Distant Survivors

by June Prager
  • 60 Minutes
  • 4 Males, 1 Female, Max/Min cast 5

$13.95$70.00

In this poetic drama, we see the past through the eyes of a German-American who looks back on his ancestral heritage and tries to come to terms with it. Distant Survivors was conceived and adapted for the stage by director June Prager, based on Holocaust poetry by William Heyen.

$13.95
$70.00

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Performance Fee $70.00 A Production License Fee Per Performance (mandatory for all performances)

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Play Details

Overview

Never Forget!  Never Again!

We are experiencing the polarization of America, along with the rise of anti-Semitism across the globe, resulting in an increase of attacks, verbal and physical, against Jews, Muslims, and immigrants. The testimonials for Distant Survivors speak to the power of theatre to deepen our understanding of “the Other” and create a spark towards dialogue and communion.

CAST:
Man40’s: American of German descent; costume – jeans, shirt, and lightweight jacket
Caretaker: 50’s – 60’s Eastern European Jewish survivor; costume – work pants, shirt, and cap
NS: 30’s – 40’s; Nazi Soldier; costume – black pants, shirt, boots, and leather jacket and a Nazi helmet
Man 2: 60’s – 70’s; German Jewish survivor; costume – dark brown suit
Woman: 50’s – 60’s; Eastern European Jewish survivor; costume – long skirt, top, and shawl

From the Play

Time: 1990’s
Place: Bremerhaven, Germany
Set: Stage R – a stool; Stage RC – a ladder; Stage C – a bench; Stage L – a small black platform (or black cubes)
Lighting: white and steely blue
Pre-set: on bench and dock area

House music: Eastern European folk music; begins about 10 minutes prior to starting time.

SCENE ONE: Bremerhaven
House music fades and house lights go out.
LIGHTS: The bench and dock area comes up to full. The Man enters from Stage R, moving toward platform area. He’s holding a map.
MAN:
Canes and armless coats
haunt these German streets
I force myself to walk.
Factories smoke the sky….

A few days ago,
I saw those Bremerhaven graves.
Unadorned stones
honor our simpler dust.
I almost knelt to save
a leaf of ivy. I even heard
the dead were glad
that I’d returned.

Man climbs up onto the platform. He moves to its edge and looks out.

The line of WWI veterans,
My mother’s father among them,
stood at attention on a Bremerhaven dock.

Gusts of brine wind lapped
at the Fuhrer’s black leather coat,
but he took his time,
took each man’s hands in his own,
thanked each for his sacrifice.
.
.For the first time, a woman is allowed to see
her wounded husband, brought back from the East.
She finds him mutilated, missing an ear,
half his face, an arm. “It’s the Jews,”
she screams. “it’s all the Jews’ fault.”

Man comes off the platform and sits down on bench.
He looks toward the audience.

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