February 2026
Dr. Nurit Jugend is a composer, lecturer and educator, as well as the director and producer of the acclaimed documentary, They Played For Their Lives. She presents at seminars and events across the U.S. and abroad and teaches regularly for Stanford Continuing Studies.
What makes love such a powerful force in music?
Love is one of the most basic human emotions — and one of the greatest sources of musical inspiration. Across every era, culture, and genre, composers have turned to love as a starting point. Sometimes it’s romantic love, sometimes longing or heartbreak; sometimes love of nature, of God, of a place, of a child, or of art itself. This course grew out of that universality: Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons; Brahms’s lullaby, “Good Evening, Good Night”; love and desire in Bizet’s opera Carmen; love of land in Smetana’s The Moldau; devotion to God in Handel’s “Hallelujah”; and love of art in Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition.
Music has always been a way to express feelings that are hard to put into words, and love — especially in all its complexity — seems to invite music naturally.
Has music always been a part of your life?
I was born and raised in Israel. I began playing violin as a child and later played in the youth orchestra there. I completed my master’s studies in Berlin and then came to Stanford for my doctorate in music composition. That’s where I finished my degree — and where I stayed. Composing and teaching have been intertwined in my life ever since.
Composing is my language because it’s abstract. It allows me to express emotions — especially difficult ones — without being explicit. It’s a private language that still communicates deeply. For me, music is often triggered by things that are hard to say out loud. And love, of course, contains both beauty and pain.
You’ve also produced and directed a documentary, They Played for Their Lives, which is rooted in music and memory. How did that film come to be?
The film grew out of my identity as both a composer and a third-generation Holocaust survivor. I began wondering how music existed in the ghettos and concentration camps—how people were able to create under such unimaginable conditions. What I discovered was astonishing: not only was there music, but much of it was profoundly beautiful.
I started meeting survivors, recording their stories, and realized there was an urgency to preserve these voices while they were still with us. I had no background in filmmaking, but I felt a responsibility — to the people, to history, and to future generations. The documentary became a way to honor their resilience and to show how music can offer meaning and hope, even in the darkest circumstances. I always see tears in the audience, but they’re not only tears of sadness. They’re tears of joy that these people survived, found love. Music was their lifeline.
Music — especially classical music — can feel intimidating to lay listeners. How do you remove that barrier when you teach?
You don’t need to read music or know theory to take this course. We listen together and talk about what we hear — why a moment feels tender, or dramatic, or heartbreaking. Within each class, I mix music from many periods, from medieval through the 20th century, and many forms: song, opera, ballet, orchestral, and chamber music. I also bring in poetry, because composers often “paint” words with music.
As a composer, I love taking students behind the scenes to show how musical elements — melody, harmony, texture, orchestration — shape what we feel as listeners.
When you compose, do you listen to music, or is it a distraction?
I don’t listen to music. It’s too consuming for me. I need total isolation to listen to what I’m hearing and seeing inside.
When you’re not composing, what do you like to listen to?
Heavy metal.
Wow. Wasn’t expecting that.
Heavy metal has an energy that resonates with me. Our wedding song was “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica.