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Giles Howe and Katy Lipson who wrote Turkish Delight the Opera are developing a new musical they have written, SOVIET ZION. Further details at www.sovietzion.com and www.astagekindly.com

Giles Howe and Katy Lipson's new musical Soviet Zion is set in an obscure region of the former Soviet Union known as Birobidzhan, an area of Siberia that was set aside in the 1920's as a homeland for Russian Jewry. It was Stalin's response to Hertzl's Zionism (the return of the Jewish Diaspora to the Land of Israel) which the Stalinist govornment at the time found enormously threatening: fearing that the several million Jews in Russia at the time would turn their back on the Motherland in favour of the percieved politically disloyal Zionism, the Kremlin set about establishing Birobidzhan as an alternative Jewish homeland; a seular Yiddish state, as opposed to the religiously motivated Hebrew state of Zion. This happened many years before the State of Israel was actualised. The story of "Soviet Zion" looks at how the lives of three very different families who settle there intertwine.
Establishing the JAR (Jewish Autonomous Region) and Birobidzhan never was quite the success that many had hoped it would be, nevertheless it still exists today - a forgotten homeland tucked away on the border between Siberia and China. Most of the thousands of people who moved there out of the Ghettos and Stetls in the name of Soviet Yiddish Agriculturalistm in support of the new state ideology moved straight back to whence they came, though some still stayed and battled through the terrible Siberian conditions and the many curious dramas wrought by history.
The musical Soviet Zion looks at the struggle for identity and belonging, the quest for a homeland, and human hope in the face of extreme adversity.
We came here to be peasants
To work upon the land
We came here to be equal
Our dreams and goals weren't grand
Our dreams and hopes are withered
As the autumn whips the land
It strips away the life we built
And ruins what we'd planned
Our faith in g-d is weaker
Than it ever was before
It's whittled further every year
The shavings on the floor
Are being swept about now
And collected in a heap
And brushed into a basket
Not put away to keep
They are carried to a bonfire
And scattered to the wind
Carried upwards in the current
But once the smoke has thinned
They quickly fall back downwards
Burning embers hit the ground
Thereby my faith is cauterized
With reminders all around
We came here to be peasants
But we're dying with that dream
The land will live on after us
Our blood runs through its streams
c. Giles Howe, 2009