ACTOR AND THEATER DIRECTOR

A pioneer of Israeli theater and one of the founders of the Habima National Theater, the first professional theater in Hebrew.
In his childhood, Gnessin performed in amateur plays in Pochep. Known for his refined theatrical taste, he introduced Israel to Hebrew translations of Chekhov and Gogol's works.

If you ever find yourself in Tel Aviv, strolling along Rothschild Boulevard—a popular tourist destination—you’ll likely come across an imposing building: the Habima Theater, Israel's oldest repertory theater. Menachem Gnessin, whose childhood and youth were spent in Pochep, played an important role in its creation.

Habima Theatre, Tel Aviv

One beautiful day in the month of Elul, a stir arose among the town's residents: Prokop, the market guard, appeared on the street with a bucket of glue in one hand and a stack of colorful posters in the other. Behind him followed a gang of rowdy boys, and wherever he posted an announcement, the boys stopped and chanted in sing-song the lesson they had learned from their Russian teacher: "On such-and-such a day, in the hall of His Excellency the Count’s palace, there will be a one-time performance of the play 'Nora' by Henrik Ibsen for the town’s residents."
"Nora" was printed in large, eye-catching letters. It’s impossible to describe the powerful impression this announcement made on the young people of our town. To this day, that poster still stands before my eyes, beckoning and calling to me...
This was the golden age of the town's youth. At that time, we read books by Tolstoy, Gorky, Chekhov, and Turgenev. We spent long hours studying Russian poets and Scandinavian literature. The play "Nora," in particular, sparked intense debates—some of us justified the heroine, while others condemned her bold action. And here was the surprise: the famous troupe would be staging the play "Nora" in our town. I remember the great turmoil in my heart when I saw that the play would take place on Saturday evening, the first night of Selichot before Rosh Hashanah! Two conflicting feelings raced through me: should I go see the play, which my soul longed to witness, and in doing so cause suffering to my dear parents, or should I not go and forgo this great theatrical experience?
The gardens and squares emptied of our boys due to the fear of the Day of Atonement... yet the desire to witness this spectacle grew stronger and stronger.
And Satan, who does not sleep, especially in the month of Elul, did his work. One day, when my parents were napping after lunch, the door to our house flew open, and a young woman, not from our town, came in asking for me. I was stunned and confused: in my parents' home, a stranger seeks me?!
"Devil's tricks," flashed through my mind, "this is the very 'matron' sent to lead me astray!" I told her it would be better for us to step outside and talk in the street. She agreed, and we went out.
"I heard you have works by Ibsen," she began in a ringing voice in her perfect Russian, "and I would be grateful if you could lend me a book for a day or two." Without much thought, I agreed. I went back into the house, brought her the book, and she thanked me, offering her small, delicate hand, and added that in gratitude, she would give me a ticket to the play at the theater. Then she left. I watched her retreating figure like a clap of thunder.
Satan had won. I was ashamed to lift my eyes to my parents. I feared she would return to our house to return the book in front of my family, and where would I go with my disgrace? And how would I get the ticket? Who would bring it to me? Why hadn't I said I would come by and pick it up?
That Shabbat—the night of the play and the night of Selichot—was an anxious Shabbat for me. I wandered like a shadow, and the hours dragged on forever. I was anxious... lest, G-d forbid, during the Shabbat meal, the door might open and the "matron" would enter! If that happened, what would my parents say? What did I care about a non-Jewish woman, with a cross gleaming around her neck?
The power of Satan grew. After the third meal, as dusk gathered around my father's house and people assembled, I slipped away and walked far from home. By winding paths and quiet alleys, I reached the Count's garden, approached the palace entrance, where the ticket booth was set up, and saw a large crowd—both Jews and non-Jews—standing by the window. The cashier, a young girl, shouted to me , "The actress so-and-so left you a ticket!"
The crowd, especially the Jewish crowd who knew me, stared at me, unable to believe their eyes: "The rabbi's son—and a non-Jewish actress?!" There were whispers and even exclamations of disbelief. On trembling legs, I approached the window, took the ticket, and with glazed eyes, not seeing what was in front of me, walked toward the entrance to the auditorium. And while I sat in the magnificent hall, full of light, I remembered that at that very moment, Jews were praying in my father’s house... and I was sitting here.
I trembled. I was ashamed to lift my eyes for fear of meeting the mocking and bewildered gazes staring at me from the aisles.
But when the curtain rose, I forgot everything. From that moment on, my eyes saw another world, a world where everything was good...

