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Feb. 23, 2007
One man's triumph over trauma
Despite a debilitating childhood illness, Yitzhak Perlman became
a celebrated performer on the world stage.
EUGENE KAELLIS
Sometimes one has a feeling so deep that words are inadequate.
How much more expressive it would be if, instead of talking, we
communicated our feelings by singing. For anger, Verdi's Wrath of
God would work; and for tenderness, Bruch's First Violin Concerto
would be more than adequate. But the voice pales compared to the
violin, the most expressive of instruments and, to master, perhaps
the most difficult.
When I hear – or hear and see – a violin virtuoso racing
through what seems to be an impossibly complex and accelerando piece
by, let's say, Paganini, I wonder how is it possible? How can anybody
play that quickly, that precisely? And how can anyone make a slow
movement of a sonata sound so compassionate, so loving, so sad?
What makes the difference between an outstanding violin virtuoso
and someone who is "merely" competent?
Just consider all the possible major variables that must coalesce
at exactly the same time to create such seemingly super-human skill.
The obvious ones are having the brain power to memorize long scores
covered with dense and difficult notations, having the nerves and
muscles to exercise exquisite control of the fingers, arms and shoulders,
and the strength to keep them going, the acuity of hearing to identify
and impose minute changes in phrasing, pitch, tempo and volume,
that quality, hard to define but easier to appreciate, that makes
the playing particular and identifiable with the player and, to
top it all, that puts enough heart into the music to penetrate to
one's soul.
What if to these challenges fate were almost spitefully to add an
additional one, a major handicap developed at age four? Then you
might have the story of a man who is not only a phenomenal violinist
but has a phenomenal neshamah, a soul full of joy, gratitude
and, above all, purpose.
There you have Yitzhak Perlman.
For some music lovers who have heard Perlman's masterly playing
only on CDs or the radio, seeing him during his television or personal
appearances, unless they already knew about his handicap, may be
a surprising, even shocking experience.
In 1945, when Perlman was four years old, the only child of Chaim
and Shoshana Perlman of Tel-Aviv, a particularly bad polio epidemic
struck. Their son was infected and lay close to death. He recovered,
but with both legs completely paralyzed. For all his days, he would
need leg braces, a cane or crutches and a wheelchair to move.
In spite of this tragic occurrence, in two important ways, Perlman
was blessed: he had loving, intelligent, devoted parents, and he
somehow acquired a personality of purpose, perseverance and the
ability to make himself and others happy.
His father, Chaim, a barber, and Shoshana, his mother, sold their
barber shop business, in the same building as their third floor
walk-up apartment in Tel-Aviv, which Perlman could no longer manage.
They bought a self-service laundry and moved into a nearby ground
floor apartment.
When Perlman expressed a keen interest in learning to play the violin,
they bought him one, for six dollars. At first, with typical childhood
bravado, he tried to be an instant virtuoso, without the lessons
needed to develop skill. Eventually, Perlman asked his parents to
arrange for lessons. He learned quickly, as if everything was already
inside him and needed only the guidance to express itself. Perlman
never had to be reminded to practise; it was something he did faithfully
and asiduously. A few years later, he enrolled in the Tel-Aviv Academy
of Music.
Visitors to the academy were entranced by this young, curly-haired
child who played while sitting in a wheelchair. He gave his first
solo recital when he was 10. Even at that age, he could display
an emotional maturity rarely attained by adult musicians. His playing
was not only competent; it was miraculous.
As he progressed, Perlman made orchestral appearances. Leonard Bernstein
and Isaac Stern, while in Israel, made a point of seeing this wunderkind
play. Stern was not only one of the greatest violinists of his day,
he was an exceedingly generous man and helped many fine artists
in their careers.
Then, Perlman got his big break. Ed Sullivan was the host of an
American variety performance show that ran for 23 years and had
the world's largest TV audience. Because it could be the ticket
to instant success, performers struggled for a spot on his show.
The Beatles owed their almost unbelievable triumph in the United
States to their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show.
In the mid-'50s, Sullivan began a world tour searching for talent.
In Haifa, he attended a performance by a boy wearing crutches, who
moved slowly to centre stage, sat down and proceeded to play his
violin beautifully. Sullivan was impressed. It was precisely what
he needed for his huge American audience - the triumph of determination
over adversity.
An appearance on his show was to be followed by a three-month tour.
Chaim Perlman couldn't leave his business for that time, so only
Yitzhak's mother came along.
His first TV appearance, in 1958, was predictably successful. Not
only did he play difficult pieces well, to many viewers he represented
something about Israel: the ability to overcome adversity and succeed.
At the end, Perlman and his mother realized that they had to move
to New York City, the place that offered the opportunities and means
to achieve international stardom. His father sold his business and
joined them, worrying if he could get kosher food in New York. He
got a job folding shirts in a laundry for $50 a week.
Stern, typically exercising his generosity, became Perlman's godfather.
He arranged for a fund-raising tour for the Zionist Organization
of America, covering 20 American and Canadian cities. Those who
heard Perlman were impressed, but those who had the opportunity
to observe the 13-year-old for whom every performance was a struggle
– not in the playing, that was easy, but in getting around
– were even more awed by his constant display of good humor.
Perlman was enrolled in the Julliard School of Music in New York.
Of his two teachers, Ivan Galamian was demanding, even overbearing;
Dorothy Delay was more gentle and sympathetic. She even taught Perlman
how to drive a special hand-controlled car. Gradually, he felt more
at home in this exciting, but demanding, environment. He made several
appearances and won, not only his audiences, but the approval of
the critics. This is what he cherished the most.
At 17, he experienced the highlight of any musical career, a performance
at New York's Carnegie Hall. Since its opening in 1891, it had been
the venue for concerts and ballet performances by artists who have
become part of legend in the world of music and dance. Perlman thought
he played well. Unfortunately, he did not find out what the critics
thought. New York was in the throes of a newspaper strike.
In spite of this, Perlman went on to become one of the world's leading
violinists, not only of his generation, but of all generations.
He has made countless recordings and given many, many performances.
There have, of course, been and will be other great violinists.
One of them, also Israeli-born, Pinchas Zuckerman, has played together
with Perlman, who is also his close friend.
But the story Perlman brought to the highest levels of violin performance
remains unique: the grit, determination and, above all, in such
a demanding profession and with such a history of an ongoing major
handicap, his optimism, cheerfulness and goodwill.
Eugene Kaellis is a retired academic living in New Westminster.
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