April 2014

Sarah,

I think of you so often, and I still can’t comprehend, much less accept, that you are no longer with us.

Your presence in my life had mythical proportions. I now realize you were the only mentor I ever had. The only role model I looked up to, of a woman who represented great passion, high demands and values, social and political sensitivities, eternal curiosity, complete dedication to both family and career, and a big loving heart. I knew how deeply you loved Lenny, your children and your grandchildren, and I quickly realized all your students admired you.

Most of us were very mildly gifted, to be quite honest. Some were indeed very talented. I personally had good technique, but my heart and most of my spare time were in the youth movement during those years, and my exploding hormones never made it to the keys of the piano. But taking the bus to that beautiful house on the Carmel was always a worthwhile journey. You were patient and kind, promising that if I only practice a few more times – it will sound wonderful.

I graduated the music conservatory when I was close to 18, and this September I will be 50. The close family friend who sent me to study with you when I was about to quit playing, was also a student. She is 80. I kept in touch with you over the years mostly by phone, catching up briefly as I wished you a happy holiday. We often expressed an earnest hope to get together, and occasionally even made good on it. You were always interested in what was going on in my life: love, work, marriage, babies, studies and… do I ever play the piano?

Well, the piano moved with me to Tel Aviv from my parents’ home in Haifa, but you didn’t. When I tried to explain to you many years ago that my afternoons are completely dedicated to my daughters, you were astonished. ‘I had babysitters in the afternoons’, you told me openly, since you smoothly made the transition from a teacher-student relationship to an equal-adult discussion. ‘My kids were left to their own devices for many hours a day. I tend to think you young women overdo it a little with your intensive mothering.’

You were right, of course, but it may have taken many weekly lessons to apply. I believe you have scored yourself a grand piano up in heaven already, and that you’re giving god some lessons (not strictly in piano).

You are sorely missed down here, my dear Sarah. I think of you and I see in front of me that kind, warm, slightly naughty smile under sparkling eyes. I hope to play the piano some more one of these days, but more than that – I need to remember to keep smiling.

Love,

Yael Shamir (graduated 1982