Originally published in The Jewish World and Orlando’s Heritage Florida Jewish News in February 2025, this somehow never made my blog post. So welcome to Purim in July!
“I’m the greatest star, I am by far! But no one knows it!” Fanny Brice in Funny Girl
Purim is a time for spiels—usually funny productions that recount the tale of the disobedient Vashti, the wise Mordecai, the nefarious Haman, the beautiful Esther, and the misogynistic Ahasuerus. As always, it will have a happy ending with the villain (BOO!) getting his due and the heroine saving the Jews as well as her marriage (Yay!)
I’ve had the privilege of being in several spiels over the years, but the most life-changing occurred on March 18, 1973. A group of girlfriends and I attended a Jewish Singles Purim party at Herbie’s Restaurant in Albany, New York. In a what could only be a “b’shert” moment, Ahasuerus (Larry) chose Esther (me!) over Vashti and Libby the Lib in a Dating Game parody. “Since I ‘won,’ you,” Larry said, “would you like to share a hamantaschen?” This was certainly one of the more original pickup lines in history, and it worked. Fifty-one plus years later, we are going strong.
Since that time, I have participated in many other Purim plays that have allowed me to embrace my inner Barbra. Yes, if I could have been anything in the world, I would have been The Greatest Star, strutting my talents on Broadway. Fueled by the stacks of Broadway LPs my father brought home from his small Upstate New York department store, I dreamed a dream of a life.. n The Great White Way. In the privacy of our living room, I had washed that man out of my hair as Nellie Furbush in South Pacific; whistled a happy tune as Anna in the King and I; shared my favorite things as Maria in the Sound of Music; and pondered the simple joys of maidenhood as Guinevere in Camelot (1960).
It was Barbara Streisand’s star turn in Funny Girl, however, that made me believe in my rightful place on the Broadway stage. I was no Julie Andrews or Mary Martin or Gertrude Lawrence. I was born for the role of Fanny Brice. Heck! I even was mistaken by strangers as Barbra’s doppelgänger as we both shared a classic “American Beauty nose.”
Unfortunately, the only thing I lacked was talent. My first starring role was in 1968, when I played the female lead in our high school’s production of Seven Keys to Baldpate, a 1913 mystery/farce written by George M. Cohan. I played Mary Norton, a reporter (How prophetic!) who becomes the love interest of Billy Magee, a novelist. The “love interest” part is what resulted in one of the most embarrassing moments of my adolescence. Billy, played by my then boyfriend, and Mary, were to have a romantic smooch at the end of Act II. We were at dress rehearsal when we actually had a chance to practice the climatic scene. You can only fathom the depths of my naivety when I asked Mrs. Long, “How are we supposed to kiss?” My fellow actors roared with laughter, all except David, who found a secluded spot in the woods that weekend to work on our technique.
Unfortunately, things didn’t go well at the actual performance either. Helen Long, our school’s drama coach, dashed any hopes when she told me at intermission, “Marilyn, the audience couldn’t hear a word you said as you were talking to the back of the stage.” Gulp.
My first opportunity to participate in a “musical” was twenty years later, when I played The Scarecrow in a Wizard of Oz parody put on by our Clifton Park Hadassah group. I am sure my Jewish -infused takeoff of “If I Only Had a Brain” knocked it out of the park. But alas! No calls from Broadway!
My last chance at stardom was, ironically, at another Purim spiel. Our community’s Shalom Club put on a very well-received play in which my husband Larry was the narrator, hawking the goods from our sponsor. “This show is brought to you by The Hamantaschen Baking Council,” he hawked. “Remember! Hamantashen is not just for Purim anymore!” I played a Vanna White wannabe, who walked across the stage with signs to encourage the audience to cheer for Esther and Mordecai and boo for Haman. The fact that it was a non-speaking part was not lost on me. Again, alas! No opportunity to belt out “Second Hand Rose” or “My Man.”
Who knows what is in store for me this Purim? I’ve yet to be contacted by either the Shalom Club or my synagogue to strut my stuff. I promise, however, that no one will rain on my parade! If I do get a part, don’t be surprised if you hear me burst out in song—albeit slightly off key!
There Goes My Heart 
