Cantors Assembly Journal of Synagogue Music

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EDITOR: Joseph A. Levine
ASSOCIATE EDITOR: Richard Berlin

EDITORIAL BOARD

Geoffrey Goldberg, Kimberly Komrad, Sheldon Levin, Laurence Loeb, Solomon

Mendelson, Neil Schwartz, David Sislen, Sam Weiss, Yossi Zucker

The Journal of Synagogue Music (ISSN 1449-5128) is published an-
nually by the Cantors Assembly. It offers articles and music of broad
interest to the hazzan and other Jewish music professionals. Articles of
any length will be considered, from 1,000 to 10,000 words.

GUIDELINES FOR SUBMITTING MATERIAL

All contributions and communications should be sent to the Editor:

Dr. Joseph A. Levine, 1900 Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia, PA 19103.

Textual and musical material, whether solicited or submitted, should

be double-spaced in an 8 1/2 x 11-inch format, with a two-sentence

biographical note appended.

Original copies may be submitted on paper or as attachment to an e-

mail. Please include street address, e-mail address, telephone and fax

numbers, as welll as a brief author biography..

Reference notes are to be placed at the bottom of each page, and should

conform to the following style:

A. Abraham Idelsohn. Jewish Liturgy (New York: Holt), 1932: 244.

B. Samuel Rosenbaum, "Congregational Singing," Proceedings of the Cantors Assembly
Convention (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary), February 22, 1949: 9-11.

Cover design after "... and there was light" stained-glass window by George Rattner, the Loop
Synagogue, Chicago. Layout by Prose & Con Spii i by Replica.

© Copyright 2006 by the Cantors Assembly. ISSN 0449-5128

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Fall 2006 • vol. 31 • no. 1

FROM THE EDITOR:

Music as Therapeutic and Pedagogic Tool: for Whom! v

MUSIC IN THERAPY AND PEDAGOGY

An Overview of Music Therapy, Its Relationship to Music Pedagogy
and Its Application in Empowering Jewish Adolescents with Special
Needs to Succeed at Their Bar/Bat Mitzvah Celebrations

Ava Lee Millman Fisher 1

Everyone is Physically Fit

Lawrence A. Hoffman 47

Jewish Views of Disability: the Mosaic Example

Scott Sokol 50

Bar/Bat Mitzvah Training for Special Needs — A Case in Point

Ruth L. Ross 57

Training Children with Pitch Problems for Bar/Bat Mitzvah

Sam Weiss 59

Planning to Succeed in Teaching Prayer
and Song in afternoon Hebrew Schools

Sheldon Levin 61

AROUND THE GLOBE

Masters of the London Blue Book

Charles Heller 67

The Processes and Politics of Engaging Cantors in Alsace:1818-1871

John H. Planer 77

Beautiful Harmonies - A Choir Director Revives the
Western European Cantorial Tradition in Munich

Philipp Grammes 87

Opinion Piece: Is the German Tradition Viable
for Today's Synagogue?

Erik Contzius 91

Cantor Jakob Dymont and His Shabbat Evening Service, Berlin 1934

Part 1 — James Baaden 95

Part 2 — Paul Mindus 102

NUTS AND BOLTS

From Study of Scripture to a Reenactment of Sinai:
The Emergence of the Synagogue Torah Service

Ruth Langer 104

Psychological Time and Improvisational Technique in Jewish Music

Steven C. Lorch 126

The Problems a Modern Jew Faces in Prayer

Avraham H. Feder 133

Klezmer and Hazzanut

Mark Kligman 147

The Seduction of Crossover Music-
How a Succeesful Composer Sees It

Michael Isaacson 158

LOOKING BACK

The Golden Age of Hazzanut

Velvel Pasternak 160

The Future of Hazzanut in America

B. Shelvin 165

Recalling Max Wohlberg's Skill at Improvisation

Mark Slobin 169

Miriam Gideon Remembered

Neil S. Levin 179

LITERARY GLIMPSES

When Sirota was Chief Cantor at the Tlomatzka Synagogue in Warsaw

Samuel Vigoda 190

Two Peoms by Jacqueline Osherow

Yom Kippur: Sonnet with a Line from Lamentaions 194

My Version: Medieval Acrostic 195

DIVREI TORAH/NEGINAH

Shabbat as a Foretaste of Eternity

Richard Wolberg 196

Minhah LeShabbat as the Yom Kippur-Equivalent of our Week

Joseph A. Levine 200

MAILBOX

Subject: JSM 2005

Joshua Jacobson 203

Singing and String Playing

Sam Fordis 203

REVIEWS

Sholom Kalib's The Musical Tradition of the Eastern European
Synagogue, Vol. II in Four Parts: The Weekday Services

Laurence Loeb 207

Ketonet Yosef— Genesis and Beyond! Joseph A. Levine's Hazzanic
Compendium for the Entire Year, Compiled for the H. L. Miller
Cantorial School of the JTS, Volumes I and II, 2000

William Lieberman 210

Evening Service for Yom Kippur from the new The Rabbinical Assembly
Mahzor: Prayer Book or Prayer Prep.?

Alan Smolen 216

The Milken Archive of American Jewish Music:
Recordings in the Naxos American Classics Series

Bernard Jacobson 221

Meditation on the Modes: Jeffrey Melnick's
A Right to Sing the Blues, 1999

Gershon Freidlin 230

Victor Tunkel's Music of the Hebrew Bible —
The Western Ashkenazic Tradition

Joshua Jacobson 233

The Works of a Master Cantor: Moshe Taube's Latest CD

Stephen J. Stein 235

MUSIC

Shabbat Morning Solos for Bar or Bat Mitzvah,
Congregation and Optional Cantor Obbliggato

Ashrei

Max Wohlberg 237

Uv'Yom HaShabbat — Traditional,

arr. Nathan Mendelson 238

Yismehu

AbbaYosefWeisgal 239

Eloheinu...Retseh

after Herman Wohl 240

Yihyu LeRatson

after Arthur Yolkoff 243

Ein K'Eiloheinu

Tzvi Talmon 244

Aleinu

Arthur Yolkoff 244

An'im Zemirot

Nigun Simhah (Lubavitch) 246

Adon Olam

Salomone Rossi 247

Music as Pedagogic and Therapeutic Tool— for Whom?

This issue's Feature section takes its cue from a passionately argued 2004
proposal by our colleague Lilly Kaufman, an Editorial Board member at the
time, and from a string of Internet postings in May of 2005. For two weeks,
Hazzanet subscribers responded pro and con to a United Synagogue Review
article that same Spring. It had proposed that Bar/Bat Mitzvah training change
its priorities and teach students primarily to lead the service and only then,
if there was time, to chant the Haftarah. The ensuing discussion involved
some fifty messages, ranging from doomsday predictions that B'nei or B'not
Mitzvah leading services spelled extinction for the cantorate, to apocalyptic
warnings of Judaism's demise unless we educated children to act as prayer
leaders in place of hazzanim. The only common thread that ran through this
unprecedented gamut of opinions was the notion that teaching our youngsters
to be better, more knowledgeable Jews — on or off the bimah — is perhaps a
cantor's greatest responsibility.

If a Bar or Bat Mitzvah were truly musical and vocally gifted, however,
most respondents agreed that it would be to everyone's benefit— including
the congregation's — if that child were taught to chant selected portions of
the liturgy, perhaps in tandem with the cantor.

The other side of that coin presents the challenge of enlisting Bar and Bat
Mitzvah training as a means of empowering children with special needs.
This issue's Cover story, "An Overview of Music Therapy, Its Relationship to
Music Pedagogy, and Its Application in Empowering Jewish Adolescents with
Special Needs to Succeed at Their Bar/Bat Mitzvah Celebrations" written
by Music Therapist/Singer/Educator Ava Lee Millman Fisher of the West
Side Medical Health Team in Vancouver, BC tackles this problem head on.
It treats music as both an art and a science, shows how its dual powers have
been harnessed in the past to enhance humankind's state of being and gives
reasoned, proven techniques for allowing it to remedy Mother Nature's all-
too-frequent oversights.

Two revealing essays on the biblical and rabbinic views of physical short-
comings accompany that lead article. The first, by Lawrence A. Hoffman,
professor of liturgy, worship and ritual at Hebrew Union College in New

York, traces the revolutionary way our talmudic sages read the prohibition
in Leviticus chapters 23 and 24 against anyone with a "defect" presiding over
sacrificial offerings Already in the 9th century, Nastronai Gaon permitted a
blind man to lead synagogue prayers. The second essay, by my predecessor
as Journal editor and current director of the Cantor-Educator program at
Hebrew College in Boston, Scott Sokol, documents how Mosaic law views
the overcoming of disability as praiseworthy, to the point of advocating special
education for that purpose.

Three relevant cases follow. The first was brought to our attention by
colleague Ruth L. Ross, who devised an ingenious way to prepare a Bar
Mitzvah whose genetic defect left him with almost no voluntary movement
or speech beyond the ability to vocalize and match given pitches with great
difficulty The second, an exchange between Ava Lee Millman Fisher and our
colleague Pamela Sawyer, concerned the challenge of integrating a legally
blind woman with pitch problems into her Volunteer choir. By implementing
suggestions from our featured therapist, Pamela found just the right niche
for this gifted lady, who is a storyteller/maggid and teaches at a school for
the sight-and-hearing impaired. The third case was a Hazzanet reply by Sam
Weiss to the question of how to deal with Bar/Bat Mitzvah candidates who
are tone deaf. Our Feature section concludes with "Planning to Succeed in
Teaching Prayer and Song in Afternoon Hebrew Schools," authored by a past
Cantors Assembly president, Sheldon Levin, who also serves as principal of
his congregation's Religious school.

The derived wisdom from all this? Strategic deployment of therapeu-
tic regimens and pedagogic tools achieves optimal results through the use
of music that is sung by children. Whether we call it the "Mozart effect" of
psychological testing or the "An'im Zemirot moment" of Shabbat morning,
nothing is more profoundly moving than the sound of a child's voice chanting
Hebrew Scripture or prayer. For whom does that bell toll? ultimately for all
of us.

AROUND THE GLOBE opens with British-born musicologist Charles
Heller, a high school teacher who also directs the male choir of Toronto's
Congregation Beth Emeth Bais Yehudah, fulfilling a long-held personal goal
by analyzing "The London Blue Book," a manual of congregational hymns,
refrains and responses first published by England's United Synagogue (Or-
thodox) in London, 1899. In a survey of the process for engaging cantors in
nineteenth-century Alsace, musicologist John H. Planer documents how a

Jewish communal self-governance system instituted by the French govern-
ment affected cantors at the local level. That historical study is followed by
journalist Philipp Grammes' report from present-day Munich on a revival
of the Old South German synagogue choral tradition in Bavaria's capitol,
using a male choir consisting of Russian and Israeli newcomers. Our Reform
colleague, Erik Contzius, contributes an Opinion Piece in response to that
development, on viability of the German tradition for today's synagogue. To
round out the discussion a British Liberal rabbi, James Baaden, teams up
with his congregant Paul Mindus in describing the recent London revival
of a Friday Night service composed 71 years earlier in Berlin by Mr. Mindus'
grandfather, Cantor Jakob Dymont.

NUTS AND BOLTS, which deals with technical aspects of hazzanut and
allied disciplines, begins with a reconstruction by liturgist Ruth Langer, of
how a liturgical section we now take for granted — the Torah service — took
many centuries to evolve. Steven C. Lorch, founding head of Manhattan's
Solomon Schechter School, takes the Aesthetics of Imperfection as a point of
departure in discussing "Psychological Time and Improvisational Technique
in Jewish Music." Rabbi/Cantor Avraham Feder, who lives in Jerusalem and is
rabbi emeritus of the World Center for Conservative Judaism's Agron Street
Synagogue, discusses four factors that may inhibit modern Jews from deriving
the appropriate cathartic value from participation in public worship. Mark
Kligman, a professor of Musicology at Hebrew Union College in New York,
looks for common technical links in the techniques and materials used by
klezmer musicians and hazzanim. Composer Michael Isaacson argues con-
vincing against the insidious "crossing over" of American synagogue music
into just plain American music.

LOOKING BACK contains a chapter from Jewish music publisher and
researcher Velvel Pasternak's Jewish Music Companion, "The Golden Age of
Cantors." In it he reveals the wide economic gap that separated star hazzanim
from most American cantors during the early decades of last century. At
that time B. Shelvin, Music Editor at New York's Yiddish daily The Morning
Journal, published an essay on "The Future of Hazzanut in America," which
took a dim view of its prospects for survival. Shelvin's reasons ring remark-
ably true eighty years later, which prompted us to translate it for this issue.
Two memoirs follow, of beloved Cantors Institute instructors whose tenth
Yahrzeit falls in 2006. Hazzan Max Wohlberg (b. 1907) helped found both
the Cantors Assembly and Cantors Institute (now the H.L. Miller School of
Cantorial Music), and chaired the latter's Nusah department. His remarkable
ability to improvise on a given prayer text is analyzed by ethnomusicologist

Mark Slobin, chair of the Department of Music at Wesleyan University.
Seminary Professor of Music Theory and Composition, Miriam Gideon (b.
1906) is remembered by her faculty colleague Neil W. Levin, who directs the
Milken Archive of American Jewish Music.

A chronicle by the last of the Golden Age Cantors — Samuel Vigoda
— of Gershon Sirota in his heyday as hazzan of the Tlomatzka Synagogue
in Warsaw is the first of our LITERARY GLIMPSES of the cantorate. The
second is a secret longing by contemporary poet Jacqueline Osherow to try
her hand at medieval acrostics and penitential sonnets.

Richard Wolberg, an erudite student of Jewish mysticism, posits an
eschatological aspect to the weekly Day of rest in DIVREI TORAH/NEGI-
NAH, connecting the concept of Shabbat with that of Eternity. Your editor
transposes that argument into music heard in the reflectively hopeful nusah
of Minhah LeShabbat— whose liturgy mentions the World to Come— and
traces the music's origins back to Kol Nidre.

Our MAIL BOX contains a congratulatory e-message from frequent
Journal contributor Joshua Jacobson on our 2005 issue, and an informative
comparison between singing and string playing, by retired CA member and
orchestral concertmaster, Sam Fordis.

