Akiva: "My Life Has Become a Mission, I Need to Pray for Mental Health"

Just when we thought no one sings about marital harmony anymore (as if it isn't a crucial issue worth discussing and we just 'go with the flow'), 'Akiva' came along and released the single 'Shalom Bayit', putting things on the table regarding what we all desire and perhaps have forgotten amid the fervor of work and matters less important than the ultimate purpose of our gathering in this world: a home, with peace.
"There's a very strong statement here," he tells me. "The movement in this song is a message. Most of the world broadcasts the opposite movement, and I feel there's a need today, at least for me, to tell people: 'Guys, you're talking about love. But desires are not love. There are two options in the world: either go by Hashem's command and define communal boundaries according to Halacha, or say I live in the world and I'm aware of what's going on, not necessarily among Jews.
When I open up to the world outside, the danger is that the negative things also enter us. The concept of 'love', for instance, prevailing in the world today, is not one of modesty and quiet, like in the Jewish world. Writing a song about marital peace is much harder."

Landing Safely

Akiva (Turgeman, 30) from Jerusalem, is married to Zorit, who helped write some of his songs, and a father of four.
For over a decade, he has been in the Jewish music industry. About four years ago, he released his debut album, which touched many hearts. However, what is termed 'the breakthrough into the mainstream' came recently with new hits such as 'Don't Let Go' (the title track of the new album, number one in the GalGalatz chart), 'Shalom Bayit', 'Just One More Moment', 'You Are Walking with Me', and more.
Akiva's velvety voice places him in a refined range; between the Western Raichel and the Charedi Yishai Ribo.
He is a graduate of the Ramat Gan Yeshiva, wearing a cap. He sings sacred songs, but also about other topics. It seems that if Akiva hadn't entered the mainstream, it would have needed to be invented at some point.
We are currently witnessing live the evolution of Jewish music entering the general mainstream in a manner we've yet to see. "What is the price of being in the mainstream?" I ask him.
"The price is relevant to anyone living in a high-intensity level and, in some way, succeeding in their field," says Akiva.
"Listen, it's not natural to be in the mainstream; this load isn't regular. There are people who get hurt by it. There are many I know who find this mission overwhelming, and one needs to pray for good mental health. I pray for it every day. The privacy and the constant state of being 'Akiva', in the role of yourself."
What do you do to stay Akiva?
"I try to have 'escape points'. I go to nature, isolate, have moments where I don't have to give an account or do give an account to myself, to Hashem, and not to humans. I thank for all the good. It's better than not good.
Thank Hashem I didn't reach the place I am out of nowhere. I didn't come from a burst or a reality show. There is a concept of breaking into awareness from zero to a hundred only in relation to the audience, and this did happen to me, yes. Because suddenly, the audience heard me on the radio. But ultimately, professionally, I progressed a bit more each time and more and more."
Was there a defining moment?
"Yes, it was when my song 'Don't Let Go' was number one on GalGalatz for two months."
How did the gradual progress help?
"It helped me understand where I'm entering and to come to this place with humility, not taking it for granted. I was already prepared to pay the price of success. Much credit to my friends, Yishai, Chanan, Amir Dadon, Nathan Goshen. We spoke a lot before what became of me, supposedly. I saw the advantages and disadvantages, more or less. Minus the surprises, because in the end, everyone experiences success differently."
"For me, the balance is my home, my family. Everyone has their own balance. You come back from a performance with your head in the clouds to wash dishes - and you remember who you really are."
Don't you think of hiring a housekeeper at this stage in life?
"My wife would be happy to have help," Akiva laughs. "I am looking and will leave an email for details at the end of the article. But seriously: the effort is to remain simple. Even if we bring help - Hashem will help us find the balance. There are enough things on our backs and minds. I can help my wife with the laundry, she'd be happy.
"In the conscious sense, I consider myself a family person before I am a singer or famous at all. That's the truth. That's what I was even before the bigger success; married with kids, prior to everything. It guards me very much."
How do the children receive the success?
"We try to find the right places, and I feel that right now, not everywhere recognizes me or asks to take photos. The kids, in general, receive it with love and fun. Sometimes, when I come to a spring, people know who I am, they jump momentarily but don't pressure. They understand."

