Itzhak Perlman

Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To watch him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an unforgettable sight. He walks until he reaches his chair and then he sits down.  Slowly he puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Finally he bends down, picks up his violin, places it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.

In general, audiences are used to this process. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage and they remain silent while he undoes the braces on his legs. They simply wait until he is ready to play.

On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, made his way on stage and picked up his violin to play at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City but something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars of the piece they were playing, one of the strings on his violin broke. Everyone in the audience heard it snap loudly.

It was evident to everyone in the audience what Itzhak Perlman was going to have to do. He would have to get up, put the braces on again, pick up the crutches, limp his way off stage and either find another violin or find another string for this one. 

But he didn't do that at all. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. He played with passion and power and clarity of purpose.

Those who know music well know that it is impossible to play a piece from a symphony with just three strings. But on that night, Itzhak Perlman refused to know it. The audience watched him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head as he continued to play. It has been said that at one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.

When the piece was finished, silence filled the room. Then people began to applaud.  They rose and cheered from every seat in the house.

Itzhak Perlman smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, and raised his bow to quiet the audience.  He commented in a quiet way "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."

The lesson is that when we are faced with adversity and challenges, we don't have to give up.  Instead, we can become "the artist of our lives" and create something with what we have, rather than bemoan what we have lost or what we desire.