I now possessed, in theory, everything--machzor, CDs, three months of practice time before the holidays-- required to learn how to be a chazzanit, except for the small matters of self-confidence and firm belief that my life hadn't turned into some sort of surreal, waking dream. I went home, popped the first disc in the CD player, and was transported to the previous Rosh Hashonah and a warm, deep, shiver-inducing voice inviting us to wake up and usher in the new year. That I was about to attempt to emulate the sounds of the cantor seemed an act of enormous chutzpah.
But that's what it takes these days, doesn't it, aa? I admire your courage- can you spare some at all?
(Thank you so much, once again.
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