Community Experiment
In the Summer of 2015, as I moved into the incubation stage of the production, I continued to explore what this next iteration would be. To begin, I wanted to hear WSV's voice without the visuals of live theatre. I reached out to a dear friend who was a great community builder. I shared my idea and because she had seen the other performances and was very impacted by them, she was enthusiastic to coordinate something. In July of 2015, she invited a dozen friends from her community to come together for a reading of the script. None of them had seen the show, but all were drawn to the subject matter.
We set aside two hours on a Wednesday afternoon in a community room of her Lutheran Church. I didn’t know any of the women as they entered and joined the circle; I just took a physically open posture, ready to see where this journey might go. It was difficult to listen to the read-through at times. This was just a lovely group of everyday women, not actors, and so they couldn’t help but to just read it aloud without any dramatic timing. They didn’t have a sense of when to pause for breath between stories; they didn’t know that typically I have a chime sound and a physical placement of the puzzle piece. These two elements provide the pacing to help us digest the stories. Instead they read so fast that it felt to me that they were just reading a shopping list. By the end I was a wreck, figuring we would have an awkward conversation about nothing because I couldn’t see how they could have possibly gotten anything from the reading.
Boy, was I wrong…
They all wanted to go back through the stories from the beginning and talk about what they gleaned from it. I braced myself, fearful that they would find fault in the way the stories were told, fearful that they would ask me to defend the interpretation of the Bible. For a moment, I questioned why I thought this was a good idea. I was too close to the work, I didn’t want anyone to find fault with my baby.
Women are sometimes known for being hard on each other--like ‘mean girls’ looking for ways to attack. But I have to say, my experience is more often of a loving, nurturing, circle; listening and holding space as they share and create something sacred in the choice to be vulnerable together. Our event unfolded in exactly that way.
Beginning with the prologue, the women talked about how WSV invited them to listen because everyone has a story, and storytelling is ageless. “Are we all going to be forgotten?” asked one. The use of the chosen word ‘foremothers’ was very poignant as we had all heard the word forefathers, but foremothers was new. “We are all foremothers”. We are all connected. The lines say “be still and listen,” and one spoke of how that encouraged her to listen generously, and made her sad that she didn’t take more time to hear her mother’s and grandmother’s stories when they were still alive. At one time we told stories to each other, we took the time to listen generously, and the group pondered the fact that we have lost storytelling in this way. There was a sadness that came over the group. But then another pointed out that the sense she got from the prologue, was that many women have done this before, so we can too.
As we discussed the conflict, there were many comments about the reality that is domestic violence and how it looks so clear from the outside but is so complicated and sadly, ageless in that it is present to this day. According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence's Fact Sheet (https://ncadv.org/statistics), "...nearly 20 people per minute are physically abused by an intimate partner in the United States. During one year, this equates to more than 10 million women and men...1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men have been victims of [some form of] physical violence by an intimate partner within their lifetime...1 in 5 women and 1 in 71 men in the United States has been raped in their lifetime...1 in 15 children are exposed to intimate partner violence each year, and 90% of these children are eyewitnesses to this violence...Only 34% of people who are injured by intimate partners receive medical care for their injuries". More statistics and realities of domestic and sexual abuse can be found under our resources page. National and local hotlines and help can also be found under our community resources page.
The community group felt angry that women didn’t and don’t always have a voice, and they were particularly frustrated that the Levite was a religious man. “He wasn’t a heathen, but was narcissistic, and she was his property.” When we were reading, I really wondered if what was being said was impactful as we were just moving from one story to another. Taking this time to let them share their impressions was evidence that the script alone creates dialogue.
As we moved through the stories of healing, they could empathize with the Woman with a Hemorrhage: “How weak she must have been after 12 years! And how was her pain acknowledged? She was ostracized for being unclean because of the blood!” Another pointed out that she did not, however, “succumb to victimhood.” She had faith, self-confidence, and self-worth. She may have been nameless, but she was still important. As we moved on, I realized how important the dramatic pauses were between the telling of the stories and made note to myself to write those into the script for the future. If one blasts onto the next story, and doesn’t give time for it to settle into one’s mind and heart, is it like silencing her all over again? The placing of the body part/puzzle piece onto the medallion is a ritualistic reflection that is a very important part of the experience. This is difficult in a reading circle, but I guess if I were to do this again, I would bring the chime and ask us all to close our eyes and be with that story a moment before we moved onto the next. I don’t know what would be in people’s minds, but I might imagine it would be a moment of prayer, or remembering a parallel they had experienced in their own lives. What a gift that would be.
