MUSIC

When You Play, Everything Else Gets Smaller

We asked three of our teachers what music sets free in them

Sahar Axel
|
4 min read

This month, we decided to highlight some of our incredible teachers here at Citizen Café. Ask any of their students, and they’ll surely describe dedicated, inspiring professionals, people who somehow manage to balance the pedagogical with the personal. But beyond the classroom, many of our teachers are also musicians. In times like these, music feels more necessary than ever, not as background but as something that can carry us through, a way to expand beyond our day-to-day existence. We asked them what it means to create right now, and how their relationship with music has shifted and evolved.

 

Assaf Tuvia, 37, Sweden

Assaf is a guitarist and bassist, but his work extends far beyond performance. He writes, composes, and produces music both for himself and for other artists. He began playing guitar at 13. Growing up in a family surrounded by music, his father constantly introduced him to new sounds, sparking an early curiosity that quickly turned into something deeper.

Like many young musicians, he was drawn to different legendary guitarists, but over time, that admiration evolved into creation. “At some point, I realized I could write and compose my own music, and from there, I was all in.” For Assaf, music is more than expression: it’s a form of release. 

When asked about the sense of freedom often found in music, he described it as “something close to meditation” that happens when he is deeply immersed in creating. “Distractions fade, and emotions, especially the difficult ones, find a clear and honest outlet. Music is therapy: when you’re inside it, everything else becomes smaller.”

A major influence on Assaf was the late Israeli musician Matti Caspi, whose songs, he says, “are like a music school.” From groove to melody to production, Caspi’s work opened his mind to endless possibilities. He adds that it helped him understand that “within music, there are no real limits. Only freedom.”

Listen to his music here.

Cheli Bloch, 25, Germany 

For Cheli, music has always been a constant. A flutist who now studies classical music in Würzburg, Germany, she has been playing since early childhood. Music has followed her through every stage of her life, from school to the army, and beyond.

But what makes music essential for her isn’t just the practice; it’s what it allows her to express: “It gives me freedom, a way to express myself without the need for words.”

When asked further about that sense of freedom, she explains that this feeling becomes especially meaningful during difficult times. “Even if I don’t manage to find a quiet moment to play, or to really practice the way I’m used to, just listening to music gives me a few minutes where I don’t think about anything else, just being with the music.”

Two composers in particular have stayed with her through these moments. The first is Gustav Mahler, whose work blends, according to Cheli, “darkness and light with intense emotional depth.” His music, shaped by a life marked with personal tragedy, “captures both struggle and beauty in a way that feels deeply human.”

The second is Stephen Sondheim, known for his musical theater works. His compositions, she explains, “don’t shy away from complexity; they embrace it. There’s something raw and honest in the way he portrays human experience, and at the same time, something deeply cleansing. Listening to such music offers something very grounding, and that’s something that is especially helpful right now, in this current period.”

 

Mika Hary, 39, Germany 

Mika is a singer-songwriter, vocalist, and pianist who writes and performs her own music. Her style sits somewhere between jazz and the singer-songwriter tradition, while remaining rooted in her own musical voice.

She began studying piano at the age of six, and from an early age, music felt like a natural part of her life: “It was always something that made me very happy, and at some point I also realized that it made other people happy too”, she says. 

Unlike many who search for direction, she describes her path as relatively clear from the start. She followed a musical trajectory through high school and continued to study jazz in New York. 

In recent years, however, her relationship with music shifted. After major life changes, including motherhood and relocation to Germany, she found herself outside of her usual musical routine: “That period kind of took me out of the loop, and for the first time, I actually paused from music.”

“What keeps me going now is something that was always there in the beginning, but I think it became more meaningful over time. When I sing and share music with people, I suddenly feel the intensity of the connection. Seeing how people react and how they feel through what I do is something very powerful. It’s a feeling that draws me back again and again. When I’m true to myself in my music and can create or perform something that feels honest, and someone else experiences it with me – there’s something very freeing in that.”

An artist who inspires her is Fiona Apple, whose willingness to embrace intensity and imperfection in her music resonates deeply with Mika. “There’s a kind of madness in her playing, in her singing, and in her writing,” she says. “She allows herself to explore it, even when it’s not traditionally ‘beautiful,’ and at the same time, it ends up being the most beautiful thing.”

Listen to her music here.

 

About the Author

Sahar Axel is a writer and Hebrew teacher at Citizen Café. A former mental health professional, she has been solo backpacking since late 2021 and is passionate about storytelling, spirituality, and the Beatles’ discography. Wherever she goes, her Light blue ukulele is never far behind.

Sahar Axel

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Hebrew Nugget:

When You Play, Everything Else Gets Smaller

The past year has been an emotional rollercoaster – moving from the shock, pain, and sadness of unimaginable events to the moments of hope we felt with each hostage coming home, each family reunited, and every soldier returning safely. Alongside this, we’ve found countless reasons to be grateful – for the incredible outpouring of support from civilians, and for the things we still hold dear, like our families, our partners, and our community. But these feelings are always mixed with the ache and despair that everyone in Israel still carries, even now.
I’d say the best way to describe how everyone around me is feeling is רגשות מעורבים (reh-gah-shoht meh-oh-rah-veem), which means “mixed emotions.” רגש (reh-gehsh) means “an emotion” in singular, but in plural, רגשות, it might sound feminine with the “OHT” ending. But here’s the catch: this doesn’t change the gender of the noun or the adjective that follows, which still matches the singular form. So, it’s מעורבים and not מעורבות. It’s just one of those quirks of Hebrew that’s tricky to explain.