Victor Hugo said “Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remains silent” For me, it was the language of my life.
At the age of three, I had my first pangs of jealousy, as my brother and sister marched off to their piano lessons. I, the baby, was left out. Perhaps foreshadowing my future life as an attorney, I demanded equity and fairness and insisted on attending piano lessons as well. So, every week, I marched along to Jovita’s house for piano lessons with my brother and sister.
Around the age of five, the local symphony orchestra put on a “petting zoo” program where kids could come and try all of the different orchestral instruments. I was introduced to what would become the passion and love of my life: the violin. I vowed, then and there, that I would learn that instrument.
When other kids were playing hide-and-go-seek, I was in my room playing Mozart.
Looking back, I don’t remember much of life before I had the violin. By age 8, I had decided my destiny: I would be a violinist. I played in youth orchestras and chamber groups. Summer camp was music camp. When the neighborhood kids were playing hide-and-go-seek and tag, I was in my bedroom practicing Mozart and Bach. It was my life. My passion. My identity. It followed me into middle school and high school -- the steadfast dream. I’ll never forget my first standing ovation as a soloist, it happened at the end of 8th grade. My weekends, and most after school weekdays, were youth orchestra laden, as I trekked from one side of the state to the other. And then I went off to college, to pursue my music degree and professional career.
Shattered Dream
But on September 8, 2006, well into my 20s, in the proverbial blink of an eye, that all changed. I was leaving my teacher’s studio when another driver made a left turn into my car. And in that one instant, that one moment of impact, my life’s course was forever altered. Everything I had worked for my entire life came to a halt with that crash.
I remember little from the night of the accident. I had vague flashbacks of it for years. I would catch myself shudder as I drove past flashing lights and crushed metal on the sides of roads and highways. I’d find myself holding my breath anytime I passed an accident. Among my few shards of memories is one of the firemen saying, “Oh sweetheart, don’t look at that arm.” And I remember looking. My right arm lay curled to my side, shaped like an s instead of a limb. I also remember the ambulance ride, screaming over and over, “I’m a violinist! I’m a violinist!” The pain was nothing compared to the reality that I couldn’t move my arm.
My right arm was shattered; the radius was mostly fragments of bone that eventually had to be cleaned out as they screwed rods into bone. One surgery. Two surgeries. Hand therapy. Three surgeries. Hand therapy. Four surgeries. But the pain continued, intensely. I would go home after the surgeries, faced with the signs on my walls that read, “Every hour spent doing something else could be spent practicing,” and there I sat, bone ground into bone. My violin sat on the table, in its case that had been hand made in Italy. Some days I eyed it enviously; other days full of anger.
Without the violin, I had nothing. I was no one.
The trauma of the accident manifested itself in many ways, not least of which seeing no reason to live for the first year or two after the accident. Without the violin, I had nothing. I was no one. The agony of loss of self was too much. I starved myself into numbness. Literally. Hunger was much easier to cope with than the ramifications of what had happened to my arm.
But there was this nagging part of me that wasn’t content with the endless trips to the emergency room. Life from the back of an ambulance had its own perspective, but deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still a purpose for my life. One of the trips, electrolyte filled IV bags hooked up to my arm, and EKG leads running over my body, an older doctor came up to me and said, “I’ve been in emergency medicine for 20 years and I’ve never seen blood work like this. I have no idea why your heart is beating.”
And frankly, I didn’t understand it either. For years I had told my mother that they could put your bones back together with screws and rods but there was no fixative for a shattered heart. Yet, mine kept on beating, despite my lack of nourishment and lack of hope. There was a flicker of God’s presence in that moment. Why was my heart still beating? There was that nagging feeling again, a higher purpose? So, I checked myself into treatment.
My Next Concerto
I forced myself to keep moving forward, to begin anew and search for the bigger picture. I learned to nourish myself body and soul. I went to law school and began exploring my Jewish roots. I was simultaneously studying the model penal code and kashrut laws; the constitution and the Jewish art of prayer.
