 In my heart, oiled, in my heart, a cloth is unfolded. Its creases are lines in a palm. Between my thumb and my pinky is a ring by which I expound. A barking instructional riddle that growls you out of the flat. Out of the gates, out of Eden, to the fields you are alone to plow, where the silkworm swallows the silk thread along strand, exquisite and fine, that stretches like a Gilgamesque river to stir and awaken your mind. Wake up, naked soul, and get dressed. Dawn your garments of mourning and pride, and remember the source of the tigress, and remember the Euphratesian tide. And know that I gave you your feet, those wings of reptilian desire, to measure the pace of each step, so as not to hasten the hour. For each man has his season to ripen, and your tree of life is still young, the viper still gnaws at your greenness that binds a father to a son. As Edmund keeps rolling on westwards, the sun comes on George Bush, the dad. Who, while bouncing his kit on his kneecaps, confides in his votes and commands. Rush far as my firstborn back to Eden, and crush the snake skull with your tongue. In my heart, a cloth is unfolding, unwrapping a diamond on fire. The carbon, the carbon it whispers. Gold is dear, but carbons divide. The carbon, the carbon it whispers. Gold is dear, but carbons divide. Ladies, what is Saddam to you? To me, Saddam is a lampshade, which standing between my eye and God's light diffuses it, more tenderly, to all people. You have spoken truths about my light and tenderness. Therefore, my tender light shall rest upon you too. Tomorrow, at the party's conference, you, such shit, shall sit upon my throat. And what is Saddam to you? Saddam is the sea, Saddam is the jetty, Saddam is the city of balls. Saddam is the tempest at sea which shakes the aircraft carriers, but also the single flashing lighthouse of safety. Saddam is cause and effect. And because Saddam is being so benevolent today, you were able to speak of him so highly. Come on Motherland's next day of independence, you shall deliver my speech. And you, my dearest double, whose likeness to my image makes my mustache yearn toward your lips, begging to be worn. What is Saddam to you? Nothing. Nothing is nothing. Speak. Nothing. Lest I turn you into nothing, speak. What is Saddam to me? Can he ever be compared with a sun, a sea, mountains, a world? Though he is present in all things, neither above nor beneath, these heavens may his memory be found. And I, consumed by the awful privilege of serving as your servant double, am worthy only to be he who is unworthy of you. Washed in agonized gratitude for failing to bear some remote likeness to he who has no life. Saddam is not of that. Saddam is not of such. There is no simile of Saddam. There is no double of Saddam. How I know this deceit of those who came before you. Sycophantic, duplicitous doublings who, driven by their desire for self-gain, distorted the words of my light, words that I have graciously planted in their throats. Forgive me. You persist in your rebellion. Still you, who are you? Dare beg for yourself? Instead of crying, obliterate me, O Saddam. Squash me, for I'm but a defective mirror. Shatter me, lest I stand between you and a new reflection, purer than myself. You burrow into your sins, like a worm in warm feces. Cue me. Sew my head with this new wisdom, sealed in a lead bullet, so that it may never escape again. I will not deny you, my grace. I am good. I am that stone, covered in dust for thousands of years amidst an oasis mirage, pretending to be an Eden, as it's suddenly uprooted from its place and put in a fountain at the court of the Caliph, ever washed and ever molded by the sweet, sweet waters of the Euphrates. Knee, I am good. Ah! In which a bee finally sees, I am full of honey. My ecstasy and I are nothing, but the transient hues of Saddam. Ah. Artists harvest the toughest hearts and artists harvest the toughest hearts and artists harvest the toughest hearts and dandelions delight in Candelabra's Delage Dandelion's Delight In Candelabra's Delage dandelion's delight in Candelabra's Delage Your delirium of pleasure and pain and behold in awe, silence the master class of our ruler. I am good. The man in me celebrates the monster in him. He celebrates because he conquers it each time, and he celebrates because it remains uncomfortable. Hand me a lion, hand me a she-lion's hide, hide of she-lions to live on. Be the diamond down below, be the diamond of she-lions to dine on. Be the diamond down below, be the diamond down below. Hand me an end, hand me something to write on. Hand me a hawk, love me even more. Hand me some fire to drink. Hides of she-lions to shine on. Be the diamond down below, be the diamond down below. With a shout and a tyrant, cry wow at the tyrant, cry wow at the tyrant, cry wow at the tyrant. Hides of she-lions to strike on. Be the diamond down below, be the diamond down below. Hides of she-lions to strike on. Be the diamond down below. Where then are your vows of