The REVIEWS section begins with Laurence Loeb placing Volume II
of Sholom Kalib's The Musical Tradition of the Eastern European Synagogue
(2005), in its proper historical perspective. After Abraham Idelsohn's 10-
volume Thesaurus of Hebrew Oriental Melodies (1923-1932), Kalib's monu-
mental series promises to be the most comprehensive study on the subject
ever published. William Lieberman relates how supplementary classroom
material arranged and distributed by your editor during his teaching years
at the Cantors Institute (1974-1982) were later gathered into the 1,112-page
Hazzanic Compendium, Ketonet Yosef (2000), at the request of Dean Henry
Rosenblum. Alan Smolen offers a constructive appraisal of Evening Service for
Yom Kippur (2005), a preliminary excerpt from the new Rabbinical Assembly
mahzor that's due out in 2008. Music critic Bernard Jacobson evaluates a
representative selection of recordings from the Milken Archive Series, placing
them within the framework of contemporary American music. "Meditation on
the Modes," a close reading of Jeffrey Melnick's A Right to Sing the Blues — by
Gershon Friedlin — traces the central role of Jewish and African American
music in popular culture. Joshua Jacobson, whose comprehensive Chanting
the Hebrew Bible has set a new standard for cantillation studies, discusses a
new book by Victor Tunkel on the Western Ashkenazic Bible Reading Tradi-
tion that prevails in Great Britain. Finally, Cantors Assembly Executive Vice

President Stephen J. Stein pays homage to a revered teacher in analyzing
a new CD of hazzanic recitatives by Moshe Taube: The Works of a Master
Cantor.

Our MUSIC section picks up on the Hazzanet discussion mentioned earlier,
presenting prayers from MusafLeShabbat, from Ashrei through Adon Olam.
They are newly arranged settings for solo Bar/Bat Mitzvah (treble voice)
and congregation, with optional Cantor obbligatos that offer alternative lines
for high or low voice.

******

We apologize to Mr.
Leon Kellerman of the

Jewish Exponent (Phila-
delphia) for a photo of
his that we ran on
page 165 of the Fall 2005
Journal. By way of mak-
ing amends we offer it
again — this time with
full credit.

The Spanish/Portuguese Synagogue

Bevis Marks in London, UK.

Photo by Leon Kellerman

Lastly, we take editorial pride in informing you that the Journal's 2005 is-
sue is now being used as a teaching text by cantorial schools at the Academy
for Jewish Religion in New York, at Gratz College in Philadelphia and at the
Academy for Jewish Religion in California. We'd love to hear from students
of those programs regarding their use of the material.

Joseph A. Levine

An Overview of Music Therapy, Its Relationship to
Music Pedagogy, and Its Application in Empowering
Jewish Adolescents with Special Needs to Succeed at
Their Bar/Bat Mitzvah Celebrations

by Ava Lee Millman Fisher

Prelude

After creating humankind, goes an old legend, God turned to the angels
and asked them for their opinion of the world which He had made. They
responded that the only element that was lacking was the sound of praise to
the Creator. So, God created music — the voice of birds, the whispering wind,
the murmuring ocean, and planted melody in people's hearts.

This is a gift that God has presented to each of us— no exclusions or ex-
ceptions; and I strongly believe that as musicians and educators, it is our
responsibility and our duty to enable all to partake in this aesthetic wonder
and awe that we term "music".

I write this article wearing many hats (some fitting better than others).
I am a qualified music therapist, currently working with adults who suffer
from chronic and persistent psychiatric problems, as well as with children
with special needs. I am also a watercolor painter, and have found that often
the employment of one expressive art medium leads to advantageous gains
in another. I, therefore, frequently use music along with other integrated
creative arts therapies in my practice.

Prior to returning to university to complete the music therapy program, I
was a performer and music teacher (to this day, I love to do substitute teaching
in music and art when my schedule permits). My post-secondary education
commenced at McGill University where I studied voice performance and
graduated in opera and lieder. Subsequently, my passion turned to Hebrew
and Yiddish song, and as a lirico-spinto soprano, I have given numerous
performances in this area of music.

Among my other creative accomplishments I am the mother of four sons,
the oldest of whom lives with a moderate disability. He has Tourette's syn-

1

drome (but it does not have him!), which includes some learning disabilities,
some attention deficit disorder, some hyperactivity, etc. I have been a strong
and constant advocate for him, and although miracles are not within my realm,
nevertheless, I believe the results sing out fortissimo for themselves

Although my son graduated from a private Hebrew school, the teachers
were convinced that a Bar Mitzvah would not and could not be within his
scope. Wearing my "mother hat" I disagreed, and spoke to the Bar Mitzvah
Teacher/Torah Reader of our Synagogue. He felt that this was certainly a
possibility, and together we set about to ensure that it would occur. With no
exaggeration, he was outstanding! Many of his schoolteachers who attended
approached me with tears in their eyes. As an outcome of this, the Bar Mitz-
vah teacher as well as others who were familiar with the background of the
situation started referring other B'nei and B'not Mitzvah to me if it was felt
that some type of motivational, psychological, or therapeutic assistance would
prove beneficial. Voice production work and stage deportment exercises also
proved helpful. I have found that, as ancillary gains, these often aid in increas-
ing confidence and in reducing performance anxiety.

I cannot overemphasize the profound effect that becoming a Bar Mitzvah
had on my son. Ten years later we had a Reaffirmation Celebration of sorts
for him, and he repeated his Torah portion with as much fervency, knowledge
and joy as he had the first time. I firmly believe that the entire Bar Mitzvah
process had a life-altering effect on him — both as a man and as a Jew. I have
subsequently seen similar results (although always unique and individual-
ized) when working with other young people who have a variety of special
needs.

Music as medicine: a time-honored modality

"What is music?" asked Heinrich Heine (1797-1856). He concluded that
"its domain is between thought and phenomena. Like a twilight mediator it
hovers between spirit and matter, related to both, yet differing from each. It
is spirit, but it is spirit subject to the measurement of time. It is matter, but
it is matter that can dispense with space." 1

In an attempt to better comprehend Heine's comment, our investigation
must begin by considering the origin and development of music as well as
the means by which it evolved. So long as humankind accepted the various

1 Letters on the French Stage (1 837) , cited in Nat Shapiro, An Encyclopedia of Quo-
tations about Music (New York: Da Capo), 1977:13.

phenomena of musical sounds as isolated facts there could be no involvement
of either art or science. That partnership lay dormant until humans began to
use musical sounds to minister to their pleasure, and to study those sounds
and their effects. The story of music is the record of a series of attempts to
make artistic and scientific use of material which the ear accepts as capable
of affording pleasure, and as useful in expressing one's innermost feelings.

Harnessing the power of music in an attempt to enhance or improve
mankind's state of being is not a new or revolutionary concept. From its
practice in ancient Egypt, India and Greece, through medieval times, music
was — more often than not — both composed and performed with the concept
of healing in mind. The very origin of the word "music"- musiki— the arts of
the Muses, harks back to the ancient Greeks. This word referred to the nine
Muses, goddesses of inspiration. Music was considered to be such an im-
portant aspect of Greek culture that it was used in all facets of life, including
medical treatment. Pythagoras (582-507 B.C.E.) felt that all knowledge was
based on harmonic numbers, and that by extrapolation, this could be used
in medical treatment and in the healing process. Boethius (520-484 B.C.E. ),
in his treatise on music, De Musica Institutione, retold many instances of Py-
thagoras having used the melodic aspect of music as a means of healing and
soothing those who were ill and distressed. 2 Boethius also posed a question
that was to exert a long-term influence on the efficacy of music. He asked,
"How does it happen that when someone voluntarily listens to a song with
ears and mind, he is also involuntarily turned toward it in such a way that his
body responds with motions somehow similar to the song heard?" 3 The early
Christian apologist Aristides (ca.140) referred to music as being essentially a
form of psychotherapy that unites not only the individual in friendship with
himself, but also promotes a mutual friendship amongst others. 4

The ancient Persians, believing that music was an expression of a higher
principle, are said to have employed the sound of the lute to cure a variety
of illness and "dis-ease." It was primarily in the mystical schools of the Sufis,
who emphasized the immediate personal union of the soul with God, that

2 Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius. Fundamentals of Music, Calvin M. Bower,
tr., Claude V.Palisca, ed. (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press), 1989.

3 M. M. Wanderly & M. Battier. Trends In Gestural Control of Music (Paris: Ir-
cam— Centre Pompidou), 2000:259.

4 Florence Tyson. Psychiatric Music Therapy (New York: Fred Weidener & Son
Printers), 1981:4.

music was regarded as a path to enlightenment. 5 The belief that illness was
caused by the possession of an evil spirit, especially with regard to mental
disorder, permeated the ancient world. Babylonia and ancient Egypt witnessed
the birth of a rational attitude to illness. The Egyptians felt that music was
"psychic for the soul," and placed great faith in its comforting and curative
powers. Among Egyptian deities, Isis— the nature goddess, and Serapis— the
maker god, were considered the great healers. 6

In the history of Biblical Israel, there are several instances attesting to the
effect of music on the psyche. Much of the music, in distinction from that of
surrounding nations, was not meant to be sensuous, but rather a musica sacra;
in this respect more a matter of religion than of art. The ancient Israelites
consciously recognized, however, that the sound of instruments had the power
to stir or soothe the human spirit. Young David's playing of a hand-held lyre
brought King Saul relief from deep depression. "And it came to pass, when
the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took the harp and played
with his hand; so Saul found relief, and it was well with him, and the evil spirit
departed from him" (First Samuel 16:14-23). During David's reign as king, the
Levites were organized as official singers for the Temple services. A number
of them were specifically designated as "prophesiers to the accompaniment
of lyres, harps and cymbals" (First Chronicles 25:1).

Music played to inspire prophets to prophesy was not accompanied by
lyrics; perhaps it was felt that the words would detract from the power and
purity of the music. Only when a minstrel played was Elisha able to prophesy:
"But now bring me a minstrel," said Elisha. "And it came to pass, when the
minstrel played, that the hand of the Lord came upon him, and he prophesied"
(Second Kings 3:15).

The Israelites grew in numbers under the most adverse circumstances,
and of necessity they developed a temperament that was indifferent to en-
vironmental conditions but sensitive to high spiritual aspirations. The effect
of the injunction against the making of "graven images" was to cut them
off from exercising the aesthetic faculty in sculpture or painting, and their
unsettled mode of life prevented an outlet through architecture. As a result,
they poured out the strength of their passionate, powerful natures in poetry
and song. Their efforts continued to be earnest and dignified; it must have
been of a very high caliber as witnessed by the Babylonian exhortation, "Sing
us of the Songs of Zion" (Psalms 137:3).

5 Peter M. Hamel. Through Music to the Self, Peter Lemesurier, tr. (London: Element
Books, Ltd.), 1981:81-82.

6 Juliette Alvin. Music Therapy (London: John Clare Books), 1975:28-29; 37.

As history progressed, music and medicine continued to be conjoined in
an important and unique partnership, and a wide variety of musical sounds
were employed in a conscious attempt to heal disorder and dis-ease of mind
and body. Jewish mystical writings as early as the eighth century contain
the vision of a universe in a harmony in which "not only the angels sing: the
stars, the spheres, the merkavah (chariot-throne) and the beasts, the trees
in the Garden of Eden and their perfumes, indeed the whole universe sings
before God." 7

Saadiah ben Joseph (882-942), Gaon of the Babylonian academy in Surah,
was of the opinion that specific rhythms could impact strongly on particular
moods and dis-eases. He described eight rhythmic modes (as opposed to
melodic modes) which, he felt, "enhance gladness, delight, generosity, nobil-
ity, and sympathy... enhancing graciousness and love." 8

Perhaps there is no real division between God's music and His words. Abra-
ham Abulafia (thirteenth century) compared the intellectual exercise of the
Kabbalist, working on his letter combinations, to that of musical composition,
believing that both endeavors exerted a similar influence on the soul. Abulafia
combined Hebrew letters as if they were musical notes forming a melody. In
an attempt to achieve oneness with God he would concentrate on the "music"
formed by countless variations of the letters, which were always derived from
the many names of God. Amnon Shiloah explains that "the combination of
letters creates enjoyment in the soul just as musical harmony does, because of
the unveiling of secrets confined in such combinations." 9 For Abulafia, writes
Cantor Adelle Nicholson in her Masters thesis on the subj ect, divinely inspired
ecstasy could be attained only in isolation. 10 It is interesting to note that this
was contrary to the opinion of Hasidim who came to believe that one must be
involved in community and under the guidance of a rebbe (spiritual master)
in order to achieve d'veikut ("cleaving" to God.) Still, continues Nicholson,

7 Amnon Shiloah. "The Symbolism of Music in the Kabbalistic Tradition," in World
of Music, Vol. 22, Max Peter Baumann, ed. (Mainz: Schott Musik International),
1978:64.

8 Kay Gardner. Sounding the Inner Landscape (Stonington, Maine: Caduceus Pub-
lications), 1990:96-98.

9 Amnon Shiloah. loc. cit, 1978:58.

10 Adelle Nicholson. Healing, Judaism and Music— A New Fusion (New York:
Hebrew Union College), 1996:7; after Ben Zion Bokser, The Jewish Mystical Tradition
(Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson), 1993: 97.

as with Abulafia — music became the religious offering of Hasidism. This is
well demonstrated by the rebbe, Nahman of Bratslav (Ukraine, 1772-1810),
who said: "Get into the habit of singing a tune; it will give you new life and
fill you with joy." n

Whereas the eighth-century Merkavah Mystics had believed that only Mo-
ses and Joshua could hear the angelic music of the spheres, Hasidim extended
this privilege to the group's rebbe. It was then his responsibility to impart the
music's "benefits to [his] disciples for their healing and purification, either
directly by singing some semblance of it, or indirectly through the wisdom
with which it had imbued them." 12

Early Hasidim considered the nigun, a genre of song without words, to
be the highest form of spiritual expression. Their reasoning went as follows:
melodies that required words were limited by the finite length of the texts,
but nigunim were free-form; they could go on and on, with every repetition
rising in both pitch and volume to an extraordinary and ecstatic climax. At
this point the pitch was dropped an octave and the entire cycle recommenced.
There is an old hasidic saying, "You will sing as loudly in the world to come
as you sing on this earth, so decide right here and now how loudly you want
to sing in heaven."

Music in the Western world: a shift in dynamics

Almost imperceptibly, throughout the so-called "civilized" world, the impor-
tance of music as a healing art form and a science form underwent a significant
shift. Music gradually rose to a status wherein it was no longer within acces-
sible and comfortable reach of its listeners. As such, it became transformed
and redefined primarily as an aesthetic experience, and although this is not
to be deprecated, its functional aspects as a healing method were by and large
both consciously and subconsciously ignored, forgotten or overlooked.

From the Renaissance onwards, however, a growing number of those in
the medical realm began to show an increasing interest in the vast array of
possibilities which music could offer to their patients. The new discovery
of anatomy, spearheaded by Vesalius (1514-1564), dominated subsequent
centuries. It gave humankind a rational conception of the mechanism of the

11 Nicholson, Healing, page 18; citing Moshe Mykoff, The Empty Chair. Finding
Hope and Joy (Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights), 1994:104.

