Bashevis’s Demons – 21 December 2024

In theatre school, I studied world theatre history, and found myself particularly drawn to a Japanese play called Atsumori, in which the kyogen interlude focuses on the humble grass cutters. In Hebrew school, I studied Isaac Bashevis Singer, and found myself particularly drawn to the solemnity of his big picture ideas, in which everything was a lesson. I never thought I’d see a production openly using a Singer story as a kyogen interlude. I have a deep admiration and respect for Bashevis’s Demons for not only bridging gaps between spoken Yiddish and the modern world, but also for reaching back into the theatre canon to bridge cultures together as a reminder that collective humanity has been striving towards goodness since antiquity.

Bashevis’s Demons began with “The Mirror”, in which a sly devil (Shane Baker) tricks a lonely wife (Miryem-Khaye Seigel) into taking a one-way journey to Satan’s devils. This is followed by a brief re-set in which Baker, clad in traditional Japanese garb, explains the concept of a kyogen interlude— an interval meant to provide an emotional break from heavy content and allow people to recenter before considering the next story. “Kukuriku” then follows. It is the monologue of a rooster, played by Seigel, that amuses while also delivering insight on how much mundane, earthly things, like the crowing of a rooster, can mean when considered from the rooster’s perspective. “The Last Demon” tells the tale of a pious rabbi (Siegel) and a bored demon (Baker) who feels the intense impact of the Second World War in a small town that was once full of mensches and ends up full of dust. The last demon sits with a book as the Yiddish language and the world of demons both give way to the mercy and cruelty of humanity. Lest this painful ending upset the audience, “Kukuriku” gets a reprise, in which Siegel holds the rooster’s limp head in her hands as she delivers his defiant message of the importance of maximizing your life while you are living.

The flow of the show is a little choppy and hesitant, but the statements it makes are indisputably powerful and necessary for today’s world. I was most struck by the thematic content on the ease of loss. It’s easy to lose our way, our status, our lives… in the end, the last demon when there are no more Yiddish speakers in the town could easily have been the last Jew after the Holocaust. The whole culture could have been ashes. We are surrounded by the temptation to lose who we are. Like the rooster, our cries can get confused and sound alike, erasing our individual voices and sacrifices. One rabbi’s fortitude is not enough to save a village or a religion or a culture. The arrangement of these stories and this particular juxtaposition is a resounding advocate for the humility of human origins and the validity of every life, whether we fall from grace, are small and powerless, are scholarly and wise, or are impish demons living less than holy lives. It is important not to lose our history, even if we lose our way. It is important to connect across cultures and reach back in time for wisdom and truth. Bashevis’s Demons uses compassionate language even for the allegedly evil, reminding us of the divine spark in every living thing, and the importance of taking a moment out of our day to appreciate it.

I attended this performance on a press pass from Jim Randolph.