With Job’s Wife they said they could identify with the righteous anger. “God is big enough to handle our anger,” said one. As we discussed Daughters of Zelophahad and Tamar we reflected on how these stories bring to light that life is messy. The daughters loved their father and were advocating for themselves and his heritage; their family would have disintegrated had they not stood up against the law. This circle of women could project that the family would have disintegrated because they had seen how women are sometimes the glue that keep a group together. But when we moved to the story of Tamar, I was very touched as one woman began to speak and the circle gave her their full attention.
Megan Garcia as Tamar in the 2015 production. Photo courtesy of Leslie Stamoolis and Courtney Smith.
She began by saying she was a widow, and I could feel time slow down. She shared that she could relate because that story was about being pushed to have to stand up for what is right. She talked about the difficulty of raising her children alone, and particularly a high-needs son who had become violent. She had sought out help to no avail. But when she didn’t know what else to do, she was pushed to have to really stand up for her family. She was alone, and she spoke of how the story reflected some of what she had experienced. The power of storytelling became so clear in that moment – as hearing the story of Tamar gave this woman strength to share her story with the group, and we were all fortified by her strength and enriched by the compassion we all felt for her.
We reflected on Rahab and how we can all do good regardless of our life story. That she was a prostitute did not bring judgement among this circle, in fact one woman said she could relate because she had certainly done jobs she didn’t like just for the money. “’No.’ is a complete sentence” said one woman when we talked about Vashti, and her refusal to be a trophy wife. I made a note to myself at this point that the program notes should include the stories so that folks could look them up further and encourage further thinking and discussion beyond the performance. Sadly, I failed to remember that in the production four months later, but strongly encourage it in the script with samples of what to include in the program.
We concluded our time together with the final stories, and the women in this audience were very moved by the line “I did the best I could”. Even with the fact that they were from various stages of life, they appreciated that we can’t always put every piece back together. Many of these women were mothers and grandmothers, but others related with the work they did in transitional homes for teen mothers or work with the elderly. There is a grace in the acceptance of “I did the best I could,” and somehow paralleling that to the pain that Mary or Jochebed felt made it all the more poignant. Indeed, sometimes we can’t put every piece back together. Bringing the conversation back to the staging of the script, I questioned them if leaving a piece on the floor would honor this sentiment, but they felt that it was more important that the medallion be whole at the end and that the audience could layer that awareness through hearing the words.
We had run over time, and I could see how everyone was torn because they had their responsibilities of the rest of their lives calling them and yet didn’t want this connection and community to end. It made me wonder about reading groups for the script. How powerful would it be to have reading and discussion circles with the script ahead of time and then going as a community to the theatre to see how it is brought to life through that artform? I look forward to the day I can visit a community doing just that. This gathering reaffirmed the power of these stories to transcend time and connect with women today.
Because of the impact of those women in that sacred circle, when I was given the opportunity to work with women in transition later that summer I jumped at the chance. I worked at a home for women and their children in transition from homeless and drug addiction to self-worth and independence. My task was to listen to their stories and then guide them in painting a mural of their journey on their courtyard wall. This was living reality preparing me for the coming year of directing the show. I learned that building trust through storytelling is not always as open and easy a process with the circle ladies. These women were guarded and had had to find ways to protect themselves by not always sharing. I learned that once able to share, telling stories is lifegiving for the teller and the listener. And I learned that this work of Weaving Our Sisters’ Voices was so important even today as I got to see firsthand the parallels in the struggles of their lives. In small ways, like the challenges of riding the bus with their babies to child care so they could go to school, the stories were different. But in the big ways of believing in yourself even when life is so difficult, in standing up for what is right for you for your children and for the greater good, the stories were the same.
The image we painted was of a road from the lower left corner of the mural that led to a tree. The road emerged from dark and abstracted images as the women didn’t want to dwell on that. But the realistic road was not direct or easy by any means. They painted rivers they had to cross, boulders they had to go around and even dead ends that were pulling them back to the lower left darkness. The final image of the tree was significant because they painted the roots being nourished by water droplets that were the lessons they were learning from this organization and transitional home. And the branches of the tree were reaching upwards with images of the things that kept them going. One young mom painted a family reunited, another a paper representing a diploma and a third the initials NA. When I asked her about the letters she said it represented Narcotics Anonymous because she knew if she was going to be able to keep her children, she was going to have to stay clean, and her children were the most important thing in her life. I had chills as I stood there with these women hearing their stories and painting these healing images on the foliage of this grand tree because of the physical and metaphorical similarities of women putting the pieces of the Levite’s Women back onto the medallion for the show. The universal messages hit me hard. Women strengthening each other by sharing stories, engaging in art and healing symbolically together with arms up, reaching towards hope.
After weeks of listening, painting and being present at the final celebration the women shared their stories to the supporters gathered and I saw how that mural was actually another weaving of sisters’ voices.
Women’s voices…
Sisters’ voices…
Our voices
(WSV Conclusion)
Suzanne Ostersmith