12 Joscelyn Godwin. Harmonies of Heaven and Earth (Rochester, VT: Inner Tradi-
tions International, Ltd.), 1987:65.

human mind and body, and opened the door to modern, scientific medicine
based on the observation of phenomena which could be assessed in terms
of cause and effect. This advance influenced all remedial areas, including
the use of music in medicine. The English physician Robert Burton was one
of the first to write about the healing powers of music, in The Anatomy of
Melancholy (1632). He himself had suffered from melancholy, and perhaps
his ideas emerged from his own experiences. Philip Barrough (1560-1590),
another English physician who treated patients suffering from mental illness,
was determined that they "be merry as much as may be and have musical
instruments and singing." 13

In the eighteenth century a French physician named Louis Roger 14 exam-
ined the effects of music on the mind and body, and concluded that the mind
preferred regularly recurring arrangements of pitch and rhythm, whereas
the body responded to vibrations sent through the air. Roger theorized that
these vibrations affected both the solids and fluids that make up the human
body. Moreover, he felt that the nervous fluids and blood also contained air
that vibrated sympathetically with sounds emanating from outside the hu-
man body. In short, it was discovered and acknowledged that there was a
correlation between bodily and musical rhythm, and pulse and musical beat.
It was also observed that music had an effect on breathing, blood pressure
and digestion.

The nineteenth century saw a growing concern over the medical treatment
of those with both mental and physical illness. This led physicians to seek out
ancillary therapeutic means, including the use of music. The English physi-
cian/clergyman William Pargeter (1760-1810) was one of the first physicians
to acknowledge that in order for music to be successfully used as a treatment,
it was necessary for the practitioner to possess a definite knowledge of it. 15
Hector chomet wrote a treatise, The influence of Music on Health and Life,
in 1846. Benoit Mojan suggested in Sur L'Utilite de la Musique (1803) that
certain principles should be adhered to in the application of music at therapy.
These included an assessment of: the nature of the illness or condition; the

13 "Philip Barrough," in Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry, R. Hunter and I. Ma-
calpine, eds. (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 1963:24-28.

14 Traite des Effets de la Musique sur le Corps Humain (1748), cited in Armen
Carapetyan, "Music and Medicine in the Renaissance and in the 17 th and 18 th Centu-
ries," in Music and Medicine, Dorothy M. Schullian and Max Schoen, eds. (New York:
Schuman), 1948:147-149.

15 Juliette Alvin, Music Therapy (London: John Clare Books), 1975:48-49.

patient's musical sensitivities; and the volume level of the music. Prior to this,
musicians involved in the therapeutic process often participated purely on an
empirical basis. They did not concern themselves with the therapeutic effects
of the music; these remained within he domain of physicians.
Current practices: a march into the twentieth century
The last century bore witness to a heightened interest in the use of music as a
healing modality. Randall McClellan postulated that melody and rhythm could
be combined to produce songs that would induce well-being. He also held that
vibrations alone could have healing effects if administered to various parts of
the body 16 Adelle Nicholson states, "Roger's (and McClellan's) theories reflect
the physics of sound-healing, which act upon the body through resonantal
vibrations, thereafter altering the person's physiological condition." Another
approach, "music-healing," writes Nicholson, "stimulates the emotional and
mental states, and the body responds accordingly" 17 In The Healing Forces
of Music McClellan also opines that music affects humankind in the spiritual
realm at a level that transcends personal emotions. He feels that the music
we hear within our minds may be just as powerful as the music we experi-
ence through our physical ears. Furthermore, although the actual music may
have ceased, its influence may persist long after. The music may continue to
permeate the mind, direct the emotional life, regulate the body energies and
ultimately influence our spiritual aspirations and secular health.

Today, as a body of knowledge, music therapy is trans-disciplinary, gath-
ering its momentum from both music and therapy. As a discipline, it is a
harmonious triad of art, science and interpersonal process. As a treatment,
it is highly diverse and can adapt itself to an enormous variety of clinical
populations and circumstances.

Music therapy can prove invaluable to the congregational hazzan and/or af-
ternoon religious school teacher in enabling Jewish youth to prepare for — and
to succeed at— their Bar and Bat Mitzvah celebrations. This is primarily due
to the fact that music therapy is goal-oriented, organized and regular. Re-
search has shown that music therapy has the potential to: encourage positive,
healthy attitudes; reduce depression and anxiety; facilitate decision-making
regarding options and possibilities; work through negative emotions regard-
ing capabilities; reduce stress, fear and trauma for the B'nei/B'not Mitzvah

1" Randall McClellan. The Healing Forces of Music; History; Theory and Practice
(Rockport, MA: Element), 1991:6.
17 Nicholson, Healing, 1996:7.

and the parents; and to facilitate support systems and socialization networks
between and amongst the Bar/Bat Mitzvah, peers, parents and families.

Demosthenes (384-322 B.C.E.), generally considered to be the greatest of
the Greek orators (even though he stuttered!), saw in every small circumstance
the potential beginning of a great enterprise. As educators, we should seize
upon each and every opportunity as a real chance for some form of growth
and development. When teaching those with disabilities (I prefer the words
"underdeveloped abilities") we must remember that we do not get to choose
the sorrows and tragedies that might befall us ... but we do get to choose our
responses. Philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel took a similar approach:
"There are three ways in which a person expresses his deepest sorrow: the
person on the lowest level cries; the person on the second level is silent; the
person on the highest level knows how to turn his sorrow into song." 18 Music
is clearly an affirmation of life.

Music with all our children: finding each one's song

To be successful in our attempts to facilitate learning for a young person
with any or many of a variety of underdeveloped abilities, we must first take
a serious look at the construct of the person within his/her family. When one
family member hurts, each one feels the pain and reacts. Parents and siblings
often need help with comprehending the child's problem, as well as their own
often-diverse reactions. 19

At some point the parents are usually told of their child's diagnosis and
prognosis, and must come to terms with it. Initially they experience denial.
That is followed by alternating phases of anger and self-blaming. One form of
denial may include the "cover-up" reaction, particularly if the problem is not
readily visible, such as a learning disability. One parent (usually the mother)
may try to protect the other by not sharing the results of studies and tests, or
by minimizing the issues. Some parents may successfully cover up the extent
of the problems into the adolescent years; the unknowing parent all the while
building up unrealistic expectations for the child. The child is often capable
of seeing through this cover-up, and may perceive that the parents are unable
or unwilling to accept the child as he/she is. This awareness is accompanied

18 A. J. Heschel. Man's Quest for God (Santa Fe, NM: Aurora Press), 1955; citing
Si'ahSarfeiKodesh, Vol. 2, p. 92, No. 318.

19 R. A. Gardner, "The Guilt Reaction of Parents of Children with Severe Physical
Disease," American Journal of Psychiatry, 1969, Vol. 126:636-644.

by emotions of anger or sadness, for if the parents cannot accept the child,
how can the child?

At this stage, the parent(s) may also be keeping the extent of the child's
problems from the professionals. The denial stage is often followed by a period
of anger. At this time, parents may react in a way that sometimes alienates
professionals. The initial anger may be turned inward, creating a sense of
depression; associated with this reaction is often the feeling of guilt-"God is
doing this to me because..." Should the depression continue, a parent might
withdraw from the child, or from the other parent ... often just when that
parent is needed the most, and frequently in the adolescent years of the child.
The initial anger may also be displaced outward, by blaming teachers and other
professionals. The teacher may never hear these remarks, but the child may
never be able to forget them. Such comments might also undermine the child's
faith in or respect for the teachers he/she is relying on for help and hope.

For siblings, the issues are often compounded; rarely are the professional
opinions shared with them— yet the entire family needs to know and com-
prehend. 20 A brother or sister might feel guilt for harboring what he/she may
not realize is a perfectly normal thought, "I am glad it is him and not me."
Some siblings become worried and feel anxious; others become angry at the
double standards set up in the household. Still others become embarrassed
and resent the teasing they endure at school and elsewhere, "Is your sister a
mental case... or what?" 21

Preventive family counseling focuses on educating all members of the
family, and aids each member to both comprehend the situation and to be
able to add assistance in a positive and inter-active manner. The knowledge
of the specific underdeveloped abilities can then be used advantageously to
plan positive, rather than frustrating experiences. For example, if a child has
fine motor difficulties, primarily gross motor activities should be emphasized.
The educator/hazzan should understand a child's weaknesses and strengths,
for only then can participation be designed to maximize strengths rather than
to expose weaknesses. This will ultimately help the child deal with issues of
ego and self-esteem, for in working with someone with a disability, teachers
must always keep in mind the concern about self-fulfilling prophesies (predic-

20 E. Poznanski, "Psychiatric Difficulties in Siblings of Handicapped Children,"
Clinical Pediatrics, 1969, Vol. 8:232-234.

21 F. W. Owen, P. A. Adams, T. Forrest, L. Stolz & S. Fisher, "Learning Disorders in
Children: Sibling Studies," Monographs of the Society for Research in Child Develop-
ment, November 1971, Serial No. 144, Vol. 36:4.

tions of failure or even of possible failure may actually limit a person's chance
of success.) As positive experiences improve confidence, the possibility of
peer acceptance rather than teasing is increased, and social skills improve. 22
Novelist Margaret Atwood writes, "Children believe that everything bad that
happens is somehow their fault. ..but they also believe in happy endings, de-
spite all evidence to the contrary" 23 We, as facilitators, have a vested interest
in turning the second part of this statement — as much as we are able — from
a belief into a reality.

As a professional, I was and am very much aware of the possible ramifica-
tions to the entire family, a concern discussed in the preceding paragraphs.
Consequently, I tried conscientiously to prepare my other three sons for the
dynamics of loving and living with a sibling who has a disability. We spent
many hours discussing humanitarianism, humanism, empathy, and tolerance.
I would like to share with you one particular event.

My three younger sons, at that time all in university, invited their older
brother to attend a large social event with them at the Hillel Center. My oldest
son was delighted to accept the invitation, and I relished the fact that I had
done a "good job." Imagine my despondency when they returned from the
event— all looking glum. I immediately asked if the oldest had embarrassed
the others in some way. They assured me that this was not the case. They
said that when the four of them sat down at one of many tables, none of their
friends made any attempt to sit with them. My sons were most disappointed
by this reaction, and decided that either their friends needed sensitizing in
these matters, or they were no longer their friends. Wearing my "mother hat",
I was tremendously proud of them; wearing my "teacher hat" and "music
therapist hat", I intuited that there needed to be a re-evaluation of some of
our ideas and ideals within the Jewish community.

In early June 2005, 1 heard Larry King being interviewed by Barbra Walters.
She asked for his opinion as to the most terrible occurrence that could happen
to a person. He answered, "to lose a child." Although the interviewer was not
always of the same opinion as the interviewee, she was quick to agree with
this response. Bearing and raising a child with a disability often bears similar
ramifications to experiencing the death of a child ... especially when others
so often choose to be uninvolved.

22 C. D. Mercer. Children and Adolescents with Learning Disabilities (Columbus,
Ohio: Charles E. Merrill), 1979:104-111.

23 Margaret Atwood. The Blind Assassin (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc.),
2000:138.

I judiciously share the following anonymously written poem with families,
in an attempt to allow for expression of emotions and to facilitate discussion.
Sometimes a form of catharsis ensues. Occasionally the family expresses
hope and joy in the realization that their situation is not so tenuous as that
expressed by the poet. In addition, I believe that these are powerful words
for cohorts to hear, to discuss — and to eventually come up with a response
that demonstrates moral accountability.

Don't Turn Your Back

Don't turn your back on my son

just because he does not fit into your world.

His torment is real

and he would change it if he could.

His illness is not something you can see
but is real, all too real, nonetheless,
and the boy we know is lost to us.
Like a missing child the pain never dies
but haunts us with hopes that someday
we will find him again.

He struggles daily with an illness,

it is not a terminal illness,

but a life sentence.

He has noplace of refuge

to escape his own mind.

I can't desert him. He is my son,

and he is the same son that held

my hand when we laughed and ran

through the flowers

in the meadow at his grandmother's farm.

My son's suffering and his mother's tears
have given me the courage

to ask you to listen and learn.
If you take the time to understand,
you can make his world
a less painful place.

When you are going to have a baby, it is similar to planning a fabulous vaca-
tion to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks, and make wonderful plans. Day
by day, your excitement grows. You imagine the Coliseum, Michelangelo's
David, Milan's La Scala, the gondolas in Venice. Perhaps you make an at-
tempt to learn some handy Italian phrases. After many months of eager
anticipation, the big day finally arrives. You pack your bags and venture into
this new journey. Several hours later, the airplane lands. The flight attendant
announces, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?" you say, "What do you mean,
'Holland'? I am not supposed to be in Holland; I signed up for Italy! All my
life I have dreamed of going to Italy."

You are told that a change in the flight plans has occurred. You have landed
in Holland, and there you must stay. So you eventually go out and purchase
new guidebooks. You must learn a different language. And, you will gradually
meet a whole new group of people whom you might otherwise never have
met. You are in a different place and space! It is slower-paced than Italy, less
flashy than Italy— this takes some adjusting. After you have been there for a
while and you are able to catch your breath, you begin to raise your eyes and
look around— and you begin to notice that Holland has tulips, Holland has
windmills. Holland even has Rembrandts. But — everyone you know is busy
coming from and going to Italy — and they are all sharing stories about the
wonderful time they had there.

For the rest of your life you will say, "Yes, that is where I was supposed to go;
that is what I had planned." And the pain of that loss will never go away— be-
cause the loss of that dream is a very significant one. However, if you spend
your life mourning the fact that you did not get to Italy, you may never be
free to enjoy the very special, the very gorgeous things — about Holland. And
maybe, if you keep your eyes open — just maybe — you will find those who wish
to help you with your special journey. What a wonderful opportunity you can
provide for your relatives and friends to accomplish Tikkun Olam — leaving
this world a better place than when we entered it — and to "live generously."

Marlee Matlin, the hearing-impaired actress, author and inspiration, was
recently interviewed by British Columbia's Jewish Independent. 2 ^ Matlin
credits her Jewish heritage and upbringing with helping her to overcome

many obstacles. "The principles of Judaism, of Tikkun Olam, allowed me
to be where I am today. My story is meant to be an inspiration for others to
live as generously as my parents allowed me to live, and to help others in less
fortunate situations." Marlee feels that her becoming a Bat Mitzvah was not
only of great importance to her, but to her parents and community as well.
"Not only did my parents make sure I was a Bat Mitzvah, but they then used
my example to encourage others to see their children as fully functioning
members of the community, children who might otherwise be left out of the
mainstream because of a disability."

