Habima Players Present Original Version of “dybbuk” to New York Audience

The Habima Players made their first appearance in the United States on Monday at the Mansfield Theatre, before a distinguished audience consisting of Jews and non-Jews, artists, writers and journalists.

The first performance of the Habima, which was perhaps the first performance ever given on Broadway in the Hebrew language, met with marked appreciation on the part of the audience which was at times spellbound by the new, distinctly original manner and style of the play. The original version of “The Dybbuk,” by Ansky, in the Hebrew translation of Chaim Nachman Bialik, which was shown by the troupe in Moscow and in nearly all European capitals with great success, was presented.

The success of the Habima Players in the United States, both morally and financially, was predicted by many in the audience after the performance.

The American theatre going public has already seen two versions of Ansky’s drama. One was given by the Yiddish Art Theatre under the direction of Maurice Schwartz, the other, an English adaptation, at the Neighborhood Playhouse.

With the knowledge that these two versions were modelled after the original Moscow version of the Habima, the interest in the original version in the Hebrew language, was indeed great###.

The Habima gave to the intensely interested audience a surprise. This version of the drama is totally different from what has been seen until now. The difference lies not only in the manner of playing but more so in the interpretation of the drama itself. As to the acting, it is no doubt new and original. Although obviously under the influence of the modernist school, it has a genuine and engaging appeal to the admirer of pure art. In this the Habima has demonstrated not only a distinctly Jewish contribution to intensive ensemble work, but it has also proven the adaptability of the Hebrew language. With such a good text as that furnished by Bialik and with the skilfully studied Sephardic Pronounciation of the Habima Players, the monologues and dialogues, with their rich tones drawn from traditional chants, present music to the initiated ear.

However, the language question presents no problem to the audience. Even those who are not entirely familiar with the significance of the words, get an impression through ingenious of the play, the pointedness of the motions, the oddities of the scenery and the accentuated sounds of the ancient tongue, create the feeling of a mysterious experience which is worth living through.

So much concerning the stylization of the play. However, if an analysis of “The Dybbuk” performance is permitted, one must point out a few of the features which seem to be at variance with the accepted conception of dramas of Jewish life.

In the Habima conception of. The Dybbuk the lines between realism and mysticism are not clearly drawn. While the entire conception of the drama seems to transfer the action into a mystic region and places it on a plane bordering on the symbolic, the Habima performance often plunges into attempts at sharp realism. For instance, while the beggars’ dance impresses one with its striking realistic features on the mystic background, the scene in the Tzadik’s room brings one into an atmosphere which is almost entirely at variance with the realistic forms of Chassidic mannerism.

Perhaps this conflict is due to the circumstance that it has its origin in the drama itself. The Dybbuk text, as worded by Ansky is, in truth, an unbalanced collection of all the elements of East European Jewish life. It has mysticism, it has realism, it has a great deal of living folk-lore.

One is bound to observe the strong influence of the Russian environment on the Habima. One cannot forget the tone of Gnesia, the weeping woman (Ch. Grober). One is thrilled with the artistry of the Batlanim reciting psalms. One is brought to tears listening to the argument of Hennoch (Benj: Zemach) with his emotional accentuation of traditional tones and apprehensive fright. One cannot help admiring Leah (Anna Rovina) under the spell of the Dybbuk and when dying. But one cannot also help wondering at the strange conception by Nahum Zemach of Azriel, the Zadik of Miropol, who in his (Zemach’s) personification, is more likely to be a Russian saint than a Chassidic Rabbi, just as one cannot help but feel that Sender, the Chassid of Brinitsa, appears in Itkin’s personification more like a Russian landowner dressed like a Chassid than like a real Chassid.