Stacy and I stopped each other in the hall in between costume fittings the other day and hugged. We felt speechless.
In the midst of rehearsal madness and trying to work on my lines, Suzana and I asked ourselves if telling this particular story is the right thing to do now, with all the chaos happening in Israel and Palestine. For a moment, we didn't know if we're supposed to respond to what's happening or to the story we're trying to tell. A story that took place fourteen years ago in a very different Middle East.
We searched for advice. We called a lot of people. We thought for a long time.
Then, we remembered a speech by a character in a play of mine called This Bloody Mess, a play that Suzana and I worked on last summer:
Emma: How to stay engaged with the world after you’ve given up on it:
You work with what you got. Even if it looks like nothing. Even if it evaporates just when you get there. You work with what you got. Even if it explodes in your face every time. If you look closely, there is always bit of a thing there, inside the nothing, I mean. And inside the blood and the rocks and the ashes and the grief and the stupidity of it all and the waste, the terrible waste and the mistakes and the tears, all the tears. Inside that there is a bit of a some-thing.
(Pause)
The Buddhists believe everything is nothing, everything is a big void and in that, there is everything. Complicated. But in the huge nothingness, there is a bit of a thing, of a some-thing, and you hold on to that as well you can and then you run with it. Because that’s all you have and the rest is really nothing: stasis, paralysis, that’s truly frightening.
(Pause)
And sometimes, when needed, you hold on as if you’re holding on to your life, to other people’s lives, to what you believe inside is real and true and how it should be. You hold on to what you know, because that’s a bit of a thing right there – what you know. You take a long and deep breath and you hold on to this planet. You hold on and you never let go.
Now go.
Emma: How to stay engaged with the world after you’ve given up on it:
You work with what you got. Even if it looks like nothing. Even if it evaporates just when you get there. You work with what you got. Even if it explodes in your face every time. If you look closely, there is always bit of a thing there, inside the nothing, I mean. And inside the blood and the rocks and the ashes and the grief and the stupidity of it all and the waste, the terrible waste and the mistakes and the tears, all the tears. Inside that there is a bit of a some-thing.
(Pause)
The Buddhists believe everything is nothing, everything is a big void and in that, there is everything. Complicated. But in the huge nothingness, there is a bit of a thing, of a some-thing, and you hold on to that as well you can and then you run with it. Because that’s all you have and the rest is really nothing: stasis, paralysis, that’s truly frightening.
(Pause)
And sometimes, when needed, you hold on as if you’re holding on to your life, to other people’s lives, to what you believe inside is real and true and how it should be. You hold on to what you know, because that’s a bit of a thing right there – what you know. You take a long and deep breath and you hold on to this planet. You hold on and you never let go.
Now go.
We decided to tell our story as best we can.
Peace,
Zohar.
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