gratitude? I swear. Look, Uncle Dick and Uncle Carl, there's been many a laborious year of prepping the presidential propolis. The milk of your nurture is an extremely exotic fluid, a black butter indeed churned of ancient kings of east. Without it, no American wheel can spin. You must therefore swear to sustain the perpetual pumping. I swear. Oh, crude oil petroleum, the phonemes of your name are pheromones in flight, puffing paraffin pollen, cocooning our thirst in nameless liquid tubes. I read in your office, you'll find heads of stars and Philistine sea-laws, awaiting your command to comb the globe. Your signature alone dispatches. Only your command is theirs. Double you. Bush. It's time to spread the stripes. Our newborn world order shall be delivered in your speech. Let's go to the White House. Wait. You've gone on the last minutes of your youth. But before one graduates as the world's commander, one must successfully answer his questions. Place on my table, world, the final exam. Good luck. Thank you. Presidents, two, have a president. Name three of his names. The five-sided, the pyramid, and the hand. Which is the smartest of the animals? The eagle, the bee, or the sloth? The spider. It dodges the eagle. It catches the bee. Of the sloth, it knows not. Why do the Lord unlimb the lamb so that its pieces could establish a dialogue? What constellation cruises across the horizon? The Star-Spangled Banner. What time of the moon? Twilight. The sun has reached the west, and our sovereignty's shadow falls on all things past. Close your eyes. What is the shape of my eyebrows? Stealth crack. Who killed Cain? The Allah. The Messiah? Materia. The father of oil? The son. Its mother? Earth. How can man overcome thirst? By love of thirst. What do you, oil, and a donkey all have in common? Customer awareness. Free? Be free. Obey. Obey. You have successfully passed your exam. Blessed be Barbara Yopendo. Come. Colin Powell awaits your video call at the Pentagon. All right. Burn. I'm thirsty. I am George Bush, the son of George Bush the father who always sees father. I have studied area photos of Natanz and Bushir, and I have learned that the cultures of the east was not destined for nuclear research. Therefore, my desire for destruction is driven by Greece, not oil. The Sarsenid scarf blows westward in the Cahomsen for the genuine dream of the artichoke steers away from things reserved for the learned creatures of our free democratic society. For an Edison, a Sergey Brin. Therefore, I'll abolish all reactors, both those that are visible and those in mind. I've sent a funny postal pigeon with the following message. Baboon and Bunker wax off one last time. Full stop, period. Firefinger ignites you, Iraq. And the fire whispers in your bush. A tiny little firefinger's liking you, Iraq. And the fire is eating up your bush. When I turn to face the wall, you brass knuckles on my fist. A jerk and firefire spunk it, sparked the sky like lightning. Firefinger's finger whines, Iraq. And the fire is eating up your bush. A little darling firefinger, I issued you, Iraq. And the fire is eating up your bush. The Baboon whips his fist. The fighter aircraft has no fists. Both my rocks are filled to brim with cocoa oil liquor. Finger has lit up a young one. My firefinger has lit up a young one. Motherfuckings on the bitch! Move, Pamela, move, hey, Pop! Motherfuckings on the bitch! Move, Pamela, move, hey, Pop! Motherfuckings on the bitch! Move, Pamela, move, hey, Pop! Motherfuckings on the bitch! Move, Pamela, move, hey, Pop! Motherfuckings on the bitch! Move, Pamela, move, hey, Pop! Motherfuckings on the bitch! Move, Pamela, move, hey, Pop! We're doubling up, and it's at the 9th floor! Move! Sadah. Salash alone, Sadah. Who is this? I am George Bush, the son of George Bush, the father who always sees father. I deploy dung upon your face. I scorch your corpse with acidic urine. I slash with a machete the vole of your widows. A saloon heat digs truffles out of your intestines. The sun dispatches vultures to pick at the blue of your eyes. I ravage your coxicums scattering their meat. The banners of victory are all my schoolboy's saplings. I shove your torn penis down your gaping mouth. I lash out with letter bombs. An orangutan bites tight your testicular heel. Palestinian nectar lightning shoots through your veins. A grave digger dug a mountain over you. I spurt forged documents to confound your citizens. I eat your wife. I snort terror! Sucking her bones. I descend to oil. Descend to oil. With no lift from my wing. Descend to oil. The rock has fallen. Our Shduk, Marduk, my lip tulip. Abundant with his ripened palms. He who rakes reactors with ringing drums. The honor donor of all the blood. Boosting morale like Wallace Sean. This cake voodh spins catamarans. Who oozes love like vanilla drizzles. Thick white milk for his saddam. My life and my shield. My God above. His thunders spring valleys to their feet. Grinding mountains down to grain. Marduk is man and