Gomel, with its vibrant urban atmosphere, left a profound impact on Gnessin, but it was the theatrical performances that captivated him most. Theater became an “obsession” for Menachem, fueling his dream of creating a Hebrew theater in the Land of Israel.

At the age of 18, Menachem left Pochep for Gomel to enroll in the sixth grade of a gymnasium. Completing six grades granted him the status of a "volunteer" in the military, allowing for a reduced term of service.

Uriel Acosta was performed in Hebrew, although some settlers argued for Yiddish, given that Hebrew was not widely understood. However, Gnessin, even while working at the Rishon LeZion winery, insisted on using Hebrew. He and his supporters believed that reviving the ancient language was essential for fostering a sense of national identity. This determination gave rise to the Society of Lovers of the Hebrew Stage, which played a significant role in spreading Hebrew and developing Israeli theater.

The Society of Lovers of the Hebrew Stage, Menachem Gnessin is second from the left. From M. Gnessin's book My Way with the Hebrew Theatre
Project Ben-Yehuda

In Palestine, Menachem Gnessin worked as a Hebrew teacher and, like many other settlers, engaged in agricultural labor. With no theaters, clubs, or entertainment venues at the time, cultural life revolved around the school in Jaffa.
When the school’s teachers decided to stage Uriel Acosta, Gnessin was offered the lead role. All participants in the production were amateurs with no prior acting experience. In Gnessin’s opinion, the performance fell short of the productions he had seen in Pochep and Gomel. Moreover, the show was staged in a rented room in an Arab café. Yet, despite these challenges, the production was a great success.

The Society of Lovers of the Hebrew Stage in Jaffa. Menachem Gnessin is on the left with a cane. From M. Gnessin's book My Way with the Hebrew Theatre
Project Ben-Yehuda

Rampa i zhizn, 1910
Goskatalog

For nearly a decade, these amateur actors performed plays across various cities in Israel. Theater was not their primary occupation, as it was impossible to make a living from performances.
This was also the dawn of the Moscow Art Theater (MAT), with Stanislavski and Nemirovich-Danchenko experimenting with new forms in Russian theater. Gnessin learned about their work through brochures and theatrical journals sent by friends in Moscow. Many of the actors, having emigrated from Russia, subscribed to the Russian theater magazine Rampa i Zhizn (Stage and Life).
Despite his passion for theater, Gnessin found himself stuck in teaching—a job he disliked. This discontent prompted thoughts of traveling to Europe to gain professional acting training and experience. His brother, writer Uri Nissan Gnessin, who had joined him in Palestine, encouraged this idea.

About a month before his departure, Gnessin received a letter from a man named Nahum Zemach, requesting a list of original Hebrew plays performed in Palestine. Surprised by the request, Gnessin responded but soon forgot about the correspondence.

In the summer of 1912, Gnessin boarded a ship bound for Russia.

Upon arriving in Warsaw, Gnessin immediately purchased a ticket to an evening performance at the Yiddish theater but was disappointed by the quality of the local Jewish stage. He continued teaching in Warsaw, though the work quickly bored him.

Soon, he was invited to direct a production of Uriel Acosta for the “Society of Hebrew Enthusiasts.” Gnessin agreed, and the play was a success. Inspired by this, his friend, poet and playwright Itzhak Katzenelson, proposed a six-week tour of Poland, Lithuania, and Russia during the school holidays. Gnessin performed under the pseudonym "M. Estrin."

In the fall of 1913, Gnessin returned to Warsaw after the tour. On a typical gray day, a young man entered his room, introducing himself as Nahum Zemach. Gnessin remembered their earlier correspondence. When Zemach learned that Gnessin also planned to establish a Hebrew theater in Warsaw, his excitement was palpable. “I’ll be the director!” Zemach exclaimed, trembling with enthusiasm. The conversation lasted late into the night, continuing outside after their landlord reminded them it was time to sleep.

Like Gnessin, Nahum Zemach was a Hebrew teacher. He had already organized a theater troupe in his hometown of Białystok. Zemach was captivated by the idea of a Hebrew theater, a concept never before realized. This first meeting between Zemach and Gnessin laid the foundation for the creation of the Habima Theater. Its name, symbolically, means both “stage” and “the raised platform in a synagogue for Torah readings,” merging art and tradition.

