Finding Gold: Life Lessons from a Little Jewish Girl

By Michelle Gold

A little Jewish girl from Brooklyn, Michelle Gold, invites you to take an inside look on her journey to finding gold: healing, hope, and peace through true intimacy with a loving Father. Her prayer is that this very personal story of overcoming her past and her pain will usher you into God's s healing presence and empower you in your life as you reflect in ouyr time with Him or in your small group.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483574141

Book preview

Questions/Reflections

For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place—but you and your father’s house will perish. Who knows whether you have attained royal status for such a time as this?

—Esther 4:14

hen I was a little girl, I said to God, Whoever You are, wherever You are, I just want to die. Suddenly, I heard a voice in my heart and in my head, and I knew it had to be God speaking back to me. I knew because the words I heard were too beautiful and mature for an eight year old to imagine on her own.

God said to me, Michelle Gold, you cannot die. I have a plan and a purpose for your life. You are going to sing and write songs, and those songs are going to bring hope and healing to people all around the world.

This conversation became my inspiration for my song Tikkun Olam, and for this book. I didn’t know what tikkun olam meant (repair the world) until my brother became a Bar Mitzvah at age thirteen, but I knew that no matter the cost, it was my mission to share my gift with everyone around me, and eventually to the world, one person at a time.

Tikkun olam is a powerful commission given to every Jewish boy and girl as they enter into adulthood. It’s a sobering responsibility, to repair or heal the world. My hand trembles as I write the very first lines of my very first book because I want to make an impact on this world before I die, the kind of impact that will truly bring reparation in some way, big or small.

I often ask myself, Will people feel moved by the life I live and say they were changed in some beautiful way because of our talks, our prayers, our messages back and forth, and our time spent together? Will they say they have been inspired in any way to do something great because of what I shared or how I embraced them? Despite my imperfections, I pray my story will empower you today, tomorrow, and forever.

Avinu Malkeinu, my Father and King, make me like Esther, whose desire was to help bring salvation to her people. Make me like Isaiah, willing to be a vessel, despite his imperfections. When you ask, Who will go? may I say, Here I am. Send me.

I was born to sing. I guess you could say this was my first dress rehearsal.

Performing at a Brooklyn Nursing Home on New Year’s Eve with mom.

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them sing joyful praises forever. Spread your protection over them, that all who love your name may be filled with joy.

—Psalm 5:11 (NLT)

was broken, but now I’m whole. I was completely lost and longing, but now I know the One who is able to satisfy my longings. My life has not been perfect, but it has been exceptionally wonderful, filled with ups and downs and inside outs. I searched all over for supernatural power to overcome and for true happiness. Who doesn’t want to be found instead of lost? Who doesn’t want to be accepted and loved? Who doesn’t want to be happy and live a meaningful life? It’s amazing how there can be so much beauty in a person’s life, so much to be grateful for, yet so much missing when there is no spiritual connection, friendship, or relationship with a loving Abba, Father God.

When I was a little girl, I didn’t lack much. My parents were outrageous and fun, loving and educated, and super adventurous. My mom, Ruth, the most enthusiastic, passionate, and loving person I know, hoped to one day become a famous singer. She grew up listening to the oldies, to Barbra Streisand and Liza Minnelli. She sang in her school choir and at nursing homes. She even presented her gorgeous voice to a nationwide audience on Ted Mac and the Original Amateur Hour, a popular reality singing show, and thought it would be her big break in the music industry. When she lost the contest that year, she decided to move on to become a secretary. Despite her powerful sound, love for performing, and great stage presence, she put her dream aside when her parents told her that success as a musician is just too hard to attain, not lucrative, not tangible, and therefore not worth pursuing. Mom did what her parents requested and became a secretary, and soon after, she met my father. She secretly dreamed she would give birth to a little girl who would someday become a star. My brother, Ira, was born five years before me, and we were both born with the gift of song.

