Last night, I attended my first Rosh Hashanah service in over fifteen years. It was one of those “Beginner” services for Jewish adults who have little to no religious training. One of the members of the congregation has a tradition of opening his home to anyone who doesn’t have a place to go for the Holiday meal. After some coercion from a few people, I decided “What they hey, I’ll go.” It sounded better than the lone meal of chicken breast and broccoli waiting for me at home.
About fifteen of us made our way to this Good Samaritan’s home, about a block away from the Jewish center. Very few people actually knew one another, and after the obligatory first-name introductions, I wondered how we would get on. Well, put good food in front of a bunch of strangers, and they are no longer strangers! Believe it or not,with all the Jews in NYC (and especially the Upper West Side), I ended up sitting near a Jazz composer and a Russian opera singer.
At one point after the blessings, the host called upon someone to say a few words about the Holiday. While I listened to this man speak about the origins of the date of Rosh Hashanah, I thought to myself “He’s going to call on me next.” I just knew it.
He did.
Well, the Rabbi’s speech today was about using the High Holidays as a time to think about what is truly important, rather than what we THINK is important, which is the norm. As I was pondering this, a song popped into my head (people who know me IRL can’t be surprised at this, I am the girl who has a Musical Theatre reference for everything). I stuttered something about this song and how I thought it related to the Holiday, and, without letting myself think too much about it, asked permission to sing it.
I stood up, and began to sing. I was ten times more nervous than I EVER am at an audition. First off, I am not a fan of singing solo a capella. It’s so exposed. Then, the hyenas started dancing around in my head: “Oh, dear, who do I think I am? I haven’t warmed up. They are going to think I stink. How narcissistic of me, to think these people even care about my song or my voice.” My legs began to shake. To my ears, my voice was cracking horribly. I couldn’t look at anyone around me. I sang to the wall.
Of course, the company ended up being pretty receptive to my little impromptu salon, but that’s not my point. My point is this: when I was a child, I LIVED for moments like this. Every bit of company my mother or grandparents had, to me, was a fresh audience. I would perform for the mailman if he let me. I sang, I did little comedy skits- and while I belted out the latest Whitney Houston, I was completely free from inhibition and self-judgment. And I miss that.
The truth is, this IS what I have to offer the world. I cannot speak with any authority on Talmud, or the novels of Nabokov, or the films of James Dean (although that is a goal). I can sing. I can offer up a part of myself to a room full of strangers, and hopefully speak to them in a real and true way. And that has worth.
Marianne Williamson said this much better than I ever could:
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves: Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of G-d. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
And so, my New Year’s Resolution is to “give it away”. Let others decide whether it has worth-- it’s really none of my concern. My job is to be true to myself. Uh -oh, here comes another song:
“Stop worrying if your vision is new
Let others make that decision-
They usually do.
You keep moving on.”
--Stephen Sondheim, SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE
I will not play small. I will make manifest the glory of G-d, or Mother Nature, or MYSELF. I will not hide my light under a bushel.
…and I WILL smack those damned hyenas in the head with a baseball bat.
L’Shanah Tova, all.
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