meaning. Who by disk of force brands the land Like signs of life upon the map. Bless the surf who kissed the gift of earth With knees of art. The saddam cruises through meanings and beauty. The science of men's states spruped up by dirt. Betraying blood with death. Marduk shall hail his friend. The secret right hand shaken by essence and signals. To the base of saddam, the red hour. The coffee boils while he awaits. As the password whistles. He exalts off the mountain by the sea. The colors dim to south ron tone. Beneath the setting sun. Tins of gold reassembled in the men of sky. A multitude of hosts place the handle on the chest. Of our commander found supply. Blue clouds he recruits to his right. Draining clouds upon the ramp. From jackal hides he reeds a cry. Hammering the night down for a time. Three hammer strikes upon the mighty fire belt. The shackle of heart erupts in fire showers. The burst and only rain to free the thirsty silence. Blowing and the bliss into the heart of saddam. Sheds his skin. Like a silent shawl. Nude. Thus a dime drops in the chalice of surrender. In the cormorant's droppings. Trickled down a Persian gulf night. What's the lamp to me? I descend to oil itself. Aqualoid. It's me. Sajam. Aqualoid. Aqualoid. Where are you? Behold, sun of Adam. Your reflections in the petroleum lake. Oil. A mummified sea of light. The arms of reserve night shining upon your thousand kingdom. How wonderful. And also terrible. This is the sacred flesh of Tiamat. Reserved for the Leviathan's last banquet. It's being looted by the chain stores of carrion eaters. Lord. How saddam. How alive is death. Like a fire in a lamp just before it has been kindled. Breathe the vapours freely. Have no thirst. So the greenish sea will revive within your mind. Cure with strict attention how plankton flecks ferment. How bubbles burst and foam. How oxygen tickles forth. How seaweed's wet is wet and prototropic plenty. Boundaries with all light forms each swimming to evolve. They drift from here to there. But all of happening is nuclear. The pearl. It's mother shell. The whirling spirulina. They all dive deeper into the code of greenish sense. Yes, Saddam. You biology sophomore. Solar seeds sprout just before you. Light beings shine within the brine. Sister stars of Ishtar flaunt their gowns of breath and water. In their greenish dance they flash reflections of menopause. Inhale the spools of fish all wobbling in silent joy. They gather in the court of the Leviathan. Sweet. Much sweeter than any date molasses is oil. Oil. This bottle of sea takes back from your heart. It ripens into burst black wine. This is your lifeline vision. But behold, Saddam, the casks are open. Devils are getting drunk down there. The barrels roll towards west and hell. When they fuel up iron wagons and tow them along their spider roads, tracing the path of our arteries and veins. Devils there are getting drunk. The future, Saddam, is at stake. Saddam, you're a little girl. Shut down the foreign embassies and eradicate all agents of the brothels for they're disrupting the people's minds. Licking spilled sperm from off their keyboards, spawning scoundrels and theater actors. While piss plunder the temple's treasures, sucking the light of the lamp. President Bush has the dick of a pig and it's drilling into your soul in a diagonal, Saddam. Listen, Saddam, to the voice of oil. Dr. Tui. Oil is being washed within you, my son. A sudden river begins to burn. The ashes inside you turn like a ball. Descend to oil. Hold fast to the string, my little kite. Look, Ma. I call it cloud. I caught a big, white whale. What's the whale looking at, Saddam? It's looking at daddy and at mommy. But who's looking at the whale, Saddam? The whale's Saddam is looking at. Oil contains the spirit's secret. Use it wisely. But how shall I swear it to you, Mother Oil? Remember the sweet essence of the source. Nothing more. Goodbye, Saddam. Mother Oil, don't leave me. It's so good to be beside you. Come to me, little fledgling cub. I shall feed you one last time with my flammable milk. And by the rib cage of these calcium layers, I'll hold you fast to my black bosom. In truth, you will never really leave me. But let me cradle you as a child now, in your last dream as a man. God? Jared? Father, you're awake. You're back with us, Father. Who are you? I'm your first born today. And I'm Q-said, your last. The sweet essence, Saddam. Nothing more. Mother? Father? Father, what were you dreaming? In my dream, I saw four fossils. We think. Who would tell me the meaning of my dream? There are four presidents of America, carved in the mountain of rock. They are lamenting their defeat in battle. No, Q-said. You're not right. Why should Father waste a dream on something already known to him? My father and commander, in your dream, you heard the voices of fossil fuels, crying from captivity to be saved. And you, my double, how would you decipher this dream of wailing fossils? I don't know. But I sense that these