Rebbetzin Feige Twerski of Congregation Beth Jehudah in Milwaukee feels
that sensitivity to others is the basis of human relationships. 25 The times of
sunlight and joy— and alternatively, those of clouds and sorrow— spare no
individual the desperate need for caring and compassion from their fellow
human beings. The first task in sensitivity training is to climb out of our own
selves and look around. In describing the Egyptian bondage, our sages remind
us that it began when the "eyes and hearts of Israel were plugged up" (Gen-
esis 47:28). Conversely, the redemption was launched when "Moses grew up
and saw their suffering" (Exodus 2:11). Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the
nineteenth-century spiritual leader of German Jewry, noted that the Hebrew
word for compassion-ra/zawz'w-shares the same root as the Hebrew word
for rehem or womb. Empathy and sensitivity to others flow from the aware-
ness that we all share the same spiritual womb, the same history and fate;
indeed, our destinies are intertwined. Therefore, whatever happens to one
of us must affect the other. Understanding this reality mandates a response,
which music therapy can be extremely effective in generating.

It behooves educators to be especially attuned to their own prejudices
and behaviors if they wish to elicit empathic and sensitive responses from
students. Even a simple word can tell a whole story! Try to count the number
of times you have heard the word "but" used, when "and" would have been so
much more inclusive and encompassing. I am convinced that music therapy
can play a most dynamic role at the time of Bar/Bat Mitzvah, by working not
only in the best interests of the adolescent with special needs, but also in the
best interests of the community. What an awesome opportunity — what an
awesome responsibility!

24 Cynthia Ramsay. "Actress Shares how Judaism Helps her Deal with Adversity,"
Vancouver Jewish Independent, August 1, 2005.

2 ^ Feige Twerski. Sensitivity Training (Jerusalem: Aish HaTorah resources), 2003.

Music therapy in action: a sound modality

Within this highly diversified field there are marked differences in the needs,
abilities, conditions, and situations of clients and patients. Music therapists
also differ in their perspectives, objectives, and goals, their values and priori-
ties, and musical and material resources. The concept that all music therapists
agree upon, however, is the limitless potential of music— firstly to activate,
and subsequently to support and enrich. I often show and discuss the 1974
short film — The Violin, starring Canadian violinist Maurice Solway — with
my patients, clients, and students. It usually generates excited conversation
about the value of music — sometimes even from those who seemingly have
had no previous passion for this (or any other) art form. I have also found
that sharing selected pieces of literature about music, such as the poem I
have excerpted below, 26 with teachers of other curriculum subjects usually
puts them on my band-wagon; they often offer to coordinate their lessons,
in any way they are able, to complement my work. I, in turn, try to tailor my
sessions to enhance theirs (e.g. exploring the music of a particular country
that is being studied in geography class.) This layering on of material is of
particularly great benefit to students with underdeveloped abilities, or dif-
ferent learning styles.

I Am Music.lt my song be in your heart you will hear my voice in the
babble of the brook, the chant of the birds, the rustle of the leaves, and
the billows of the sea. The wind and the rain and the flowers and the dew
all speak to you of me. The rumble of traffic, the clatter of hoofs, the hum
of the motor, the song of the mill; Ah! I charge the very air.
Down through the ages I have walked with men, yet none have ever
fathomed me. With the prince and the beggar I roam the earth and all
men love me. For I am the spirit of the very best that is in t hem, and they
praise and strive for the very best that is within me. I am the soul of the
arts. lam music.
The following cases are taken from my involvement and experience in work-
ing with individuals of all ages who have a variety of underdeveloped abili-
ties. These clients include any individual whose development is affected to
some extent by a mental, emotional, or physical dysfunction, or by multiple
handicaps. In commencing work with a client, I reflect on two contradictory
yet complimentary quotes: "I think [i.e. I doubt], therefore I am" (Descartes),
and "First we sing, then we believe" (Heschel). This dual reflection has be-

26 1 Am Music. Unpublished poem by Robert L. Shepherd (ca. 1974), transmitted
to the writer by Maurice Solway.

come my mantra, grounding and centering me in preparing to undertake
that which I believe to be a most rewarding and remarkable journey for both
client and therapist.

CASE A:

Aaron's multi-media journey

Aaron was referred to me when he was ten years of age. There appeared
to be no clinically significant delay in cognitive development, or in the de-
velopment of age-appropriate self-help skills. There was also no significant
general delay in language (I was told that he had used single words by two
years of age, and communicative phrases by three years of age.) He seemed
appropriately curious about his surroundings and general environs. He did
demonstrate, however, qualitative impairment in social interactions; these
included difficulties in the use of non-verbal behaviors such as eye-to-eye
contact, facial expressions, and appropriate gestures to regulate social interac-
tion. There also seemed to be a pervasive disinterest in spontaneously sharing
enjoyment, hobbies, and/or achievements with other people in general, and
with his cohorts in school in particular. There was little social or emotional
reciprocity, and as a result, failure to develop peer relationships appropriate
to developmental level.

Aaron displayed some repetitive and stereotyped patterns of behavior,
which included a preoccupation with parts of objects (e.g. examining the
mechanism of how a CD case opens and closes), and a somewhat inflexible
adherence to specific, non-functional routines and rituals (e.g. taking his shoes
off and putting them on before commencing certain functional activities.)
Aaron understood on an intellectual level that he was a "loner", but could
not comprehend the reasons for this. He was subsequently diagnosed with
Asperger's Disorder, a milder variant of Autism, characterized by social isola-
tion and eccentric behavior in childhood, such as speech which is peculiar due
to abnormal inflection and repetitiveness, clumsiness, and a circumscribed
area of interest: e.g. cars; trains; door knobs; hinges; astronomy; history; or
French literature. 27 However, at the time that I commenced music therapy
with Aaron, we could not put a label to his problems (nor was I particularly
concerned about doing so.) Eventually, he confided to me that in some ways

27 Autism and Asperger Syndrome, Uta Frith, ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press), 1992; there is some confusion as to whether Asperger's Disorder is on the high
end of the spectrum of Autism, or whether it is a separate condition.

it was a comfort to know that he had a disorder that had a "real name", and
that some other people in the world had "it" as well.

Although Aaron appeared willing to work with me, eye contact rarely oc-
curred during our initial meetings. In an attempt to encourage this, I decided
to engage Aaron in the Child's Interval (descending minor third.) This is the
interval that children resonate with and to— the first interval that most are
able to sing in tune. (Many of the highly popular children's songs deliberately
contain a disproportionate number of minor thirds.) I commenced by sing-
ing to Aaron:

I F.h I C I C I Fb I Fb I C I Fb I C I Fb I C ~l

Aaron quickly looked up from playing with a CD case, but did not answer.
I sang the above line to him again and again— still no answer, but eye contact
was evident. In subsequent weeks, he anticipated the musical question, and
would make eye contact with me, waiting for the inevitable minor thirds to
escape my lips. One day, he answered (in a monotone) "Aaron." From there,
he progressed to singing (mimicking my intervals):

I My I name I is I Ag— I ron; I what I is I your I name? I

Singing can be an experience of arousal for the child with disabilities, and
of freedom from many of the restrictions and confusions of pathology. Such
a child is thus enabled to "use personal capacities with greater consciousness
and can experience, as a result, direct, substantial fulfillment." 28 It appeared
that Aaron enjoyed the non-threatening nature of these encounters. As en-
dorphins (the brain's own "opiates") were released during our joint musical
endeavors, they induced in Aaron a natural high, what is known as a "musical
thrill." Recent research has shown that exhilaration produced by listening to
certain music is the result of endorphin release by the pituitary gland, the
surge of electrical activity spreading in a region of the brain which is con-
nected to both the emotional and reflexive control centers. I became aware
of a gradual shift in Aaron's body language; he began to smile and enter into
question and answer ditties that encouraged him to relay impressions about
his environment:

28 Paul Nordoff& Clive Robbins. Music Therapy in Special Education, (St. Louis,
MO: Magnamusic-Baton, Inc.), 1983:22.

What '

What is
What Is

your

favorite I color?

favorite flower?
favorite color?

Eye contact was further encouraged through a variety of activities such as
imitative clapping games (we commenced with the basic heart rate, which all
of us have experienced in utero, and proceeded to longer and more complex
patterns), and copying various rhythms on sticks and cymbals. To further
prepare Aaron for social interaction with others, we made up games that
involved passing a ball to one another in a variety of rhythms. Clearly, for this
youngster, music was becoming a powerful tool in helping him to develop
social/emotional, cognitive/learning, and perceptual/motor skills.

Once Aaron had mastered eye contact, smiling, and minor thirds, we
made the next big jump into ascending major seconds. This is often the next
interval that children are capable of singing in tune. It was clear that Aaron's
range was limited (children with dysfunctions often have small ranges and low
registries); nevertheless he was enjoying our time together and was making
significant gains. We progressed to:

Eh

C

C\ Eh

Fb

r

Eh

E 1 Eh

C

\ My

name

is \ A-

1 va

Lee;

what

is 1 vour

name? 1

Aaron was able to respond, usually in tune (although I never chastised if his
effort was out of tune.) Obviously, along with his musical gains, he was slowly
but surely making significant social gains. He still expressed disappointment
at not being the "same" as his peers, and wondered if they would ever "like"
him. At this point, I introduced the following song to Aaron:

I C I G I A I G I
I The I more I we I get I t

I D I G I
- I ge- I then I

then I to- I ge-

1 r

D

G

1 f_i

F

C. 1

1 hor

your

dreams

1 are

dreams, 1

i I my

and I my I dreams'

I your I dreams.

I C I G I A I G I TZL
I The I more I we I get I to- I

I then I

I C I G I A I G I F I E I C I C I D I G I G„ I C 1
I T he I mo r e I we I get I to- I ge- I t he n I t h e I h a p- I p i er I w e ll I b e. I

: I c I d I g I g i cq

er. I the I hap- I pier I well I be. I

I encouraged Aaron to make up his own lyrics, and sometimes they pro-
vided me with great insight as to his thought processes, which he was unable
to verbalize in a non-musical conversation. I also introduced a variety of
percussion instruments; whereas at first Aaron would play with no change
in rhythm or dynamics, he gradually came to be able to alter some of the
elements of the tone. This was a huge advancement for Aaron, and I believe
on some level he comprehended this, for he sang:

The more we get together, together, together,

The more we get together, the louder and softer I am.

For I can play loudly, and I can play softly,

The more we get together the louder and softer I am.

I used this as a bouncing-off point to do further work on dynamics, and
asked Aaron if he could sing the word "loudly," loudly, and the word "softly,"
softly. This proved to be very stimulating for him. We progressed from here
to discussing emotions and their effects, e.g. sadly, happily, pleasantly, trium-
phantly, etc. This presented considerable difficulty for Aaron, but eventually
he was able to express to me on the drums how some of these emotions
sounded.

We also worked with watercolors, and Aaron seemed to have a fascination
with the shades and intensities of the color blue. He said it made him feel "cool";
it felt right when he was feeling in a "blue mood"; and it could sometimes be
a "happy blue." Aaron was very reluctant, at first, to allow the many colors to
"touch" one another (except for shades and intensities oiblue), and was very
careful as he applied paint to paper to ensure that there was no intermingling
(literally) in any way, shape, or form. I used this chance to demonstrate to
Aaron that mixing it up a little could sometimes produce fascinating results,
and was not something of which to be rigidly afraid, or to reject without any
attempt. He agreed to our adding various colors to blue— and became excited
about the many new results we created.

I subsequently asked Aaron to fill his page with as many combinations of
colors as he could. When this was complete, and beginning to dry, I gave him
a salt shaker, and suggested he sprinkle salt at random over his painting. He
looked at me as if I should be the one in therapy, but was thoroughly amazed
as the salt reacted chemically with the paint to create a variety of interest-
ing patterns and mottled effects. The salt works on non-staining colors (e.g.
brown) much better than on staining colors (e.g. blue). Aaron was so intrigued
with this that we subsequently experimented with different types of salt (there
are many kinds on the market, and each will affect the damp watercolor in a

different way.) This led to more and more experimentation; it was obvious that
these creative endeavors were helping Aaron to overcome some of his rigid
patterns of behavior. At about this time, Aaron's mother reported to me that
Aaron was messing it up a little on his plate, and was pushing various foods
around so that they touched— an absolute "no-no" up to now. He decided
that similar to colors touching one another, food touching one another was
a "good thing." He also came to the conclusion that a lot of salt was better on
the paintings than on the food!

I decided to introduce the mandala to Aaron. Mandalas are often used in
art therapy for the heightening of insight, healing, and self-expression. Carl
G. Jung, a Swiss psychiatrist, adopted this Sanskrit word — which means
center, circumference, or magic circle— to describe the circle drawings that
he and his patients created. Jung felt that the mandala represented the Self,
the center of the total personality. He wrote that the mandala could showcase
"the premonition of a centre of personality, a kind of central point within the
psyche, to which everything is related, by which everything is arranged, and
which is itself a source of energy. The energy of the central point is manifested
in the almost irresistible compulsion and urge to become what one is, just
as every organism is driven to assume the form that is characteristic of its
nature, no matter what the circumstances. This center is not felt or thought
of as the ego but, if one may so express it, as the Self." 29

Much as I thought the fluidity of watercolors was wonderful for Aaron, I
was convinced that he needed more control of the medium, in order to ex-
press himself appropriately through the mandala. With some trepidation, I
introduced colored pencils, and Aaron and I drew a large circle in the centre
of a piece of paper. I requested, with as few instructions as possible, that
Aaron "do something with the circle." Although he seemed intrigued by the
request, I could see that the colored pencils were daunting to him; his body
stiffened and he pursed his lips. I decided to include some auditory stimula-
tion, and played a relaxation CD. Eventually Aaron chose a dark blue pencil,
and with very precise semicircular shapes, turned the circumference of the
circle into a bottle cap. Inside was an aerial view of Aaron's head. He looked at
his creation for a while, and then offered the explanation that it was himself,
trapped in the bottle. He could look through it, and others could look in, but
they could not touch one another.

