Working mothers of all stripes contend with parenting dilemmas that stem from their jobs. But when their office is a stage — and their children are part of their crew — a whole new slew of issues can present.

Avigayil recalls a particularly hectic winter when she was relying on her daughter Hadassa’s help at home; yet with acting embedded in the family culture, Hadassa was eager to perform in that year’s Zir Chemed play. “When Hadassa didn’t get a part, I felt a rush of relief,” Avigayil remembers. “Then I was stabbed by guilt for not feeling sympathetic enough. And yet, Hadassa simply hadn’t been suitable.”

“I’m delighted we are all in it together this time,” says Avigayil. “This is my opportunity to pay my daughters back after years of cheering me along.”

Robin Garbose, film director and founder of the Kol Neshama performing arts conservatory in Los Angeles, California, has been working with daughter Chaya Solika ever since she was a baby in utero. Mother of two — her soon-to-be bar mitzvah boy, Menachem, and 15-year-old Chaya Solika — Robin became a parent later in life. “I think with maturity, one’s priorities are different,” she notes. “I feel such appreciation for being able to work without having to separate it from my motherhood — it’s a gift.”

When Chaya Solika was younger, though, the closeness may have worked against her. “When she was nine, we worked together on The Heart That Sings. In those years I couldn’t seem to separate mother from director. I got upset over imperfections that probably wouldn’t have bothered me in others. Today, things are different, and I believe it is because she has matured.”

I wonder out loud whether the process was mutual. After some thought, Robin admits that perhaps today she allows Chaya Solika more space to be herself. “Maybe I had to learn to contract, the way Hashem does (tzimtzum), in order to let her emerge?” she wonders.

From Cradle to Stage

“People assume I had professional training — but I haven’t,” states Avigayil. “I just love acting. When I was 14 we were doing The Slipper and The Rose in high school, and I was the king. My mother laughed so hard, her handheld videocam didn’t stop shaking.

“On another occasion I was given a tiny, nerdy part in a school sketch. Uninterested, I absconded to the choir, only to watch another girl fill the scene and think, ‘Wow… she turned that insignificant part into a great one!’ That lesson stayed with me for life — to make the best of anything.”

Fast forward to Gateshead seminary and a production about the Shach’s lost daughter. “I was chosen for Katinka, the maid,” recalls Avigayil. “I gave it my all. People were heaving with laughter. I met girls from that audience 16 years later who still remembered that part! I don’t think I was on the stage for more than five minutes.”

As coproducer and designer for their show, Ruti’s natural talents come in all shades of ink. “As a kid I was constantly doodling,” Ruti says. “I also enjoyed writing. I like anything creative, in fact.”

Ruti would get hold of piles of cardboard squares, a by-product from a family business. She would compose tales on one side of the cardboard and illustrate them on the other. “When the opportunity arose to work on the Zir Chemed shows, it was the most natural thing to pitch in with designs,” she says. “The creativity puts me on a high — I do it even when I’m asleep!”

Chaya Solika began acting at the age of three. “I see tons of raw talent that goes nowhere,” her mother Robin observes. “People have this idea that you’re either born with it or not. That’s simply not true. My daughter has talent — but she also works hard at it. She studies voice and acting and takes every opportunity to develop. Next to someone with raw talent, she would blow them out of the water, because she’s so much more skilled.”

The Mother Act

Avigayil’s mother — popular author Ruthie Pearlman — used to perform in Doris Landscrom’s adaptions of literary classics in the UK. “My mother would write lyrics for my Bnei Brak shows, and she’s pitching in this year as well. It means a lot to me,” says Avigayil.

Mrs. Pearlman recently made aliyah, and working on the show has eased her transition. “It’s been amazing for both of us,” Avigayil says. “My mother left four daughters back home and I’m her only daughter here. If not for the show bringing us together, we wouldn’t have been in touch as much.”

Any sticky moments? “My mother wrote some lyrics that didn’t work for us. As director, it is my prerogative to go ahead and make changes. But this songwriter wasn’t just anyone — it happened to be my mother! I asked her if we could replace them, and she was so gracious about it.”

Avigayil finds this an enlightening experience. “She is humble enough to let me be in charge and never tries to take over the reins. Also, whenever we need her to redo some lyrics, she does so willingly,” explains Avigayil. “So what I’ve learned is, you are never too old to take orders from your daughter.”

