I first met the salesman Willy Loman in 1975. I was 15 when I sat beside my father at the Circle in the Square Theater. I’ll admit that on that first encounter, what I was seeing onstage did not make much of an impression. What did, however, was my seeing tears streaming down my dad’s face for virtually the entire performance. I had never seen him cry before (nor have I since). I had trouble believing that he was not only weeping, but doing so in public. This was not something, as I understood it, that grown men did. Weeping,...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
