EM: Tell us a little bit about yourself and where you grew up, and your family background from Monastir
Sarah Aroeste: Sure! I grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, which is not known for its Sephardic community. We were one of two or three families that were Sephardic in our synagogue, and that definitely had an impact on me knowing that I was, I wouldn’t say “other” per sea, but I knew I was different from other Jewish families that I grew up with.
EM: How would you say you knew that when you were growing up? How did you grow up in an environment that told you that you were in fact Sephardic?
SA: Well certainly in our home, we had these incredible pictures of my family back in Monastir lining the hallways, so everytime I left my bedroom 100 times a day, I would walk by these photos with fezes and hookahs, so it was just so clear from my house that we were Sephardic. The foods we ate at the holidays, the Ladino that was a part of our family vernacular, having Holocaust survivors in our family, there were so many ways within my family that I knew I was Sephardic, there’s no question there. I distinctly remember at some age looking around the synagogue and there was another family with the last name Castiola, and just knowing that we were the two Sephardic families. I couldn’t have been less than 7 or 8, but it was abundantly clear to me and my family that there were just a few of us.
EM: Can you tell me some of the traditions, Ladino words and phrases that you remember growing up with?
Aroeste: My grandfather was the oldest of one of 9 brothers and sisters, and every single family gathering, whenever there was an Aroeste gathering, even if it was secular like Thanksgiving, I remember having all the great aunts in the kitchen making Tadelikos, which is the word Monastirlis use for Biscochos, the famous Sephardic cookie we are love to eat. Any single gathering, there was always Tadelikos, with Ladino words and phrases thrown around too. So many other Sephardic foods also, like Spanakopita (spinach pies), masedikos (little borekas) with potato and cheese, and keftes de prasa, my great aunt still makes the best.
EM: It’s strange in many ways how passionate you are about preservation of Ladino and Sephardic identity. When did this first happen, and what motivated it?
Aroeste: I can think of two specific moments that really brought me where I am today. My very first performance of Ladino music was my Bat Misva, because I demanded that I could sing Non Komo Muestro Dio (Ein Kelohenu) in Ladino. I knew that as a statement of my Jewish identity, I was going to sing Ein Kelohanu in Ladino, and this was the first time I sang a Ladino song outside the house. I just remember how empowering it was for my 13 year old self and how proud I was to do it. That even that one song would make a statement.
I was a very serious western vocalist. After my time at Yale, I was on the festival and competition circuits. In 1997, after having studied Opera for such a long time, I went to Tel Aviv. I was studying and performing, and my opera coach just happened to be Ladino composer Niko Castel. We realized we came from the same background, and he taught me the classical Ladino song repertoire outside just the folk songs I knew. I just fell in love with it, and I continued studying with him at the Met Opera in New York, where I put on a series of recitals, and one section we had a specific portion devoted to Ladino.
EM: Where do you get your inspiration from for your music and books?
Aroeste: Two places. First and foremost, my children. The first children’s album I did, I was pregnant with my first child when I was writing, and I was receiving some wonderful children’s music from friends and family, but none of it was Sephardic or Ladino. And I was disappointed, and I wanted to make sure my kids would find joy in Ladino music. I wanted to create something that they could enjoy on their own. I gave birth to my first child and literally the rhythms of the songs I would record reflected the very first time she put her bare feet on grass, and her walking on the grass became the rhythm for one of the songs about nature on the album.
Just as much so, my elders have also been my inspiration for my music. My cousin Rachel, who is 104 and is one of only two survivors in the family who was born in Monastir, still shares stories with me. This is her history and you can’t just leave it behind, it needs to be shared. So in my Monastir album, there is a song called Mi Monastir (my Monastir) with references to these objects that have stayed with my family all of these years.
EM: How did you learn Ladino? What were the resources you used to write these songs and comprehend them?
Aroeste: I did not grow up in a Ladino speaking household at all. My mother’s generation did not grow up with it, and I felt this void in my life, especially as a musician. When I got older, my first entry point was through studying music. I bought every CD I could find, and started listening to every single Ladino song. When I moved to New York, I studied under Daisy Braverman Sedaka, who was my first real teacher when she was providing Ladino courses at the Spanish & Portuguese Synagogue of New York. After learning with her, I picked up more mentors like Gloria Ascher (a Brotherhood member), Rachel Bortnick (another Brotherhood member), which really helped me.
EM: What is your hope for the Sephardic Future?
SA: I want my kids to grow up not feeling other, because I was always embarrassed as a little kid, I knew I was different from my peers. I either want them to embrace their differences, or normalize them as another part of the Jewish experience, and be celebrated for it. By having children’s books with Sephardic themes and characters, we can make that a reality. It is so important to me that my kids grow up in a world that they see themselves in.
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