“On another occasion I asked her to read a part from the script that hadn’t yet been filled. She found that so enjoyable, she asked to fill the part. Now she’s in the show!”

Ruti has been collaborating with her mother — a veteran art teacher — for years. They spend long afternoons together poring over set designs, costume sketches, and multiple swathes of fabric, and Ruti is always eager for her input.

“My grandmother would often ask us for honest criticism of her oil paintings in progress,” Ruti reminisces. “Similarly, my mother has always worked with me, as a team, even though she is far more talented. I have learned to work this way with my own daughters. Rather than it being awkward for two generations to work together, the collaboration helps build a special relationship.”

Chayalaya Steimez, pianist for LOL Productions, grew up in a music-filled home. In 1980, her mother Mrs. Chani Schick, formed a charity organization called the N’shei Tzedoko Players, even though fundraising performances were an innovative concept at the time. As the family grew and the commitment became overwhelming, Mrs. Schick stepped back, only to return to the stage years later, with a series of shows for Rachel’s Place, a program for homeless girls.

“My mother is the musical director,” Chayalaya says. “When I was living at home, I was assistant musical director.” Chayalaya also ran her own small-scale school productions, continuing the family legacy into adulthood.

“It was fun!” Chayalaya remembers of her time working with her mother. “I loved being able to turn to her for guidance and reassurance. She was always shouting tips from the kitchen: ‘It’s an F, not a D!’ ”

She laughs over the awkward moments. “Those were more about the dynamics between my mother, my aunt, and me, than any actual disagreements. The acting director might want something executed, not knowing whether it was musically feasible. And my mother and aunt would have fun voicing their different opinions.”

Working closely on a project — any project — with one’s mother is bound to echo through the years. “Observing her up close made me appreciate how good she is at what she does. It’s cool watching her juggle family and work — and very inspiring.” Asked to consider the most enduring lesson, Chayalaya responds: “When dilemmas arose she would always go to someone objective. Hashkafically, too, she would debate with us and then ask daas Torah. She never went ahead blindly.”

Chaya Solika also feels she has gained from working so closely with her mother. What key lessons has she imbibed? “My mother’s work ethic… and the ability to turn dreams into reality.”

A Shared Passion

How about Mom? What’s it like for her to work in close proximity to her homegrown artists?

“It’s great!” enthuses Ruti. “We’re on the same page. My girls’ school life is so unlike what I experienced that I find it hard to connect. Even their social life is completely different. And here we have a common language… my girls come to tryouts, they know the actresses, and we enjoy endless discussions about the production. Also,” she adds, “as opposed to school issues where I need to be the teacher’s advocate — when it comes to show talk, I can inject values without sounding preachy.”

Chayalaya concurs. “For us, music was always a big deal and a huge bonding factor.”

While Robin sees creative DNA flourishing in both her children, she allows them to choose their own path.

“My son aspires to be a rabbi and a cinematographer — rather a cool combination! And Chaya Solika is also different from me. She’s more of an actress while I’m a director at heart. It’s exciting. I’ve kind of become her manager, inadvertently. Still, what we have in common is passion and dedication to our craft, which is important. It takes artistic fire to take something meaningful through to fruition.”

Like Robin, Ruti believes collaborating on a demanding production nurtures responsibility.

“I ask my kids to help out for the show, just as I would ask for help around the house, and it’s definitely the more fun of the two. It also means that they are busy with Mummy, as opposed to looking for fun elsewhere. I love having my kids around me and I trust them to do a terrific job at anything they take on.”

And she points out another crucial aspect: the simchas hachayim factor. “Aspiring actresses are full of surprises, especially the ‘naturals,’ so auditions are tremendous fun. For my kids, attending auditions is the biggest treat.”

Involving their kids means including everyone. “I always value their feedback. And that goes for all ages.” Ruti finds it amusing that of all her kids, her 14-year-old son with the least technical involvement feels more pleased than anyone else. “Whenever he mentions the show, he’s glowing — he’s that excited.”

Siblings in the Wings

Yet siblings don’t always work together in peaceful harmony. Ruti shares how two of her daughters inadvertently competed for the same part. When Ruti’s Goldie was three, Zir Chemed held tryouts for Our Secret Garden. The mischievous toddler proceeded to hijack the scene with her impromptu bunny act.