tears are tears of joy. Indeed. How could he who was so dead deny himself the joy of being alive enough to cry? Yes. Tears by and all that is created. Perhaps this is the meaning of the dream that I had dreamt. No doubt. The sovereign's dream. No. No sovereign am I. Nor the ruler of the rock. Sons, I am not your father. Double, you are free to your suffer. Father! Saddam. In the last hour, it is revealed, as always, that all of us are brothers. Let us therefore be ourselves. Let us not grudge our enemies, their ignorance. Let us love one another as well as our defeat, for it is whole and absolute, like us. In this moment, and if our blood is spilled from a clean and purified heart, may it fuel the lamp in the darkness of generations to come. There's day and above the day, more night. A brilliant sun's charge me with power and keep me singing in the honor. Much blacker than the memorial American's seat. It shines from the depths of my spirit, lighting the whip of the heart. Cheers, if we have any left. So, welcome everybody to the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center here at the Graduate Center CUNY and to our final performance out of 10 for the Penbal Voices Festival. We are presenting the playwrights and we had writers from Burkina Faso, from Chile, from France, Cameroon, and many, many countries at night. We have with us Jonathan Levy and Amir. So, let's go maybe right away into the play. Brecht famously said a photography about the Ford Motor Company doesn't say anything about the Ford Motor Company. What does the play tell us about Saddam Hussein? Nothing. Yes, we are also live streaming and recording it. So, thanks. Well, Saddam here is both a political figure and a more symbolic hero. So, the treatise of history is not exactly journalistic. So, I guess Saddam is you or me or anyone, like the representative human protagonist that leads the audience into some kind of theatrical trip. Basically, the first image of Saddam is being a dictator in a bunker with only doubles to relate as like he lives in some kind of otherless situation, whereas he can only speak with himself. I guess this is the predicament of human being in general sometimes. And therefore, he has to undergo some kind of transformation. And I guess that that's what the play is leading to, both on a more kind of individualistic level of narrative and as well as some kind of pseudo esoteric approach to history. Out of the many possible heroes, whether they are... Yes. As Leonard Cohen said, it's the crack that lets the light through. But out of the many heroes or possible leaders or dictators, why Saddam Hussein, why did it compel you to write that? Well, it's kind of a boogeyman of my childhood. You know, we were living in Israel and he was on TV and threatening all kinds of threats. So it has this kind of impression, which is like this villain. And there was always these kind of, I don't know, legends about having loads of doubles. And you know, that's just what I had in mind. Actually, the first image of Saddam writing a play about Saddam and his doubles lingered in my mind for about 10 years before I felt able to write it. I didn't have anything to say about it for quite a long time. Then it came. But the first, I guess, emotional attachment to this dictator was him being a figure of my child, an action figure of my childhood. Amir, you directed it. I think it also went to the parts of the festival, the Charbonne in Berlin. You also did that. What is drawing you to the film? I didn't direct the production that was in the... Charbonne, or you were participating on this. But I did direct this reading specifically. What was the question? We talked about, you said this is a great play. We should invite. Why do you think this is representative of contemporary writing in Israel for this theater? I don't think it's representative. I mean, you asked me, hey, do you know any interesting playwrights in Israel? I said, yes. There's one that I know. Yeah, why? So what's your... I think actually, from a dramaturgical... I'm also a PhD student. So it's mixed this kind of theoretical theories about why I think the writing of Jonathan is as good as the theater. But I think there's an offer in this kind of writing, both Saddam and Rafool and other works with it together. There's an offer for a participation in a creation of deep knowledge. That's not this I tell you, not this I will dance for you, but rather I'll create a kind of environment in which together we can go somewhere. I don't know if it's... If the reading conveyed any of this. I was probably in some kind of other place, but I think that in itself is important, not only like in Israel, I don't know what it means to be in the Israeli context. Important, but I think the offering, like the dramaturgical offering of Jonathan's theater is... Yeah, important in all of the senses of the word. Well, in a way it's a mystery play. It's demystifying, it's a mysterious figure, but also then, as you