Dawn's Strange, Weird, and Wild Day

It is extraordinarily strange to have people, well-intention to be sure, constantly ask how you are feeling. To continually have to express one's emotions, when they are already a jambalaya, is....how shall I put this politely....exhausting.

And yet that is exactly what everybody around me has been inquiring for over a month. There is an expectation that I have a wonderfully prepared and articulate answer that will either satisfy their own sensibilities or will shed some illumination on why I have chosen to put an exclamation point on my career on the bimah. I am neither criticizing nor am I ridiculing these wonderful and caring individuals. There has been a real depth of emotional outpouring from my congregation over my retirement, and I love and respect each and every person who has sent me cards, emails, Facebook messages and the like. But, it has been extremely difficult to put into words exactly how I am "feeling".

I awoke this morning with full awareness that today was my last service acting as Cantorial Soloist. I have long approached this date on the calendar with excitement rather than wistfulness, and I was determined to make this Shabbat one of which I could look to with pride. The universe had a different plan. It was almost as if God dispatched a variety of gremlins into my world today just to see how I might react to my own personal shitstorm.

First, there was the asthma attack that awakened me at 5:00am. There is absolutely nothing that compares with coughing up a lung before sunrise. I love the smell of Ventolin in the morning.

Next, there was the small matter of dozing back to sleep after my near-suffocation, and almost sleeping through services. As I dashed around the house gathering all of my necessary belongings, I spilled hot tea all over the kitchen counter. Hooray for first-degree burns!! Nothing says Shabbat like Polysporin.

I ran out to my car only to discover that it refused to recognize my fob and basically told me to "F*** off. We will leave when I say it's time to leave." No amount of head meeting steering wheel, expletives uttered, or fob exchanges would entice my sweetheart of an automobile to turn over her goddamned engine. After almost ten minutes of pleading and bargaining with a machine that I am certain has had its soul possessed by Satan, she decided that she had played chicken with me for long enough and started, just in time for me to make it synagogue on time. Or was it?

You see...in my aggravated state, I left my backpack with all of my books, music, and tallit sitting on the stairs at home. I promptly called The Husband, recounted my tale of woe, and asked him to meet me in the driveway with the backpack because I was too afraid to turn off the car, lest she find another reason to f*** me over.

I got into the office exhausted and not at all ready to be an active participant in the service, but I was determined.

"It's the last one," I kept thinking.

"It can't be worse than it has already been, can it?" 

Oh yeah??

I ascend the bimah and collect my thoughts. I am having some serious flashbacks to some of those early services.

"How far we have journeyed together." 

"Remember that time when....."

I strum the opening chord of Ma Tovu and begin to sing.....

And.....

I almost blow the entire congregation into Olam Haba  because some dumb fuck has been fiddling with our sound system and my mic is turned up to Dolby-intense levels. And what's worse is that nobody can figure out how to fix it because the cabinets are locked. A couple of lovely gentlemen spend a good half hour looking for the keys and trying to determine which of the inputs is mine. In the meantime I am leaning over the lectern microphone just hoping not to strain a back muscle.

I spent the rest of the service looking inward and asking the Holy Spirit if this was His idea of fun? I could swear I heard quiet chortles of laughter coming out of the ark.

We managed to get through the rest of the morning without too much more fuss. We linked our arms for the Motzi and just like that twenty years was in  the books.

How am I feeling? Relieved that nobody lost a limb or was injured.

Seriously? 

I feel blessed. Blessed to have had the backing of such wonderful people. Blessed to have been able to share music in such a meaningful way. Blessed that I am leaving while they still like me. Blessed in the knowledge that there will be many more adventures to share with my friends and family at Kol Ami.

One last thought. I did have a bit of a Joni Mitchell moment this morning. As I looked into the congregation, I noted that there were 4 people in the crowd today who were actually in attendance for my very first service. I went over to them all and hugged them and we shared a moment and a few tears. It really has come full circle.

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on a carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.

Lesson Learned

**These are my remarks from a wonderful honouring service this past Shabbat. I was so touched by the immense outpouring and generosity from everybody in my community. Thank you all for joining me on this journey and supporting me as I begin the next one. 

Two years ago, when we gathered to commemorate my “Chai Anniversary” here at Kol Ami, I gave a helluva speech.

No. Really I did. It was great.

It was full of charm and witticisms and it was about all of the things that I have loved about being the Cantorial Soloist here at Kol Ami, or as I have lovingly labelled you all…."Temple Sings All the Time and Won’t Shut Up."

I won’t rehash those words. If you are completely lacking in memory due to the rapid onset of old age or you weren’t here for the occasion, I will repost it later on my blog for anybody who cares to look. Instead, I would rather share with you a few important life lessons that this wild and wacky journey of being a Jewish musician has taught me.

