Sibling Rivalry

One afternoon, about 70 years ago, when I was ten and my brother six, my mother asked us to sing a song for our aunt, whom our mother had invited for tea.  At least I thought she had asked us  both to sing, but I was wrong.  “Not you,” she said to me, when I began to sing along with my brother, “just your brother.”  This hurt my feelings even more than when our junior high school music teacher, directing my class's chorus several years later, told  me to mouth the words of the songs but not to sing them.

My brother’s sweet soprano is now, 70 year later, a mellow baritone, but his voice continues to be beautiful.  This past weekend, when he and his wife were visiting us, they accompanied us to Shabbat services on Friday evening and Saturday morning. Most of these services are sung by the congregation, and as we sang together, my brother’s voice seemed  to sail above all the others, distinct and lovely.  After each service, several members of our congregation came up to him and complimented him on his voice.  And I thought to myself, “not you, just your brother.”

Seventy years have passed since my mother asked my brother but not me to sing, and though I love my brother, I’m still envious of his voice and - it pains me to admit it - slightly resentful of the attention it receives.  Sibling rivalry never  dies. 

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