From Kansas to Tzfat: The Teshuva Story of a Musical Performer

The sun was setting in the Kansas sky, just beyond the stage. Behind me, hundreds of eager audience members were waiting for the show to begin. As I stood on the set piece – a cottage – I gazed longingly at the colorful clouds, knowing that soon, they would be replaced by stars. It was a Friday night, and we were opening Beauty and the Beast: The Musical. A long-held dream of playing the character Belle had come true, and yet, my soul was torn. Belle is not only a princess. She is a champion of the ridiculed, and a highly intelligent young woman, who albeit, different from the rest of her town, stood firmly in her values and beliefs. In many ways, I connected to Belle in my own life. And yet, while the sun was setting that Friday night, a soft whisper arose within. “It will soon be Shabbat. And, soon, you will need to make a choice for the rest of your life.” The orchestra began to increase in volume, the crowd went silent, and just like that – the show began.

         Theater, and more specifically, music, has been an element of my life since childhood. I would like to think that even in the womb, I heard various artists singing and playing instruments from my mom’s sound system. A lover of music and musical theater herself, it was no surprise that her only daughter would too have a passion. I spent my life in voice lessons, dance classes, rehearsals, and auditions, and later began to realize that it was not only my talent I was sharing with audiences – I was sharing my soul. I would later come to learn, when pursuing musical theater as my chosen degree in college, of a concept called kol isha – not by one of my professors, but by my campus rabbi!

         Growing up in Kansas, being theatrical and musical, didn’t make you entirely different from one’s peers. There was always choir, drama classes, or even a drum-circle! In these crowds, I found my people. No, it was not musical theater that made me entirely different – it was being a Jew. There were a handful of times, as a young child in elementary school, I was told that I killed Jesus. Of course, this made me raise an eyebrow, because I couldn’t recall having killed anyone by the time I was 8-years-old. Other times, I was ensured that a spot in hell would be saved for me because I was Jewish. And yet, deep down, Jewish pride always got the best of me, and the hurtful comments only made me more self-assured. ‘Wow, people really don’t like Jews’, I’d think to myself. ‘I wonder what we’ve done so wrong…or so right?’ 

Where am I now? I am on a journey. Still, music is a passion of mine. Still, in many ways – though living in Israel – I feel like an outcast. Am I doing any of this right? Other times, I release the expectations of myself and tune back into my soul, singing for my son, and G-d. Some day, I pray, my voice will again move people, as it did for audiences many years ago. My voice will evoke emotions, inspire others, and perhaps, be a cause for meaningful change – rather than the temporary “escape” from reality that theater provides. And, perhaps soon in our days, we will all reunite to sing praises to our Creator, as the sun sets in the Jerusalem sky, welcoming Shabbat in the Third, and Final Temple. 

         Fast forward to high school, I am – shocker – immersed in theatrics! After transferring high schools, specifically to be involved in a better theater program, I saw my life lighting up before my eyes: great friends, great grades, and great performance opportunities. Soon, the idea of college came up, and while everyone was writing essays to be accepted to their desired university, I began preparing for auditions. There were so many choices to make! What songs would I choose? What colleges would be right for me? Let it be known, that finding a campus rabbi was not on the decision making list.

         And yet, as it so often goes, G-d had plans for me that I could not have dreamed of. As “fate” would have it, the one school for which I received a scholarship (the only way I could go to college) was in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. As soon as I got there, I again found my “people”! They were quirky, dressed colorfully, and sang more than they spoke. For the first time, as well, I noticed a few students were my “people” in an even deeper way – they were Jews! We became known in our theater program as the “token Jews”, and upon meeting each other, decided to attend a campus-kiruv Rosh Hashanah event. This particular holiday would forever change my life.

         I was very eager to meet the Jewish family hosting the meal, to say the least. When we arrived at their home, at the top of one of Pittsburgh’s many hills, three young boys ran to the door. Atop each of their heads, was a cap. ‘Those are only worn in synagogue!’ I thought to myself. Alas, after years of spending time with this family, babysitting, and eventually becoming a live-in nanny, I would come to learn that there was much surrounding Jewish practice and daily life that I had been deprived of.

         I began to deep-dive into Jewish learning. The rabbi and I would learn together, once a week, which became my favorite “subject” in school. Although I loved my program (who wouldn’t love singing, acting, and dancing all day), deep down, something was missing when in school. What once was a passion, became nit-picky, being under a constant, judging eye, and nasty competition. After some time, many eating disorders, addictions, and unhealthy sexual behaviors would be circling around me at school. For some, it was all experimental – for others, this was an expression of pain, confusion, or a soul desperately searching. At school, I was as experimental as my peers, unfortunately. On Friday nights, however, I would put on my most modest outfit, visit the previous family for a Shabbat meal, and read books with their adoring children. Both lives felt so real – yet one firmly tugged at my animal soul, while the other, filled my neshama. 

Fast forward to the summer of my second year in college, and I’m back in Kansas City. After sending in an audition tape to a local theater, I was told that – mazel tov! – I had gotten the role of Belle in Beauty and the Beast: The Musical. After that summer, and what I would describe as a struggle to do what my soul and mind knew was correct, versus what my body and heart had known since childhood, I finally decided to change degrees. I could no longer have my feet in both worlds, watching the sun set on a Friday night, and rather than being home celebrating Shabbat, be in costume to entertain a crowd.

Where am I now? I am on a journey. Still, music is a passion of mine. Still, in many ways – though living in Israel – I feel like an outcast. Am I doing any of this right? Other times, I release the expectations of myself and tune back into my soul, singing for my son, and G-d. Some day, I pray, my voice will again move people, as it did for audiences many years ago. My voice will evoke emotions, inspire others, and perhaps, be a cause for meaningful change – rather than the temporary “escape” from reality that theater provides. And, perhaps soon in our days, we will all reunite to sing praises to our Creator, as the sun sets in the Jerusalem sky, welcoming Shabbat in the Third, and Final Temple.