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A
Tribute to Ida Kaminska
by Moishe
Rosenfeld
Ida Kaminska was a
radiant star who was treated as royalty by her
family and the entire Yiddish Theatre world. She had
just been nominated for an Oscar for her performance
in "A Shop On Main Street" and had performed on
Broadway in "Mother Courage." She was about five
feet tall. She commanded all the attention on a
stage filled with talented, veteran actors. In her
signature role in the Yiddish Theatre, she portrayed
the aging matriarch of a dysfunctional wealthy
Jewish family in Jacob Gordin’s "Mirele Efros" -- a
role that she played all over the world and which
might have been a metaphor for her own life's
journey. She had been the director and star of the
Yiddish theatre in Warsaw that had been named for
her mother Esther Rukhl Kaminska, who was known as
the "Mother of Yiddish Theatre." Her role in the
Oscar-winning Czech film, "A Shop On Main Street,"
as an elderly Yiddish- speaking shop owner during
World War II, received a Best Actress nomination.
She was at the height of her professional journey
when she came to live in New York. Soon after she
performed on Broadway in a production of "Mother
Courage," she embarked on a well-financed effort to
create a national Yiddish theatre.
In 1969 when I was
nineteen, I got a call from my uncle Yosl [Mlotek]
in New York, asking if I’d like to play a role in
the upcoming production of "Mirele Efros" with Ida
Kaminska in Montreal. I’d been a member of Dora
Wasserman’s Yiddish Drama Group in Montreal and
excitedly said of course. Next thing I remember is
meeting with Harold Leventhal, the legendary folk
music producer and manager (of Pete Seeger, Woody
Guthrie, Judy Collins, Arlo Guthrie and Mary Travers
… just to drop a few names). He was producing the
tour, which would open for a week at the Théâtre
Maisonneuve at Place des Arts. My head was already
in the clouds. Then I met Madame Kaminska herself in
a hotel suite at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel. She was
warm and supportive. She gave me my lines and went
over them with me for the small part of Shloymele,
Mirele’s grandson. She was pleased. I was over the
moon. A few days later we were in tech at the
magnificent Place des Arts. The scenery was enormous
-- it was designed by the award-winning Broadway
designer Sam Leff. The cast was filled with Yiddish
theatre luminaries who had flocked to Ida Kaminska
in New York. Henrietta Jacobson, the mother of Bruce
Adler, played Chane Dvoyre, the hysterical and
folksy mother-in -law of Mirele’s son Yosele, played
by David Ellin. Ida’s daughter Ruth Kaminska played
Yosele’s evil and scheming wife. Ruth’s husband
Karol Latowicz, one of the funniest character actors
I’d ever seen, played Chane Dvoyre’s husband known
as Nukhemtse Chane-Dvoyre’s. And the “extras" in the
cast were Chaim Levine, a drunk actor named
Whiteman, and Shmulik Goldstein, a 4’10” veteran
character actor from Second Avenue. I had my own
freaking dressing room with a shower. There were so
many of them! The stage manager, by the way, was
Henrietta’s husband Julius Adler, the father of
Bruce, who would one day become a brilliant
award-winning actor and one of my dearest friends.
But I digress. Opening night was a dream. The
performances around me were so powerful, so true to
life -- the Yiddish was so rich, the humor so
piercing, the emotions so raw. I was in heaven. It
was a full house. The audience roared with approval.
It was a wonderful success. The second performance
-- not so much.
The house was barely a
quarter-filled. Ida Kaminska, while giving a
professional performance was visibly down backstage.
On day three there
were rumors among the actors that ticket sales in
Montreal were just not what they need to be.
On day four I arrive
at the theatre to find out that the run and the tour
have been cancelled, and that Ida Kaminska was in
the hospital with a heart attack. Hey, now wait a
goddamn second here, I thought. This was my big
moment, my chance to get into the big time. The
professional Yiddish Theatre. Two days ago we were
in a hit show and now … back to my uncertain,
mediocre prospects?
A few days passed and
I called to see if I could visit her in the
hospital. When I entered her room she said to me in
Yiddish: “My child, I was very happy to meet you.
You are very talented, and I would like to you come
to New York where we are going to start a new
Yiddish theatre. I want you to be a part of it.” I
told her what an honor it had been to work with her,
and how sad I was that the tour had been cancelled.
I said I’d be honored to come join her in New York
and be a part of her company. I exchanged addresses
with Meir, her husband, and wished her a speedy
recovery.
I was confused and a
bit heartbroken. Go to New York? With what? No job,
no money, no where to live? I’d have to be nuts. Or
I’d have to be nineteen. I wasn’t nuts but I was
nineteen. Before I made my final decision, I went to
visit Dora Wasserman, the incredible force of a
person who had studied with the Russian Yiddish
actor Shloyme Michoels before Stalin decided to
assassinate him. Michoels had instilled in Dora a
joie de vivre that she spread like a virus among her
hundreds of loving students and actors. Dora was a
dear friend, whose judgment was, like any artist,
clouded by passion and attraction to excitement. “Do
I have what it takes?” I asked her. “Could I be a
professional actor if given the opportunity?” She
looked at me, knowing that whatever she said could
make the biggest difference in my life’s journey.
She took a breath and said ”Yes. Go.” She said it
lovingly. Like a mother who was saying “Your
happiness will come only when you pursue your
dreams." |
