The Looking Glass Star

Wander into the bookWritten by Rossah Bendahman Illustrated by Olga Matushkina

Every teacher begins as a student.
Every bright star begins with a spark.When a young girl lifts her eyes to the Looking Glass Star,
its shimmering light carries her into a world
woven from music, silks, and movement.

• Chevron Down

How the story came to be

The story of The Looking Glass Star began a very long time ago, when I was living in Half Moon Bay, California. I was staying with a man who had a bright, precocious, and wonderfully talented six year old daughter named Cherie. Her grandmother, who normally cared for her while her father worked, needed surgery to remove a tumor behind her ear. So, I moved in along with my son Ethan and took care of Cherie every day.We cooked together. I made her little clothes. We took baths, went on long beach walks, raised animals and worked in the garden. Every night I brushed her hair and tucked her into bed, reading her a story. We became very close, and I loved her dearly.It was during this time that I began teaching her to dance. I choreographed a special piece for her — she balanced a large tray on her head and played finger cymbals to it. She danced with me at the Spring Festival at San Mateo College and became the absolute hit of the show. Her grandmother’s surgery was successful, and the tumor turned out to be benign.Not long after, I met someone I fell in love with and made the difficult decision to move to the San Diego area. Before I left town, Cherie asked to see me one last time. She had a gift for me — a handmade book she wrote and illustrated herself, bound with three hole punch paper and brad fasteners. It was called The Looking Glass Star.Her drawings were delightful, full of imagination and innocence. The story itself was jumbled, as children’s stories often are, but it was filled with heart. It had an entire section that contained another story about a funny creature called Babalooey. It was clearly showing her love for Ethan and how he needed to be included. Months later, I looked at the book again and realized I understood what she had been trying to express — a loving tale of a child and her teacher. I had a profound gratitude for the relationship we experienced together.As a gift back to her, I wanted to turn her idea into a real children’s book, keeping the whimsical bits her young mind had included so the story would still feel like it came through the eyes of a child. It became a favorite piece I read aloud to my students, and sometimes we even acted it out as a play.For years, I wanted to publish the story, but I could not find an artist who could bring it to life. As life moved on, the book remained patiently in the background, yet it never left my heart. I asked many people who seemed capable of illustrating it, but no one was able to commit the time. So, the story waited quietly until the right moment finally arrived.

• Chevron Down

Rossah (pronounced Rasa) has spent her life moving through the world with grace, curiosity, and a deep love for the arts. Born in San Francisco and shaped by the ocean breezes of Capitola by the Sea, she grew into a dancer whose work blended tradition, imagination, and heartfelt storytelling.Shelley Yasmela Muzzy wrote in a Guilded Serpent article about her, “Rossah is a marvelous dancer, a superlative teacher, inspirational choreographer, and one of those rare spirits that inhabit our world with quiet grace and mastery.” Those words have followed her through decades of teaching, performing, and guiding others.Originally trained by Jamila Salimpour, Rossah has spent more than 30 years researching and performing the Chabbi style of the Maghreb and Danse Orientale. She created an eclectic, innovative style rooted in the dances of Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria, and classic Egyptian raqs sharqi. As an ethnomusicologist, she enjoyed her time exploring the folkloric music and movement of North Africa, sharing its beauty with her many students throughout the years.Her dance journey has taken her far — touring as a solo artist, teaching workshops nationwide, directing the Hand of Fatima Dance Tribe in Nevada and California performing at festivals and receiving recognition along the way. She taught Middle Eastern Dance and Culture at UNLV from 2004 to 2008, taught many workshops, and community classes.Through all of this, she has lived by a simple truth:
While I dance, I cannot judge, I cannot hate, I cannot separate myself from Life. I can only be joyful and whole. That’s why I dance. — Hans BosBut life brought challenges too. After surviving cancer and losing her son Ethan, Rossah found herself asking why she was still here — and what she was meant to give back. The answer arrived gently, like a star returning to the night sky: stories. Stories that heal, inspire, and remind us of wonder.One story in particular kept calling to her — The Looking Glass Star.To bring it to life, she searched for an illustrator who could see the world the way she did: full of color, tenderness, and childlike awe. And then, from all the way in Siberia, came Olga — an artist whose drawings looked as if they had stepped straight out of Rossah’s imagination. Together, across thousands of miles, they built a world of magic, hope, and light.

• Chevron Down

After returning from Morocco — where I had spent time with my husband and family — I found myself in a quiet stretch of life. I had just won the “Favorite Ethnic Dancer” award from Zaghareet Magazine and created a story I developed into stage performance with my UNLV students. For the first time in a long while, I had space to think. The Looking Glass Star came back into my mind with a kind of gentle insistence. I began researching how to self publish, determined to finally bring the story to life.But one obstacle stood in my way: I needed an illustrator who could reach into my imagination and pull out this world I saw so clearly. I wanted colors that leapt off the page, a story that felt alive when spoken aloud — magic you could hold in your hands. It felt akin to rubbing a lamp and hoping a genie would appear.So, I turned to Craigslist, which at the time was a popular place where people advertised everything — cars, pets, gigs, roommates, dates. I thought, why not ask for an artist? What harm could it do?To my surprise, replies poured in almost immediately. I interviewed them via email sent each artist the same random page from the book — I can’t even remember which one — and asked them to illustrate it in their own style. Days passed, then weeks, as their drawings came in. Many were talented, but none captured the childlike wonder I imagined. None felt like the story.And then came Olga.I sent her the same random page. The very next morning, an email arrived with her finished illustration.
I stared at it all day.It was as if she had climbed inside my mind and drawn exactly what I had been dreaming of for years. I thought it must be a fluke, so I sent her another page. Again — with perfect punctuality — she delivered a drawing the next morning like it came straight out of my imagination.We began to converse via email.
“Can we meet?” I asked.
I could almost feel her smile through the screen. “Not exactly,” she said. “I’m not in the country.”“Where are you?”“I live in Siberia… but I would really love to help you make your book.”Siberia. You could have blown me over with the thought of how far apart we were. I had no idea how we could make this work. I told her how the book came to be, how I had asked every artist friend I knew over the years, and how each one turned me down — too busy, too overwhelmed, or simply unable to commit.And now here was a woman who felt perfect for the project… and she lived in Siberia.I didn’t know what to do. Part of me was afraid — what if she took the story and printed it without me knowing? How could I protect myself from so far away? It felt strange and risky.She pleaded with me to give her a chance. She didn’t care about money. She just wanted to help bring the book to life.
Her talent was undeniable.
Her heart was enormous. And I melted.Somehow, some way, we were going to make this work.
And we did.

• Chevron Down