might say, taking him down from the threat of the bogeyman to something you are in a way in control of. Is it a spiritual engagement? Is it like a ritualistic spiritual engagement as performance theater piece? I think all theaters should aim at least as to have some spiritual impact. I don't really think theater can exist in the full sense of the word without aiming at something which is... We can call spiritual, it's kind of a vague word to mean something, but yes, theater was founded as some kind of conduction of divine energies. You bring the God, you bring Athena, you bring Dionysus, you just actually bring them to the stage after I guess the ancient mysteries were dwindled with their power. And following a few centuries of more kind of mundane materialistic theater, the 20th century has seen a resurgence of a more encompassing and holistic and maybe daring conception of why actually to do all this strange thing called performance and theater and drama. And yes, I think that a stage is a condensation of the world and it should place us as human beings on the midpoint between earth and something higher with each individual doing as best as he can to make new pathways for that. So tell it, let's talk before we open up a very pretty solo. The questions about your writing or writing style, is one could claim it's a bit capitalistic or is it also lots of hidden meaning? Is there, is it surface? Is it deep? Is it playing with both? I don't know, I can't really tell you if it's deep or not. You could, yes, you could, yes. Is it, do you aim to be philosophical? When you go in those realms you should be a bit wary and not to be both daring and wary so as to mean as much as you can with a few words as you can and always remember that it's also ridiculous because if you take everything too seriously you're not going to get too far. In order to get really far you have to be silly or some kind of interesting combination like press a two-tone chord both on which is aiming at the sublime and at the profane I guess unless you don't get, art doesn't stand something which is too, I don't know, too spiritual, yeah, too single-minded any kind of direction. You get the ideological and that's a catastrophe. Okay, and just a bit about the oil, the idea of course it's, you know, both the holy oil as the oil riches I guess so what is in there for you? Well, oil of course as a political concrete substance it really makes the world go round, you know, there's nothing, no material thing which is driven so much going around like oil, that was redundant but when you think of what actually is oil it gets much more interesting because oil is organic matter, okay? You've got trees and animals and I know kings of east and dinosaurs and I don't know, artichokes and everything and you just press them down and bottle them in earth for millions of years and then it becomes oil and oil becomes plastic and everything that we call synthetic is actually has a organic origin and everything organic is basically the sun and that gives scientifically quite an interesting concept of what is oil, you take the sun and you put it in an earth cellar for so and so million years and then it's precious again, okay? And you've got it politically it's connected to the Middle East which east of course is like what comes before and in Hebrew it's actually the same word before and east and the sun begins, of course, with the east and goes to the west and people from the future are coming with their pipes and lines and from the western to drink this precious eastern liquids and so that gives kind of just reading the news you have kind of a strange lovecraft mythology already and then you only have to develop it and see how imagination can develop this kind of new mythology about news It's interesting, it's the saint who's saying of the holy oil and who we experience but let's open up right away to questions or comments to the audience again we have a microphone and to be not only to hear it better but also we are recording it and live streaming is so we'll start over there I'm sorry Stanley, are you? Stanley is here I'm sorry, can we thank you so much Stanley for the live stream I'm sorry I forgot but you saved us today, thanks Did the light? Yeah Yes, light and oil That's important, yes Hi, since your work is somewhat poetic I wonder about the process of translated from Hebrew to English and do you have a special connection to English because you seem very fluent for an Israeli guy To both of you We co-translated this thing and I don't know really, really because in Hebrew it sounds different and it's much more based on the phonetics of Hebrew like there's certain elements of word play in the English that I hope that we managed to maintain but basically I consider language as an organism like speaking with Hebrew you can speak with Hebrew you don't only have to speak Hebrew or speak English you can speak with English you can approach the whole language as some kind of spiritual