The Heartstrings of Aya Korem: Finding Meaning Through Family, Music, and Tradition

Aya Korem is a musician, born in Nazareth Illit. “My family history could easily serve as a pretty good textbook on the history of the Jewish people. My paternal grandparents, of blessed memory, were Holocaust survivors with chilling stories of courage, while my mother’s parents, also of blessed memory, were pioneers and members of the Haganah underground.

“At my mother’s parents’ home, Judaism was something completely natural and self-understood, since both of them immigrated to Israel at a very young age. In contrast, my great-grandfather on my father’s side was a fully observant Jew, so my grandfather grew up in a religious home.

“My father’s parents brought with them a few objects from Europe — my great-grandfather’s tallit, my grandmother’s silver candlesticks, and a handful of other Jewish ritual items — and for me, these objects represent the entire story.

“These are the only items in our family that truly carry meaning. In our family, we don’t pass down diamond necklaces — we pass down the things that symbolize our connection to previous generations. In my father’s eyes, the value of my grandfather’s tallit is greater than that of any other personal possession.

“I have no doubt that one day these items will be passed on to me and my siblings. I’m not someone who is particularly attached to objects — if my daughter breaks something at home, it really doesn’t bother me, but when these objects reach me, they will be more precious to me than anything else. What binds me to them is not only that they survived for so many years, but also the depth of connection that my father and grandfather feel toward them.

“And even though we were considered ‘secular,’ my father always made sure to take us to synagogue on Yom Kippur, to conduct the Passover Seder properly, and to build a sukkah. His connection to tradition expressed itself through a strong bond with previous generations — a connection he wanted to honor by observing these mitzvot.”

A channel of inspiration

“Inspiration in artistic creation is something very elevated and special. A person can feel like a channel of God — or like a channel of a thousand generations of beauty, courage, truth, and powerful culture. No one starts from zero. I create from everything I absorbed — from what I heard at home, and from what I encountered later in life — and that richness is indescribable.

“In that sense, what is happening in Israel is especially amazing, thanks to the ingathering of exiles we’ve been blessed with. It’s truly beautiful.”

Lessons the soul needs to learn

“I feel deeply connected to many elements of Judaism — especially three of them. The first is ‘And you shall tell your child.’ That value speaks to me very strongly. Being Jewish and being part of the people of Israel holds great meaning for me.

“I am very moved by Rosh Hashanah and love the holiday; the renewal, the fresh page, the sense of celebration. In addition to that, I feel connected to Yom Kippur. The value of meaningful self-reflection plays an important role in my life. I’m constantly trying to learn the lessons my soul still needs to learn.”

No words

“The most divine and spiritual thing that ever happened to me is, of course, the birth of my daughter. It isn’t just the birth itself, but her presence in my life from that very moment onward. Nothing else even comes close.

“If I could explain it in words, I would — but I think anyone who has children already understands exactly what I mean.”

Never alone

“Music plays a hugely important role in my life, and it has always lived inside me. My father is a serious music lover, and I have no doubt that influenced me. He would play us classical music, Israeli music, and more — blasting the volume and dancing around the living room until my mother asked him to turn it down.

“For me, music has always been the thing that shields me from the world when I need protection, and the thing that reconnects me to it afterward. To this day I still listen to music like a 16-year-old girl — jumping and singing in the street with headphones on.

“In recent years, I often find myself deciding what kind of song I want to write — what feeling I want it to give me — and then I sit down and write it. The impulse can come from something I saw, a book I read, or even a song by someone else that shook me and made me want to write something parallel of my own.

“There are artists who want to make people dance or feel joy or emotion. I’m truly happy when people tell me that my music makes them think, or makes them feel less alone. That is the most beautiful thing music can do.”

Better together

“Throughout my career I’ve written and composed quite a few songs for other artists. I’m aware that my abilities as a performing singer are limited, but writing is something I can do across a much wider range. I can compose songs that don’t suit me personally.

“Understanding that I don’t need to sing every song I write, and that I can pass songs on to others, is incredibly liberating. This way, you get the best of all worlds.

“That said, it doesn’t happen in every situation or at any price. For example, I wouldn’t give a song to an artist whose work I don’t like. On the album I released about four years ago, the artists singing my songs are the ones I love most in the world.

“It wasn’t just a dream come true to have them perform my songs — it’s more than that. I feel they do kindness with my songs. For example, when Lea Shabat sings a song about the Exodus from Egypt, she brings to it a life-story and emotional depth that I don’t have, and maybe never will. Giving songs to others is a different musical experience than performing your own, but it’s no less powerful.”

Six years of isolation

“I found myself in a long and complex legal battle with the record label I was signed to. It was a difficult period that lasted more than six years. I think that being ostracized and isolated was the hardest part of the whole story. Until the moment when the Supreme Court judges accepted my claims and expressed support for me, most of my colleagues thought I was a bit crazy.

“At the same time, those years also trained and prepared me for the COVID period — waking up every day not knowing what will happen today, tomorrow, or six months from now. One of the greatest gifts I received from that struggle was enormous perspective, and deep gratitude for being able to go back to doing what I love most: creating.

“Through working on legislation in the Knesset, I also discovered that change is possible, if you’re willing to cooperate with people you don’t necessarily agree with. The Knesset is an exciting and intense place, full of inspiring people, even if their political opinions differ from mine.”

No comparisons

“When I was younger, I spent too much time comparing myself to others, and thinking about where I stood compared to them, or where I ‘should’ have been. Eventually I realized that every twist and turn of my career — the more successful moments and the less successful ones, are all a direct product of who I am, for better and for worse.

“Someone else in my place would have received different reactions, simply because they are someone else. It’s not that I don’t still have peaks I want to reach — of course I do, that’s what gets me out of bed in the morning — but as long as I feel that I’m moving forward, even in small steps, I’m happy.”

To 120

“When I reach 120, I would like to believe that I raised my children to be independent, expressive, and giving. I’d want to know that until my very last day, I never stopped learning, growing, and improving — and of course, that I gave my family the love they deserve. Everything else is just a bonus."