Goldie’s older sister Debbie, then nine, tried for the same part — but Goldie had spoiled the part for anyone older; no one could compete with the toddler’s unadulterated adorability. So they cast Goldie. Ruti recalls feeling disappointed on Debbie’s behalf, but decided this would be a valuable way for her daughter to learn to cope with disappointment.

Curious how her attitude paid off, Ruti asks Debbie how she felt, “because obviously, one can’t expect a nine-year-old to compete with a three-year-old for sheer bunny cuteness.” Debbie had no complaints. She recalls that Ruti allowed her to watch the show instead every single night, and says show fun isn’t limited to appearing on stage.

For Robin Garbose, making her son feel needed was key. “He is involved in a different way. He loves filming and has been working on my set since he was nine. When we did Operation Candlelight, he worked with us 12 or 14 hours a day. The crew was fascinated by his focus and stamina. He’s actually worked alongside me more than my daughter.”

Chayalaya also worked more closely with her mother than her other siblings. “I have one sister who had parts in the play, but she and I were the only ones,” Chayalaya says. “Still, the ones who weren’t involved were already married. I was the only single at home at the time. They were also less musically inclined. They had other strengths, but music wasn’t it. My parents gave each of us room to express what we are naturally good at.”

Avigayil feels sorry when her children aren’t performing and have to handle the chores at home while she enjoys the fun of a show. “Yet they are the most forgiving, unselfish kids and have never shown any jealousy.”

“Those kids who are not in the show really have to learn to be big,” adds Ruti. “I honestly feel they only grow from the experience, otherwise I wouldn’t be doing this.”

Middos Alert

Most parents considering putting their child in a play weigh the pros and cons carefully. Along with the growth and the desired spike in self-esteem, there’s the concern that the technicolor stage lights might go to the child’s head. The risk of an over-inflated ego is compounded when the child prodigy’s mother also happens to be the director/producer/set designer, raising the performer’s peer status considerably.

“We object to turning our kids into stars,” stresses Ruti. “When my daughters performed in the Zir Chemed shows, we never had their names in the show brochure, and they didn’t discuss their acting with friends.”

Occasionally, Avigail will “meet seminary girls when I’m out and about — many of whom have seen me perform. They often approach me with this misplaced sense of awe. I make a point of commenting, ‘You know who you should really gawk at? Women like Rebbetzin Kanievsky… not someone the likes of me!’” Her voice drops as she fingers the jacquard tablecloth. “I realize my place in Shamayim depends on my middos, not my acting.”

She then adds: “I am far more recognized these days and I worry about becoming haughty. I constantly remind myself, because I can’t say there isn’t something pleasurable about it.” The same goes for her children. “We drum it into our kids: Being on stage does not make you special.”

The mothers are equally vigilant with other people’s feelings. “However important the show is — people are more important,” says Ruti, and Avigayil nods vigorously and adds, “I was once given good reasons to include a certain person in a show, and I went along with it, even though it meant extra work for me as I wasn’t sure she fit the part. Ruti and I are both of the opinion that after 120 we won’t be judged on the professionalism of our shows, but on the good that was accomplished in the process.

“Our kids know that putting on a show puts many nisyonos in our paths. People can be annoying, chutzpadig, insensitive… we need to work constantly on our middos.

“Still, sometimes I need to be tough or it would be impossible to direct anyone,” says Avigayil, adding: “I’m a softie at heart, but I also need to set down rules.”

One day, when things became a little too chaotic, Avigayil did something original. Fishing hand puppets out of her bag, she began communicating through them, employing her finest comic accents. “They loved that!” recalls Avigayil, “It made a difficult situation droll!” Her girls reacted differently, though. “They get embarrassed when I pull shtick like that. My daughter groans, ‘Mummmmmmy!’ But baruch Hashem we have a good relationship so I explain later why this is necessary.”

Chayalaya Steimez, who was already in shidduchim when her mother began working on the Rachel’s Place productions, vividly recalls Mommy constantly wrapped up in music practice. “We knew if you needed anything from Mommy, ask for it when she is practicing… she would allow almost anything then — the music took up a lot of mind space.”

Despite her mother’s engrossment in her plays, Chayalaya still appreciated the excitement of it all. “Kids may resent Mommy being preoccupied at times, but it is so much fun watching practices and being involved… we enjoyed it so much, we never wanted her to stop.” Because of the fun factor? “Not just! Also because when people enjoy what they do and are good at it, they are much happier people.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 478)