Despite their efforts, Zemach and Gnessin struggled to find financial backing for their project, leaving Gnessin disheartened. Zemach, however, remained unwavering in his determination, and the two decided to proceed without external support.
To support himself, Gnessin took on teaching roles in two Warsaw schools. Meanwhile, he and Zemach searched for Hebrew-speaking actors and actresses. During this time, in Warsaw, Zemach noticed a talented young woman attending a training course for educators. She had no intention of pursuing theater, but after persistent persuasion, she agreed to join. Her name was Hanna Rovina.
Thus, a trio was formed—Zemach, Gnessin, and Rovina—that would play a pivotal role in the creation of Hebrew theater.

Warsaw, Theatre Square, early 20th century
polona.pl

Menachem Gnessin (left) and Nahum Zemakh (right).
From M. Gnessin's book My Way with the Hebrew Theatre
Project Ben-Yehuda

Menachem Gnessin (left), Hanna Rovina (center), Nahum Zemakh (right).
From M. Gnessin's book My Way with the Hebrew Theatre
Project Ben-Yehuda

Their plans were disrupted by a sudden catastrophe that struck the world on July 28, 1914—World War I had begun.
Nahum Zemach hastily left for Białystok to be with his family, while Rovina returned to her parents' home. Gnessin remained in Warsaw, hoping to wait out the turmoil. The three made a pact: no matter what happened, they would reunite and continue working together in the theater.
The second year of the war, 1915–1916, was especially harsh for those living near the front lines. Eventually, Gnessin was forced to leave Warsaw. He entrusted some of his belongings, including manuscripts, to his landlord, but they were lost during the war. After leaving Warsaw, he spent several weeks at his parents' home in Pochep.
From there, he moved to Yekaterinoslav and later managed to reach Moscow—a city where one could witness the most advanced and outstanding theatrical productions.

Until the 1917 Revolution, Gnessin lived in Moscow secretly, as Jewish religious affiliation prohibited permanent residence in the capital. The landlady of the apartment he stayed in agreed, for a hefty sum, to house Jewish tenants—eight to ten per room—under the condition that they stayed only overnight, from 1:00 AM to 8:00 AM, to avoid trouble in case of a police inspection. This arrangement suited Gnessin well. Given Moscow’s abundance of theaters, he attended both matinee and evening performances. The theater served as a safe refuge from the police, as the authorities never considered conducting raids in cultural institutions.

Residents of German-occupied Warsaw on the Vistula River pier, 1915.
Encyclopædia Britannica

After the February Revolution of 1917, the Pale of Settlement was abolished, marking the official beginning of Habima.

Moscow during the February Revolution of 1917. Lubyanka Square. Jewish delegation
The Russian State Library

Zemach and Gnessin secured financial support from several wealthy Moscow entrepreneurs. After raising 20,000 rubles, they obtained a government license to establish a Jewish theater. Before beginning their work, they decided to outline a plan of action.
At the first meeting of the so-called “secret trio”—Hanna Rovina, Zemach, and Gnessin—they made two key decisions. First, they resolved to seek support from Konstantin Stanislavski. Second, they pledged not to start families until Habima became a fully established theater. Later, it was Gnessin who broke the pact first when he got married.

Their meeting with Stanislavski took place on September 26, 1917, the eve of Yom Kippur. That day, Zemach brought good news: Stanislavski was intrigued by the idea of creating a studio theater under the Moscow Art Theatre that would perform in ancient Hebrew. He was particularly interested in having his acting method adopted in the East, as he saw it as the only true path to theatrical authenticity. This approach would later be known as Stanislavski's system.
Stanislavski also proposed that one of his finest students, Yevgeny Vakhtangov, serve as the troupe’s instructor. Vakhtangov became Habima’s drama teacher and the guiding force behind their use of Stanislavski’s method. Thus, this new theater—informally called the “Biblical Studio”—was immediately integrated into Moscow’s theatrical life.

"Secret" meeting of Habima: Hanna Rovina, Nahum Zemakh and Menachem Gnessin
The National Library of Israel

The October Revolution caught the theater troupe off guard. A week of unrest followed, after which Anatoly Lunacharsky, the People’s Commissar for Education, declared that all artistic institutions now belonged to the people.
Despite the political upheaval, Vakhtangov insisted that Habima continue its training, asserting that "the new order in the world has nothing to do with our lessons." Meanwhile, efforts were underway to find original Hebrew-language plays for upcoming productions.

After overcoming bureaucratic hurdles, Habima finally found a permanent address in Moscow: 6 Nizhnyaya Kislovka Street. The building had once housed Pyotr Sekretaryov’s amateur theater, where, by coincidence, in 1881, the merchant Konstantin Alexeyev first performed under the pseudonym Stanislavski.
The building’s first floor became living quarters for the actors, many of whom had no homes of their own, while the second floor housed the stage, auditorium, and foyer.

