DAVID RUSH
Writer

SCENE FROM  "MILLER AND THE JABBERWOCK"

 
(The final angry confrontation between Miller and Rivkah)

RIVKAH

You did that on purpose, didn’t you?  That horrible show was just to hurt and insult me.

 

MILLER

Oh, really?  You’re that important, my whole syllabus revolves around you?


RIVKAH

You could have presented that material a hundred different ways.  You didn’t have to drag out the most offensive images (possible) 

 

MILLER

I don’t have to defend my choices to you, (Miss Brownstein) —

 

RIVKAH

Maybe not, but I want an apology.

 

MILLER

I have nothing to apologize for. 

 

RIVKAH

You deliberately threw my tragedy in my face.  You insulted my religion.

 

MILLER

I was teaching my class.  Your paranoia is not my problem.

 

RIVKAH

Call it whatever you want, but I want an apology in class Friday or I’m going to make a stink out of this.

 

MILLER

Stink?

 

RIVKAH

I’ll go to the papers. 

 

MILLER

With what? You have no case.

 

RIVKAH

I’ll find one.  You must have done something illegal, unethical; evil people always mess up.

 

MILLER

Evil?

 

RIVKAH

Yes. That’s what you are. 

 

MILLER

Is that what this is now: the final showdown?  You’re Wonder Woman and I’m the Dark Force?  For Chrissake,  you pathetic child, get a grip on yourself.

 

RIVKAH

Ah, there it is.  Out in the open at last.  I knew you hated me.

 

MILLER

I don’t hate you, young lady: (that doesn’t factor in at all) ----

 

RIVKAH

Or else I  make you feel guilty, right? 

 

MILLER

For what?  I’m not responsible for the past.

 

RIVKAH

Then incompetent; you resent my testing you.  I can’t imagine you’re stupid enough to (be jealous) --

 

MILLER

I resent your wasting my time!  Every time you raise your hand and ask your pretentious self-aggrandizing question, I resent the hell out of you.  Your narrow-mindedness, your obstinacy,  this pathetic horrible game you play, (it’s all part) —

 

RIVKAH

Game?  My life is a game to you?

 

MILLER

Of course it is.  You play it for all it’s worth.  The suffering Jew, the misunderstood, oppressed victim, trapped in this horrible anti-Semitic world.   Pity me.  Accommodate me.  When all the time, it’s the rest of us who are trapped, by your soft subtle whining, your unbending self-pity, your unlimited anger. It isn’t anti-Semitism working here, Brownstein.  That’s just an easy way for you to cloud up the truth and make me ugly.  What it really is, let me tell you, is disgust. Why should I care who you are?   What does it matter what hurts you?  For Christ sake, what do you think we’re doing here?  We’re trying to learn, to progress, do you understand? To find a way to make some sense out of the muck we swim around in, and do you help?  No; you impede.  Every time you open your whining mouth with a useless question, a petty sidetrack that comes crawling out from your personal misery and your convoluted private agenda, you hold us hostage. Tell me: who’s the real Nazi here? 

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