#forvertz

[davidsereroopera]

In nearly two weeks I’ll be playing this dream role of the Yiddish King Lear by Jacob Gordin. This is one of the most famous Yiddish plays of all time. Played in english featuring classic Yiddish songs, it will take place at the Orensanz Foundation in the Lower East Side. In partnership with the YIVO foundation. Tickets: yiddishkinglear.bpt.me or 1.800.838.3006 @davidserero @yivoinstitute @angelorensanzfoundation #yiddishtheater #yiddishkinglear #kinglear #jacobgordin #bethkaplan #forvertz #yivo #yivofoundation #orensanz #orensanzfoundation #davidserero #serero #operasinger #theater #theatre #broadway #yiddish #yiddishculture @jdforward @thejewishweek @yiddish_stories @yiddishnews @yiddish_book_center @yiddishe_archive @newyiddishrep @yiddishevinkel @yiddish_swag @yiddishkayt @yiddishnewyork @folksbiene #jacobadler @playbill @nytimes @wsj @timeoutnewyork @centerforjewishhistory (à Angel Orensanz Foundation)

[captainlordauditor]

[Image description: two portraits drawn over Yiddish newspaper. One is of a young man with his head turned to look over his shoulder. The other is a profile of a young woman wearing a scarf over her hair tied under her chin. They are both smiling. End image description]

And here are Davey and Sarah to match the Katherine drawing from yesterday! Still drawn on the Forvertz - these are from the same edition as the solo one of Katherine, actually, from November of 1901. Sarah’s (very loosely) reffed from a picture on Pinterest and Davey’s of course based off of one of Ben Fankhauser.

[captainlordauditor]

[image description: Two images, one after the other. They are both drawings on Yiddish newspapers. The first has the word “FORWARD” printed in large Yiddish font across the top and contains three small portraits. One is a profile of a boy wearing a skullcap leaning over a balcony. The second a bust of a smiling black woman with a pompadour wearing an evening dress. The third drawing is a profile of a woman with a bun and a suit, frowning as if in concentration. The second image is a front facing bust of the same woman, now with a looser hairstyle and lace trimmed blouse. End image description.]

Yesterday @klaineharmony said she wanted to see Katherine in a proper Gibson girl hairstyle so here she is ! I drew the first one awhile ago and decided posting it with the one of just Kath was as good an opportunity as any. The second one was referenced from a picture of Jessica Brown-Findlay, but I’m not sure how much it came out looking like her.

The backgrounds are pages from the Forvertz, a Yiddish newspaper publishing at the time. As far as I know there’s no scans of The New York World available for me to draw over.

[captainlordauditor]

300x3 103

last day of the week and I made it through @klaineharmony‘s 300x3 challenge!! woo!!!  Once again, the idea is to write at least 900 words a week in 3 spurts of at least 300, and share them to encourage others to do the same and hold yourself accountable for actually writing.

This is set in the same universe as the other two, about 18 years after the strike, when Race is in his mid30s. It’s 857 words, so the total for the week is 2099, over twice the goal!

Only linguistic note this one needs is “moyzeleh” is a diminutive of the Yiddish for “mouse”

The first sign that something was wrong was outside the door. 

Race, Mouse, and, normally, Spot, lived on the top floor of one of Spot’s buildings. It was a small apartment for someone with as much money as they’d accrued, but it was free, and since Race and Spot had grown up in tenements, it felt large for three people to them anyway. As a bonus it was hard to break into. Not that anybody had broken into Spot Conlon’s apartment.

Not until now, at least.

Race and Spot liked to keep up with the news. Over the years, the numbers of newsboys on the street had dwindled in favor of delivery boys, and while Race usually still picked up a couple papers a day from the ones that were still around, it was easier - and more reliable - to have the ones he always wanted to read delivered. So when Race got home, Mouse tiredly clutching his hand, to an empty landing, he paused and frowned.

He pulled out his pocket watch and checked it. He’d just wound it this morning; it was still correct, and told him it was some time between seven thirty and seven forty five. The Brooklyn Eagle and The New York World definitely should’ve been here by now.

He opened his mouth to tell Mouse to stay outside, then stopped. If someone was in the apartment, there might be another one waiting for him to go inside so they could grab his daughter. 

“Be quiet,” his whispered to her instead. Not that he needed to - there was a reason she was called Mouse, and she was even quieter when she was tired. “We’s going to go in very quietly, and I might tell you to run or hide, okay?”

Mouse nodded soberly. “Okay,” she mouthed. 

Race squeezed her hand and then let go of it to pull out his pistol.

The door was locked, which confused him, but he didn’t stop to think about it. If someone had picked the lock and didn’t want him to know they’d been here, it made sense they’d lock it.

But then, why would they pick up the newspapers?

It didn’t matter. He opened the door cautiously, Mouse beside him against the wall. 

There was nobody in the kitchen. The Forvertz was on the table, right where he’d left it. The kettle, which he’d left on the cooling stove, was in its place hanging with the other pots. 

Race opened the door further, coming in quietly, and looked around the room more thoroughly. The cabinets were empty of hiding burglars or enemies, filled only with the two sets of dishes. “You can come in,” he told Mouse quietly, holstering his pistol. 

She peered around the corner and padded in, then threw her arms around Race’s waist, tucking her body between his and the wall. 

He leaned down and kissed her on top of the head. “Hey, Moyzeleh.” His voice was so quiet as to be barely audible. “Can you hide in the cabinet for a few minutes? It won’t take long, promise.” 

Mouse looked up at him wide eyed, and whispered back, “promise?”

“Promise.” 

She nodded again and climbed into the cabinet next to him. It was a good thing they’d thought of this circumstance before, so there was room for her, even two years after they’d adopted her. Race kissed her hands as she climbed in and she smiled up at him weakly, as if reassuring him she’d be alright. He closed the door and redrew his pistol. 

The kitchen was still empty, silent as a grave. That left the washroom, the living room, Spot’s office, and the bedroom. 

They’d bought the building in 1912, when the previous owner had refused to pay his taxes to the local king one too many times. The first time he’d lost his kneecaps. The second time it had been his fingers. The third, Spot had gone around personally with Hotshot and some quiet conversation. He’d come back with a pistol still full of bullets, the deed for the building, and a cane that Race rather suspected had been cleaned before he’d come home. But since the previous owner had also charged rent as if he were paying for taxes and upkeep, and done neither, Race didn’t think he minded overly much.

He’d certainly slept better after that, but maybe that was the new bed and the fact that they didn’t have to worry about landlords getting upset about them sharing the bed any more. Race could be selfish sometimes, and he knew that.

The previous owner hadn’t lived in this building. He’d lived uptown, somewhere nice. Somewhere with hot water and excess bedrooms, and let his buildings fall apart. Race and Spot had changed that. The first thing they’d done was get the walls and the pipes fixed, and then they’d moved into the eastern half of the top floor. Spot had piped in a spot for a bathtub while they’d been at it, too. It was, by the standards of any of the Ramsheads, absurdly nice.

It was also huge.

Katherine had grown up in a mansion