As a child, like many aspiring performers, I was talkative, expressive, and admittedly a little manipulative. My stage life did not, however, really begin to emerge until I entered high school. My suburban Jewish day school did not offer a formal drama program, nor were the performing arts a popular extracurricular activity among my peers. Throughout elementary school and middle school, I spent summers at drama camps and studied ballet and jazz at a local dance studio. Although I enjoyed wearing voluminous tulle skirts at my ballet recitals and grew flexible and graceful from my dance lessons, my classmates were not impressed. They preferred to play on sports teams. The coordination I gained in my dance classes did not transfer to the Little League field, and aside from a few stints on soccer teams, I gave up on athletics.
Nevertheless, it was not easy for me to go against the grain when it came to choosing a high school. The majority of my elementary school class was headed for one of three local Jewish high schools. I craved a more cosmopolitan and diverse environment and needed a change of energy. But at age fourteen, the prospect of attending Ramaz Upper School in New York was both exciting and daunting. In the end, I did choose to attend Ramaz, largely because of its emphasis on the performing arts. Unlike my options in northern New Jersey, Ramaz is unique in that it does not interpret the halakhic parameter of kol ishah as restricting girls from singing solos or starring in musicals—and this made all the difference in terms of my participation. As a freshman, I initially hesitated to audition for the fall musical, but when immensely talented upperclassmen not only welcomed me but also encouraged me to audition, I eagerly signed up. I rediscovered the magic of theater and became addicted to the thrill of a live audience. I auditioned for every play, musical, and arts night, and found a new home on the stage.
Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone
In the comfortable environment of Ramaz, among students with similar backgrounds to my own, there was no conflict between my love of performing and my religious observance. However, for all three of the summers of my high school years that I spent performing with NYU’s “Looking for Shakespeare” youth ensemble, I was the only observant Jew in the program. I was not daunted by this challenge, and made fast friends with my fellow thespians. The only time my singularity presented a conflict was on Shabbat, when the group would have tech rehearsals. I knew going into the program that my Sabbath observance would be an obstacle, but I was willing to step outside my comfort zone and observe Shabbat while still attending rehearsals. On Friday night, I would sleep over at the apartment of a family friend in the neighborhood, and then on Shabbat morning I would walk to my nine-to-five tech rehearsals. It felt a little strange to bring an overnight bag to rehearsals and to have my cell phone off while everyone else was texting away during breaks, but this was a small price to pay for the experience.
Looking for Shakespeare (LFS) stimulated my growth as an actress and also provided me with a network of high school students and theater teachers from a myriad of backgrounds. LFS participants ranged across the full spectrum of geographic and socioeconomic backgrounds. It didn’t matter whether you came from a posh neighborhood in Perth, Australia, or a humble one in Carmel, Indiana; members of the troupe were able to embrace our differences and share our mutual love for Shakespeare. Generational divides were also put aside, and the graduate students who taught and mentored us were able to connect to us on a highly personal and intellectual level. The shows we produced were so spectacular because they were the product of a collaborative effort by a community of artists and teachers who shared an intense mutual passion for their craft. I returned to LFS summer after summer because I craved the inspiration I received from such a diverse group of people. My experience at LFS proved to me that for a theatre piece to succeed, it has to be a collaborative, not a competitive, effort.
Our productions were excellent demonstrations of Shakespearean acting, but each had a unique flavor. My favorite was our post–World War II-themed production of Much Ado about Nothing, complete with fully choreographed swing dance numbers. Not only was this the most fun production, but it was also the most challenging for me. When I had played in Much Ado about Nothing two months earlier at Ramaz, I was cast as the ingénue, Hero. At NYU, I was cast in the role of Antonia, a feminized version of the role of Antonio. This was a challenge because I had to both create a female role out of one written for a man and also because I had to play Hero’s mother. It was certainly a thrilling experience, and although it wasn’t one of my larger roles, it was one that allowed my acting skills to rise to new heights.
I am grateful for the opportunities that Ramaz and LFS have afforded me. My endeavors on the Ramaz stage as well as at NYU have helped me grow artistically and intellectually and have helped me mature into the person I am today. I hope to pursue the arts—acting, producing, or dramatic writing—while still maintaining my Jewish identity. The arts are a vital part of my life, and I can’t imagine myself following any other path.