Vision Statement

A wave of sound washes over my ears as water crashes on the beach below. It is Shabbat, and everyone is marching in white to the outdoor sanctuary, an overlook where the sunset meets the ocean. This scene still plays in my mind whenever I think back to my first summer as a wide-eyed seven-year-old at Gindling Hilltop Camp in Malibu, California. I didn't know at that moment that singing Ben Siegel’s Bar’chu  would be the Jewish spark that ignited my soul. That spark developed into a ner tamid, an infinite flame that is ever growing and shaping as my passion for music, community, and Judaism continue to define my cantorate.

Having grown up playing piano, guitar, percussion, and singing, music has been the constant that helped me connect to the world and to others. However, there was one time that I had to find another way to connect. As a cantorial student, I officiated a Bat Mitzvah for a child whose parents were Deaf. I realized that my usual connection point, music, was not going to work for this family. Although I knew we were going to have sign language interpreters at the ceremony, I took it upon myself to learn basic sign language. I learned a few signs so I could say “good morning,” directly introduce myself to the parents, and express how exciting this special moment was. I had practiced over and over and over again.

As the service began, I was terrified of embarrassing myself by using the wrong signs. I faced the ark as I always do to put on my tallit. I looked up and saw דע לפני מי אתה עומד Da lifnei mi atah omed  inscribed in bold across the top of the ark: "Know before whom you stand." In that moment, on the bimah, I finally understood what this quote meant. I was standing before God, yes, but more intently in this moment, I was standing before a congregation.

I was standing before a congregation with many different perspectives and needs, all gathered, eager for prayer, celebration, and relationship. I realized that this moment was not about me and my trepidation to use sign language, it was about the need for unique and undivided connection. As I faced the community wrapped in my tallit, I was ready to create a simply sacred moment; not by singing, but by signing. This is an important lesson that I continue to carry forward. While music is my preferred avenue of connecting to Judaism, it is just one of many ways to foster genuine relationships and meaning making.

Even in the silence of the sign language, the image of the camp sky, the ocean, and the sounds of the Bar’chu prayer from years ago echo in my head, heart, and soul. As I step into my role as a cantor, I commit to helping my congregants see the divine in one another – through music, through prayer, and through genuine kindness and compassion. This is how we create a sacred community.