Pepi (née Perel) Litman was born in the 1870s in what was then the Russian Empire’s most glamorous and lawless port. Odesa was a place where Italian opera houses sat across from Moldovan wine cellars, where Greek smugglers dined next to Hasidic merchants. It was a city of masks. So perhaps it was inevitable that it would produce a woman who made her living by removing one mask and putting on another.
For a Jewish female audience in the 1880s—corseted, confined, often illiterate—watching Pepi Litman was a radical act. She represented escape. On stage, she could walk into a tavern unescorted. She could challenge a rival to a duel. She could kiss the leading lady without scandal (because, after all, the leading lady was kissing a woman, wasn't she? Or was she?).
Like so many of Odesa’s children—from Isaac Babel to Vladimir Jabotinsky—Pepi eventually left. The rise of cinematic film, the brutality of the pogroms, and the chaos of the Russian Revolution scattered the Yiddish theater diaspora to New York, Buenos Aires, and Warsaw. Pepi followed. She performed in Second Avenue theaters, but the magic didn’t translate. American audiences wanted broad comedy or tear-jerking melodrama. They didn’t want a Ukrainian Jewish woman who could make them forget their own eyes. pepi litman male impersonator birthplace ukrainian city
A back alley in Odesa, Ukraine – then the Russian Empire. Circa 1875.
Pepi’s most famous bit was a mirror scene. She would appear as a bashful young maiden, be courted by a male actor, then flee backstage. Seconds later, “he” would emerge—the same face, now in a waistcoat—and begin flirting with the same man’s wife. The audience would scream with the cognitive dissonance. One body, two genders, three corners of a love triangle. Pepi (née Perel) Litman was born in the
She was born in a Ukrainian city that taught her that identity is a performance. She became a legend by proving that some of the best performances are the ones that ask: What if I were not what you see?
Why did this particular art form—the Jewish male impersonator—emerge in a Ukrainian port city? The answer is liminality. So perhaps it was inevitable that it would
Odesa in Pepi’s youth was a city of displaced identities: runaway serfs, bankrupt nobles, Talmudic scholars who had discovered secularism, and women who had discovered freedom. The Yiddish theater, born just a few years before Pepi in neighboring Iași (Romania), found its rowdy, irreverent home in Odesa. Unlike the pious shtetls of the Pale of Settlement, Odesa allowed a woman to play a man playing a lover. It allowed gender to become a prop.