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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