Her Yiddish-speaking band hits all the right notes
I grew up in a happy, fun-loving, chassidish home. My mother, a creative soul, encouraged us to use our talents, and our house was never too messy for yet one more project. Our bedroom, crammed with four beds end to end, was further crowded by loads of masterpieces and keepsakes from our various artistic endeavors.
The most desirable pursuit of all, though, was the one avenue that was closed to me. In our principled home, the practice was not to play music, as a sign of mourning for the Beis Hamikdash. That was incredibly hard for me, and I desperately grabbed every opportunity to play and listen to music at friends’ and relatives’ homes.
When I was in seventh grade, my parents relented to my entreaties and purchased a cheap keyboard. The agreement was that I’d play it only on Motzaei Shabbos, Rosh Chodesh, or other special occasions, and never merely for fun.
I kept my end of the deal. The moment Havdalah ended, I’d run to my beloved keyboard and play for six or seven hours straight, not stopping for so much as a drink of water. On Rosh Chodesh, I’d skip the special activities in school in order to be able to spend more time at my keyboard.
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