It became apparent that I would never again have the finesse and artistry to pursue my career. After my sixth surgery the pain was still intense. Most daily activities would bring tears to my eyes; petting my dogs would make me cry out in pain. Going through pages of discovery at the firm where I was clerking was agonizing. Five years after the accident, I agreed to a final surgery: a wrist fusion that meant a bone graft of all of the tiny bones in my hand into one solid bone and a plate screwed from my middle finger down the length of my radius. I would never again be able to move my wrist. My ability to play would no longer be bound up in the loss of artistry in my music; I was giving up the physical capability to draw a bow across the strings.
The night before the surgery my mother flew into town to be with me. She curled up in my bed and I went and got my violin out for one last farewell. For the first time in five years, it wasn’t about the nuance that my music lacked or the audible deficiencies in tone production. For the first time in my life, it wasn’t about trying to play the Tchaikovsky or the Sibelius. In that moment, it was about true love lost and parting. For three hours, I relived the past 20 years of my life, and listened to my mother’s quiet sobs from behind my bedroom wall.
I played for three hours, listening to my mother’s quiet sobs from behind my bedroom wall.
The surgery was successful. I finished law school and two bars. I grew as an observant Jew and a fledgling attorney. I became a whole person. I was given a second chance to live and I started to see life differently. Being holed up in a practice room for 10 hours a day in order to perfect the next concerto or to out-practice the next violinist so I could get an eventual gig, was not a full life. I was in love with the magic of the passion and artistry of music. I used to tell people that there was no feeling in the world like coming together with one hundred other people in symphonic unity. But my new clarity revealed a different form of connection, laughing and crying with genuine friends.
When I was a teenager I remember saying, “We’re going to change the world through beauty.” We quoted Thoreau like the Bible, “Most men live lives of quiet desperation.” Our antidote was music- aesthetic puzzle games.
Now I have a different blueprint for change that gives me voice and advocacy. I have a life imbued with the holiness of mitzvot and an ability to help perfect the world in ways that I believe are more profound than my music. My desires to perfect an art no longer drive me; looking back I view them as containing elements of self-absorption. Instead I look outside of myself at those around me and see who needs a babysitter or who needs a challah baked or what pro bono service I can offer. My contributions meaningfully and integrally impact people’s lives.
Six and a half years after my accident I consider myself lucky; I feel more fully alive. I have friends in whose kitchens I bake fun experiments off of YouTube. I go on hikes and runs in the fresh evening air. I get down on the floor with my dogs and play with them, instead of having them lie at my feet while I practice. I know my nephews and my cousins as people instead of just names.
Some days I look longingly at the top of my bookcase where my violin sits, and I feel tears well in the corners of my eyes. But every day I wake up and thank God for giving me breath and new life. Every day, I bless God, the One Who frees the captive. And I feel it deep down in my heart, that freedom came to me through understanding, compassion, and purpose. I was given a second chance to transform my life into a living symphony.
(31) Avie Shapiro, August 20, 2020 1:11 AM
The Violinist Turned Attorney
What a heart-warming story! And a reminder that Hashem runs the world.
(30) Anonymous, August 19, 2020 10:25 AM
Inspiring
(29) Nancy, August 16, 2020 11:51 AM
My story is completely different......
but I felt your pain jump right off of my computer screen.
(28) ruth, November 9, 2015 8:34 PM
loss of sound, loss of music
I have the same issue with hearing loss. All music sounds wierd. Drums & bass are especially annoying. I can't play the piano anymore because I can't hear what I'm playing clearly... and the audiologist has no clue about tuning a hearing aid. Sigh.
Penny, May 1, 2016 10:24 PM
Rith, check this out....
... www.integratedlistening.com . It may help you be rewiring your brain.
(27) CG, May 26, 2014 3:47 AM
Thank you for your story. I can relate. I appreciate your line about becoming "a whole person." I also defined myself by externals - I had no friends, could not relate to people, my identity had been, basically "being smart." Thank G-d I have moved past that. I still have a long way to go, but I've made definite progress towards "wholeness."
