Have you ever been to Jacob’s Pillow?
It was Saturday evening, April 1, 2006, and the end of another Shabbat when my friend Mary and I walked into Neve Shalom’s coffee house about ten minutes to eight. Musicians were busy tuning instruments, lining up sheet music, and joking in between choreographed intentions. Rows of chairs filled the room yet only a handful of us were present at that moment. Rabbi Jim and I exchanged smiling hellos for the second time today.
In a brief moment I explained to Mary that we were on “Jewish” time now, and while scheduled to start at eight, it might be closer to eight-thirty. Mary and I are both familiar with finding some of the better things in life not always looking a certain way. She was getting over a cold, but still had her cough so she readily accepted my offer to give her some Reiki while we waited. She wasted no time letting me know that she felt the healing warmth of my hands from the onset, and we began catching up on past moments of our lives.
Only minutes later, with little effort, the room filled with lovers of the arts ready to have a new experience. Their presence created a “standing room only” declaration. That’s what Jacob’s Pillow is by the way - a dear little community Jewish coffee house. We came to hear Will Soll, Kos Sasson, Boris and several more select musicians introduce their new St. Louis Klezmer group. Now when I say, “select” I’m referring to G-d who is doing the selecting tonight, creating the space for these soul-filled talented individuals to come together in a moment - this moment.
With eyes closed, I listen to the cooing of the flute beckoning me, while mandolin’s strings awaken my imagination. I’m carried away as the melody creates the story of a suitor’s moment, somewhere near Casablanca. He stands at his beloved’s doorway. Laying down his cloak upon the sandy earth, he places, gently with love, all his treasured gifts, displaying what he is willing to give up for her love. Then enticing her a little closer, softly he whispers to her alone, how the value she holds in his heart far surpasses anything he has to give of himself. All too soon, I’m pulled back to the present as this evening’s guests applaud in appreciation for a peek into figments of our imaginations.
In this beautiful space, something new from something old begins to evolve. Along with the gathered sheet music of older generations, they bring themselves, in the present, seasoned with the spices of each musician’s essence, as a smorgasbord of Klezmer, folk, and jazz unfold effortlessly before us, recreating the magician’ illusions with one mighty ABRACADABRA. It surely was the tuning of their instruments that invoked the muses to rally round them, bringing it all together.
Rabbi Jim resumes strumming his acoustic guitar, another musician keeps beat on the tambourine, and together, their ever-evolving music intertwines me in its wordless song, directing my heart to once more march to a different beat! I close my eyes again to let the haunting rhythm create a vision of a small and private Spanish tavern, somewhere in the Canary Islands where rows of whitewashed homes can be viewed from any of its windows. The tavern owner lays open his hospitality with fine morsels of food and wine to nourish the body while, with each tap of the Flamenco dancer’s shoes, my salvation unfolds to its ambiance. The tambourine sounds transform into illusive castanets. The man’s castanets playing the basic rhythm while the women’s expresses the full dance rhythm, together creating something heard only once - then gone in a moment, never to be recreated – only the possibility of one day being created anew. My heart steps out upon the wooden floor, as I am taken over, body and soul – lifted to new heights!
A refreshing wind blows through the coffee house window and, after showing our gratitude for the beauty that fills the air, a third song begins, sketching once more in my mind, a picture as vivid as the experience itself. My soul begins to listen and in my mind’s eye, the familiar flute that Boris is playing becomes reminiscent of a piccolo quickly sweeping me off to the waters edge in Italy. Though the notes haven’t changed over the years, the style of the sounds varies like an ever-changing kaleidoscope. I chase my imagination as it runs with the music. The courting strings of the mandolin lull me, and as I let myself relax, I am taken on my own gondola ride through the romantic channels of Venice.
After the romance -– what else could one expect to find? But of course – food! We take a break from the music to relish amidst a different smorgasbord of fine cheese and crackers, and desserts aplenty. Lively conversation laces delicious chocolate, strawberries, and apple desserts, coupled with whip cream. As one nourishment ends, we are welcomed back to the other, and three new musicians with trombone, base fiddle, and clarinet join the others on stage.
Warm up time is over now, as a little jazz begins to tweak its way into the Klezmer notes, welcoming my mind’s eye back to Old Orleans. I remember how I felt driven to go last Memorial Day but didn’t know why. Even after returning home, it was still a mystery. The urgency of my trip only came to light with the destruction of Katrina’s wake later last year, bringing it all into focus. I will never forget that trip to Old Orleans. It was paid in advance, so l felt compelled to go even though I was still fighting a cold. I feel as though it will be a long time before my memories of that weekend begin to fade. Even at this moment, I can quickly see the faces of the many strangers I met along my way and how I was truly lead to the crossing of our paths. As the music guides me through my memories, I find myself sitting at Café de Monde in the early morning sunlight, as the French Quarter begins its awakening to a new day.
Close your eyes and let your imagination take you with the sounds of the music, along your own journey. Maybe to a street café on an evening in Greece; or to a community room in Russia, where the mandolin is once more mimicking the twang of a small guitar’s searching, longing notes wanting to find their place in the world. As the same strings change they measure, you find yourself on a side street in a little Parisian village at dusk and the start of something unforeseen….
And you have now known the experience of being at one with the music- nothing separating you from being in time and space with the notes as they are created. You are allowed to breath until they fully come to life in that space G-d provides in each moment. If you think you have never felt “at one with something” don’t worry – one day it will hit you and you will find yourself thinking – that’s what she was talking about – that’s what it feel like to be at one with something! WOW, what a treasure!
Thank you one and all!