Akiva's music can be summed up in a sentence: "You said Akiva - you said daily life. The raw life itself". Not fantasies of ethereal love nor touching the incomprehensible.
"Everything in life has charm and beauty," Akiva elaborates his philosophy. "A song is an essence of energy, emotions trying to be transferred from one person to another. Sometimes it's a love song, or for a child, or for myself, to the child I was.
When I write a song today, I try to trace all areas of life and not just the simple emotion that's easy to connect to; trials in faith, for example. Conflicts with parents, a friend who passed away, a sick child I went to play for. There are feelings and movements in the world that can be spoken and sung about. By the way, there are things in the editing room I choose not to share. For every song that comes out, about eight are shelved."
Why do you shelve them?
"We are limited in energy and time, and there are certain things I feel I shared too much; that are too personal. Sometimes I also change words and phrases and replace them with something else."
Doesn't that affect the art?
"The central point is that in the art itself there's complete freedom and afterwards, everything related to releasing it to the world - that's where the censorship begins. If I censor from the start - then something in the feeling doesn't pass. It binds the art."

Greetings to Dimona

Childhood in Dimona, a Moroccan father, a mother from Canada, and in his ears as a teenager, the musical range was wide. "Led Zeppelin at age 12, Meir Ariel at 15, and chants," he smiles. "You can see it in my songs. I try every now and then to include a tiny trill or ethnic instruments. I have a deep connection to the Moroccan music world, liturgical chants, the songs of request. I'm very connected to it and grew up on it. On the other hand, I grew up on Western music. What emerged is a fusion of several things together. In the world, they call it fusion, I call it the gathering of exiles."
Is there a chance we'll hear more hardcore chants from you?
"Yes, I might make a proper chant album, and besides, I also have the Chassidic side to me. I studied in Ramat Gan Yeshiva, and maybe one day in my life, I'll touch more on the Chassidic side. In the end, at the Shabbat table, I don't sing 'Don't Let Go' but rather 'To You I Call, Hashem' and 'I Shall Soar and Dwell'. That's what I live off."
And what do you listen to on the radio?
"A very wide range. Farid al-Atrash and Umm Kulthum alongside digging into the first Led Zeppelin album. I'm quite amazed at myself that these two extremes reside in one person. If I get into the car and there's a Beethoven quintet in the background, I don't change the station; I have respect," Akiva laughs, who mostly writes the songs for himself and rarely spreads his songs to other artists, except for the successful song 'Shlemim', which he created with Idan Rafael Haviv. "I felt it was more appropriate to do it this way with Idan Rafael Haviv, and I'm very proud of him and thank Hashem that the song rolled out this way," he says.
Tell me, how is a Jewish singer's success measured today, and what is your view regarding art and commercialism that are very much accepted today; can both coexist?
"I constantly separate between success and commercial success," Akiva says. "Success is like what happened to me a few days ago; I released the song 'Just Like You' with a small clip, and someone sent me a message saying she listened to it five times in a row. She was pregnant with a not simple syndrome, and she felt it was written about her, and it gave her strength throughout the difficult night she had.
"There's a chance she won't come to concerts, and she didn't buy the album - but for me, that's the success I'm hoping for; that the songs will touch people internally. If it also translates into making a living, and sold-out shows, and Caesarea, b'ezrat Hashem - how wonderful. It's just a means to reach people, that's all."
What does it require of you, to live in this movement?
"I ask myself difficult questions like 'What, are you making a cynical exploitation of emotions to make a living?'. That's a question that needs to be asked once every morning, and there are people who do it. I don't know them personally, b"H. I hope it doesn't exist in the country, and I pray and believe there's no Jew like that. And most importantly: first of all, you pray about it. The very acknowledgment of 'sin lies at the door'."
And still, what about the commercial side?
"There are commercial choices like that I choose which song will come out because it seems it will reach more people, yes, but it doesn't enter the creation process. The reason I write initially isn't to make a career."

