I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Sometimes you receive revelation at the foot of Mount Sinai and other times it comes to you in a stadium in Miami. At least that was how it felt to me a couple of weeks ago when I was with 61,000 other devoted Swifties singing along to our favorite songs, feeling an overwhelming sense of camaraderie and exhilaration during Taylor Swift’s epic Eras tour performance. That night, Taylor didn’t just bring her impressive catalog of music to life. She brought me back to life too.

To understand the impact of this transformative experience, you need to know that being a part of a live performance—whether I’m on stage or in the audience—ignites the spiritual sparks within me just as vibrantly as when I am deeply engaged in meaningful Jewish ritual. There is something euphoric and heart opening about being an integral part of a collective and unfolding creation. A piece of art that is both eternal and fleeting. I lose myself in the moment and somehow simultaneously am reunited with who I truly am. I feel so shockingly present and also like I’m inhabiting every other formative moment in my life. To me, this is akin to standing at the foot of Mount Sinai. It is an event that happens once, but is also perpetually revealing itself. It is an experience that is full of contradictions, yet inexplicably harmonious. Most importantly, it is revitalizing, truly life giving, for those of us who immerse ourselves in it. There is nothing more sacred than that.

There may be some of you who might think that I am exaggerating or perhaps that it is even blasphemous to make this comparison, but I mean it sincerely. Sometimes a concert is just a concert, but other times it is a vehicle that brings me to spiritual heights and emotional depths I can’t access in any other way.

This is why I felt particularly gutted when I visited the Nova Music Festival Exhibit. There was something especially cruel and devastating about Hamas’ brutal attack on the innocent music lovers who had gathered to celebrate peace and love. The horrors they experienced are indescribable. As I walked through the dark rooms, I felt like every testimony I heard, every piece of footage I watched, every artifact I saw was indelibly inscribed on my heart. The grief was agonizing and overwhelming. By the end, I was completely devastated. I knew that I would never ever be able to go to a performance again without thinking of the hell that was unleashed on those beautiful souls. I felt a core part of my identity had been inexorably wrenched from the deepest part of me. So much of my world was shattered on October 7, but the violation of the sacred space of music was almost too much to bear.

I bought my ticket to Taylor’s concert in August 2023. At the time, it felt fitting to be attending the show in the middle of Sukkot, during z’man simhateinu, the time of our joy, but in a post-October 7 world, I felt more dread than excitement. I even considered not going, something that would have been utterly unthinkable to me in the past. I was convinced the concert would be disappointing to say the least. I had no doubt that it would be an excellent performance, but I was certain that it would be spiritually devoid.

In spite of that, during the concert I started to feel something familiar awaken within me. Not exactly the same as what I had experienced in the past, but a version of it. It wasn’t a cathartic and unfettered transcendence. It was more cynical and guarded. There was a stiffness and trepidation to it like when you are just beginning to move a limb following a painful injury. But during “I can do it with a Broken Heart,” a biting, sardonic song about pretending to be happy even when you are devastated, I realized what was happening. This is what it meant to be reaching for spiritual fulfillment as my wounds were still healing. I was doing it with a broken heart.

I have been doing everything with a broken heart this year. Sometimes forcing myself to act as though I am happy, when I am anything but. Saying words that once held powerful meaning, but now seem empty. It will never be the same, because I will never be the same. But I can do it. At least, I have to try. Even if it means doing it with a broken heart.

Header image © Venus Kitastojgawasic CC BY-NC 2.0