As long as I can remember I have always wanted to be a dancer, and I have been dancing since I was six years old. I am now a contemporary ballet and modern dancer and currently work with several dance companies in New York.
For many children, becoming a dancer is a dream; for a few children, this dream becomes a reality. There are numerous reasons why a person might not be able to make it as a dancer, including physical disability, a lack of adequate flexibility, and being the wrong height or weight. Becoming a dancer is a lot like being a pre-med in college. In first-year biology, there are many candidates for medical school, as all pre-meds think they will become doctors. So too everyone in beginner ballet thinks that she will make it to Lincoln Center. In college, once students get to chemistry or physics, they begin dropping out of the premed track, not just because they cannot handle the material but also because they lose a passion for something that they once dearly loved. Similarly, for any one of a number of reasons, as people reach their teens, it is often no longer worth their time and effort to continue dancing.
Many of my friends gave up dancing because their bodies gave out or because they could no longer handle the competition, and I miss their companionship. In my case, even though I am short (I’m only 4’10’’) and have a lack of natural turnout from my hips, I have been blessed with a body that can handle the rigorous life of a dancer. I have also been given the gift of muscle memory, which means that I can remember many movements almost subconsciously.
Ironically, my greatest challenge to becoming a dancer and maintaining the life of a dancer is not found in the physicality of my body, but rather in the way I lead my life spiritually, because I am also an observant Jew. Judaism is both my blessing and my challenge. It is what makes me unique in the dance world; it is also what makes me stand out in my own community. Performing on Shabbat, which is when the majority of performances are held, is the biggest of a myriad of halakhic problems that I currently face in my line of work. I try to justify such performances by refusing money for them and not doing anything to technically violate Shabbat. For example, my colleagues will apply my stage makeup for me. But there is still the guilt regarding the spirit of Shabbat.
I plan to go on tour next fall, and my choreographer has already warned me that conflicts with Shabbat will arise. I do not want to jeopardize my career and dreams, but I also do not think I would be able to live with the guilt of knowingly breaking Shabbat, even once. In such instances, where do I draw the line? I know that if I refuse to dance on Shabbat I risk being fired. I also know that Judaism, as much as dance, is part of who I am. Just as I cannot be happy without dance, I know that I cannot be happy without Shabbat, without my community, my culture, and history.
In my efforts to combine the two aspects of my life, I have drawn great strength from the example of my mother, who is a painter and who did not take the conventional career path of many observant Jewish women. Although, as a painter, she does not have the same professional conflict that I have with Shabbat, she has shown me that it is alright to be different and, even at times, iconoclastic.
Despite the fact that dance presents many challenges to the way that I choose to lead my life, I love dancing so much that there is no way that I can see myself compromising my dancing career. I have great respect for people who teach dance or work in dance administration or dance therapy, but doing something in the dance world that is not performing is not my dream. I also believe that if I do not perform I would be losing a significant portion of my religious self. Hashem made me this way for a reason, and it would be wrong for me to give up my dream without a struggle. Yet, I find that, after dancing professionally for about a year and a half, things are not getting any easier, even after making it into a company that accepts what it may consider to be my ridiculous religious restrictions.
Fortunately, in the past year, I have found that the performing arts do not always have to conflict with Judaism. I currently work with one choreographer who supports the fact that I am an observant Jew, and who even goes out of his way to make sure that I can keep Shabbat and simultaneously perform with the company. I have gradually come to the conclusion that as an Orthodox Jew, as long as I am dancing, my life will be a struggle, but it is a struggle that defines who I am: an individual who has two loves in her life and refuses to give up either of them.
Continuing to unite my spiritual and physical self in the future might be a futile dream, but for now, I’d like to hope that it’s not, and that is OK with me.