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Fall Storytelling Concert and Swap

Considering the Alternative:
Reflections on Life & Storytelling

Greenwich Village Center (Children's Aid Society)
219 Sullivan Street (between Bleecker & West 3rd Streets), New York City
Sunday, October 21st, 2007 (Swap at 3:30 p.m., Concert at 4:30 p.m.)

The Storytelling Center's Lillian Oppenheimer Storytelling Concert opened our fall season on Sunday afternoon, October 21, 2007. What a treat! The theme was "Considering the Alternative: Reflections on Life and Storytelling." The event, our annual tribute to the "godmother" of the New York Storytelling Center, Lillian Oppenheimer, was held in the Theatre at the Downtown Center, on Sullivan Street in Greenwich Village. In addition to honoring Lillian, we dedicated this concert to two of our former board members — storytellers and lovers of storytelling, Selma Wiener and Ruth Lesh — who recently passed away. In addition, the late Helen Porter, a Canadian storyteller who has often appeared in New York, was spoken about by Diane Wolkstein before her performance in the concert.

The afternoon began with a Swap led by our new director Robin Bady. Both experienced and new tellers contributed personal stories, folk tales and fairy tales of life experiences and lessons learned — some funny, some moving, all appreciated.

Following the Swap was the concert hosted by Gerald Fierst. Gerry began with a tribute to Lillian, Ruth, and Selma. He then heralded in a variety of stories from various cultures, thoughts and ideas told by himself, Ron Sopyla, Roslyn Bresnick Perry and Diane Wolkstein.

Ron Sopyla began by telling a Sufi tale about angels experiencing humankind. Later Ron told an Isaac Bashevis Singer story about a fantastic dream fraught with beauty, sadness and meaning. Roslyn Bresnick Perry honored us by reading two of her poems and then telling us a delightful personal story involving New Orleans, jogging outfits and the 2nd Avenue Deli! Gerald Fierst donned an old coat and hat and became one of his own ancestors who told a Chekovian tale about how decisions we make affect who we are. Diane Wolkstein opened her performance with Tai Chi movement as she told of a wondrous moment in nature. She then eloquently told us "White Wave," a Taoist tale, about beauty, promises, life, death and remembrance.

All in all the afternoon was moving, funny and, yes, thought–provoking.

 

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Our Storytellers talk about Story in their Lives

Once upon a time, a little girl left her small Jewish village in Belarus and arrived in America at the beginning of the Great Depression. All of her family, grand parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends with whom she spent her childhood were murdered during the horrors of the Holocaust. She found it hard to let go of what was and become a Real American Girl, which was her dream.

Only through stories was I able to keep alive the people whom I lost, as they not only lived for me, but you the listener also made their acquaintance. I was so thrilled that my audiences opened their hearts to me and saw within the laughter of my tales the tears lurking underneath. With time I was able to tell other stories which brought us together and blended our laughter and tears into our mutually braided lives. Storytelling is my life.

Roslym Bresnick Perry.

When I was 5, my friend Michael and I would play by the garage telling each other stories of the monsters that were chasing us, until they became so real they would chase us inside. Stories have always chased me, sometimes transforming me, sometimes devouring me, sometimes rewarding me. My talisman story comes from Yaffa Eliach's Hasidic Tales of the Holocaust. "Good Morning, Herr Muller" tells the true story of a man who was saved from the death camps because he had always wished everyone a good morning. Who would have thought such a small action could change the world?

I believe each day we live a page of our story and that all of those small stories make our book of life. Sometimes we are consciously trying to write the plot, sometimes some other story collides with ours, and, then, we are sent to an ending we never foresaw. And when the final chapter is written and the book is closed, we are lucky to have friends and family retell what happened once upon a time and say, in the end, it was a good story and telling it made their day a little better.

Gerald Fierst.

Several years ago I was taking a workshop on graphic arts. When we discussed an abstract painting, I realized that I interpreted all the shapes and their arrangement in terms of story. I said something like, "The yellow triangle is invading the blue field." It became clear to me then that I tend to look at everything in terms of story. It confirmed what I already believed about myself, that contemplating stories is how I make sense of the world.

I find myself willing to stake my life — and my afterlife — on this way of looking at the world. My life, because it's lead me to career paths that will never make me rich… only happy. My afterlife? That's a little harder to explain. A few years ago, when I joined a Presbyterian church, I confessed to the minister that I had little faith, and mostly doubts about basic Christian doctrine. I would probably fit in better with Unitarians, I said, but I can't give up Christmas and Easter, they're such good stories.

Ron Sopyla.

The story that continues to haunts me is the story my rabbi Herbert Weiner told when I was around 11 or 12. A short dilemma story: If two men are in the desert and there is only water enough for one, what do they do? The mysterious questions of how to relate one to another still intrigue and grip me. Years later, my rabbi Shlomo Carlebach told a story about a wealthy man who told a needy man to wait until he returned from vacation and then he would help him. Because of his procrastination, the wealthy man can only get into heaven if we tell his story. The story constantly reminds me to give now, not to wait.

A story helps us pass the time. A story also enriches our understanding of time and the possible ways we can choose to live. It binds us together in the moment that we are telling, for the story unfolds simultaneously in the hearts of both the teller and the listener. So in the very process of the telling we experience the truth of story: We are indeed all connected. The question remains: How do we wish to connect to one another? Which story do we wish to live? Which new story do we wish to create?

Diane Wolkstein.