President’s Message
by Rebecca A. Gold
Since this edition of our Women’s Philanthropy eNewsletter is focused on the arts, I can’t miss the opportunity to share something about how music – and one song in particular – has impacted and enhanced my life.
According to my parents, I sang before I could talk. I can’t remember not singing, and I spent most of my young days pretending I was either Barbra Streisand or Julie Andrews. I loved Broadway tunes, folk music, a little country (very little) and, last but not least, Shabbat prayers with melodies. It was the primary reason I loved going to synagogue. I was willing to go every Saturday morning because we had a wonderful cantor and a congregation that loved to sing. Leading Junior Congregation was a thrill for me, and then there was United Synagogue Youth (USY) Encampment, Camp Ramah, and Tufts Hillel, all places where I sang, chanted, and felt a sense of belonging. So for me, music and belonging go hand in hand and have been key to my connection to my Jewish community. I know I’m not alone since Jewish summer camps are such a successful part of maintaining Jewish continuity, and Friday Night Kabbalat Shabbats at camp – full of music, singing, and lots of swaying – have impacted thousands of us.
When I became involved with Jewish Federation of Greater MetroWest NJ, it wasn’t long before someone discovered me (my singing, that is) and asked me to sing the national anthems at an event. I think it was at CHOICES, a community-wide Women’s Campaign event. It was an honor and I was excited because I especially loved singing the Israeli anthem, Hatikvah (which means The Hope). I always feel tremendous joy and peace singing it with everyone. It doesn’t feel like a performance to me. It feels like a prayer. Hatikvah fills my heart and soul, and the words leave a sweet taste on my lips.
In 2005, I was on a Women’s Philanthropy Mission to Israel and we were fortunate to greet a group of Ethiopian olim (immigrants to Israel) at Tel Aviv Airport. They came down the steps of the plane out onto the tarmac. Some of them kissed the ground with joy on their faces, some looked very weary, others bewildered, and the children were mostly wide-eyed. Once inside a small room off the tarmac, we gave these olim some small gifts: honey, chocolate, and backpacks for the children with a few goodies. They were appreciative but, naturally, quite reserved. The whole scene was overwhelming to them. But when my dear friend Lisa Lisser (one of our Women’s Philanthropy vice presidents) and I prompted everyone to sing Hatikvah, we put our arms around one another and a calm came over all of us. They, too, started to sway and there was a warmth that I’m sure we all felt. By the time we finished singing, there were many tears and we were hugging each other. At that moment we became one people, they had come home, and we had been there to give them hope — Hatikvah.