Yehuda Hyman: An Interview

by

Daniel M. Jaffe

Several of Yehuda’s plays involve mystical elements. In Center of the Star, for example, a talking fish convinces an Angeleno to return home from New York.  And in The Mad Dancers, a mystical, 19th-century Ukrainian Chasidic Rebbe travels to 21st-century San Francisco. In Swan Lake Calhoun, a goose or swan turns out to have been a Ukrainian dental technician! I asked Yehuda where such ideas come from, about the appeal of the fabulist, and about his interest in Ukraine. “I guess I’d have to say,” Yehuda replied, “that for me, everyday life is full of mystical elements: a chance meeting with a mysterious stranger in the L.A. subway system; a flock of swans that suddenly appear on a Minnesota lake one summer’s night; an orange given to me by a Kabbalistic Rabbi in the hills of Tsfat, Israel—these are simple occurrences but really they are doors that lead me to worlds I never knew.

“As a small child, I created my own make-believe universe. It was played out on the surface of a Turkish carpet my mother brought with her from Istanbul (where she was raised). I would walk around its perimeter, listening to record albums and conjuring up stories that were only for my enjoyment. Later on, in grammar school, my imagination was captivated by Greek myths, especially the ones where gods interacted with mortals. I started writing my own myths based on Greek sources. I guess I’m still writing my own myths.

“All of the strange-seeming events in my plays are taken from real incidents: the talking fish in Center of the Star was based on an actual news article that appeared in the New York Times about an incident in Monsey, New York at a kosher fish store; Swan Lake Calhoun was inspired by those swans that appeared to me in Minneapolis (I later found out they were merely migrating geese; oh well).

“As far as my interest in the Ukraine—I went there on a pilgrimage (and for research) to visit the gravesite of Rabbi Nachman, who has so inspired my work and changed my life. Additionally, I feel a kinship with Russian Jews as my mother was born in Tumruk, in the Ural Mountains of Russia.”

Does Yehuda define himself as a “Jewish writer” as opposed to a “writer”? “Well,” he explained, “I am a writer who is Jewish and much if not most of my work is drawn from my experience as a Jew so I guess that makes me a Jewish writer. Although I have also written things that don’t really speak to that experience. There’s no doubt in my mind however, that the source of my inspiration comes from the Jewish experience. The earliest ‘Jewish writing’ that I knew were the tales of the Wise Men of Chelm that my father, who was born in Poland, adored. The work that has really formed me comes is the writings of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov—namely his 13 tales. I have been working with these stories for about fifteen years now.” (Yehuda’s current production of The Mad 7 at Princeton’s McCarter Theater is part of the fruits of this labor.) “There are so many fantastic Jewish writers that have moved me: I.B. Singer and Malamud and Roth and, more recently, Chabon and Foer. I can’t resist Shteyngart, and I am also a fan of Steve Stern. Right now I’m reading The Lost by Daniel Mendelsohn and it’s tremendous. And, oh yeah, whoever that guy was (am I wrong in assuming it’s a guy?) who wrote Samuel I and II—he was one heck of a writer!”

Yehuda is currently collaborating with Daniel Hoffman on a new musical, David in Shadow and Light. According to Theater J’s artistic director, Ari Roth, this play about King David is “the biggest undertaking in Theater J’s history.” I asked Yehuda to describe his epic: “Oy. This is always the hard part when I have to talk about the play when it’s still in process. Ok, I’ll do my best. It is a musical—and by that I don’t mean a musical comedy (although there are, I hope, many funny moments) but a sung-through, danced-through lyrical drama. At this point it’s about 75% sung text. It encompasses the entire life of David beginning with a scene based on Midrash (rabbinic legend) wherein Adam sees a vision of all future humanity and makes a plea that the infant David (who is slated to die at three days old) be given his own last 70 years. We go into the Goliath story, Batsheva, Absalom, everything from birth to death and even after death. I’ve spent four years collaborating with composer Daniel Hoffman and we’ve been going back over and over again to the original text (Samuel I, II) and trying to be faithful to the brilliance of that story but also filter it through our 21st-century lives so it has a contemporary edge to it. It’s a zesty story full of sensuality.”