Something that really helped me is Rabbi Yom Tov Glaser's Possible You Seminar. I highly recommend it!
(26) Michal, May 11, 2013 7:55 PM
hashem works in mysterious ways
such a moving story. i resonate also with the comment above me - don't throw away the past as you move forward.
(25) Esther D., May 9, 2013 6:38 PM
Such a beautiful article but an even more beautiful message...it brought tears to my eyes and touched my soul. Thanks for sharing your story.
(24) Anonymous, May 8, 2013 5:28 AM
Thank Tu sincerely
U have inspired all who get to read yor symphony of words. Hkbh gives hidden gifts. U have one.
(23) Donnie, May 8, 2013 5:22 AM
12 months poat stroke.
We all have life circumstance stare at i us. If we are so blessed these hidden blessings are hkbh tests. Compare. The fauys pf yesteryear to today? We r nvr tested these days except for such health crises. Family trauma etc. consider hw fortunate se are to be tested To rise to the occasion amd continue to be thankful as rab noach ztsl' said of al tje ways to be grateful. I was blessed woth a stroke. My left arm fingers not yet super moble, i am Alefty,a sculptor amd athlete. BH i am sad some days yet Alive to share these wrds. Like composer. I can do guide creativity Luv friends assistants rabbis ! I opposit eorder. Here i am chodesh tov kol tov. Luv donnie el berman. My website created. After the stroke here is me; www. Delbdesign com
(22) Amit Yaghoubi, May 7, 2013 8:59 PM
incredible
what an inspiration! Thank you for sharing
(21) Daniel, May 7, 2013 7:22 PM
Music is meaningful too!
As a professional violin teacher and concert violinist, I resonated very strongly with your story. While your accident was tragic, it brought you to a closer relationship with our shared Jewish tradition, which is a struggle for every musician. I personally have had to make major sacrifices in order to be shomer shabbos, but have gotten stronger in my faith for it. In fact, it is also because of this struggle that I suddenly realized that playing music had to be for a greater purpose than, as you infer, simply perfecting one's technique. You are so right. Now, my focus is on teaching and helping children to realize their full musical potential. Bringing beauty into the world is STILL a noble goal and one which you should never try to give up. Remember, very few people can do what you do or are sensitive as you are, and Hashem gave you this talent for a reason. The children of this world and our culture are in dire need of positive role models and as a music teacher, you have that potential. Anyway, this is just my own unsolicited advice from someone who has been through a similar path.
Always listen to your inner convictions and you'll never be wrong.
(20) Ernest Miller, May 7, 2013 9:07 AM
Truly an inspiring story!
This story goes to show that with some people it takes a traumatic moment in their life to appreciate the true meaning of life. Our author of this story now realizes that by helping others one can find one's way to the true meaning of life.
(19) Chana, May 6, 2013 7:58 PM
There's always the French horn :)
beautiful story!
(18) Richard, May 6, 2013 6:58 PM
Sanity
Dear Rebecca:
As a pianist since age four when I first started the study, (I'm now 83), music and playing the piano has been the center of my world. As you know, many musicians learned much else in order to pursue our love of music, and I, too, have had my share of that distraction. Enough of that: I write to you to say: NEVER GIVE UP! NEVER WALK AWAY! I know full well that music lives in your heart and mind every waking moment of your life. You hear it, you feel it in your fingers, it "plays" to you, for you, and by you, throughout your life. If you have already accepted your fate, so be it; do not leave it abandoned. Play to the extend that you can, as much as you can, and do not leave your love behind you. It is still in your heart; it is still in your mind. and still in your hands. I send you my love, hope, and strength. Every day that you play you will be better and better. No matter what else and how much, that love that music is in your life, as it is in mine, is still yours. It will be with you until you take your last breath.