organic entity a bit like oil and then writing becomes something very, very intimate and creative and a bit strange Did we manage in translating it? I don't have the tools to judge I don't know I don't speak English regularly I usually read it so that's how I have this kind of probably this kind of this Shakespeare boratz Melange I was born in Montreal and I was born in Boston but we both grew up in Jerusalem What age did you come to Hebrew? Four Two Well maybe I'm your question also It is something interesting because actually my mother tongue wasn't Hebrew and but I know Hebrew far better than I know English so I still I always felt a bit alien to speech in general it's like it has some deep biographical meaning actually this question I mean for me growing up in Israel there was one thing like we used to have Bible class and I couldn't understand the words and I'd ask because I'd ask I'd say I want to use an English Bible because you know I speak English very well and you know I this is how I understand better and of course then it's kind of simple he went there he did this you know that's it's it's like yeah I can read it like not even an exciting prose and translating this play was a little bit you know this I had that in my mind this kind of challenge how to not make it like really bland and then I think in the early versions it was it became this super ornamental text which you know swirls around itself in digging for alliterations and you know and it was just a mess of you know Hebrish with a with a pump but also potentious Hebrish and actually Joshua Cohen author stepped in to really help us set with me gave him a lot of time to clear up and make sure that you know we're speaking English and not some yeah yeah and I want to I want to boast on one translation thing that we did because in the Hebrew I hope it's okay in the Hebrew there is a point that it says that Marduch boosts morale like a great casting decision Avrakat Lihuk and in the translation we said he boosts morale like Wallace Chong and I think that really that's someone that if we did that I was just really happy that's you know we can put the show up and this is you know and Wallace Chong will be very happy Wallace Chong you boosts morale you know and he's a great casting so in the transition you just do the thing you talked about with I just yeah comment or question here maybe go over here and then you can you talk about how you take a really a long very long poem and conceptualize it in a visual physical way on stage to stage it can you talk about your process a bit well I mean we we produced the play as an ensemble with South Secondly and Yusha Oluf we were like for dedicated people to the idea and then ideas kind of came in and this is really based on the Misen Sen that emerged in 2011 so and back then a lot of it was based on we studied Gurdjieff movement, signal dances of Gurdjieff and then we had different it's a great question it's a very difficult task it's never clear who needs to pick up these lines and what what is a chorus and when is a singular and it it involves a kind of more than anything else a musical logic like not even you know what does it mean but what sounds good what what feels right and then there are specifics I mean every every little decision has its gene genealogy that I can but I don't know if you want to add anything to that it's a huge question now how to direct stuff actually and especially like more poetic stuff so you have to kind of extract what is the let's say the poetic line is about okay you have you have to pinpoint the kernel of what you're saying and then you have to re-enliven that same kernel in some visual form and it can go various ways but we don't have enough time to expound on that hello well thank you yes yeah manheim and here on the bus so I have I have more than one question it will be very quick solely because I saw it before and it's really exciting for me to see it done differently so in manheim I was in Hebrew and I was wondering about a couple of things I was wondering about the the relation between the sound slash music to this the language and how how this work is done do they play to one another or not how is it done differently now that it's done in this space so this is question one another I feel like there a lot of it is let's say because this is a reading we didn't have many rehearsals at all we did two rehearsals with the actors and two rehearsals before that with the musicians and the idea was to figure out the spaces to figure out for me every scene what yeah what's the what's the space that we want to evoke and then that creates a kind of vocabulary for the musicians and then just listen to you know the text and the actors too you know they they step in a room there's already elements for every scene gotta listen and I think they did them a really amazing job they read they met twice so just I guess switch to a to a listening mode well very quickly the other question if I can is I'm just