My Dad, Hy, was born in Brooklyn as a first-generation American whose parents were from Ukraine. Brought up during the Depression, he knew what it was like to struggle financially as a kid, and he also knew what it was like to work hard. Wasting food or money was never an option with him. He was a serious teacher of Industrial Arts and woodworking and a member of the Board of Education, and he meant business, but he also liked to joke around. When he taught tennis at a camp in upstate New York during the summer, he would introduce himself to the kids and make them laugh by saying, When you see me, just say ‘Hi, Hy!’ He loved to sing, too, and he sounded just like Tony Bennett. He and my mom sang at camp, at all the beach clubs where we were members, and at everyone’s bar mitzvah parties. I can’t remember any event from my childhood where my parents weren’t singing.

On the day I was born, December 21, 1975, my never-shy mother sang to me in the hospital aloud before all the nurses and doctors. She sang Michelle by the Beatles, and everyone fawned over the new baby and applauded her singing, greeting her with a mazel tov (congratulations). She was a proud mama with plans to make me her protégé so I could live the dream she didn’t have the chance to see come to life.

When I watch home videos, I see myself constantly jumping and giggling in frilly tutus from dance recitals. My mom dressed me up extravagantly. In the winter, I looked like the prettiest, tiniest eskimo. There is footage of me sliding down hills of snow in Prospect Park, racing down the slide with Ira on the swing, and even riding an elephant at the circus. We visited craft shows and county fairs, and though there is no sound in the videos, I can feel how fascinated I was by the guy who carved his own chairs, by the pie-eating contest, and by a man in a white suit shooting out of a cannon. When our family traveled to Niagara Falls, you could see the water splashing onto the lens as we smiled and walked around with a joie de vivre, the joy of living, that remained constant.

Our life was a song, an upbeat soundtrack to our daily lives. I really think we could have had our own television show, with all the excitement in our house. Many visitors would stop by, and it didn’t surprise any of our friends if we held them captive for hours and made them our audience. I learned to entertain with the sole purpose of bringing joy to a person’s heart. During our family jam sessions, I learned to encourage others to perform, applauding their efforts and affirming them often. In my family, it was a sin to disregard another’s gift or show apathy, whether their voice was fantastic or not. If they were truly bad, we found a loving way to tell them they shouldn’t quit their day job, but first, we always tried to teach them as best as we could. I learned to see the potential in everyone, even in people whom others might see as losers. The outcasts of society were folks I learned to embrace, just like I had seen done in all those off-Broadway shows.

In my warmest memories, we are all gathered around the piano singing Broadway songs from Annie and Gypsy. Ira sang songs from Guys and Dolls. With his amazing range and gusto, he had a voice like Neil Diamond that was somehow also similar to the lead singer of Metallica. If he wasn’t singing with his band in the garage or performing at a show, he would join us at the piano. It wasn’t unusual for us to grab each other’s hands and start waltzing or freestyle dancing around the room as we sang. It seemed that no matter what mood we were in or what was right and what was wrong, we could dance all our worries away with a song in English, Spanish, Russian, and Italian. At the end of these jam sessions, we pretended to faint onto the couch or floor, laughing and kvetching (complaining) about how hard we worked and how breathless we were.

Expressing myself through music was nothing more than what I did in front of the living room mirror, until the day Mom brought me to sing with her at her favorite nursing home. It was my first opportunity to shine. Mom promised me that for my singing, she would pay me in dolls. I imagined that singing before a crowd would be no trouble at all, but as I walked past the bedazzled sign in colorful text, SING ALONG WITH RUTH GOLD, and past all the smiling faces, I began to feel an excitement I never felt before. It was more than just butterflies in my little tummy; it was like destiny calling my name. I remember understanding for the first time that singing for others is a responsibility and a privilege, less like a show and more like a delivery of love, a way to touch someone’s soul.