• Life is always easier in appropriate footwear. Heels are the bane of any woman’s existence and this is especially true on Yom Kippur. Be comfortable and the music will flow with ease. This is a moral imperative that we should recall in all circumstances.
• Music is always more beautiful when one is hydrated. Water, green tea, and honey/lemon lozenges are my own personal fifth food group.
• Don’t inform the congregation during a service that you just snapped your G-string. It makes for uncomfortable conversations at the Onegs. 
• If you must remove your engagement and wedding rings in order to properly play the guitar, don’t leave them on the bimah following a service. It makes for uncomfortable conversations with The Husband at home.
• My favourite innovation over the last 38 years of song leading? Wireless mics. They have allowed both me and my guitar to roam freely amongst you, all the while saving my voice its annual bouts of laryngitis. I love the feeling of hyper-kinesis when we sing together. It makes the music and the prayer come alive.
• Music is filled with flavours and everybody has their favourite. Embrace those differences. Here is a typical post-service conversation that I have had many times. 

Moishe Congregant: “I loved the service, but I really don’t like that new setting of the Mi Chamocha. I liked the old one better.” 

Me: “I understand how you feel. Was there any piece that you did like this evening?” 

Moishe: “Well….I always did like that version of L’cha Dodi.” 

Me: “Then I guess we were successful, right?” 

As my father always says…that’s why they make chocolate and vanilla.

• Jewish music should ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS be a shared experience. When we sing together as a community, it facilitates prayer in a manner that can only be described as transcendent. I am at my happiest when you all are singing with me. If I could have one wish for this community going forward, it would be that you never just sit back and let somebody else do your singing and praying for you. Sing with full hearts and full voices, and believe me….you will find God in this place. To me….that is the best definition of spirituality.
• If you are going to do this job as Cantorial Soloist, make sure that you surround yourself with  only the best people. They are everywhere in this congregation. My teachers, my students, my rabbis, my musician friends, my choral singers, my conductors. You have all made me better than I had ever hoped or ever deserved to be. I count every single one of you as friend. This journey has been incredible mostly because you all came along with me for the ride. 
• If you are going to do this job as Cantorial Soloist, make certain that you tell your family how grateful you are for all of the sacrifices that they have made throughout the years. For all of those times when we couldn’t sit together; had to rush through Shabbat or holiday dinners; for when you attended family functions without me; when you had to spend your birthday at an honouring service; when you just wanted to blend into the scenery but couldn’t….for all of it…..know that I love you all and I appreciate everything that you have done. You are my heart and soul. 
• And finally…know when it is time to let the next person come in and teach new things. We are never too old to learn. Embrace the change and accept the uncertainty of the future. Excitement awaits. Dr. Maya Angelou once said “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” I can only hope that the feelings are good ones.

And now we sing.....

Music Speaks Louder Than Words  (Music and Lyrics by: Harold Payne, Edgar Pease, Michael Scarpiello)

Chorus:

Music speaks louder than words
It's the only thing that the whole world listens to
Music speaks louder than words
When you sing, people understand

Sometimes the love that you feel inside
Gets lost between your heart and your mind
And the words don't really say, the things you wanted them to
But then you feel in someone's song
What you'd been trying to say all along
And somehow with the magic of music the message comes through

Chorus:

The longer I live the more
I find that people seldom take the time
To really get to know a stranger and make him a friend
But the power of a simple song can make everybody feel they belong
Maybe singin' and playin' can bring us together again
Singin' and playin' can bring us together again

Chorus:

Identity

My father-in-law has had a moustache for as long as I have known him. As a matter of fact, he has been bushy on his upper lip for as long as The Husband has known him. Without getting into a grim discussion of the passing of decades, suffice it to say that that is a lot of years with a sneeze guard. 

This past week the wonderful attendants who care for him shaved his face clean. It is a matter of ease and cleanliness especially when it comes to mealtimes, but the long and the short of it is that the moustache that he had so lovingly cultivated for most of his life is now but a memory consigned to the family photo albums.

Last year when he was still able to make his feelings known, he was adamant about keeping his hairy upper lip. It was an important part of how he saw himself and he was very negatively vocal when the idea of becoming clean-shaven was broached. 

This whole episode has me thinking a great deal about identity. How do we view ourselves and what are those things, tangible or inconspicuous, that go into defining who we are? Are we the labels that others ascribe to us, or is there more to us than the obvious and the visible?

As my time as a Cantorial Soloist draws to a close, I have been asked a lot of questions by a lot of people.

"Aren't you a bit young to retire?" (God bless these deluded souls!)

"Won't you miss it?" (Absolutely!)

