness For though you may be true The tree of evil might just have Its seed inside of you Waiting for the proper time to bloom And we the chosen children Of this martyrdom must learn That martyrs turn to murderers When tables have been turned And history repeats its bloody tune I think we're all ready to be a people without a state. And I think that, you know, personally, these days, like many millions of people find themselves in a position of leaving where they're from and flocking to, you know, to the great megacities of the world. You know it's like the world is becoming more cosmopolitan and unsustainably cosmopolitan than it ever has been. Which is interesting. It's almost... It's like... Everybody's become Jews. You know, people flock to the cosmopolitan centers. -Bring out your Jew. -Right, absolutely. You may have a Jew inside of you. It's like... And but, and that this, in this sense, and that's what I'm saying. I don't wanna abstract it too much, but there is a kind of inner Yid, that can be a universal like this. Yiddish, an in, you know, many aspects of Jewishness, would be a, you know, is a great model for the world. Prepare yourself to swallow All your diamonds and your rings And all your ticky, shiny windy things Don't scare yourself The photos in the newspapers are blurred The radio is broadcasting a whirr Beware yourself, your neighbors Aren't neighbors anymore They're leaning with a glass Against your door Take care of yourself And hoist into the air your disbelief Just go ahead and give yourself relief Get ready for your inner emigration Get ready to be alien inside Consider all your social obligations The borders are your foreign order bride You won't ever have to leave your nation You won't ever have to even try Just make a secret inner emigration And you won't ever have to say goodbye Well, Hannah was at home In the Berlin cabarets of '32 But in '33 the weather turned And the Brownshirts All turned loose and rumors, They were bad Her Sozi lover Alex was getting scared You see, his name was on a list For having red friends with brown hair He wanted to get out And Hannah could've gone with him To his family in Ukraine But instead she took a walk Out in the rain, through her Berlin She thought about how this weather, It would pass Anyway, things had always Worked out in the past So she made a kind of inner emigration She started to feel alien inside With all the social marginalization Her sense of place Was starting to be tried And she couldn't stand Abandoning her nation She didn't want it all to pass her by So people make their inner emigrations 'til one by one they have to say goodbye Now, compare yourself What does all this have to do with you? How does your experience ring true? You're where, yourself? You aren't suffering anyone's regime You're free to follow every little dream Be fair to yourself You needn't be oppressed to be alone You don't have to be driven from your home To spare yourself from feeling Like a part of the control With an internal diplomatic role Just make a kind of inner emigration It's a kind of shift accomplished easily We all have made our disassociations Whether on the job or in our families And what could be more irrelevant Than nations When everywhere you go is buy or sell But if we all make only inner emigrations Then everything will only go to hell |
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