Indecent

Indecent is telling a lightly fictionalized version of the historical Sholem Asch and the creation of The God of Vengeance. Several of the characters are based on real people, besides Sholem and Madje (see Background). I.L. Peretz (1852-1915) was an influential Polish-Jewish playwright who wrote in Yiddish. The real Sholem Asch admired Peretz, but Peretz disapproved of The God of Vengeance and instructed Asch to burn the script. Mayzel Nakhmen (1887-1966) was a writer and critic notable for uplifting Yiddish literature. The actor Rudolph Schildkraut (1862-1930) was known in his early career for his silent film roles and for several well-received theatrical performances in Europe. There are a few details in Indecent that deviate from history: For example, in the play, Sholem is 23 in 1906, but in reality, he was 26. Few records of the original cast of The God of Vengeance exist, but there are records of an actress named Freida Niemann from 1905 and of Else Heims, the original Rifkele. 

From the outset, the play emphasizes the importance of Jewish Identity and Language. Stage directions explain that “[w]hen characters speak their native language, they speak perfect English” but “they speak in a dialect” (20) when speaking a second language, like English or (in Lemml’s case) German. This staging direction makes it clear that Yiddish confers belonging and identity on the Jewish characters. Lemml in particular expresses himself much more confidently and fluently when he is able to speak Yiddish. While Yiddish can allow characters to connect with their communities, it is a stigmatized language; Freida’s antisemitic comment about “the hordes overrunning [Europe]” illustrates this tension (36). For Sholem, writing in Yiddish is a powerful statement about being Jewish. He wants Yiddish-speaking audiences to connect with the work, though he also hopes that it will be translated into many other languages.

When he presents his new play to Peretz and Nakhmen, Sholem immediately runs into serious questions about Antisemitism, Representation, and Decency. Sholem wants to explore the entire range of Jewish experience, not just the good. Peretz and Nakhmen argue that by presenting Jewish characters in a negative light and by desecrating the Torah on stage, Sholem will put Jewish communities at greater risk of facing antisemitism. Sholem disagrees and does not think he has written an antisemitic work, joking drily, “Do you know what a minyan is? It’s ten Jews in a circle accusing each other of anti-Semitism” (32). The play never gives a definitive answer about which characters are correct; whether The God of Vengeance is antisemitic—and whether it depicts Jewish characters in an unacceptable way—remains a matter of interpretation.

Although Sholem disagrees with Peretz and Nakhmen, their concerns are not unmerited: Jewish communities were experiencing ongoing, often violent antisemitism in Europe in the early 20th century, and many Jewish people were invested in doing what they could to keep their people safe. Sometimes, that could mean pushing for wholesome literary and theatrical representations of Jewish people, even at the cost of artistic freedom and excellence. Similar debates still happen among many marginalized groups today, with some arguing for unequivocally positive media representation and others arguing for more nuanced storytelling. Those who argue for the latter place the blame for bigotry (in this case, antisemitism) solely with those who actively oppress and harm others, not with artists depicting the nuances of their own communities. 

Freida is a great example of the casual, pervasive antisemitic attitudes of the time. She sees Judaism (and lesbianism) as titillating, exotic affectations instead of real, persecuted, and central facets of people’s lives and identities. Other characters have a more personal connection to the play’s theme of Lesbianism, Freedom, and Hope for the Future. Madje finds the relationship between Rifkele and Manke moving. It is deeply personal for her, as Sholem has used some of her words in the dialogue; she refers to it as “our play.” For Sholem and Madje, the play’s lesbian relationship depicts a beautiful but forbidden love that represents a hope for a kinder, more liberated, more accepting future. Other characters, like Peretz and Nakhmen, object to the lesbian relationship first, though they end up focusing more on antisemitism. It is fitting that The God of Vengeance was originally produced in Berlin, as there existed a comparatively accepting and artistically avant-garde culture in the city in Weimar Germany, the period just before the rise of fascism.