(17) Marion, May 6, 2013 12:15 PM
Thankyou for writing this. I met a girl at Music camp who was a week off from sitting her Dip ABRSM in the Violin when she was in a car accident and broke her wrist. She can still play, but she will never be able to get back the stamina required to sit that exam or to teach. I agree that it is devastating to have all that work lost, but it is wonderful that you are able to see the good God has brought out of your very hard situation. Have you thought about taking up singing? It wouldn't be the same, but it could be a way to engage your passion for music without hurting your wrist more.
(16) Anonymous, May 6, 2013 9:52 AM
wow
This piece moved me to tears. What a beautifully written story of post traumatic growth, resilience and inspiration. May you continue to find strength and fulfillment.
(15) Shmuel Ray, May 6, 2013 6:32 AM
Hashem never gives up on us.
Your story proves the point that even when we don't want to live anymore Hashem keeps us alive so that we can fulfill our purpose. All the Best to you and yours.
(14) Michele, May 6, 2013 4:04 AM
Thank you
Thank you so much for your grace and great courage. What a phenomenal blessing you have extended to any who chance to hear your tender, heart-breaking story of faith, in G-d and His purpose.
(13) Marlene Klotz, May 6, 2013 1:00 AM
marleneklotz@yahoo.com
One door closes and another one opens.
This is a beautiful and meaningful story of
courage and an appreciation for life -
(12) Abigail, May 5, 2013 9:06 PM
the beauty of the soul
Your article speaks to the power of the human soul, which is so much larger than anything we can ever imagine. The fact that your were able to grow from amidst the loss of your greatest passion in life, not only grow but blossom in your connection to G-d and His Torah is testimony to this very fact. Thank you for an inspiring -- and inspired -- piece of writing, more beautiful than the musical pieces to which you made reference.
(11) Jack Green, May 5, 2013 8:41 PM
Finding Hashem IS finding life and enriching Neshamah.
Beautiful story, Yes. Finding your faith and enriching your neshama is what this life is really all about. All the rest is dessert.
(10) Anonymous, May 5, 2013 8:29 PM
Saying G-Bye to Mister Tzuris
Su., 05/05/13 common
I'm also a lawyer and a string player. Maybe you should consider learning to play another instrument.
I was diagnosed with arthritis in both hands a year ago.
I've learned to play through the pain. Don't give up.
(9) Judith, May 5, 2013 6:41 PM
Beautiful
This is just such a special article written so beautifully. PG the writer will have just joy and happiness throughout her life
(8) Anonymous, May 5, 2013 6:25 PM
Brilliant! Thank you for sharing your story.
(7) anonymous, May 5, 2013 6:25 PM
As an amateur musician and and an observant Jewish teenager b"H, I've read tons of aish articles. I don't know why this one hit me as hard as it did. Thank you for sharing your story.
(6) Dina, May 5, 2013 6:19 PM
Inspirational story
Beautiful. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade! All the best to you Ms. Bodoff-
(5) Bracha Goetz, May 5, 2013 5:21 PM
Beautiful!!
(4) just someone, May 5, 2013 3:23 PM
we can all identify
I may not be able to play violin and i may not truly understand the strength of perfection but we can all relate to expecting our lives to run a certain course and then have it derailed. i aplaud your courage to take a fresh look at life and redefine who you are. everyone needs to do that sometime in their life-i hope will be as brave as you when i reach that point.
(3) Sergio sokol, May 5, 2013 3:13 PM
BeAutiful story ,A true test of courage to find meaning in ones life
True test of courage in finding meaning in ones life
(2) Ruth, May 5, 2013 3:07 PM
Thank you
I thank you for sharing such a beautiful and inspiring article. It sounded like music to me!
(1) Devorah, May 5, 2013 2:45 PM
Beautiful
As a fellow violinist, and accident survivor, I know your pain in this. Any you have most beautifully expressed the growth that such an accident pushes on you. Not a lesson either of us would have chosen, but for a reason, HaShem gave us. Thank you for finding the words to say this. You will always be a violinist in your soul, and bring that out in you career. Use the lessons that we were taught in the struggle to play well, the looking at detail, finding the nuances, the determination to get it right. These lessons keep your violin very much alive in your life.