Habima’s premiere performance took place on October 8, 1918. The program featured four one-act plays—a kind of exam for the troupe, which they passed with distinction. The event, titled “The Primal Ball,” ended on a high note. Stanislavski himself attended and was pleased with the results. With this performance, Habima entered the era it had long aspired to.

Moscow, Nizhniy Kislovsky alley, Building 6. The Habima Theatre was located here from 1917 to 1924. Photo August 2024

The Habima Theatre troupe in 1917.
Actors of the “The Primal Ball,” as well as Nahum Zemakh (sitting, center), Menachem Gnessin (sitting, second from left), and Hanna Rovina (standing, second from right).
The National Library Of Israel

During the production of The Dybbuk, Menachem Gnessin decided that after the premiere, he would leave Moscow and return to the Land of Israel. Several factors influenced his decision.
First, after Vakhtangov’s death, internal disagreements within Habima intensified, and Gnessin had a falling-out with Nahum Zemach. Second, the Central Bureau of the Yevsektsiya (Jewish Section of the Communist Party) opposed the theater, declaring that “Habima is a bourgeois Jewish whim, and it is unacceptable to fund such a theater with the money of the workers’ and peasants’ democracy when neither workers nor peasants need it.” Finally, Gnessin was deeply concerned about his two-year-old daughter’s upbringing—her Russian nanny had secretly been taking her to church.
These circumstances pushed Gnessin toward his ultimate goal: developing Jewish theater in Israel.
While Habima was on tour in Leningrad, Gnessin’s wife, Bertha, managed to obtain exit documents from the USSR. In 1923, Gnessin left Habima.
In his memoirs, Gnessin wrote about how painful it was to say goodbye to his loved ones, especially his recently widowed mother. Before his departure, he spent ten days in Pochep.

RETURN TO ISRAEL

In 1926, under the pretext of an international tour, Habima left Moscow. The troupe performed in Riga, Kaunas, Warsaw, Łódź, Vienna, Berlin, and Paris. During their American tour in 1927, the company split: Nahum Zemach and a few actors remained in the U.S., while the main ensemble traveled to Tel Aviv.
That same year, in 1927, the TAI troupe disbanded, and their building on Rothschild Boulevard was transferred to the newly arrived Habima. Menachem Gnessin rejoined the company, remaining an actor there until the end of his life.

Theater-studio "Habima", poster for tours in Leningrad
Goskatalog

The TAI theatre building at 80 Rothschild Boulevard, which was transferred to the Habima Theatre in 1927
Wikimedia

He first traveled to Berlin, where he became the director of the TAI Jewish Theater Studio (Teatron Ha-Aretz Israeli).
In early 1925, the TAI troupe arrived in Israel, and on March 3, 1925, the Teatron Ha-Aretz Israeli opened in Tel Aviv under Gnessin’s leadership. The first production was "Belshazzar", and the opening speech was delivered by Hayim Nahman Bialik. In 1927, a theater building was constructed at 80 Rothschild Boulevard in Tel Aviv.

A poster of the TAI Theatre led by Menachem Gnessin.
The play Belshazzar, April 13, 1925 (3rd performance).
The National Library Of Israel

In 1958, Habima was awarded the Israel Prize and became the National Theater of Israel.

Members of the theatre studio led by Menachem Gnessin.
Menachem Gnessin is seated at the head of the table, holding a child.
israelalbum.org.il

In 1932, Menachem Gnessin starred in the first-ever Hebrew-language film, Oded the Wanderer. This black-and-white silent film tells the story of a boy named Oded, who gets lost during a school trip and is separated from his group. Along his journey, he encounters Bedouins, an eccentric tourist, and various animals before eventually finding his way home.
Gnessin played the role of the tourist, and a fragment of his performance still survives today.

A SILENT FILM ACTOR

Menachem Gnessin passed away after a long illness at the age of 69. He was buried at the Nahalat Yitzhak Cemetery in Tel Aviv.

Gnessin is recognized as an outstanding character actor of Jewish theater. He trained multiple generations of performers and was one of the founders of the Hebrew stage in its early years.

Memorial plaques on the house of Menachem Gnessin in Tel Aviv
Wikimedia

A memorial plaque was placed on the house where he lived, on Dov Hoz Street in Tel Aviv, reading:
"In this house lived & worked the actor Menachem Gnessin, one of the three founders of the Habima National Theater in Moscow."

Menachem Gnessin
Habima National Theatre Archive

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