By Hayley Goldberg
When I came to Stern College for Women three years ago, I was unsure of how to fit in. I came from a Reform community with little-to-no background in observant Judaism; everything was a new concept to me. One thing I knew about Orthodox Judaism, which I had learned in seminary, was that women could not sing in front of men – a concept known as kol isha. It was one of the things that initially made me resent Orthodoxy, until I found out that I could still perform.
Stern College Dramatics Society (SCDS) was the community I didn’t know I needed until I realized that I was losing them too soon. I was supposed to stay another year at Stern to finish a second major. When that plan fell through, my time here was suddenly cut short. When I auditioned for the fall play this year, Journey Through Ruth, I enjoyed the experience, but I didn’t treat it like it would be my last. When I realized a week after our performances that I was going to be graduating in May, my heart sank as I thought about everything I might have missed.
I don’t know if there is necessarily anything I could have done differently about my time in the play, but I know I didn’t get to take it all in. There’s a special feeling when you look out at an audience and recognize everything that brought you to that moment. You breathe. You take in the smell of sawdust and drying paint. You glance at the light booth, knowing they are helping you shine one last time. You trust the music and sound cues that carry you forward. But I didn’t get that – I didn’t get the chance to take it all in.
Not having a proper goodbye to the play meant I needed to make my time with the SCDS showcase even better, especially as a board member and director. I needed to give myself time to reflect on everything I was doing throughout the process and know this would be it. I took every opportunity I could to breathe it all in. “This Is Me” wasn’t just the theme of the showcase, it was something I chose intentionally, a reflection of everything I was still trying to understand about myself. This was going to be a showcase worth remembering.
As a director, there were a myriad of things that brought me into the spirit of my final showcase; seeing the new auditioners who will one day take the stage as their own, writing out the harmonies for my pieces and hearing them come to life, creating choreography that would bring life to the stage. But the moment I knew would mean the most to me was my final solo performance.
I will be the first to tell anyone that I am my own worst critic, so I had a very difficult time allowing myself to have fun while choosing the song I would sing and letting it take shape. I mended and molded my voice to sound pristine on every vocal flip, on each crescendo. The music room on the fourth floor became my new home, the piano, my teacher, the walls, my audience. I knew I had to perform as if I would never perform again.
The big day came. It was time for a showcase to remember. The audience was set – larger than we had ever had before – and the lights dimmed. This was it. My first act walked onto the stage, and I reflected on all the work that each and every student had put into making this moment happen. They shined on stage. I was truly a proud director, and my smile could have lit the way if the lights went out in the stairwell. Being a director and seeing your vision come to fruition is the best feeling, and I got to experience that four times this showcase. To my shining stars, demon hunters, revolting children, and Suffs, know that I am so incredibly proud of you.
When it came to my solo, I knew there was a lot riding on it. At last year’s showcase, my voice cracked on the second-to-last note, and though I should be able to look at the other four minutes of the song and say I did a great job, I can’t rewatch that video without focusing on that one moment.
This year, I chose to sing Back to Before from Ragtime – a song about standing at the edge of change, knowing you can’t return to who you once were. It didn’t feel like a coincidence. I was standing in that exact place myself.
When I stepped into the spotlight this time, it felt different. I wasn’t thinking about perfection in the same way. I let myself be in the moment, to actually feel the song as I was singing it. And for the first time, when I walked off stage, I felt content. Not because it was flawless, but because I finally let myself be present in it.
There is a small fear inside me that leaving Stern means I will no longer have the opportunities I had to express my theatrical side. I am, and will be, in a perpetual state of learning regarding Judaism. As of this moment, I have complicated feelings about performing in front of mixed audiences. I can’t imagine giving up performing once I leave Stern. At the same time, Stern has directed me on a different religious journey than the one I grew up knowing. Music is the air I breathe, and shutting it away because I won’t have SCDS come graduation makes me feel as if my lungs are collapsing.
“This Is Me” was never just a theme for a showcase. It was a question I am still answering. Maybe part of that answer is learning how to hold both parts of myself – the girl who needs to sing and the woman still figuring out what that means in her new world. I don’t have it all figured out yet, but for the first time, I’m okay with that.
Maybe I don’t know exactly what performing will look like for me after Stern. Maybe it won’t look the same at all. But I do know that SCDS gave me something no rule or uncertainty can take away – the ability to feel fully present in a moment, to create, to connect and to understand myself more deeply through music, not just as a performer, but as someone still learning who she is. If this truly was my last time on that stage, then at least I can say I finally learned how to stand on it.
Photo Caption: Hayley Goldberg performing at the SCDS showcase
Photo Credit: Dalya Eichler