Joy, oh joy. Chava has exactly five lines to say in the entire play, and three of them are variations of, “Oy, Mama, what will be?”
Iam Chava.
Which is not good news, being that I didn’t even try out for play.
My suspicions are confirmed at the first rehearsal. Miss Muller hands me a script as I walk in, and I skim through it twice before I find my character’s name.
Joy, oh joy. Chava has exactly five lines to say in the entire play, and three of them are variations of, “Oy, Mama, what will be?”
Which I can’t even act well if I wanted to, because it’s the cliché of clichés and so not authentic. I can’t get myself into a character this way.
Create a free account to keep reading.