29 Carl G. Jung. Mandala Symbolism. ( Princeton , NJ: Princeton University Press),
1973:73.

We continued working with the mandala about once per month; Aaron
even wanted to experiment with circles that were not centered on the paper.
I was relieved and delighted to see that he now displayed less anxiety when
working with the colored pencils. After about nine months, Aaron drew a
colorful bird flying upwards, and this bird escaped the confines of the man-
dala (i.e. the wings were outside the circumference.) Aaron examined this
drawing for a long time, and eventually said that the bird was happy because
other birds could touch it. At this point, I sang to him the song, "Ah, Poor
Bird" (in triple meter, changing "poor" to brave, and "Far above the sorrows
of this dark night" to Far above the dark blue of this long night [second line
of lyrics].) 30

I C I D \ Eb \ Eb \ F \ G
I Ah. I brave I bird. I soar I in I flight.

\ G \ C
I Far I a—

C \ B \ C \ G \ F \ Eh \ D \ ~C~
bove I the I dark I blue I of I this I long I night.

I C I D I Eb I Eb I F^TG~]
I A h, I b r ave I b ir d, I as I you I fl y, I

1 G

r

r

K

c

\G\ F

Eh

1 D

1 c 1

1 Can

1 you

see

1 the

1 dawn

1 of 1 to—

1 mor—

1 row's

1 sky? 1

Aaron's eyes were riveted on me (eye contact had come a long way.) I sang
the song a number of times to him and we discussed the lyrics; sometimes he
joined in, sometimes we took turns (also a skill that was developing nicely).
One day, in a firm voice, he simply answered, "Yes."

Cantors, choir directors and music teachers faced with a congregant, singer
or student slow to respond, I ask you to please take note: the psychological
principle that I used with Aaron was to cue his response indirectly. Psychia-
trist Milton Erikson posited that "a person cannot respond spontaneously
if he is following a directive." 31 Along with ethical teachings to live by, the

30 Peter Blood & Annie Patterson, eds. Rise Up Singing, (New York: Sing Out Cor-
poration), 1992:188.

31 Jon Haley. Uncommon Therapy — The Psychiatric Techniques of Milton H. Erick-
son, MD (New York: Norton), 1993:21.

mishnaic tractate Pirkei Avot ("Sayings of the Fathers") lays down maxims
of sound pedagogy:

The wise teacher questions broadly, according to subject;
so that the pupil can reply accurately and to the point (5:9).
The subtle power of continued suggestion, combined with a ritually repeated
act, is far greater than that of a direct command.

It is interesting to note that birds are ancient symbols of the human soul,
and of the process of transformation; they have come to stand for the spiritual
realm, as opposed to the material one. We know that in Jewish tradition the
dove is the symbol of purity and peace. The dove, sent out by Noah (Genesis
8:12), returned with an olive branch; this was a sign that the floodwaters
had receded, and that God had made peace with humankind. Doves were
also used as offerings in the rite of purification following the birth of a baby
(Leviticus 12:6-8).

I found it significant that Aaron drew only one bird; I had anticipated that
there were more to come.

While single birds might represent divine messengers, a flock of birds
might be interpreted to take on negative implications. This corresponds
to the esoteric law that multiplicity is a step away from unity, which is
considered divine. A bird in a mandala suggests the activation of one's
intellectual capacities. Birds flying upwards may connote ideas being
released or brought to light. Birds may also suggest the refinement of
insights, knowledge, or bringing self-awareness to a higher level.""
Our artistic endeavors proved to be a great opportunity for Aaron to discover
his creative energy. He was very proud of some of his pieces, and decided to
keep a number of them.

After working with Aaron for approximately two years, I broached the idea
of his becoming a Bar Mitzvah, full ceremony and all. Whereas it was previ-
ously assumed that this would not be a possibility, his teachers confirmed that
there had been considerable progress in the classroom and on the playground,
and felt that Aaron could succeed at this in his own way. Aaron was hesitant
at first, but with the encouragement of his parents, teachers, and myself, he
decided to undertake this milestone. This was an enormous step for Aaron,
for in a very real sense he was agreeing to be a performer, and

32 Susanne F. Fincher. Creating Mandalas. (Boston: Shambhala Publications, Inc.),
1991:117.

the nature of the risk-taking of the performer is a magnified image of the
personal plunge we make into the deepest places within ourselves. As we
reveal our inner world to others, our reality is enhanced, emboldened,
made larger than life, so to speak.
Aaron entered Bar Mitzvah classes with his peers. It was hard going at
first, but we rejoiced in every little step. I spoke to the class about compassion
and kindness, and ultimately this led to a Pirkei Avot program; parents were
asked to attend certain sessions in an effort to enable them to better convey to
their children the significance of those values being transmitted. The Bar/Bat
Mitzvah class responded empathically...and we ALL rejoiced!

As the big day approached, Aaron began to show interest in the decor for
this important occasion, and chose a "happy blue." He also requested an input
as to the choices of flowers and of food. Examples of his art, that we had so
diligently created together, were on display for all to see. Aaron had made
great strides in a number of developmental areas, and music had been his
muse! He did indeed succeed at his Bar Mitzvah! He delivered both his Maftir
(helped by his Bar Mitzvah teacher's occasional intervention of a sotto voce
boost) and his Haftarah in a low tessitura (quite the norm nowadays) — with
some errors — and he reached the perfection of his capabilities!

CASE B:

Benji and Beth's journey towards harmony - many voices, one song

Several years ago I was asked to take over the music classes in an elementary
school during the months when the music teacher would be on sabbatical.
As in any school, there were a number of children who were challenged in
a variety of areas; it was therefore decided that I would use the scheduled
music time in a music therapy mode, rather than in a teaching one. I was de-
lighted to be given free reign to be as experiential as I thought necessary, and
to abandon the planned curriculum if I wished to do so. This challenge was
most appealing to me! However, it was immediately apparent that I could not
fit all the grades into my schedule, and therefore decided to focus on grades
6 and 7 — where I knew I would be dealing with students of Bar/Bat Mitzvah
age, and where I felt I might impact on their preparation in a positive and
practical manner. I was aware that many of the students were in the same
Bar/Bat Mitzvah class.

■" Joanne Crandall. Self-Transformation Through Music (Wheaton, IL: The Theo-
ophical Society), 1988:54.

The first few sessions were spent getting to know the students and allowing
them to get to know me. I decided to commence with the lesson plans that
had been provided for me, and quickly realized that the students varied so
much in their backgrounds and capabilities that I was impacting on only a few!
Those who partook in private music lessons and played an instrument were,
for the most part, either bored or strutting an air of superiority. Those with
learning difficulties were uncomfortable, and so concerned about the amount
of jeering that was going on, that they could hardly focus on the subject mat-
ter. I quickly abandoned the curriculum — at least for the time being.

I recognized that my first and foremost challenge was to allow for the de-
velopment of a cohesive classroom, where members could and would share
responsibility for one another's successes and failures. I asked the students
to get up from behind their desks, to form a circle with their chairs and to
sit on them. I noticed that a few looked surprised at this request, and rather
startled. Benji immediately placed his chair so that it was facing outside the
circle. When I asked why he had done this, he responded that he was a part
of the circle, and that was all I had requested. When I gently pressed for more
details, he said that everyone always laughed at him, and he would feel more
comfortable this way. More laughter — of course! I decided to allow him to sit
in this manner (backwards), telling him that I thought it was a rather creative
solution to a not-so-funny problem, and giving him permission to turn his
chair around when he felt that he could. The laughter abated! I noticed that
Beth was left holding her chair outside the circle, feeling awkward and dis-
placed. I asked that the class take responsibility in making certain that there
was room for everyone to place his/her chair within the circle. Beth made sure
she was at a distance from Benji before accepting a place in the circle.

Benji was an intellectually bright child who had been diagnosed with At-
tention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder after many problematic years at home
and at school. He often neglected to pay close attention to details, and to make
careless mistakes in schoolwork and other activities. He did not appear to
listen when spoken to directly, and experienced problems in the organiza-
tion of tasks. Benji found it difficult to follow through on instructions, and
was easily distracted by extraneous stimuli. His impulsivity was apparent in
that he often blurted out answers before questions had been completed, had
great difficulty awaiting his turn, and often interrupted or intruded on others.
The result of these behaviors was clinically significant impairment in social
and academic functioning. His frustration had precipitated his becoming a
bully in the school environs, and he had chosen to make a classmate, Beth,
the special victim of his verbally aggressive behaviors.

Beth, also, was burdened with problems — albeit of a different type. She
was an unusually quiet child, apparently making no effort to succeed at
anything. I immediately suspected that she was suffering from some type of
depression; upon delving further, I became aware that the depression was
probably a situational one, the result of a significant mathematics disorder,
which impacted greatly on her everyday life. Beth's mathematical ability, as
measured by individually administered standardized tests, was substantially
below that expected when considering the individual's chronological age,
measured intelligence, and age-appropriate education. This disorder was
significantly interfering with academic achievement as well as activities of
daily living that required mathematical ability. Beth appeared to be a sad and
lonely adolescent — a perfect target for Benji!

I decided to focus on the technique of Instrumental Improvisation, for I felt
that this would allow for individual contributions that would be acceptable to
all. I suggested to the class that we consider the word improvisation, and its
varied meanings. Most became intrigued with this concept, and wanted to
try it out with a variety of rhythmic instruments that I had on hand. Through
the work of renowned music therapist Juliette Alvin, it has become clear that
one of the most important sources of assessment data is the manner in which
the individual relates to a variety of instruments, both physically and psy-
chologically. In observing these responses, the music therapist gains valuable
information which includes the stage of therapy of the individual, the types
and levels of relationships that should be encouraged and developed, and the
general direction and priorities of future therapeutic activities.

The instruments were placed in the center of the circle (many more instru-
ments than number of students), and the group was encouraged to survey the
instruments, and to choose one each and return to their chairs. Some seemed
excited, others appeared curious; and as I had more-or-less anticipated, Benji
tore a large tambourine out of someone else's hands, and Beth was the very
last to choose an extremely tiny bell. At this stage the music therapist must
be aware of a host of patterns of behavior that might develop over time— for
one session does not allow for a diagnosis. Kenneth Bruscia 34 Chair of Temple
University's Music Therapy department, has synthesized Alvin's work, listing
thirty-one Instrumental Responses of which the music therapist should be

-^ Kenneth E. Bruscia. Improvisational Models of Music Therapy, (Springfield, Il-
linois: Charles C. Thomas), 1987:105-106.

aware. I have taken the liberty of reducing Bruscia's list to thirteen possible
responses for the cantor, choir director or music teacher to observe.

1. the associations stimulated by the instrument and its sounds

2. the obsessions and compulsions expressed through the
instruments

3. the phobias expressed through or for the instruments

4. the posture while holding the instrument

5. the direction, shape, and force of body movements made to sound
the instrument

6. the agility and control over the instrument

7. the ability to repeat and imitate instrumental sounds and musical
patterns

8. the manner in which the instrument is played— purposeful or
random — free or rigid

9. the preferences for particular instruments and manipulation
techniques

10. the expression of emotions and feelings through the instrument
and its sound

11. the extent to which the instrument is used to establish identity
within the group

12. the extent to which the instrument is used to integrate with the
group or another

13. the willingness to share and swap instruments

I observed many of these responses in Benji and Beth — as well as in their
classmates. These responses, in fact, determined how, what, why and where-
fore I would— as a Jewish music therapist— proceed with this diverse and
troubled group. Above all, I sought to infuse the third of Rabbi Yishmael's
three pillars upon which the world stands— acts of loving kindness {gemilut
hasadim; Pirkei Avot, 1:2) into my classroom teaching methodology. And true
to my silent prediction, the students began to show consideration, compas-
sion, and benevolence towards one another.

As the weeks ensued, we made up various improvisational games employ-
ing the instruments. At times we all played together; at other times we went
around the circle taking turns. Sometimes we added one instrument at a time
(a cumulative build up of sound), and/or decreased the sound by subtracting

one instrument at a time. We also played environmental situations (e.g. an
encroaching storm) or emotions (e.g. a relinquishing sorrow.) Many behavior
patterns did indeed become apparent — for many students.

Benji was highly impulsive, and would play his instruments (usually the
largest he could find) at random. Gradually, he began to take note of the circle,
and his place in it. It served as a visual reminder to him of when his turn was
coming. He was very proud of the fact that he was learning to wait for his turn;
one day he requested that we move in a counter-clockwise direction, so that
he could prove that he could still take his turn at the appropriate time. And
he did! Subsequently, we varied the taking of turns by construing a variety of
patterns (e.g. every second person; every person wearing glasses, etc.) Many
teachers were now reporting that Benji's impulsivity was greatly decreased,
and as a result, there was more success both academically and socially. In
the Bar Mitzvah class, the teacher was now having the students sit in a circle
rather than at their desks, and Benji's performance was greatly enhanced.

For a long time, Beth was the last to choose an instrument— although she
did move from the tiny-tiny bell to slightly larger instruments. She seemed,
however, to be benefiting in a mathematical sense from the games where we
increased and decreased instruments— she could hear the results of addition
and subtraction. Subsequently, we made up mathematical games with instru-
ments, beats, and tempi. Mathematics began to make more sense to Beth;
eventually we experimented with triplets— and Beth could hear three against
two, etc. There was nothing wrong with her hearing or listening skills! Her
mathematics teacher reported that when it came time to learn why and how
it was necessary to get a common denominator, Beth was able to do this! She
explained that in her head, she was thinking about the sounds and rhythms
of the instruments, and then it made sense.

I was still concerned, however, about Beth's seeming despondency and
depression. She appeared particularly upset when Benji played the big bass
drum, and never, herself, chose an instrument such as this. One day she
started crying; I took Beth aside and asked if she could tell me the reason for
her tears. She responded that the big drum with its loud sounds reminded
her of her father — always complaining, chastising, and teasing her about her
disability. She also said that Benji reminded her of her father, so I assume
that when Benji played the drum, it was double trouble for Beth! I suggested
that perhaps her father had no idea of the effect that his behavior was having
on her. I wanted to elicit Beth's permission in an attempt to grant her some
power, and she eventually agreed, with great trepidation, that her father could
be spoken to about the situation.

During the following session, I read the poem, Trees, by Joyce Kilmer
(1886-1918) 35 to the class. The lyrics are:
/ think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth isprest
Against the earth's sweet-flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

A discussion about the lyrics ensued (Does the rain represent tears? etc.) I
asked the class to focus on the last couplet, and requested comments. Eventu-
ally, someone ventured the response that none of us is perfect, and we must
keep this in mind when dealing with others. It was more-or-less the answer
for which I was hoping! At this point, I saw Beth sit up in her seat and take
notice to an extent that I had not witnessed before. I asked the class to think
about their answers and to decide if their behavior really coincided with their
empathic responses. Keeping in mind the pioneering physician/psycholo-
gist/ educator Alfred Tomatis' 36 dictum, "I do not treat the children who
are brought to me; I awaken them," I decided to sing the composer Oscar

35 First anthologized in Modern American Poetry, Louis Untermeyer, ed. (New
York: Harcourt, Brace and Howe), 1919.

36 Alfred A. Tomatis. The Conscious Ear— My Life of Transformation Through
Listening (Barrytown, NY: Station Hill Press), 1991:148.

