Wrapped in Music and Memory

I ran to the Opera House, hoping that somehow, in some way, I might find a coveted ticket for Monday night’s performance of Tosca.

Anna Netrebko.
Of course. That’s explained everything.

While I walked, a memory surfaced. For a few years Netrebko had lived across the hall from my parents. I met her occasionally in the elevator, but my father had multiple encounters with her.

He was not a performer in grand halls, his voice was a humble one, yet whenever he served as a Baal Tefila in our small Stibl in Vienna, his voice created a stir of his own.

My father revered voices. Enrico Caruso one of the greatest Italian tenors, whose recordings filled our home, was one of his favorite.

“A voice is a gift of Hashem,” he would say.
“It must be cherished.”

At the side entrance of the Vienna State Opera, slightly out of breath, I was approached by a man who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Do you need a ticket?”

“Yes.”

Within seconds, it was in my hands. A loge seat, second row, near the stage. An unexpected gift.

And so I entered the great halls of my youth, coming to a sudden halt before the monumental staircase that leads to the different levels. I waited for my breath to settle, lifting my feet slowly, deliberately, wanting to savor each second.

How often had I stood here as a young girl, content with a modest standing room ticket, simply absorbing the atmosphere, unaware of the privilege of proximity.

An usher led me to my box. My velvet covered seat, was slightly elevated, like a bar stool, but with comfortable backrest, allowing me to see above the audience. My view was at a gentle angle, yet the orchestra lay before me.
Then she appeared.

Netrebko.

Hello neighbor, I whispered to myself.
And just as quietly, my father was there.

The aria from Tosca, was what I had longed to hear.
It is a prayer. She stood, a dazzling sight, then gradually she collapses to the ground, her voice never faltering.

A breathtaking moment.

It held the entire hall.

The applause began, and it did not end.

It followed me as I rose, as I descended the staircase, as I passed through the heavy wooden doors with their brass handles, into the cool Vienna night.
My silk scarf fluttered against my face, and I gently tucked it in.

The doors closed behind me, wrapped in music and memory, I carried radiant joy with me.