Every young person is given the advice “write what you know.” This advice is problematic if taken literally, as all of my characters would be Jewish, white, heterosexual women, whose ages would increase as I get older. I do believe that when writers depict characters from other identities, they should, at the very least, have authentic relationship with people from the other character’s group. If I think about this in regards to my own ethnicity, I have issues with non-Jews (or Jews, for that matter) writing Jewish characters if the story or representations are stereotypical, lack nuance or ring false. How do I deal with this important issue as an artist? Beyond personal connections, during the process of writing, I try to work closely with people who share the identities of the characters. This is a profound opportunity rather than a burden. So, for example, my most produced and published short play is about “Kali,” a lesbian, Hindu, South Asian woman whose brother has been setting her up on blind dates for marriage. Many years ago, I became friends with a woman who shared the specific struggle of being gay in her culture. She is not a writer and was excited about me creating a character with her specific identities. As I developed the short play, and have now developed a screenplay about a similar character, I’ve asked her lots of questions and shared multiple drafts with her. I take her notes seriously and make adjustments to ensure authenticity.
A few years after 9/11, one of my friends, an Israeli woman living in New York, shared how she didn’t know anyone in Israel who wasn’t personally impacted by war and violence. I decided to do a listening project and interviewed Israelis and Palestinians, Jews and Arabs in New York, Israel and Palestine, on the phone and on-line. The play I wrote, Beyond the Wall, was inspired by just one of the stories, but the voices from all of the interviews influenced my characters and my play. Beyond the Wall is inspired by the true story of a Palestinian man who drowned while saving two Israeli children who lived in the town next to his. The man was from Hable and the children were from Matan; one could throw a football between these two towns, and it took this tragedy to bring people together for a short time just before the second intifada. I imagined the two families the night before the event, into the event and the aftermath. When I had Israelis and Palestinians as part of the cast/workshop in the second public reading of the play, the rehearsals allowed for real conversations, not just about the play but about the people in the room as well. And, naturally, the play took a leap forward at this point. I was pleased that after a staged reading in 2003, audience members shared that the play made them question their own stereotypes about Palestinians and Israelis. Given the strong anti-Muslim sentiment of the time (which has sadly continued) and the on-going scapegoating of Israel and some peoples’ inability to separate the people from the government, I was pleased to hear this. Recently, I’ve dusted off this play and have been doing a bit of rewriting and the history of my on-going connections with both peoples and to the region (having now traveled there more than once) makes a huge difference.
I don’t pretend to be an expert, in particular on such a complicated matter—I just want to write authentic stories.