Example 1. Melody of Oscar Rasbach's Setting for Joyce Kilmer's Trees

Rasbach's version of Trees 37 to the class. Many positive comments ensued,
including the idea that comprehending the poetry aided in understanding
the music, and visa-versa.

Bruscia 38 also lists nine significant Listening Responses on which the music
therapist's observations should be focused, and this is exactly where my eyes
and ears were now engaged!

1. reflexive responses and automatic reactions to various musical
elements

2. attentional skills

7 (New York: G. Schirmer, 1922), Over 1,000 Songs, Vol. 11:372.

8 Bruscia. Improvisational Models of Music Therapy, 1987:104-105.

perceptual discrimination skills

preferences and affective behavior reactions to musical components,

moods, and feelings

associations or memories aroused by particular compositions,

performers, instruments or styles

imagery stimulated by music

identifications (or non-identifications) with musical feelings,

composer, performer, therapist, or other player in the room

defenses against hearing or listening to the music

willingness to use music as a bond with others
In the next session Beth approached me somewhat excitedly, and announced
that she had a different version of Trees for me. She showed me Ogden Nash's
Song of the Open Road?^

I think that I shall never see
A billboard lovely as a tree.

Perhaps, unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all.

I hinted to Beth that it might be a great idea if she read this to the class, and
she reluctantly agreed to do so. The class loved it; the students decided to do
an instrumental improvisation about the Open Road — including billboards
falling] I suggested that perhaps this might be a metaphor for them seeing
with greater clarity that which was important to them and to their friends.
More discussion — Beth was beaming! Realizing that this was Beth's first
real initiation of a "conversation" with me, a response was mandatory. The
following week, I began by reading my own spin on Kilmer's poem to the
students — for which Beth had been the inspiration — and each, in his/her
own way, comprehended this.

/ think that I shall never see

A classroom that is conflict-free;

39 Readers Digest, June 1967.

For as this person (me!) bravely strives
To bring new light into the lives

Of many students, meek and bold
With music, through the ages told.

Some talk and talk 'till they reveal
A problem with which they must deal.

Some are quiet, circumspect
This we must learn to respect.

Yet everyone deserves a voice
In this matter there's no choice.

And if my precious vocal chords

Get strained as I shout out these words.

I shall not worry, shall not pout,

So long as you grasp what it's all about!

At the conclusion of the class, Benji approached me, and said he wanted
to try to make the classroom "conflict-free." I asked Benji where he thought
might be the best place to start. He replied, "I have to stop teasing Beth." I
promised Benji that he and I would be partners in sharing this responsibility
and in performing this mitzvah. I elucidated that he would be helping me to
accomplish Tikkun Olam— making the world a little bit better than it was
when we found it. Benji looked at me in genuine surprise, and a gentle, shy
smile lit up his face. It was the first time I had observed anything gentle or shy
in Benji's demeanor! Slowly, sometimes almost imperceptibly, he was able to
accomplish this difficult self-imposed directive.

At this juncture, I decided to work on the concept of harmony. I asked the
class for definitions of this word — both musical and non-musical; many in-
teresting responses ensued. I eventually offered my concept of harmony — not
only in the tonal sense but also in the original meaning of the word: "to fit
together." I spoke about dissonance, and the fact that

dissonance means not fitting. Dissonance is an inability to be flexible. It
is the root of all disease. The physicist David Bohm speaks of health as
the essence of non-obstructed, indivisible, flowing movement of the self's
inner harmony transcribed into the external world. When the internal
and the external are at odds with each other— dissonant— the result is
disease or a break in harmony.
This concept generated more discussion; Benji said he was getting more
"harmonized." Beth ventured that Benji was "like a piano that was getting
tuned!"

Her amazing response could not go unnoticed; I decided to react imme-
diately. I suggested that each student come up to the piano and compose (I
emphasized that each was to present an original composition) a short piece
using any or all of the eighty-eight keys. Some were quick to approach the
piano (Benji); others held back (Beth). The responses were enormously varied;
some experimented with the components of music —dynamics, harmony,
melody, rhythm, pitch, tempi, and timbre. I was delighted to see this, for
"with its own unique attributes, properties, and qualities, each component
can be used for the therapeutic purpose of reflecting and affecting emotional
and/or physical states of an individual, as well as the prevailing mood of the
group." 41 Eventually every student composed a piece. There was much hilarity
and joy in the classroom— there was also a great deal of musical cacophony 1 .
All agreed that the exercise was a lot of fun because each was free to create as
he/she saw fit, with no external judgments being imposed. One class member
asked if there was any way to repeat the exercise in a way that would allow
for harmonyl This was exactly the type of question for which I was hoping.
It served to reinforce my belief that all children should have the opportunity
to engage in music in this free-flowing and holistic manner.

I suggested that we could be experiential, using only the black notes of the
piano — the "Black-eyed Pentatonic" — and see where that led us. Wearing
my music therapist hat, I pointed out that this would be a somewhat more
structured endeavor, but that sometimes structure is very important— even
crucial, to the ultimate outcome. I reminded the class that, "it is through the
mastery of small disciplines that we become capable of greater things and,
indeed, anything." 42 Benji raised his hand, and when I acknowledged him

40 John Beaulieu. Music and Sound in the Healing Arts (Barrytown, NY: Station
Hill Press, Inc.), 1987:126.

41 Edith H. Boxill. Music Therapy for the Developmentally Disabled (Austin, TX:
Pro-Ed, Inc.), 1985:112.

42 Matthew Kelly. The Rhythm of Life (New York: Simon & Shuster), 2005:243.

32

(I was incrementally taking more and more time in responding to him!), he
announced that, "sometimes discipline feels really good!"

Had I been wearing my music pedagogue hat, I probably would have exam-
ined the concept of the pentatonic scale with the class. I would have explained
that a pentatonic scale is one of five notes per octave; that there are different
types of pentatonic scales; and that this scale is used the world over. I might
have gone on to explain that various pentatonic forms are found in the tuning
of: the Ethiopian krar; the Indonesian gamelan (these pentatonic scales are
named slendro and pelog); the melodies of African- American spirituals; the
music of 19 th and 20 th century composers Frederic Chopin, Claude Debussy
and Maurice Ravel. Depending upon the level of the class, I might have also
discussed hemitonic and anhemitonic pentatonic scales, and probably have
explained and experimented with the Blues Pentatonic — the minor pentatonic
with an additional lowered fifth (another form of "blue note," along with the
flatted major third).

Instead, I again asked for volunteers to approach the piano, and to create
original compositions using only the black keys. There was a sense of awe
and wonder in the classroom as it became clearly obvious that no discord
could be heard! This led to much discussion and further experimentation. I
subtly suggested that two students come up at a time, and compose duets.
I maneuvered the situation so that Benji and Beth would come up together.
As I had feared inwardly, Benji immediately sat down at the lower range of
the piano, giving Beth no choice as to her preference. Their composition was
totally overshadowed by bass sounds. The class commented on this; I asked
Benji and Beth what they thought they could do as a team to rectify this
dilemma. Amongst many other good answers, they decided that they could
switch places on the piano bench. I was thrilled! They proceeded to create a
new piece. At the conclusion, there was spontaneous, generous applause. They
were thrilled! Harmony and dissonance became a huge subject for discussion
in our classroom. Beth was allowing her voice to be heard more and more.

She was reminding me, in no uncertain terms that, "music is a potent
power that can alter our awareness. This relationship between music and
consciousness, both in the individual and the group, has been known from
ancient times." 43

43 Robert J. Stewart. Music and the Elemental Psyche (Rochester, Vermont: Destiny
Books), 1987:32.

There is general agreement that those with special needs often have dif-
ficulties with the rhythms of their lives, and that specific exercises devoted to
the concept of rhythm can produce long-term results in a variety of areas. I
felt that this was the next element of music with which to engage the class.
Rhythm work is also an excellent methodology for instilling the importance
of silence. I introduced a few rhythm games to the students. I would clap a
four beat sequence, and ask the class to repeat it; then I would tap a four-beat
sequence, or hum a four-beat sequence, or hop a four-beat sequence — and
each time ask the students to copy my pattern. When they became adept
at this, I introduced many variations— altering the tempi, the rhythms, the
patterns, introducing silences, etc. Eventually, we came to the point where I
would start the second sequence at the same time as the class was copying
my first sequence (i.e. overlapping sequences). This involves a great deal of
concentration, as well as eye-hand coordination and the ability to take turns.
It proved difficult for many students, including Benji and Beth — but they all
persevered. Some subsequently agreed to be the leader, and came up with
many creative patterns. We were becoming a cohesive group!

As both Benji and Beth received more praise and less criticism in music
therapy groups, other areas of their lives improved substantially as well. Many
teachers were reporting a more cooperative spirit in their classes. Benji was
able to wait for his turn; Beth was able to smile! And— they were being encour-
aged by their classmates! Not only these two adolescents, but the entire group
of cohorts were re-evaluating previously held beliefs.

Now I felt that the class was ready to tackle the subject of applause. Benji
and Beth were receiving their fair share; at this stage, I wanted to be certain
that it was justly earned. Unfortunately, applause is sometimes not a genuine
expression of appreciation; rather the pleasure is "in the activity of applauding
and not in what should have occasioned it." 44 If this type of applause is allowed
to persist in the classroom, a mood of carelessness and indiscrimination may
be encouraged, and this will impinge upon the working spirit being built. I
discussed with the class that applause is of worth only when it is a meaningful
expression of recognized accomplishment — then it is of great value for all.

Whereas the possibility of a Bar Mitzvah for Benji and a Bat Mitzvah for
Beth had at one time been but a remote and dismissed thought, it was now
becoming an exciting consideration. They entered their year's preparatory

44 Paul Nordoff and Clive Robbins. Music Therapy in Special Education, (Saint
Louis: Magnamusic-Baton, Inc.), 1983:45.

classes and proceeded in a reasonable fashion. I was in contact with their
teachers; when it was felt that either one needed a boost, they left school
early to work on their Bar/Bat Mitzvah portions before the rest of the class
arrived. I have found that this type of intervention is far more successful than
trying to catch up after the fact!

Benji and Beth went on to become Bar and Bat Mitzvah. Their pride was
palpable; their demeanor composed. I could sense their fellow students
applauding silently in an unheard roar of appreciation! And in all honesty,
I felt that every one of the students I taught in that class deserved to take
an offstage bow, for their remarkable journey had truly been the result of a
concerted effort.

Case C:
The sight-impaired chorister's story

Quite recently, I was asked by a member of the Cantors Assembly for my rec-
ommendations regarding a sight-impaired lady who wished to be a member
of the choir in that hazzan's synagogue. I would like to share this running
e-mail conversation in order to provide a global view of that which music
therapy can accomplish in the area of pedagogy, for teaching is at the heart
of choral directing, whether with children or adults.

QUESTION:

How many of you have had a blind congregant ask to join the choir? Two
years ago she asked to sing at High Holy Day services. She has some sight,
so I enlarged the music for a couple of pieces, but she wasn't able to read it. I
made recordings of what would be her part, but her pitch memory is not that
great. Obviously, she wouldn't be able to follow my conducting, and she is not
much of a musician, so that's a problem. We also do fairly complex music.
But it is a congregational choir for the most part, and she asked to join, or
rather she told me that she was joining. We do have a congregant manager.
She and I have discussed the problems and can figure out a way to avoid this
until August. But it will then be a problem once again. I'm thinking of making
a CD of her part for a couple of pieces and suggest she start slowly and learn
just those pieces for now. HELP!

ANSWER:

I am only too happy to offer whatever expertise I am able, off the top of my

head (yet, from the depths of my heart). Firstly, we bump right into a basic

difference between music therapy and music pedagogy. I must admit that
when I first entered the music therapy program, this concept provided me
with plenty to question... coming as I did from a performing and teaching
background. Now, I am perfectly "in tune" with this dichotomy between
therapy and pedagogy. Music pedagogy involves itself with the musical
outcome: pitch, range, tempo, etc., and with as much perfection as can be
achieved. With this in mind, it would probably be difficult to find a place for
this woman in the choir as you describe it. As you state, the "problem(s?)"
can be avoided until August, at which time the "problem(s?)" will resurface. Is
the fundamental concern about the choir or about the sight-impaired person
who wants to be a part of it? In music therapy, the individual is the primary
concern, and the music can be viewed as a type of catalyst to achieve certain
predetermined goals and objectives.

Musicality, per se, is not of particular importance, and the quality of the
music is never as important as the result for the individual. In fact, it is often
very difficult for trained musicians to relinquish the artistic aspects of music.
This is due to the fact that music initially activates the right side of the brain,
just above the ear. Subsequently, and only after the development of music
literacy, tonal discrimination, and performance interpretation, does the fron-
tal area of the left lobe begin to dominate the musical experience. I believe
researcher Don Campbell explains this phenomenon best when he states,
for five years I served as music critic for a newspaper. I was concerned
with the quality of performance, interpretation, and historical accuracy.
I remember many times when I was irritated with a performance that
fell short of my standards. Yet the person sitting next to me was having a
transformative experience through emotional rapport with the music. I
was the loser. My knowledge stood in the way of deeper, more powerful
aspects of the music. 5
As a music therapist, I know it is incumbent upon me to always keep in mind
that if the individual is putting forth her very best effort, that is "perfection"
My experience has been that, in general, when it comes to those with "dis-
abilities" within our Jewish community, we need to do some soul-searching!
I also believe that labeling an individual as "disabled" is not encouraging in
terms of further development and involvement. Rather, if we look at someone
such as this lady as a person with underdeveloped abilities, we are able to

45 Don G. Campbell. The Roar of Silence (Wheaton, 111: The Theosophical Publish-
ing House), 1990:66.

reach so much farther! If she is sincere in her desire to join the choir, then as
a music therapist it is my belief that the entire choir needs to take respon-
sibility in making this a most positive experience for all\ Although this lady
is deemed to have poor pitch memory, nevertheless, music is often a great
comfort and consolation to the blind and/or visually impaired. Philosopher
Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860) once stated, "Music is quite independent
of the visible world, is absolutely ignorant of it, and could exist in a certain
way if there were no world; which cannot be said of the other arts." 46

From a practical point of view, this woman should be placed between two
strong singers, somewhere in the centre of the section. If her sense of rhythm
is adequate, perhaps she could play a rhythmic instrument (if instruments are
a possibility) or clap in a demonstrative fashion. This might give her a sense
of having a "solo" of sorts. Perhaps she could introduce some of the music
and/or give a little "blurb" about some of the pieces. For example, at the out-
set of a particularly difficult piece, she could be standing at a distance from
the choir (but still in a prominent place) and speak about it — using Braille if
necessary— but not sing it.

