Tag Archives: #Hadassah

A star waiting in the wings?

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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! 

Hadassah Purim Spiel. Left to right: Diane Silverman, Becky, Unknown, Phyllis Erno, Marilyn Shapiro, Nancy Cury, Jacquie Kaplan

Where Was Freud When She Needed Him??

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Some people don’t remember their dreams. Mine are so vivid that they have become at times their own reality, creating some very embarrassing moments.

When Larry and I first moved to Clifton Park in 1976, we didn’t know anyone. At the urging of Larry’s mom, a lifetime member of Hadassah, I joined the fairly new but very active Clifton Park chapter. The very first meeting I attended, I sat with a group of women who were also newcomers to the community. We became friends, and several of us became pregnant the same year. We attended Lamaze classes together, went to each other’s son’s bris, and attended La Leche League meetings together. Yes, 1978 was a bumper year for Clifton Park Hadassah babies.

When my son Adam was around eighteen months old, that core of Hadassah mothers, along with a few other friends, formed a playgroup for our children. Each week, we would take turns dropping off our child with the designated mother at ten o’clock in the morning. Seven of us would go off on our merry way, free from toddler responsibilities for two blissful hours. The assigned mother would organize activities for the day’s playgroup. During the winter months, the children played with toys, participated in an arts and crafts project, or enjoyed a story time. In the summer, the children went outside and played on the swing sets or in sandboxes. The mom-in-charge fed the children lunch—usually peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fruit juice and cookies. By twelve noon, the playgroup mom was more than ready to hand the visiting children back to their own mothers.

The group went well, and the children, for the most part, played well together. Yes, there were the expected outbursts and tantrums and fights.But this arrangement worked well for both the children and the mothers.

The eight of us became good friends, so I was saddened to hear that Fern, her husband Steve, and their son Marshall were moving to Chicago. I shared the news with my friend Diane during a phone call on a non-playgroup day.

Diane immediately questioned my information. “Are you sure?” she said. “I spoke to Fern yesterday, and she didn’t mention a thing about a move.”

“No,” I insisted. “Steve got a promotion with his company. Fern feels bad about leaving all her friends here, but she said this is an excellent opportunity for Steve. They are moving in two months.”

Diane was still doubtful. “Look, I have three-way calling on my phone. Let me get hold of Fern right now and the three of us can talk.”

I agreed and heard a few clicks and buzzes as Diane set up the conference call. We soon heard Fern’s hello.

“Hi Fern!” said Diane. “Marilyn was telling me that you are moving to Chicago!”

“I’m not moving to Chicago,” Fern immediately responded. “Where did you hear that, Marilyn?”

“We talked yesterday, I responded. “You told me all about Steve’s promotion and his transfer.”

“What promotion?” Fern said. “As far as I know, we are staying put in Clifton Park.”

It was just at that moment that the circumstances of my “conversation” with Fern fell into place. Horrified, I realized that this entire episode had taken place in a dream I had experienced the night before. Every moment of that dream came rushing back to me.

“Oh my G-d!”I exclaimed. “I am so very sorry! This whole conversation took place in my sleep!”

I was totally embarrassed. I stuttered my way through apologies to both Fern and Diane. They understood—as much as they could understand that this crazy lady couldn’t distinguish dreams from reality. And what if Fern thought it was ‘wishful thinking’?

All of the mothers in that playgroup remained friends through our children’s nursery school years that followed. Three years later, some of us mothers, who all delivered younger siblings in 1981, formed another playgroup with the same positive results.

Many of us joined the same synagogue. Even after some moved out of the area, we continued to stay in touch. We attended each other’s children’s bar and bat mitzvahs, rejoiced in their successes in high school and college, comforted each other during the sad times, and shared each other’s joy in our former toddlers’ marriages and the births of each other’s grandchildren. Obviously, Fern and her family didn’t move to Chicago. She and Steve still live in the same house that housed our sons’ playgroup over thirty-five years ago. She is currently president of Sisterhood and is stepping up to the plate to become the next president of Congregation Beth Shalom.

I still clearly remember the “conversation” I had with Fern. After that incident, I was a little more careful after waking up from a vivid dream. I have checked myself several times over the years, realizing that I was about to pull another “Fern Moment.” But I also remember our playgroup and the friendships that grew from those once-a-week get-togethers.