With Yishai Ribo in Caesarea: Akiva in a moving interview about the major transformation in his life. Watch

The Delegate of Gentleness

"With publicity and success comes a big dose of fear," Akiva reveals. "In general, it's important to develop a practice of giving; as Evyatar Banai sings 'Come outside, let's go out'. I feel that what saves me from the anxiety is a true sense of mission. You also have to pray for it, and I also fall into it sometimes," Akiva pauses for a moment and when I don't press, he chooses to open up a bit more and give one of the most impressive monologues in the history of successful interviews.
"I'll be candid with you," he tells me. "My pulse rises, and so do the thoughts about what will happen if I become anonymous again. But Hashem put me in this position. Rabbi Nachman says honor is from the root heavy, and one must take the honor productively. Like thinking: 'Right now, I'm a successful singer - thank Hashem'. I strive to be and do what I can. It cancels out the equation of 'I have something to lose; therefore, I'm scared'.
It's not just about a career; it's also about family and children. I don't want to be anxious about the children. It's not right. I had friends with anxious parents. Anxieties exist everywhere, and a person needs to do mental work of developing awareness for his place. Yemima calls it self-awareness; Hashem wants me to be happy with what I have, not to fear what's next. This is the basic recipe, and I define myself as a happy person and strive to be joyful regardless of anything. Living in the moment from a place of mission, not necessarily as a singer; as a parent, a guide, a human being."
He also adds an example from the scriptures: "When Joseph remained true to himself without looking at others - they plotted against him. But the Lubavitcher Rebbe says that the moment he realized he could also be a delegate even in the pit and turned to the butler and baker to help them - there he turns around and rises. The truth is, one can be a delegate anywhere; on stage, with children, and what - if there are no performances, then what? There's no Akiva?"
Living as a constant delegate, isn't it exhausting?
"On the contrary, it gives you strength. Being a delegate is a grand word, but it's just abundance passing through you, and you pass it on. Even in high-tech, it's about passing abundance. Whoever knows and wants to pass abundance - isn't anxious."

And why did you decide to move to Jerusalem a few months ago?

"The truth is, we lived in Tel Aviv for seven and a half years, and we had three kids born there, but recently we wanted to receive some holiness from Jerusalem. Listen, the intensity of Tel Aviv didn't suit, and the physical space of the city didn't suit us either. We needed a moment to breathe, and we set out on this journey, not knowing where we'll be next, and every Jew has a place in Jerusalem."
I must say, talking to you is very deep. Let's smile for a moment - what makes you laugh in life when you want to relax from all this depth?
"I'm not always deep," he protests, "I can actually sit with friends and dig into funny videos. But what really releases me is going out with friends to a place where I'm not 'Akiva'. We sit by a spring with some beers in some area, and I find myself with the guitar singing songs in Russian. I know I sometimes come across as heavy, but rest assured, sometimes I also let loose and play around with the kids. Let's say on Simchat Torah; not a person wasn't joyful because of me."
People talk to you about the heaviness and depth?
On this, he actually has an amusing story: "A few years ago, a couple approached me after a performance and asked me: 'Why don't you have happy songs? You seem like an optimistic person'. The lady pointed her finger at me with a commanding voice and said: 'Write happy songs!' I said 'Okay', stuttering. I went to write a happy song; it didn't happen overnight, but eventually, it came out, and I got some optimistic songs like 'Shalom Bayit' and 'Everything Is Still Possible'. As for stand-up, we'll have to wait, slowly."

Published in 'Olam Katan' weekly