Additionally, some of the other choir members might be encouraged to
work with her in excess of the regular rehearsals; this I strongly advocate,
for one of the primary objectives of music therapy is to promote socializa-
tion through the use of music. This can also provide feedback to the choir
members in terms of allowing them to examine their own reactions and
personal responses to this potential member. As for not being able to see
the conductor, perhaps someone standing next to this lady could tap out the
downbeat for her into her hand. Or, should the piece call for it, a swaying
motion by the choir would certainly aid in establishing the tempo for this
chorister. Choir members holding colorful ribbons (two persons per ribbon)
and moving them in some choreographed pattern could also help establish
the beat, while providing visual interest.

Sometimes, ear training and repetition of the various modes used in syna-
gogue music — especially the exotic-sounding Ahavah Rabbah: C-Db-E-F-G-
Ab-B-C— can prove helpful. Games might be improvised, such as each choir
member singing a different sequential note of that mode as it appears in a
particular piece of the choir's repertoire (even if the lady in question cannot
sing "her" note correctly, she will still benefit from the exercise.) You might
explain that because the Ahavah Rabbah mode sounds so typically Middle

46 The World as Will and Idea (1819), cited in Shapiro, An Encyclopedia of Quota-
tions about Music, 1977:198.

Eastern, it is the one chosen for the sound tracks of almost every epic biblical
movie. It is also heard in the seductive Bacchanale dance just before the final
climactic scene of the opera Samson et Dalilah.^ Interestingly, this can be
sung as a "nigun," without words.

You might suggest that choir members view adapting to this aspiring cho-
rister as teamwork rather than as dealing with a problem. It is a fact that in
the right formation, the lifting power of many wings can achieve twice the
distance of any bird flying alone.

I wholeheartedly endorse your idea of using recorded music to help this
person; I would record all of it, and encourage her to listen as often as pos-
sible. Without having had the pleasure of meeting with this woman, there is
no way for me to gauge her ego, her anxiety level, her musicianship (which, as
a music therapist, I find of far less importance than most of the other issues),
etc. Should stress or anxiety be an issue, the entrainment process would be
one to consider. The word "entrainment" finds its roots in the Isos ("equal")
principle of ancient Greece, a methodology expressed in Aristotle's dictum
that "like acts on like." He felt that "it is in rhythms and melodies that we
have the most realistic imitations of anger and mildness as well as of cour-
age, temperance and all their opposites of moral qualities generally. This we
see from experience, as it is by listening to such imitations that we suffer a
change within our souls." 48 In 1665 the Dutch physicist Christiaan Huygens
identified the entrainment process, and it was widely applied in mathemat-
ics and the biological and social sciences. Only in the 1990s did modern day
music therapists begin to apply an entrainment model in which rhythmic
processes within the listener synchronize with (i.e., entrain to) cues in the
external musical sound.

The music therapist (or in this case, the hazzan, choir leader or music
teacher) sings or plays a piece of strongly metered music, using tempi in the
range of 50-60 beats per minute, with the intention of encouraging entrain-
ment. Musical stimuli are deliberately kept relatively simple — and strongly
metered — so that they require little attentional energy to follow, and can
eventually serve as a "carrier" for other learning tasks. On the primary level,
music is matched directly to the physical or cognitive behavior of the client.
Once synchronized, modulation of the music causes change in personal
behaviors.

47 Camille Saint-Saens, "Bacchanale" from Samson et Dalilah (1877), EMI Angel
LP recording S-36210, Georges Pretre and the Paris Opera Orchestra, 1962.

48 J.C. Weldon, ed., The Politics of Aristotle (London: MacMillan), 1888, Book
5:237.

38

Neurologist Oliver Sacks picks up this thread, clearly illustrating the im-
portance of rhythmic modality when he writes that even those with extreme
problems in motor competency and great bewilderment are able to move
regularly to music. Sacks observed the same phenomenon in patients who
suffered from severe frontal lobe damage and could not walk, yet showed every
sign of normal intelligence. When motor sequences were done to musical
accompaniment these patients displayed perfect retention. He concluded that
music has the power to organize what purely abstract strategies cannot. 49
Don Campbell suggests that a

good music therapist often entrains with a client — that is, he or she makes
the same leap and matches the new rhythm, movements, and breath, thus
creating a reassuring continuum. Entrainment can lead to a profound
encounter between therapist and client. In general, the stronger party
sets the tone. But, like the law of gravity, entrainment involves a mutual
attraction and reciprocal response. 50

The therapist must strive to move at the pace of the client, with the objective
of eventually drawing him/her into a more balanced rhythm. Entrainment
offers an explanation as to how and why brain waves, heart rhythms, respira-
tion, emotional tone, timing, pacing, and other organic rhythms are affected
by the music to which one listens.

Research on regimens such as that described above has confirmed that
certain music will aid in relieving stress, facilitating relaxation, and develop-
ing a positive attitude. Usually, if the heart can be entrained to beat at about
60 beats per minute (professional athletes normally aim for about 72 beats
per minute), the person will enter a state of relaxation wherein learning can
take place at an optimal level. The slow movements of the great works of the
sixteenth-to-eighteenth century Baroque composers (Bach, Corelli, Handel,
Telemann, Vivaldi, to name but a few) are often somewhere in the vicinity of
60 beats per minute, and possibly some of the choir music in question might
be at this tempo. Perhaps this lady could be encouraged to listen to her re-
corded music at bedtime on a routine basis. ..subsequent to the entrainment
process.

49 Oliver Sacks. The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat (New York: Harper &
Row), 1985:185-186.

-> u Don G. Campbell. The Mozart Effect (New York, New York: Avon Books),
1997:125.

EXAMPLES FOR ENTRAINMENT:

Bach: Air on a G String, Suite No. 3

Boccherini: Minuetto, String Quartet in E, Opus 13, No. 5

Fasch: Guitar Concerto, 2nd Movement

Handel: Harp Concerto, 1st Movement

Haydn: Serenade Andante Cantabile, String Quartet in F, Opus 3, No. 5

Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 21, 2nd Movement

Schubert: Trout Quintet, 4th Movement (piano and strings)

Telemann: Concerto in D, Adagio (trumpet and strings)

Vivaldi: Four Seasons, Winter - Largo

Vivaldi: Flute Concerto in D, 2nd Movement

Vivaldi: Guitar Concerto in D, Largo

Zipoli: Adagio (cello, oboe, organ, and strings)
I know of a Bar and Bat Mitzvah teacher in Montreal (she passed away
a few years ago) who worked with blind and sight-impaired adolescents in
conjunction with a Braille teacher, and apparently these young people made
great strides. Perhaps a Braille expert could be consulted regarding this situa-
tion. I wonder if a student majoring in music might be willing to volunteer to
work with this lady as a means of gaining teaching experience. Or, perhaps a
music therapy student might work with her as part of the internship process
(in Canada, 1,000 hours of internship are required prior to accreditation.)

I think we need to be reminded from time to time of Plato's words: "Music
is a moral law. It gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the
imagination, a charm to sadness, and life to everything." 51 Do we have the
authority to exclude anyone from this experience who has the ambition and
desire to be a part of it?

RESPONSE:

This person teaches at a school for the sight and hearing impaired in the area
and is quite self-sufficient. She is a storyteller/maggid. If she thinks it is too
difficult to join the choir (I won't make the decision), the suggestion to have
her introduce pieces is a really good one. Thank you. 52

L Shapiro. An Encych utions about Music, 1977:237.

- Editor's note: The Cantors Assembly member, Hazzan Pamela Sawyer of Temple Israel
[Alameda, CA, appears to have struck gold partly as a result of this ongoing dialogue
ith Ava Lee Millman Fisher. The natural role of narrator — one of many expedients

40

Postlude

I would like to end where I began — in rondo fashion — by sharing with you
a little more about my eldest son. At three years of age, he commenced Su-
zuki 53 violin lessons. This method is based on the "Mother Tongue Approach"
wherein a child learns to play an instrument — totally by ear — just as he learns
his mother tongue. Later, he switched to the viola. Concurrently, he studied the
Orff 54 and Kodaly 55 early childhood music education methods (Orff focuses
on work with melodic and percussive instruments; Kodaly focuses on much
singing, plus learning to read music notation). This early music regimen helped
him (and also my other three sons) to develop an excellent ear — and this is not
to be underestimated! When the increasing tics made it impossible for him
to continue on the stringed instruments, he studied voice. He had progressed
in a reasonable manner; nevertheless, I felt that he had not undergone any
transformative experiences. He certainly had learned a great deal about the
elements of music— but did not really understand how this information could
or would help him cope with his particular existential life.

It was only when he commenced studying with the remarkable Torah
Reader and Bar/Bat Mitzvah teacher, David Rubin (who passed away during
the writing of this article), that he began to show visible excitement about
music in general, and synagogue music in particular. At this time his Tourette
ticks were significant (he was diagnosed one week prior to his Bar Mitzvah).
His developing interest in music prompted me to attend many cultural events
with him; ballets, operas, plays, symphonies, etc., and amazingly — during the
entire programs of the first three listed — most of his tics abated. Better yet,
when we attended a symphony concert, there was not one tic throughout
the entire evening!

I had to wonder if this had something to do with the power and purity of
the music being unobstructed by lyrics, dance movements, acting, etc. It was
brilliantly clear that each and every time we attended a symphony concert,
he was having an experience of ecstasy! I had heard and read about this phe-

suggested by our music therapist, and now hopefully embraced by her sight-impaired
lady chorister — gives evidence of turning into a joint venture that will have motivated
the group to enable one of their own, as well as themselves.
" Shinichi Suzuki. Nurtured By Love (Miami: Summy-Birchard Inc.) 1986.

54 Konnie Saliba. Accent on Or//~(Englewood Cliffs, N. J.: Prentice Hall) 1990.

55 Lois Choksy. The Kodaly Method (Englewood Cliffs, N. J: Prentice Hall) 1988.

nomenon — but during these concerts, I was witnessing it with my own eyes!
I had my own version of proof that music can be transcendent.

Music makes us larger than we really are, and the world more orderly
than it really is. We respond not just to the beauty of the sustained deep
relations that are revealed, but also to the fact of our perceiving them. As
our brains are thrown into overdrive, we feel our very existence expand
and realize that we can be more than we normally are, and that the world
is more than it seems. This is cause enough for ecstacy 56
Subsequently (after the tics had abated almost completely— with the help
of medication and music), my son became a knowledgeable volunteer for
the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. Appreciative of the significant role
music was now playing in his life, he suggested that he might be successful
in procuring complimentary "House" tickets for some of the adolescents
with whom I was working at the time. I agreed that this was a thoughtful
and delightful idea, and he did succeed in getting a number of tickets for an
afternoon concert.

I am a staunch believer in the Hierarchy of Human Needs theory pos-
ited by psychologist Abraham Maslow in 1954. This hypothesis states that
before aesthetic needs can be satisfied, physiological needs must be met. 57
One might visualize this as a pyramid. The needs at the base of the triangle
must be satisfied before an individual is able to focus on the next level, and
so forth— up to the pinnacle. Our most basic requirement is ion Physiological
Survival — drink, food, shelter, warmth. When this need is met, we are able to
address the next need, which is for Safety— security, stability, freedom from
danger, absence of threat. The individual then moves up the pyramid to the
next levels of need: Belonging — friends, peers, cohorts, business partners, col-
leagues, spouse. As one climbs this pyramid, the next level to be encountered
is Self-Esteem — achievement, mastery, recognition, respect. The level at the
very pinnacle of the pyramid is Self -Actualization — the ability to pursue in-
ner talent, creativity, and fulfillment Some theorists are of the opinion that
few individuals reach Self-Actualization.

I therefore explained to the group that at the completion of the concert
we would go to a nearby shop for donuts, juice, and chatter. I was hoping to
attract a few adolescents for whom I felt that aesthetics, which so many of

" Robert Jourdain. Music, the Brain, and Ecstasy, (New York: William Morrow and
Company, Inc.), 1997:331.

" W. Huitt, "Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs," Educational Psychology Interactive
(Valdosta, GA: Valdosta State University), 2004.

us take for granted, was greatly lacking in their lives. I had my eye on one
girl in particular— a recent Russian Jewish immigrant whom I suspected was
struggling greatly with her impoverished life (and I do not mean this in purely
a financial sense). She finally agreed to join the group — I believe more for
the promise of food than for any other reason. Off we went to the Orpheum
Theatre, the orchestra's gorgeous home. At the concert's conclusion, this
young lady was weeping profusely. My initial reaction was that symphonic
music had again woven its magic, and so, I requested that she tell me about
the thoughts and feelings she was experiencing. Through tears, she said — over
and over again— "I did not know people could do things like this; I never knew,
I never knew." I asked if she could tell me which piece or part of the music
had brought on such a response. Her answer: "The music was beautiful, but
it was not only the music; it was also the magnificently painted ceiling of the
Orpheum Theatre!"

This response caught me somewhat off guard! It also served to reinforce
the idea that, as musicians and educators, we have the ability and responsibil-
ity to open the door to so many potent and promising experiences for those
whom we serve. Sometimes, we may be privileged to open it into something
grander and more wondrous than we ever anticipated when we started out:
into ecstasy! As has often been said, music— particularly wordless music— does
seem to be the most immediate of all the arts, 58 and therefore the one most
often capable of inducing a state of ecstasy. This is huge! Ecstasy is more than
extreme pleasure; ecstasy melts the boundaries of our being, reveals our con-
nection with the external world, and engulfs us in emotions that are truly
immense. Ecstasy happens to ourselves. It is a transformation of the knower,
not simply a transformation of the knower 's experience. What greater gift
can we bequest to our students!

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Weldon, J. C, ed., The Politics of Aristotle, London: MacMillan, 1888, Book 5.

Ava Lee Millman Fisher is an accredited music therapist and a watercolor artist.
Along with a degree and diploma in Music Therapy, she also holds an associate
and a licentiate in Voice Performance, and a diploma in Music Education. She
currently serves as Music Therapy Consultant for the West Side Mental Health
Team— an affiliate of Vancouver Coastal Health— in Vancouver, British Columbia.
She welcomes any comments or queries regarding this article, avalee&telus.net .

Everyone is Physically Fit

by Lawrence A. Hoffman

What a difference a revolution makes. We Jews have managed many revolu-
tions in our history, but none is more far-reaching than the substitution of
the synagogue for the Temple, prayer for sacrifice, and rabbis for priests. In
the first few centuries C.E., the groundwork was laid for a Judaism that would
last (we pray) forever. How did we do it?