really fascinated by by two things happening at the same time when you're looking at oil and speaking about it this way and just thinking of politics of extractionism while looking at this at the same time thinking of dramaturgically of the other kind of extractionism that performances like this do and they're like trying to dig into what theater can do differently and how dramaturgy can be used as a tool to reflect on news or in politics differently other than the journalistic so it's just interesting for me these to yeah how it works in different directions up and down as it extracts well in in a way it's the same direction because you want if you if you're kind of ambitious in your theater work then you want to transform and then transformation goes everywhere it goes to how you consider yourself and what you consider important in life and how do you look upon external worldly events as deeply meaningful in a way so one thing hi thank you very much I love the use of leer it was perfect beautiful and I even like the actor he slipped on the first word that was funny especially because you're mixing serious with absurd you might want to have that happen all the time but I had problems with the transformation in the final speech I didn't expect that and I I guess I want evidence of that somehow what begins with King Lear and it ends with Prospero the end is also a kind of Shakespearean illusion there's three Shakespearean illusions there's Hamlet and the relation with his swearing bad I swear yeah and and this is of course King Lear in the beginning and it ends with the last with the tempest and the end of the tempest where Prospero just let's go of all his powers and he's ready actually to die and so that was kind of the back of my mind as as as a narrative you know plundered from different place and and there is some kind of jump in that scene suddenly addresses and speaks kind of this humanistic broad speech about humanity yes I agree hi I'm tying in with that question what's the difference between putting it on stage in Germany versus here politically and what's the line like kind of something with Hitler like how far can you go to emphasize with the desk vote and is it the way to understand this or is there a ethical like that you can't you're not allowed to cross well in Germany we were just invited to a festival you know we put it up in Israel and we were invited so it was interesting you know I have a apropos Hitler and bringing the moustache dictator ah we were all with moustaches in in manheim and in Israel we had this kind of discipline we you don't shave a month before show and then you keep only the moustache and I well being is an Israeli in Germany always have this kind of overtones so so that was the least of our troubles and and as for the second question would we sympathize or do this kind of dance dramaturgical dance with the with the Hitler I don't know it depends I think everything is possible and everything there are no ethical boundaries at all and as something to begin with you have to work with the art and work with the world and work with the context and every time it's a bit different I don't really believe in some kind of axioms which are right everywhere all the time it doesn't work so you have a certain date and you have a certain context and you have a certain idea and a certain audience and you have to do your best with making it interesting there are no general ethical rules for playwriting maybe then just one comment Hussain if I understand right actually saw himself as a modern modern leader he was hated by bin Laden he actually women didn't had to wear hats carves they were in political positions he wrote a book actually on democracy he was only to see himself floating around space you in a way put him in an occult mystic context is that a political idea or is that a theatrical performance I did reiterate it that's a question I think you know what I mean so pleasantly to understand that he himself was a modern he saw himself as a modern leader but meanwhile you put him in kind of a medieval yes that's kind of Palsival yeah yes Palsival occult mystery leader is it a political idea or is that a theatrical idea what is the profound philosophical idea the thing is to put politics in its proper place you know politics is too invasive you know everything is just politics politics and it kills people kills the view of humanity it killed him too yes he killed himself in that way but just seeing everything only in the perspective of politics is has to be stopped and that itself in a way is a political statement because you say okay let's look about on events even for the for the sake of our hypothetical fantasy look at what happens of the world in different concepts if you stick with politics you'll get boring stuff you know what I mean I do I do exactly what I mean yeah many theater companies also work and I think it's why it's so interesting it's a different solution no different you know there are