at my pace

FINDING MY VOICE by Ellen Miller Arad

Before I ever uttered a note, I knew I could sing. I felt it in my soul. But for what seems like forever, it was a well-guarded secret. You see, I was raised in a home with two very high profile women, who could also sing. My mother, who was a coloratura soprano with the NYC Opera Company back in the forties. Her ill health kept her from realizing her potential, her dream. And my sister, who could be the topic of a completely separate discourse. Suffice it to say, from a tender age, embedded in my subconscious was the feeling that I could not succeed where they did not. And so I stilled my voice, and opted instead for academic excellence; although as a young career woman, I hovered around the arts. I worked as an associate producer for Good Morning America, and a Story Editor for Punch Productions, Dustin Hoffman’s production company, while pursuing my first Masters degree in communications from NYU. On the eve of graduation, my professor and advisor took me to dinner, and offered me a doctoral fellowship. I was thrilled, but nevertheless had to decline; I was engaged and moving to London in 6 months’ time. They agreed to keep the offer on the table for 2 years, and should I return within that time frame, the fellowship was mine. We returned to NY 5 years later, long past the sell by date of the fellowship.

The years in London were challenging ones. I thought with my credentials and work experience, I’d be welcomed with open arms by the media community. But in  80’s  London, women in media were a miniscule percentage of the work force. I rode the length and breadth of the tube, going on interviews, to no avail. When we finally moved back to the States, I’d been out of the work force for nearly 5 years. Having a newborn meant I couldn’t, and really didn’t want to, jump back into the frenetic world of live television, and so I had to start from scratch.  I became a freelance feature writer for an entertainment industry monthly paper. Once again I found myself drawn to a career that was tangential to the arts, using my voice to highlight the work and creativity of others. It made me restless and left me unfulfilled.  One evening there was a knock at the front door. The woman who was the family educator at our synagogue had come to inquire as to whether or not I’d like to take over the monthly children’s service. Although I had no formal training, I was quite game to give it a try, and poof! I became a Jewish educator. Within six months I had created enough demand for the service to go from monthly to weekly, and  I became the music teacher not only in my own synagogue, but in several others throughout the county. In my third year of this new career, I branched out by teaching older children in religious school, as well as adults. It wasn’t glamorous, but it afforded me the opportunity to be present for my children, and for my parents, both of whom were quite ill and becoming increasingly dependent upon me.

I was the poster child for the sandwich generation, experiencing the challenge of caring for young children and infirmed parents while still in my thirties. Nevertheless, I went back to graduate school for a Masters in Jewish Education; I felt a strong need to have the credentials necessary to call myself a Jewish educator. And so my children and I would sit at the kitchen table, all doing our homework. Those are precious memories for me.

In my classroom, music was my tool of choice for instruction, my guitar my constant companion. While pursuing this Masters, I studied privately with my childhood cantor. I wanted him to teach me cantillation, the art of reading from the Torah, and how to be a service leader. I felt strongly that these skills were necessary for any professional Jewish educator, and sadly, weren’t included in the curriculum. Shortly after we began, he began to talk to me about enrolling in cantorial school.  He even had the dean call me. With great reluctance, and trepidation, I accepted his offer and began pursuing my third Masters degree, and investiture as a hazzan. When I embarked on this leg of my  journey, I had no intention of pursuing a career as a cantor at all, mostly because I wasn’t willing to pick up and move across the country to serve a congregation.  The closer I came to completion, the louder the voice inside me grew. “You can do this,” it said. “Find a way.” And as my career as a hazzan continues to unfold, I realize I am still finding my voice. The voice that I use as an agent for the congregation on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year, is not the same voice I use as a chaplain to bring comfort to a dying patient. The voices of an artist on the concert stage, or of a teacher in the classroom, are different still.   Just recently it occurred to me that while I don’t have a traditional pulpit, I have still managed to shape my cantorate  and encompass almost every facet of the profession in my own way and on my own terms. I believe this to be unique in the cantorate, but so perfectly fitting for my personality. Never one to follow a traditional recipe, I like to add my own spice. As for my personal cantorate, well that recipe isn’t quite finished; but  I am looking forward to see what happens next.