The film adaptation of In the Heights, based on the 2005 Broadway musical, is an unapologetically Latine story, set in the neighborhood of Washington Heights in uptown Manhattan. This movie and the moment it is claiming belong to all of the Hispanic and Latine Americans who have seen themselves represented in musical theater mainly as criminals (The Capeman) or gangsters (West Side Story). (Full deference to the criticism for the lack of Afro-Latino representation. You can read more about colorism and In the Heights in the New York Times piece) Here is a musical where a first generation Dominican American man, Usnavi, gets to simply be a whole human, as does each main character in this film. There is cultural specificity in the loving close-ups of the tamales made by Abuela Claudia, the cuatro strumming in “Carnavale Del Barrio”, the use of Spanish generously interspersed in the dialogue. And still, I couldn’t help but feel this story was also incredibly personal to me as a Jewish American.
This relentless scapegoating and moving of the Jewish people has been portrayed in musicals such as Cabaret and Parade and perhaps most famously in Fiddler on the Roof. Anatevka is home where Tevye, Golde and their daughters eke out a living and cling to life through ritual until they are driven out of their houses by violence and mandate. In the documentary Miracles of Miracles, which examines the universality and staying power of Fiddler, bookwriter Joseph Stein is interviewed by In the Heights composer and lyricist, Lin Manuel Miranda. When Miranda asks Stein about the global appeal of the show, Stein recalls intermission at a professional production of the show in Japan when he is asked by the local producer, “Do they understand this show in America because it’s so Japanese”. Stories are relatable to a general audience precisely because of their specificity. Alexandra Silber, who played Tzeitel in the 2015 Fiddler revival, delineates this point, “Giving authentic people the space to tell their stories creates the space to universally connect”. If Fiddler can feel inherently Japanese, perhaps In the Heights can feel fundamentally Jewish (and Haitian and Filipino and Persian, etc.)
To be Jewish in America means to be of a culture that is without a country. Yes, I am American but I am a minority here, especially in my small state of New Hampshire where most people have never even met a Jew. And though my great grandparents emigrated from Russia, it is not the Russian culture or homeland that I inherited. What about Israel, the Jewish state? Certainly I feel a kinship to the idea that Jews have a haven from being oppressed but I am not an Israeli, either. Everywhere we have gone, we have been driven out or given only temporary respite, for over 5,000 years we have been living in the diaspora.
Fiddler asks if a place is still home when it’s no longer where a family resides, In the Heights seems to answer that question. In Finale when Anthony Ramos as Usnavi has an epiphany that his home is not found returning to where his family came from but is the space he inhabits where he stands, surrounded by the sights, sounds, smells, purpose and love of his community. Usnavi realizes that his island, his home, is Manhattan, singing,
I illuminate the stories of the people in the street
Some have happy endings
Some are bittersweet
But I know them all and that’s what makes my life complete
How the tears flowed watching that scene, connecting to the idea that home is not a place but a feeling. When I smell the oil simmering to fry latkes, I hear the rhythms of reading the Torah, I smell the sulfuric burn of the matches lighting the shabbos candles, I feel connected to the generations who came before me, the Jews in our small community and the Jewish people who are spread out across the globe. Like Usnavi, home is where I celebrate my culture and where I connect to community. I found my island, I’m home.