I feel very close to this play, not simply because I wrote it, or because it is the first play of mine to really go out into the world, but because, even though it is a work of fiction, it comes from a very deep place within. I wasn’t conscious of the questions with which I was grappling at the time I wrote the play, but looking back I see with more clarity what I was trying to understand, and what I will probably be trying to understand the rest of my life: Why was I born a Jew? What is the value of Judaism today? What does it mean when someone born a Jew moves away from the religion, and chooses not to pass it on to the next generation? What does it mean to watch something go extinct?

Like many theatre kids, I put on my first plays in my parents’ living room, with my two younger sisters. If I didn’t write roles for them, we would not have had plays to perform. Thus, I was trained, from an early age, to create roles for Jewish women. Though neither of my sisters has continued acting outside our parents’ home (though both were excellent!), I unconsciously still have them in the back of my mind whenever I write. So it’s with a mixture of pride and bewilderment that I realize, in writing a role either of my sisters could have played, an opportunity was created for fiercely intelligent, deeply feeling, ethnic Jewish women the world over to stand at the center of a play and demand an audience’s attention.

Now my preface draws to a close. When I sat down to write it, I was, as you know, feeling down. But I feel better now. I think that’s because, in remembering the genesis of Bad Jews, I am reminded of the people who played a role in bringing it to life, people I love very much. People like Daniel Aukin, my director extraordinaire; the original cast: Tracee Chimo, Philip Ettinger, Molly Ranson, and Michael Zegen, who performed the play over two years with so much depth of feeling and honesty; Todd Haimes, Robyn Goodman, Jill Rafson, Josh Fiedler, and everyone at Roundabout, who produced the play so beautifully; everyone at Actor’s Express, especially Freddie Ashley, and everyone from that first workshop, especially Carlyn Aquiline; my agent, Scott Chaloff; my parents, sisters, and friends, who were always on the other side of the phone. Without people to bring it to life, a play is just a few pieces of paper.

I hope these few pieces of paper will mean something to you. I cannot ask for more than that. But if I can, then I also hope Donald Trump will not become our next President. And that global warming will not destroy us all. And that the scar on my shoulder gets smaller as it heals. And I hope you, dear reader, are having a very nice day, wherever you are.