lots of also very good political theater and there is there is I'm just I'm making it a bit the harsh just for the sake of remedy or others but another comment or question over here yeah for someone who's unfamiliar with your other work I did want to ask are there questions that you find yourself returning to or subjects that particularly interest you yeah yes yes your other works also yeah yeah I've got some big question yes it is part of a larger body of works there are certain themes which come back again and again dealing with politics and let's say in a more kind of in this way is something which happened a few times maybe two or three or two examples of other well the play after after Saddam Hussein was called the Rafool which we cooperated as well and Rafool is this kind of general right wing general in Israel okay with the famously known hatred of Arabs and a laconic language and it was this kind of adored by the right wing hated by the left wing kind of type but he had this interesting twist in his biography of marrying far left wing activists okay they were really in love they were kind of lovers for eight years before they got together and they had this crazy relationship and after and he after he retired he went to the he was responsible of building a new port in Ashdod which is an ancient Philistine city on the coast of Israel and he died there in one tempest it just took him to sea and he didn't know how to swim and he died okay so he just went out with a bang and after that his widow just in an interview in the paper Sunday told him told the the press that he was every night he had this kind of dreams okay he had nightmares of all the people he killed all the friends he come and soldiers that were killed under his command and he had two sons that died one died of asthma when he was ten years old and there was a soldier and a plane crash and he had this every night would go through this crazy mystery drama of meeting all the voices from the dead so it was like a goldmine of drama and as well as a certain approach which is political but not political you know it's it's so boring to be critical against wars and generals and you know everyone know everyone's against war is or against dictatorship almost yeah oh usually yeah no here in new york so this is I say an example at your request but and there's you know every project has its own story but maybe talk a bit about the project we originally also started to invite but we couldn't make it work the sleeping yeah the sleeping thousand but that's a long story should you can make it it's a not Saddam Hussein 40 minutes I'm working now an opera in on an opera on an opera on an opera to be premiered in example Vance next year it's political sci-fi so it's a bit future oriented well you're all welcome I have invited Hartley he's my name welcome to come but I don't tell the whole narrative it'll take an hour just a little bit just a little bit and broad outlines maybe yeah I should I don't know I don't know okay okay well the thing is that the the narrative is two sentences two sentences where the sleeping thousand the sleeping thousand are thousand palestinian administrative detainees which are people in jail with no trial and the the story goes that they go on a hunger strike okay as they sometimes do but this time the hunger strike has esoteric influence and there's no rain and no wheat and everything starts to die in Israel so and they can't let them go and they can't put them to trial and they can't kill them so the solution is to put them to sleep okay so and they take all these detainees and put them in a huge dormitory and there's a thousand Arabs sleeping and this is how they solve the problem okay at least for the meanwhile because after a few years the Jewish population starts to suffer from insomnia and nightmares and there's something strange going on and the psychotronic department of the Shabbat which is the secret service understands that among these thousand sleeping Arabs there is probably a unit of lucid dreamers which found a way to dig energetical tunnels to the Jewish psyche and perform terror attacks at will okay that's how it begins okay those are the sleeping thousands and that's only chapter one so well um and maybe was that dream that's that's a good moment to to end of your slightly over time and thank you for coming all the way from Israel it I'm here thank you for being together thank you all for coming and both of them will I hang around here a little bit more so please feel free to join and we will have a little reception around the corners called the archive bar on 36 between fifths and matters and if you want to join us there or anybody's the end of the festival I also would like really to say thank you to the fantastic Segal Center crew that made this all happen and it was a big group effort 10 plays in three days is for every organization a big deal so thank you everyone and thanks to Penball Voices for creating that festival so thank you