Haredi Jews, sometimes called the Ultra-Orthodox, are a growing minority in Israel, though their customs and behavior are far different from most religious and secular Jews in that nation. When you read about a car being stoned because the driver took it for a spin on the Sabbath, it’s usually the haredim (meaning “those who tremble before God”) who did the deed, and when you hear about Israeli Jews who aren’t Zionists, it’s often the haredim (who believe that only the Messiah has the right to re-make Israel as a state) who insist on this position. Education among the haredim mostly means religious subjects exclusively, and usually these fervent men and women live together in enclaves like the Mea Shearim neighborhood in Jerusalem, where contact with the outside world is studiously avoided. Known by their black clothing, haredi men insist on a degree of modesty from women that includes head coverings, skin coverings (no bare shoulders), long skirts and stockings. Signs posted outside haredi habitats implore visitors to adopt this dress code while passing through.
Now Jobsite Theater has brought us a play about an American woman who falls into haredi hands, and the first question that occurs to this reviewer is “Why?” Are the citizens of Tampa in danger of marrying into a haredi family? Are the ultra-Orthodox slowing encroaching on Seminole Heights? Let me leave this puzzle aside and just say that Behind the Gates starts strong but then gets tediously repetitive, and almost never takes us “behind the gates” of haredi life as the title promises. Playwright Wendy Graf’s dialogue is remarkably crude after an opening monologue, and the acting, with a couple important exceptions, is erratic and unpersuasive. Fortunately, there’s one potent dramatic question — what happened to Bethany Lieberman? — to hold our interest from one minute to the next, but when we finally get an answer, it’s disappointingly vague. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this is a script in need of a second draft.
The story it tells is of Bethany, a cussing, abusive, nose-pierced American stoner whose parents, at a loss as to how to civilize their obnoxious daughter, send her to Israel for a year. While there she meets a haredi rabbi who invites her to his home for Sabbath dinner and tells her that in his part of town, women are of supreme importance. She innocently accepts this inducement, takes on haredi habits, accepts an arranged marriage to a middle-aged widower with nine children, and then — disappears. The rest of the play is devoted to the search for Bethany conducted by her parents with the help of an Israeli detective. As to going “behind the gates,” we never once see Bethany in her new haredi life, though we hear some shocking reports. Why these omissions? What goes on behind the gates apparently stays behind the gates.
Danielle Calderone as Bethany provides all the play’s high points. In a long monologue at the start of Act One she morphs from a foul-mouthed, godless American to a quiet and even God-loving Israeli, and she makes this transition so credible, you never doubt its reality or her sincerity. Then Bethany vanishes — and we meet her folks, come to Israel to find their missing daughter. As her tenacious mother, Caroline Jett offers a creditable performance, but she’s so often shouting and on the verge of tears, it’s hard not to get exhausted watching her. As Bethany’s father, Pete Clapsis is only occasionally credible, moving from attitude to attitude as if in discrete segments, with no emotional middle ground and little suggestion of an offstage life. Petrus Antonius, as private investigator Ami, seems to exist in a world of his own, and Frank Jakes, as an American diplomat, never shows us the behavioral agility which supposedly got him his job. Fortunately, Isabel Natera, as an Iraqi Jew with clues to Bethany’s whereabouts, turns in some lovely moments, and Owen Robertson as the rabbi who started it all is brashly believable. Karla Hartley’s staging is at first genuinely excellent, but once Clapsis, Antonius, and Jakes take the stage, all momentum ceases. Hartley also designed the impressive sound, dominated by Israeli music. Brian Smallheer’s set of a bare stage backed by a part of the Western Wall is bland and too artificial.
Anyway, this play has changed me forever: all my plans to marry my 19-year-old niece to a haredi fanatic are as nought. I just won’t do it. Ain’t that a relief!
Thank goodness there’s theater — to show us the way.
This article appears in May 9-15, 2013.