Most of the books we were given about being a good Jewish girl were focused on, well, exactly that: Be nice to your grandparents, especially if they were born in Europe and probably suffered things from which you shouldn’t know; knead challah; go to synagogue services uncomplainingly and appropriately dressed; marry a nice Jewish boy, and don’t expect too much attention. But The Dybbuk, for all its supernatural moralizing, was something very different: a punk-rock ode to the destructive, erotic pleasures of female disobedience, a kind of Old World version of one of Freud’s more sophisticated case studies on the nature of hysteria. And for the young Jewish actress who had just maybe aged out of playing Anne Frank, what a part! Bizarro-Tzeitel.
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