As Yehuda explained, the process of collaborating on this musical is its own story:  “First of all, this has been an unusual collaboration in that it’s international. Daniel and I started out working together when he was living in Berkeley. In the middle of our collaboration he moved to Israel so we’ve been meeting here (L.A.) and there (Tel Aviv) as well as all points in between. Plus, hours/weeks/months on the phone and by email (MP3 files have made this all possible). This is such a huge, daunting project that I would have collapsed into a screaming ball of neurosis if I hadn’t had Daniel there to urge me forward, listen to my whining, and inspire me with his truly fantastic and unique music. So collaboration, is mostly good—though not always easy, I’ll be honest, but ultimately good. It’s been a true merging of two different personalities and temperaments, making something that’s more than both of us individually. Now, this doesn’t mean that I’m not also a big fan of working by myself. I like that too. But theater (at least in my experience) is always a collaboration. Although, with Swan Lake Calhoun—which has had quite a few productions around the U.S. —I just wrote it and sent it off. I’ve never actually seen a production of it.”

Another project was Yehuda’s adaptation of Leon Surmelian’s memoir about the Armenian genocide, I Ask You, Ladies and Gentlemen. “Here we come to that chance meeting I mentioned above,” said Yehuda. “I was waiting for a subway in L.A. (yes, I managed to get around L.A. for two years without a car!). An elderly gentleman and I were the only ones on the platform. I noticed that he was elegantly dressed in a white suit and that he was flicking ‘worry beads.’ My mother had given me my Russian grandfather’s worry beads (they had emigrated to Turkey and all Turkish men used them.) so I was intrigued. The gentleman and I struck up a conversation. He turned out to be Armenian, his name was Sarkis Ajamian (he passed away a few months ago, may his memory be blessed). He was impressed that I was a playwright and very much wanted me to read a book by a cousin of his, Leon Surmelian. Mr. Surmelian had passed away in 1995. Mr. Ajamian and I exchanged phone numbers and I thought that was the end of it. A week later he told me that he had a copy of the book, I Ask You, Ladies and Gentlemen, and asked if I could meet him on the street so he could give it to me. I read it and was fascinated. Up to that point, I knew very little about the Genocide against the Armenian people. The book opened up that world for me. It was exceptionally well written; Mr. Surmelian was an esteemed poet. By chance, Cornerstone Theater (where I was Playwright-In-Residence at the time) was exploring the possibility of doing a play that would reach out to the Armenian community of Los Angeles, specifically to be performed for middle and high school students. I was given the blessing by Mr. Surmelian’s executor, Torcom Postajian to adapt the book into a play. The play is currently under option and the Armenian Dramatic Arts Alliance is hoping to do a New York production sometime next year.”

Yehuda came to playwriting after a full career as dancer and choreographer. His work now “always involves some kind of dance,” he said. “That’s a given. I really didn’t start writing until about 1991—my first pieces were more ‘performance’ oriented. I was living in San Francisco and trying stuff out a place called The Marsh, a cafe in the Mission (it has since expanded to a larger theater). So my earlier work also had more of an element of audience involvement, but that’s still there and I believe in that. I believe in the audience and playing to them. I think that’s what Shakespeare did and seeing Shakespeare’s plays as a child was another formative experience for me. Center of the Star was a shifting point in my writing because it was the first time that I wrote about (in a disguised way) certain characters and events in my family. It was somewhat painful (occasional shots of Jack Daniels helped) but also liberating—magical. I guess in all of my work (at least so far) there are dual realities going on, several worlds that collide. This is the first time I’ve been asked to talk about my work as a body of work so it’s kind of funny—I still always feel like a novice writer; I’m not being modest, I do—I came to this late and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Although Yehuda enjoys playwriting, he emphasized that, “I will always be a dancer. For me, dance is the highest art form because it can only live in the immediate moment, which is what spirit is. Dance is a play written on the body—it expresses everything we are and can aspire to as human beings. There was a difficult time  in my life where, in order to really become a writer,  I felt I had to say goodbye to dance. I remember one conversation with a theatrical producer who told me that no one would take me seriously as a writer if I still worked and identified as a choreographer. I don’t know if that’s true but I did, in fact, start over again. I stopped taking choreography jobs, moved to San Francisco, worked as a temp and just wrote. For years. Now, I feel more comfortable integrating my dancing/choreographing self into my playwriting life. I can’t run away from it nor do I wish to. I’m a gypsy. That’s who I am. That’s who I hope to be.”


Dan is the author of The Limits of Pleasure, a rather controversial novel nominated by some for awards and by others for public burning (well, almost).  A former corporate lawyer, he shed his suits to become a rebel with a cause—creative freedom in life and art. Dan frequently publishes short stories and personal essays in literary journals and newspapers such as The Forward, Green Mountains Review and The Florida Review. He compiled and edited With Signs and Wonders: An International Anthology of Jewish Fabulist Fiction, and translated Here Comes the Messiah!, a Russian-Israeli novel by Dina Rubina. He also teaches fiction writing for UCLA Extension. Dan can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it and his web site is here.