Between teaching and serving as Szim Salom’s cantor, I spend a lot of my life in preparations: not so much for lessons (unless there is a lot of grading to do, or unless we are reading a work of literature) as for school performances and Folyosó. The Shakespeare festival preparations have many components: planning the program with Kata at the library, making sure all the logistics are worked out, and (most of all) helping the tenth-graders prepare their scene within a short time (we meet once a week for forty-five minutes). Helping others prepare is much more difficult than preparing myself; I have decades of experience with practicing and know what needs to be done. With my students, I have to plan the details carefully so that we can make good use of the time.

As for Szim Salom, in addition to leading services, I prepare and deliver the Torah cantillation once a month; we have Saturday morning services twice a month, and on the second occasion, others do the Torah reading, without cantillation. I give thought to the services that I lead: any new or alternate melodies that I might introduce, any particular emphasis, any special occasion. Then there are the holidays: for instance, we will be joining with several other synagogues for Purim, and women, including me, will be reading or chanting the the Book of Esther, also known as the Megillah. (I will be chanting Chapters 7 and 8, as well as the last two verses of Chapter 6.) After that, Pesach (Passover) will be right around the corner.

Never mind the preparation that goes into writing, translating, and submitting work for publication: I learned long ago that the more carefully a manuscript is prepared, the more seriously it will be considered, not only because editors are sticklers about font size and such, but because careful preparation implies consideration. They like to know that you have reasons for sending it to them in particular, that you respect their standards, and that your work merits attention.

Although preparations give me mild anxiety (I worry about being underprepared, so I generally go overboard), and although I like to leave ample room for spontaneous and unprepared events, this life of preparations suits me well. I enjoy the immersion, the hours spent with the verses, work of literature, or other matter, and the challenge to come up with solutions. For instance, with the Shakespeare preparations, we ran into a glitch: none of the boys wanted to be Romeo. First I thought we might turn the ball scene into a marionette show, but first of all, that would make it silly, and second, it would take considerable time and money to obtain or make the marionettes, never mind learn how to use them properly. Then I thought of silhouettes. Aha! A silhouette scene is beautiful, and it spares the actors the embarrassment of having to be amorous in front of an audience. The picture to the left is just of our experiment with it; we will refine it later, with brighter light behind the sheet, etc. Before this particular part of the scene, the sheet will figure in one of the ballroom dances. For all of this to work, I have to plan exactly what each person will do. But this also ensures that everyone will have a role of some kind. We will also need back-ups in case someone is sick on the day of the performance. For each detail, there must be at least two people prepared to carry it out.

The difficulty of such preparations is that you don’t always feel up to them. Sometimes I think I have far too much on (and about to be heaped onto) my plate. I haven’t been going on long bike rides lately, partly because there’s so much to prepare for the next day or week. Leading services on Saturday mornings requires leaving my apartment at 7 a.m. to catch a train to Budapest. I continually feel behind with writing and translating. As for teaching, I find joy in it throughout the day but end up quite tired by evening. And what about basic matters, like taking care of my health, my apartment, and Dominó and Sziszi? What about spending time with people? That’s a relative rarity; my days are filled with people, but I don’t often get to converse with friends. I don’t feel lonely in general, but a certain kind of loneliness hits me at times when I misdirect my energy or attention and, as a result, not much comes back.

But you never know, entirely, the effects of your preparations. Two weeks ago, after a Szim Salom service, a woman stopped me as I was heading out the door. “I just want to say, what you are doing now, keep on doing it,” she said. “Keep on doing it even if you get no feedback (visszajelzés) from anyone. You have something that not many people have. I am not talking about musical talent, or a feeling of Jewishness. What comes across is that you are doing this with your full heart and soul.”

This was just what I needed to hear. The funny thing is, I don’t always feel as though I’m doing it with full heart and soul. The feelings don’t always tell the truth, nor do they matter quite as much as we think. That is, there’s a level beyond feelings. Not that feelings don’t matter. They are our guide, much of the time. But they can also mislead, or come in perplexing mixtures. Or else fail to match what others seem to think they should be. Serious commitments have ups and downs; there are times when you feel like doing them and times when you don’t.

There is something beyond feelings, something that keeps us going—or, in some cases, gets us to stop—regardless of whatever emotions happen to be coursing through us. Such emotions deserve attention, but they come and go. I get confused by those personality tests that ask, among other things, whether you make decisions based on reasoning or feelings. I would say both and neither. Some of my most important decisions have come from a kind of intuition (combined with reasoning and feelings). Sometimes I know in my bones that there is something I need to do, or not do.

People often say, “It’s amazing how much you are doing.” But it isn’t. Lots of people do lots of different things, many of them much more actively and prolifically than I. I don’t have to be amazing. I need room to concentrate on what it is I am doing, without worrying about how much or little it is. I also need a break now and then, or maybe more than now and then.

The painting at the top is by Róbert Berény, of his wife Eta Breuer playing the cello. But the curious thing (as Nicole Waldner explains in depth) is that after marrying Róbert, Eta never played cello again. Or rather, in 1939 he convinced her to play, and she agreed—but then played for only fifteen minutes, then threw her cello to the ground and swore she would never play again. Then the war hit, and they went into hiding.

Waldner has many thoughts about what that painting might mean, and why Eta never played again except for that brief burst. I don’t know why Eta didn’t play again, but I know why someone might not. When people ask me “Are you still playing the cello?” or comment, “You used to play so beautifully,” I don’t know how to explain how tangled those questions are. Playing is not just a pastime, and it isn’t just there to please others. You have to spend hours with it—hours that, with a cello, involve awkward posture no matter what you do. Most of the time is spent not sounding beautiful, because you have to work out the awkward spots. Moreover, there are so many sounds a cello can make, rough, sweet, percussive, lilting, dissonant, harmonious. Yes, I do play, but on my own terms, and not for hours a day. I dislike dilettantism and have been tempted to stop playing altogether. But the other day I returned to Art of Flying’s song “Though the Light Seem Small,” for which I played cello, and was deeply moved by it. What an honor to have contributed to this. It’s possible for an instrument to be something other than a hobby (at one end) or a profession (on the other). It’s a question not only of time, but of where you go even within a few minutes, a few seconds. I will end here with the song lyrics and a link to the song itself.

When the bright unspoken light of Winter takes the world
Gathering each solitary day,
All the pages written you won’t need them anymore
Winter comes & Winds us all away
& Winds us all away!

& Though the Light seem small!
Drop by drop drowns us all!

All around a Sacred sound rains sweetness on the World
In the pines & in our minds we lay.
All inventions written you won’t need them anymore,
Winter comes & Winds us all away!
& Winds us all away!

& Though the Light seem small!
Drop by drop drowns us all!

Take the night out of your Eyes & give it to the World,
Take the hinges off the Swollen day!
All the Sacred written you don’t need it anymore.
Winter comes & Winds us all away!
& Winds us all away!
& Winds us all away!