Let's Talk About "What We Talk About When We Talk About Ann Frank"

I saw Nathan Englander’s excellent play “What We Talk About When We Talk About Ann Frank” twice while it was performed at the Old Globe Theater in San Diego. The play was many things – thought provoking, witty, insightful –

And funny.

Very funny.

(Yes, honestly. And no, I'm not a monster!)

In September, I went to see it with a friend I made in an online community comprised of “The West Week Weekly” podcast listeners who fell in love with the hosts, Joshua Malina and Hrishi Hirway. Josh invited us to see the play and I jumped at the opportunity.

“What We Talk About” revolves around two Jewish women, childhood friends who have had vastly different trajectories of their faith and lives. These women, and their husbands, spend an evening together … and hilarity ensues.

The characters are all Jewish but don’t see eye-to-eye on practically anything. They talk, discuss, debate, argue, dance, laugh, and work their way through what it means to be Jewish, the significance of the Holocaust, and how (and whether) their faith informs their life.

Now, I am not Jewish. My name, I’ve been told, is Hebrew for either “House of God” (in a charitable interpretation) or more commonly “House of Poverty” (which was never fun on a novelty keychain). I am a Christian, but given the political and cultural climate nowadays, I must add the disclaimer that I am a “love thy neighbor Christian, not a storm-the-Capitol kind.” I love God, (try) to love others, and enjoy exploring other faith traditions as well as my own.

In “What We Talk About” the characters discuss a game, really more of a thought experiment, wherein they size up their gentile neighbors and judge whether they would hide them in the event of another Holocaust. This brought to mind a book I read when I was younger about a German family who hid their Jewish neighbors behind a wall in their home during World War II. I remember looking around my childhood home, trying to decide where the best place would be to hide my Jewish friends. I have some German heritage and always believed I would be the one of the “good guys” in the event of another holocaust.

When I graduated high school, I went to Uganda and had a one-day layover in Amsterdam. With the choice of visiting an art museum or Ann Frank’s house, I chose the latter and I am so very glad I did. To be in the same space as Ann, to see and feel her world up close – it changed me. Ann Frank isn’t just a name or a haunting photo staring out from the cover a book I read in high school. Being in the presence of her absence highlighted the precarious nature of politics and the destruction it can summon.

And now here we are. We are rounding the last few months of 2022 with the pandemic still breathing down our necks, but now without the benefit of a mask mandate. World War III feels like it is waiting in the wings for its turn while political unrest walks onto the stage. But the star of the show? Antisemitism: An evil that has infected our world for centuries and continues to do so. This is not new. There is nothing new under the sun. But it is frightening. The thought experiment of “What We Talk About” is becoming less of a game and more of a spiritual reckoning.

It isn’t just about Kanye or Mel or the bigots standing on the 405 with their banner proclaiming their hatred. Those are just the vocal idiots, and every village has them. The problem is what lurks behind their hatred, their influence - the rallying that they induce, the frenzy that they inspire. And though I am a Christian and probably are on these bigots’ “safe” list, I am scared.

And I don’t want to be on their “safe” list, because that would make me complicit.

I asked my Jewish friend tonight, the one with whom I saw the play, how I should respond on social media. I wondered if posting something like “I support my Jewish friends and have no tolerance for antisemitism” was actually meaningful or would be considered trivial. She encouraged me to voice my support. She said:

“It is never pointless. It’s just like the play…. we need to know who would hide us.”

So, I am saying here, now, in the presence of my God, your God, or just the universe itself: I would hide you.

I will hide you.

I hope to never have to hide you.

But I would and will.

God Forbid.

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