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Its like a second death for your name to be forgotten in a family album, a grandmother reflects.
The genealogical tree that descends on a scrim between the first few scenes is a kind of holy record.
A philosophical dialogue between brothers-in-law establishes their turn-of-the-century milieu and its crosscurrents of Jewish identity.
A Jew can be a great composer and even become the toast of the town, he says.
But he cant not be a Jew.
(The play is named for what was once Viennas Jewish ghetto.)
IfLeopoldstadthas a dramatic engine, propelling the story forward 15 to 20 years at a time, its dread.
Of course, we know where all of this is heading.
Much of the tension and wit generated by Stoppards dialogue springs from the morbid wisdom of hindsight.
Her portrait, hanging over ensuing scenes, serves as a reminder of lost vitality.
What does it mean to be without a homeland?
What are the stakes of claiming allegiance to an identity before and after doing so becomes a death sentence?
Who has the privilege to make that choice, and how can they live with it in the end?
If its their ideas for which they are to be remembered, perhaps thats just as well.
Yet again, we would do well to listen.
Leopoldstadtis at the Longacre Theatre.
