The setting is a family kitchen. Five people are gathered around it, toasting each other with tea glasses. The table is oval, covered with an orange tablecloth. The chairs are yellow. Three younger people are seated. At left is a bearded man with blue jeans and a pink shirt. Next to him is a clean-shaven young man in a black T-shirt and black shirt with vertical pinstripes. On the right is a young person who identifies as nonbinary in the show. They are wearing brown trousers and a teal patterned short-sleeved shirt with green animal slippers on their feet. Standing behind the table on the right is a bald bespectacled older man in a black turtleneck. To his left is a woman also older than those at the table in a short-sleeved white sweater. The feeling is one of joy and celebration.

“The shit we deal with in Baghdad, it doesn’t exist in America,” declares Sahir early in Martin Yousif Zebari’s Layalina, now in a world premiere at the Goodman under Sivan Battat’s direction. The newly minted Assyrian bridegroom is both right and wrong. The devastation of “shock and awe” bombing by American forces (followed by a […]

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