Finding G-d in the Creative Life
Pottery, books, and a chat with cellist Laura Melnicoff about music, Judaism, & figuring out what to cook for Shabbos
Decades ago, one of my literature professors interrupted his lecture on the work of Israeli novelist and Holocaust survivor Aharon Appelfeld to tell us a story about his son. The night before, they’d watched a ballet performance on PBS. The young child was enchanted with the dancers as they pirouetted and pliéd and flew through the air.
He told his father, my professor, “I can do that. It’s easy!” He attempted to copy their movements, and each time, fell to the floor. Breathless, he conceded defeat. “Oh, it’s impossible, Abba!”
In truth, what’s impossible is pulling mastery of dance or writing or painting or (insert any art or craft here) out of the microwave. Talent must be nurtured over time; expertise gained through practice, determination, and patience with oneself. Which was the point our professor was hoping to make in telling us the story.
As with anything, you still have to start somewhere, which brings me to my first pottery lessons.
My friend Laura and I recently started taking classes at a local studio. We love it. I knew it would be hard, though. Centering the clay on the wheel and forcing it into submission require far more strength than I ever imagined. The bowls I’ve made thus far are the equivalent of my professor’s son falling on the floor. So I’m trying to let the wheel spin, to just enjoy the process.
On the other hand, I’ve been crocheting for decades. I sometimes dabble in collage, altered books, and the painting of old furniture as well. But whatever I’m working on and whatever my level of mastery (or lack of it), I put my projects aside for the duration of Shabbos. This is the inherent godliness in every craft, the recognition that G-d is the ultimate creator. And if He rests, so must I.
All I can do is to make something out of nothing on a very small scale the other six days of the week.
Chatting with Cellist Laura Melnicoff
Speaking of mastery and creative process…
For this month’s #thecreativepause, I had the pleasure of speaking with cellist Laura Melnicoff, whom I last saw when she performed in the orchestra of Fiddler on the Roof in Yiddish. Here’s a listen in on our conversation.
Tell me your cello story.
At first, I thought my instrument would be the flute or harp, but my mom made me take cello lessons when I was six. She was then in her early 40s and had always wanted to learn. We studied together in the beginning, though typical for a child of that age, I had no interest in practicing. But I loved doing it with her. She also played the piano and my dad the clarinet, so we played Mozart as a trio. I’m still in awe of my parents’ investment in making that happen.
When did you fall in love with it?
I adored the teacher who gave me private lessons. Then one of the instructors at a summer music program I participated in made me think, I want this life. The creative environment captivated me. By then I believed music was magical. It represented all kinds of opportunities, including quality time with my parents. That’s how my cello love bloomed. We lived in Manhattan and I had to lug that heavy instrument around by myself. Once I was in love, I stopped minding.
Any plot twists in that story?
I spent most of my childhood enmeshed in the pressures of auditions and competitions, of trying to be the best. By the age of seventeen, I’d already accumulated a lifetime’s worth of stress and disappointment. The cello had also become the only way I knew how to interact with other people and my only model of success. There was no time for anything else. My self-worth was tied exclusively to my ability to play. I loved the cello, but I wanted more from life.
Where did you go from there, once you felt the weight of burnout?
I did not grow up religious. I only began keeping Shabbos my first year of conservatory in Cincinnati when I connected with Chabad. Shabbos introduced me to a whole new sector of people who did not know me as a cellist. I loved being seen in that new light. I needed it, even. Suddenly, the only valid metric of my worth was the fact that G-d had created me. No other source of validation mattered.
How do you strike the balance between observance and the creative life?
I was new to Shabbos when I first began performing. In truth, I was giving observance a trial run then. I wasn’t gigging yet as a musician either, so I could just say that I can’t perform on Friday night or Saturday.
The hard stuff came later. It’s almost impossible to feel connected to the greater music community when you’re not able to be physically present. For example, because I couldn’t perform or even do a dress rehearsal on Shabbos, I was excluded from the regional orchestra. Even here in Albany, there are so many local musicians who get together and I’m not tapped into that. I miss the connections with like-minded people.
How do you manage the creative pause, the necessary packing up of the cello and letting go over Shabbos?
I’m fine not being able to play. Shabbos prep is another story. Week to week, I perseverate. Should we have company or not? Should I prepare an elaborate meal or something easier? The answers determine how much time I’ll have to practice. Music-making is wonderful. But the real work that supports those moments of transcendence are the sheer athletics of playing the instrument, of keeping my muscles in shape, and nurturing the nuances I need available to me when I play.
One general challenge is the issue of health care and childcare. There are real consequences in pursuing a freelance life in the arts, especially in the Orthodox world when I’m already limited by the parameters of Shabbos and the holidays. But where I journey, I’m finding creative solutions to make this life possible on some level.
What are the most magical things you get to do now?
On Shabbos, I get to be social – with friends, but mostly I spend time with my kids, which was a great part of what drew me to the Shabbos package in the first place. That routine of community, of resting together.
But the fact is that I also need quiet space by myself to thrive. I read a lot, especially the New Yorker. The power of the written word fills up my spiritual tank.
During the week, I play as much as I can. This summer, I am performing in several concerts that I’m producing myself. One will be at my house, another at a local arboretum. I get to control the space and timing. It will be divine.
And lastly, where do you most deeply feel the connection between Judaism and music?
There are so many parallels between the two. The level of discipline required. But mostly, the creativity. I find that the same “muscles” are exercised when it comes to interpreting music and studying the interpretations of the Torah. Both invite me to learn about history, language, biographies, cultural contexts, and all kinds of other references that go into the beauty of the stories being told.
Summer Reading Love
My reading has been slow going, but I’m thankfully back on track. This Shabbos will be a quiet one. No guests, no plans. Just simple meals and challah from the freezer. And books! I plan to devour books.
A few summer reading recommendations before I go:
If you’ve never read any of Aharon Appelfeld’s fiction, try the brilliant Badenheim 1939. Or Katerina, reading this Tablet essay by the author first. His writing powerfully conveys the authenticity of his experience.
You Could Make This Place Beautiful: A Memoir by Maggie Smith (the American poet, not the British actress) tells the heartbreaking story of her divorce. The writing is so beautiful, it’s as if it were wrought by magic.
Take a look at this essay by Micaela Diamond. She stars as Lucille Frank in the Broadway revival of Parade, based on the story of Jewish pencil-factory owner Leo Frank, who was lynched in Atlanta in 1913. My writer friend Julie Zuckerman’s alerted me to the piece in her recent newsletter.
For a quick, light read on the culinary arts from the New York Times, check out this love letter to a 750-foot roll of plastic wrap.
And if you’re looking to pick up a book for your kids, How to Welcome an Alien by Rebecca Klempner (featured on #thecreativepause in this edition of my newsletter) is now available for pre-order.
A quick ask, if I may
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Wishing you a peaceful, restful Shabbos, however you plan to spend it.
Love,
Merri
Great newsletter, Merri! And thanks for the shoutout :-)! Shabbat shalom!
Thank you, Merri! It was wonderful to chat with you. Looking forward to next time. Good shabbos!