Cara Mentzel - Voice Lessons: A Sisters Story

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For Dina

I am not the writer in the family. In fact, the last good metaphor I wrote was probably back in the fourth grade when my favorite teacher of all time, Mrs. Rosalind Pincus, rosy cheeked, always jolly, saw the blizzard outside our Baylis Elementary School windows and exclaimed, Children! Oh children! Pick up your pencils and run to the window! I want you to write a poem about what you see! I obediently grabbed my pencil and Bionic Woman spiral notebook and wrote the masterpiece entitled The White Ghost. It proudly lives in the drawer at the bottom of my mothers armoire where every so often she pulls it out in an attempt to build my confidence when I need to write something of merit.

No, Im not the writer in the family. So when an agent came to me asking if I would write a book about my life, I rudely laughed in her face. I have no desire to write about myself. I actually dont enjoy writing. Songwriting is excruciating for me, which is why I now make sure I collaborate with others all the time. I hate the pressure of completing a song. More than anything I dread the morning after feeling when I think Ive written my first smash hit only to find it sucks or I ripped off some melody from a Beyonc song. So the task of writing about my life? Not for me. Though, the writing gene did find my sister.

I told the agent that my sister, Cara, was a writer. She enthusiastically suggested that Cara write the book for me. She can be your ghostwriter! And I told her my sister isnt ghosting anything. A ghostwriter is some mysterious person who writes for people but doesnt get credit. There was no way I would allow that. My sister writing my story was not okay with me. It needed to be our story.

It just made sense. At their core, so many of the projects Ive been involved with have explored the bond between women. Elsa and Anna. Elphaba and Glinda. Best friends. Sisters. Not always pretty, not always perfect. Yet these relationships, these amazing women, have shaped the way I see the world. There is an uncanny, inexplicable reason these projects keep finding me. And I am so grateful for that.

Years before anyone had heard of the film Frozen , Cara would send me these hysterical, beautiful little essays about the two of us. Just stuff that she was reminiscing about. I sent out some of her writing samples, encouraged the agent to check them out, and said, You should let her write the book; not some biography, but a book about us as sisters.

Selfishly I thought this was a wonderful way to bond even more with Cara. She lives in Colorado. I live everywhere. Our lives are so busy, caught up in career and kids and trying to remember birthdays and spa treatments for our mother on Mothers Day. After all is said and done, how much quality time have we really spent together? How many details do we truly know about each others day? I was excited about the idea of this book. Ha! I was excited about her writing it and me sticking my two cents in every so often to say Thats not how it happened or Wait, you should talk about the time

Years back, I had an idea for a moment in one of my concerts, to finish the haftorah I never had. Its a special prayer Jewish kids perform at their bar mitzvah ceremony. My parents let me quit Hebrew school when I complained of an impatient teacher getting aggravated by my barrage of questions about God and how certain things in the Bible seemed sexist and unforgiving and not befitting a god whom I was praying to at night. So, having failed my grandparents and hearing for the next twenty years what a shame it was that I didnt sing my haftorah, I thought I would revisit it in my late thirties on stage. I had learned of a woman in the Bible named Devorah (also known as Deborah and Dvora). The Triple Threat I liked to call her. The poet, the judge, and general. And she sang too! When summoning her armies to battle, her husbandalso a general, who would never go without herwould chant, The rulers ceased in Israel until you Devorah arose. Awake, awake, Devorah, awake and sing your song. A few years earlier, Id taken a trip to see my sister and baby nephew, Avery. When Cara went to put him down for his nap, I listened at the bedroom door and overheard her sing Avery to sleep. Cara never sang around me, or anyone for that matter. I was the singer in the family. I had some invisible claim to that. But just then she had the most hauntingly beautiful voice. It was sweet and pure and emotional. In that moment I felt as if I had stolen something from her. All these years. That voice was inside my sister and I didnt even know. By the time I wrote about Devorah, Cara was pushing through some hard times. She was busting her ass to finish her masters degree, provide for her children, and keep her writing dreams alive. She was my Devorah, the true warrior. She needed her chance to rise up and shine.

Nearly a decade later, in my blind enthusiasm for this book, I failed to realize that writing our story wasnt going to be all that simple. This whole book journeys through the lives of older and younger siblings and the shadow-dancing we do. I wanted this to be Caras book. Caras perspective. I didnt want to rob her of the purity of the accomplishment. I didnt want to steal her light.

Its funny. To me, Cara was always the old soul, the wiser, the younger sister with the older sister who looked to her for guidance. I called her first. Number one. When I felt like life was falling apart at the seams. She taught me so much about the kind of woman I wanted to be. In this book, shes not just telling our story, but shes speaking for all of us trying to figure out who we are. Who we want to be. Sisterhood is a complicated relationship. Anytime you love someone so much you are not sure where you start and where they begin. When is the right time to bask in their glow and when do you need to separate yourself and find your own stage? Sometimes it was hard to hear about those moments when I hurt her or let her down. And I know it was no fun for Cara to turn the spotlight on herself magnifying her innermost fears and thoughts. But every moment is authentic and true and if we cant look at the mistakes we have made we never evolve. In our version of snowy Arendelle, there are no white ghosts or ghostwriters, just siblings, each one deserving to be seen and heard. I forgive myself for being a young, scrawny little wicked witch-in-training who coerced my baby sister to drink from a dirt potion I concocted in our backyard. And as traumatizing as it sounds, Cara survived and lived to tell a pretty cool tale of two sisters from Long Island, lost in a perpetual search to find their true voices.

Idina Menzel

On a typical day, I wear a pair of Chuck Taylors, jeans, and a sweater long enough to cover my butt when I bend over in the classroom to pick up a stray glue stick. I teach elementary school students how to read while doing my best to steer clear of snot (theirs) and profanity (mine)at least until after 3:00. At home I have two dogs, two boys, and a husband. At home I try to steer clear of farts (particularly in the kitchen), and anyone whos gonna give me shit for cussing.