At its heart and from its earliest incarnations, theater has existed to tell stories – whether through words, actions, song, dance, all combinations thereof – and as playwrights, telling stories is, or should still be, our main concern. And Barbara Kahn tells a beautiful one, and beautifully simply, in "Cyma's Story." Vivid, touching, intimately epic, this letter written by a Russian Jewish emigre living in Shoshone, Wyoming at the outbreak of WWII pierces the heart, and lingers for days after reading it.
At its heart and from its earliest incarnations, theater has existed to tell stories – whether through words, actions, song, dance, all combinations thereof – and as playwrights, telling stories is, or should still be, our main concern. And Barbara Kahn tells a beautiful one, and beautifully simply, in "Cyma's Story." Vivid, touching, intimately epic, this letter written by a Russian Jewish emigre living in Shoshone, Wyoming at the outbreak of WWII pierces the heart, and lingers for days after reading it.