Standing on a chair in my bright orange costume, I felt like I could change the world. I had so little to give, yet with just my voice, I could make someone feel wonderful inside. Men and women in their 80s and 90s covered me with kisses when the performance was over, and I knew that using my voice could be special. I was born to sing; I just didn’t know it yet. Like my mom, I would go on to perform in, and lose, a contest, but that loss would only make me try harder. It didn’t seem fair, but when I lost, I realized that I wanted to be a singer, beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was in that moment that I knew I was born to sing. My angry feelings turned out to be a blessing in disguise, causing me to realize that I had a calling on my life, something that went beyond the scope of talent shows.

I was upset about losing, so when the competition ended and the lights went down, I walked up to the empty judges’ table.

You guys are so wrong for not making me the winner, and you are going to be so sorry when I’m famous one day, I spoke softly, as if to give myself some closure on the disappointing experience. Inwardly, I had no idea that one day, my singing would help someone else. Back then, I just wanted to be known. The desire for fame was something I was stuck on for a long time. I wanted to feel wanted, and I wanted everyone to like me. Being known for helping people is far more rewarding than being famous just for the sake of fame itself, but I didn’t know that yet. There was no greater power in my life than music.

Music made my family come alive. Back then, it was the closest we could get to heaven in our hearts. I came to a scary conclusion based on what I learned about religion growing up: If God is love, and music brings us love, then music is God. Oy vey! I didn’t sense anything wrong with this view at that time. I didn’t know the ten commandments and had no idea that I was hurting a Creator who asks that we love nothing more than we love Him. The most perilous part about trusting in the god of rock, the god of pop, the god of money, or the god of stuff is that I wasn’t connecting to the true Vine, the Source of life. Meeting with my true Source couldn’t be replaced by gifts, just like getting a million gifts sent from a person you love would be worthless if you never got to be with them. Those gifts would leave a sour taste in your mouth, leading to a sense of longing, dissatisfaction, and frustration.

Through it all, music kept me going. I believe God used music to reach me, even when I didn’t know who He was yet. I believe music is one of His most beautiful gifts to His children, and I will never take for granted the gift He gave me, my voice and my passion for song.

Avinu Malkeinu, my Abba and King, help me to find a song, a laugh, or a dance in all times so that it will be well with my soul. You have taught me to cast my cares upon You and that joy comes in the morning. Show me what I must do to stay alive and vibrant. Set my heart and mind on things that are good. You are good, and Your love endures forever. Amen.

•Thinking beyond the pain of your past difficulties, what are some of your best childhood memories?

•Who is someone who helped you find your inner song?

•How do you find the ability to sing, laugh, and dance in the midst of trials?

Clockwise from L to R…performing at Yeshiva, playing the role of Vashti from the Book of Esther; Mom and Dad Gold singing at Brighton Beach Club, my brother Ira and me. He could always make me giggle.

Finalist At A Pageant In New York. This Is The Day I Knew I Wanted Nothing Else In The World But To Sing For The Rest Of My Life. Losing Made Me Push That Much Harder To Live My Dream.

Listen to advice and accept discipline, and at the end you will be counted among the wise. Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails.

— Proverbs 19:20-21 (NIV)

o one ever told my family that we could talk to the living God. I gather that my mom and dad felt that He existed, but that He was not a personal God and that we shouldn’t bother Him. The message I received said, "Do not disturb. God is in charge, but He is not to be bothered or called upon except for emergencies, so go kvetch, obsess, ask your friends, and figure out your problems yourself."

Instead of truly loving God, I learned to exalt the idea of being Jewish, and I was proud of my identity. My parents held culture and tradition in high esteem, and I was a part of something historical, which seemed pretty awesome to me. For a time, the concept of focusing on my heritage was fascinating; after all, some of the world’s greatest singers, songwriters, and entertainers were Jewish, just like me—Barbra Streisand, the Beasties Boys, Irving Berlin, Leonard Bernstein, Harry Connick Jr., Neil Diamond, Bob Dylan, Judy Garland, Oscar Hammerstein II, Billy Joel, and even Elvis Presley’s great-grandmother. Knowing this was enough to make my little heart leap with excitement, and this long list of names