"You're so good at it. Why would you want to leave?" (The time is right!)

And of course the biggie....

"What are you going to do next?"

Thank you to all who have cared enough to grill me. It has allowed me some serious moments of self-reflection. The truth is that I honestly don't know what is coming next. I plan on taking it one day at a time for a bit while I decompress. Hopefully something will present itself to me and if not, hopefully I will present something new and different to myself. But I have come to realize that contrary to my previous thoughts on the subject about how I define myself, I am much more than what I do. I have truly loved my work and I have viewed it very much as a calling, but the time has come to add new and obscure labels of self-identification. 

Maybe I'll grow a moustache? 

Singing is Like Air

The Husband and I were just lazing around last night half-watching insipid television while waiting for Modern Family to air. In the midst of a lull, he dropped a bombshell of a question.

"Are you going to miss singing, honey?", he asked with tremendous sincerity.

What is interesting about the query, is that in all the time that I have been considering my retirement from the Cantorial Soloist position, I have never once thought of it as a cessation from singing. How could I even possibly imagine a world in which I don't sing?

I sing all the time. All the time!! I don't always realize that I am singing. I'm that person; the moron you've often seen stopped at a red light who is totally immersed in and belting out whatever is coming out of the radio. (More often than not it is Sirius XM channel 72 On Broadway, but it really doesn't make much of a difference. I have been known to wail everything and anything from Fleetwood Mac to Adele to Kenny Chesney to Pete Seeger.) If you've been anywhere near the Greater Toronto Area in the last fifty years, I'm sure you've seen me car-boogieing to Aretha and Tina, or air-guitaring a lick from Zeppelin or ZZ Top.

Yup. I'm that person.

I sing in the shower, when I'm drying my hair, when I'm on the treadmill, when I'm ironing clothes, and when I'm grocery shopping. I'm the dork who sings too loudly with her headphones on, and the idiot who has elicited odd looks from complete strangers on airplanes. (There was that time that I absent-mindedly crooned  Hasa Diga Eebowai from The Book of Mormon on a flight to Denver without a care in the world until the young mother sitting across the aisle with her small children gave me the death stare...but that's a whole other story.) I sing when I'm happy, sad, miserable, excited, bored, and every other possible emoticon sitting on your laptop.

I sing.

I sing so often that my children used to beg me to stop.

It's just so much a part of my psyche and my soul that when The Husband posed his question last evening it stunned me.

Now I fully realize that he was talking about my public singing, that persona I assume whenever I ascend the bimah or stand in front of a class or a dining hall filled with campers. But the way he phrased it was a bit of a jolt.

I have been actively involved in the world of Jewish music since I was thirteen years old. That is more than 3 1/2 decades of teaching religious school and preschool music classes; conducting junior and youth choirs; singing in dozens of choirs, choruses, and ensembles; NFTY, camp, and retreat songleading; soloing for several congregations; leading seminars, workshops, and day-sessions for the up and comers; community healing services, B'rit Milah, B'nai Mitzvah, weddings, funerals and unveilings. I was a Jewish music professional long before the internet made sharing so easy. I was the person who played those first NFTY albums (on vinyl!) over and over and over again so that I could accurately learn how Debbie played the chords to Sing Unto God. I still have some of those early Eurovision cassette tapes and those Israeli song contest recordings. I still remember the arrangement I taught one of my earliest youth choirs for Shir Baboker. 9 and 10 year olds sang the entire piece...every verse...in Hebrew. We rocked Zimriyah that year. I was the music teacher who composed her own Chanukah and Purim songs because there wasn't all that much out there at the time. I was the soloist on the bimah who came down into the congregation because I insisted on not being the only voice heard singing L'cha Dodi on Shabbat. This has been my professional world for almost 40 years.

Will I miss that? Of course. It is hard to walk away from a passion that has been all-encompassing, but as it says in Kohelet "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens."

The time is right. In my years in Jewish music, I have been privileged to be part of a revolution. We have taken our synagogues' prayers and liturgy and transformed them into living breathing experiences in which our congregants actively participate. We sing the music of Lewandowski alongside that of Debbie Friedman and Dan Nichols. We have welcomed all manner of instruments, styles, languages, voices, and we use them all to further our conversation with The Divine Spirit. I am proud of what I have accomplished in my career, but the time has come to do something else.

Will I miss singing? No, because I will never stop. Singing is like air to me. I could no more stop singing than I could breathing. You may not see me leading a Mi Sheberach from the front, but I would lay even money that you will hear my voice from somewhere in the congregation. I'll be the dork who is swaying back and forth with her eyes closed while miming the chords on an imaginary twelve-string.

I will have more to say about my upcoming retirement and my amazing congregation in the weeks to come.