A revolution: that's how. Not militarily — by storming the barricades — but
conceptually.

Yes, we carried off a conceptual revolution, which is no where as clearly
proclaimed as in the radical rabbinic understanding of Parashat Emor (Le-
viticus 21:1-24:23).

Just a cursory look reveals fault lines between Judaism as the Bible saw it and
as we now practice it. The most striking evidence comes from the regulations
governing priestly physical requirements. In this age of wheelchair access and
attention to general disablement, it is difficult to imagine an earlier time when
the leaders of society, the priests, had to be physically perfect.

Yet that is the way it was.

"No one with a defect," says the Torah, "shall be allowed to offer God's
offering."

But many centuries before our own recognition of the injustice implicit
in this regulation, the rabbinic revolution already had ruled otherwise. The
Temple was gone, but the synagogue had survived. Synagogue was likened to
Temple; the central prayer called the Amidah was likened to sacrifice; prayer,
as the "offering of our lips" (Hosea 14:3), replaced the offering of animals; a
prayer leader called sheli'ah tsibbur took over the role of the priestly sacri-
fice; kohanim (priests) retained some symbolic recognition, but not much
more.

And the rule about defects got changed. One of the earliest responsa in
Jewish history is a ninth-century legal decision by the Gaon of Sura, Natronai
ben Hilai (Louis Ginzberg, Gaonica, volume I, 1909:119-120), permitting a
blind man to lead prayers.

"Defects"? The very word has problems. What is "defective" about someone
without sight or hearing, or with just one arm, not both? They may be unable
to perform precisely as most others do, but they do function in their own way,

and they may even function better in some areas of life: understanding the
human condition, perhaps; or acting with empathy toward others.

So the rabbis decided that the physical barriers to priestly status should
not apply to synagogue prayer leaders. I call that a revolution.

Behind their decision was a further insight. The priestly rule was an exten-
sion of the regulations that governed the sacrifices offered by priests. Every one
of the strictures on priests is paralleled by a similar stricture on the sacrificial
animals, offered up by the very fittest humans.

The rabbis denounced all of that. God wants the proper intentions: God
wants each of us to care, to wish, to hope, and to do what we can in the world,
regardless of whether we sit in a wheelchair, cannot read with university-level
understanding, or do not hear or see well.

That means God does not care, really, what our prayers are. Sure, we have
evolved a complex liturgy over the centuries. But what if some people are
not up for that? The Hasidim reminded us that God hears the prayers of all
of us, if they are well intentioned.

I am referring to the well known tale of an illiterate child who, as his form
of prayer, blows a whistle in the synagogue, leading the Baal Shem Tov — the
very founder of Hasidism — to proclaim the gates of heaven to open, as a result.
I once hated that story; I thought it disparaged knowledge as inconsequential.
But it didn't. I had missed the point.

It tells us that true prayer is not like true sacrifice. Sacrifice once had to be
with physically perfect animals, offered by physically (and mentally) perfect
priests. But prayer is different. The rabbis who revolutionized Judaism were
screaming a huge truth for us to hear. God does not judge our physical and
intellectual state. God (as we should have guessed) looks much deeper.

God looks into our soul. Yes, we do have one. It is not visible, measurable or
otherwise comparable to bodies and brains, but is what God cares about and
it is all that matters. We maybe unable to read the whole Amidah, even unable
to say the word amidah. The people who lead us in prayer may have missing
limbs, broken bones or distorted countenances. God does not care.

God, it turns out, is a revolutionary, enlisting us to continue a revolution
that still has a long way to go. Some legal opinion, for instance, still prohibits
prayer leaders whose disabilities might distract worshipers — the solution
for which, we ought to say, is not to punish the prayer leaders but to educate
the worshipers.

The rabbinic expectation that we treat the physically and mentally dis-
abled as the fully "ensouled" human beings they are, has yet to be played out
fully.

We can be the next revolutionaries.

If we are not, we have failed to be the Jews God and the rabbis wanted.

Rabbi Lawrence A. Hoffman, theBarbara and Stephen Friedman Professor of Liturgy,
Worship and Ritual at Hebrew Union College in New York, is an expert in the field
of Jewish ritual and spirituality. For over thirty years, he has combined research and
classroom teaching with a passion for the spiritual renewal of North American Juda-
ism. He is the editor of the ten-volume series, My People's Prayerbook: Traditional
Prayers; Modern Commentaries; and The Way into Jewish Prayer (Jewish Lights
Publishing, Woodstock, VT). This article first appeared in The Jewish Week of April
26, 2002, and is reprinted here with permission.

Jewish Views on Disability: The Mosaic Example

by Scott M. Sokol

A few years ago, walking to shul on a cold New England morning, I slipped
on the ice and sprained my wrist. This resulted in my wearing a hand splint
for a couple of weeks. During Kiddush the next Shabbat, a congregant came
up to me to express his concern over my hand. Once I told him it was fine,
he commented half in jest, "you know, if you were a Kohen, you wouldn't be
allowed to serve." He was referring to the prohibition of participating in the
Temple Service to ba'alei moom, those with blemishes, a text which we'll ex-
amine in a moment. As it happens, this was a very knowledgeable congregant,
a physicist who happened also to be an expert on bible and liturgy.

The irony of his comment did not escape me; it was ironic because despite
this individual's own scholarship and erudition, he is also profoundly hearing
impaired and as such would himself be excluded from serving as a ritual func-
tionary according to the strictest halakhic interpretations. In a similar vein, I
once heard a story on the radio about a rabbi who was visiting a community
the day of the yahrtseit of one of his parents. He constituted the tenth member
of the minyan, but still the sheliah tsibbur waited to begin. When the visiting
rabbi asked what the hold-up was about, he was told that he could not be
counted in the minyan because he was deaf. His status as a rabbi apparently
didn't enter the equation nor innoculate against this exclusion.

And of course, these examples from the deaf-and-hearing impaired are just
one of several domains of disability which often place people on the fringes of
the Jewish community. In my own synagogue until quite recently, our facility
was not handicap-accessible, which prevented untold numbers of congregants
(including our revered rabbi emeritus) from entering the building.

More broadly, the issue of our faith's accessibility to Jews with disability is an
issue of great concern to all of us, and particularly to me as a sheliah tsibbur.
I therefore welcome this opportunity to engage our tradition on the topic of
disability, beginning with a detailed look at the verses on ba'alei moom that I
just referenced. In Leviticus 21:16-21 we encounter the following text:

And God spoke to Moses saying: Speak to Aaron, saying: any man of
your offspring throughout the generations who has a blemish cannot
come forward to make an offering to God. For every man on whom there
is a blemish shall not come forward — including the blind, the lame, the
flat-nosed or one with a shortened limb. Or a man who has a fractured
leg or hand. Or crook-backed, or a dwarf, or who has a blemish in his
eye, or has scurvy, or is scabbed or has a testicular injury. No man of the

50

seed of Aaron the priest who has a blemish shall come close to offer the
offerings of the Lord made by fire. He has a blemish; he shall not come
near to offer the bread of his God.

The commandment repeats in slightly different form a total of three times,
as if once weren't enough. And the commentators tell us that this is not even
intended to be an exhaustive list, since the restriction is understood to include
any discernible blemish.

So what exactly is intended here? The restriction itself appears pretty
clear, and from the sound of it, seemingly pretty yet, there must be some
message aside from wanting our priests to be worthy of adorning the cover
of GQ. Why must these blemished priests, these full-blooded Kohanim be
excluded from Holy Service?

Samson Raphael Hirsch, in his Torah commentary, tries to provide an
answer. He states that the analogy one can draw is to animals who are not
acceptable as sacrificial offerings, due to their own blemishes. Anything that
comes before God must be as perfect as we can find. But the regulation goes
beyond mere aesthetic beauty. The need for near-perfection has to do with
what sacrifices are all about. The Hebrew word for sacrifice is korban, which
derives from the root meaning "to draw near." Sacrifices are therefore the way
in which human beings drew near to God in the days before and while both
Temples stood. Not only do we want those things by which we draw near to
God to be perfect aesthetically, but also physically and spiritually, because
only if we are willing to sacrifice that which is whole and vital are we truly
making a sacrifice. Hirsch puts it this way:

Life and strength, not death and weakness, live at the Altars of God. They
demand the surrendering of the whole human being to make man flourish
in every phase of human life.
And then Hirsch cites what he takes to be a proof-text of this opinion, a
text which coincidentally or not comes from Parashat BeShalah (Exodus
15:36).

"If you will diligently hearken unto the voice of your God, and do what
is right in His eyes, and give ear unto His commandments and observe
all his statutes, then all of the illness that I placed within Egypt I will not
place upon you, for I am the Lord your Healer." So runs the very first
sentence on the meaning and the power of God's laws; if you give up the
whole of your life to fulfilling the whole of God's Laws, then these laws
will be the best prophylactic medicine against all physical and social ills
which oppress the rest of mankind, this Torah will protect you: ki ani
Adonai rof'ekha (for I am the Lord, your Healer). And it is this promise

— and the conditions attendant to it — which priests and offerings have
continuously to illustrate and give a clear idea of, in the Sanctuary of this
Torah. That is why it must be perfect, complete men — not ba'alei moom

— who have to perform the offerings in the Sanctuary of this Torah... for
a "broken man" cannot represent Man in the proximity of God.

Perhaps, then, there is some rationale for this law that goes beyond surface
beauty. And yet, I am still not satisfied. I'm not satisfied because although I
very much value the aesthetically pleasing and the notion oihiddur mitzvah
("beautifying the observance of a commandment"), I do not automatically
equate blemish — or more to the point— disability, with inability to serve
God. Put another way, just as disability is by definition not the norm, neither
is perfection. And this is the crux of the point I would like to bring out in
this article.

Judaism is a religion that values all individuals, and indeed has more
safeguards than most to protect those who might be easy societal prey. In
addition to the usual strictures about protecting the stranger, the orphan, and
the widow, we also know that we are supposed to protect and respect those
with disability. Consider the very famous following text:

You shall not insult the deaf or place a stumbling block before the blind.
But fear your God, I am the Lord. (Leviticus 19:14).

Most people think of the prohibition in this pasuk (verse) against putting
a stumbling block in front of the blind as representing a halakhic principle,
that is, that we should avoid piskei halakhah — legal rulings — that might
cause those who don't understand a halakhah to violate it. But let's consider
this pasuk in its original form. Why are we told not to insult the deaf or to
put a stumbling block before the blind?

The obvious answer is that those are bad things to do. But why are they
particularly bad? They are particularly bad to my mind because they are cow-
ardly acts. They harm the victim, and the perpetrator remains anonymous,
at least to the victim. They are also acts which, by their very nature, cannot
be defended against by the victim. That is, the deaf victim may not know that
she has even been insulted, yet there will be an effect felt, perhaps harming
her character. Or in the case of the blind, he will not know that something
has been purposely placed in his path to harm him. He may just think he was
clumsy, thus damaging his self-image as well as his body. And again, he can't
defend himself against an unseen offender.

The pasuk warns, however, that although the victim may not know who
caused him harm, God certainly does. We are thus told not to commit these
acts, but rather to fear God, the One Who sees and hears all things.

It is important to note the fact that this law being "on the books" in Torah
implies that such dastardly acts were not uncommon in the cultures sur-
rounding Israel. Remember that many of the moral laws in the Torah are
there to set Israel apart from the evils perpetrated by those around them:
child sacrifice; sexual vices; and idol worship. Thus, Jewish law is taking a
stand on the issue of the treatment of those with disability. They are to be
treated humanely and respectfully.

The Babylonian Talmud (Shekalim, 15a) relates a story on this very point
about the noted sage, Rabbi Hoshayah, who apparently had hired a blind
tutor for his son

Rabbi Hoshayah was accustomed to dine with the teacher every day
to honor him. One time, he had guests and did not come to dine with
the teacher. In the evening, Rabbi Hoshayah went up to the teacher to
apologize, saying to him "please Master, do not be angry with me. I had
guests today who do not know you, and I said to myself that they should not
dishonor my Master on this day [i.e., on account of the tutor's disability].
For that reason, I did not dine with you today." The blind teacher said to
him, "You have appeased one who is seen but cannot see; may He Who
sees but cannot be seen accept your appeasement."
The Talmud goes on to relate a similar story (with paraphrased tag) about
Rabbi Eliezer who is said to have sat each day next to another blind man in
a submissive position so that others said "If this were not a great man, then
Rabbi Eliezer would not be sitting beneath him." As a result of the honor
Rabbi Eliezer had bestowed upon the blind man, the community provided
that individual with a source of livelihood. When the man realized the reason
for his sudden good fortune, he said to Rabbi Eliezer, "You have bestowed
kindness upon one who is seen but cannot see; may He Who sees but cannot
be seen bestow kindness upon you."

These aggadic passages help us a bit with our current questions. The first
story about the blind teacher points out one of the reasons often cited for not
letting blemished priests serve, that is, mar' it ay in — others' perceptions of
individuals or situations. In this case, mar 'it ay in refers to the fact that others
might perceive those with disability not to be worthy to serve, regardless of
their actual abilities. It takes a rare individual the likes of a Rabbi Hoshayah
or Rabbi Eliezer to see past the disability to the more important qualities a
person possesses. More generally, we learn from these stories that Judaism

requires us to treat all individuals with respect and consideration. Finally, the
stories reiterate the caveat from Leviticus 19 quoted above — that God sees
what others may not be truly "seeing," that God is the ultimate judge in matters
of behavior bein adam la-havero ("between one person and another").

But what about the issue of leadership? Even if we limit Temple service to
the unblemished, what does our tradition say about the possibility of other
forms of Jewish leadership for the disabled? Quite a lot, actually. Indeed, the
issue of disability and leadership is confronted in the story of none other than
Moses, the greatest of all our leaders. In Parashat Shemot, Moses expresses
his reluctance to act as the Israelites' spokesperson before Pharaoh. His ex-
change with God is one from which I think we can learn a great deal, and is
the last of the texts I'd like to consider Exodus 4:10-12):

And Moses said to the Lord, "Please, God, I have never been a man of
words, not yesterday nor the day before, nor will I be one now that you
have spoken to Your servant, because I am of heavy lip and tongue." And
God said to him, "Who placed the lips upon man or who makes one mute
or deaf, seeing or blind? None but Myself, God. Now go, and I will be with
you as you speak and I will teach you what to say."
This passage implicitly teaches several important lessons. First, it asserts
the critical Jewish value reflected in many rabbinic teachings that we are
expected to emulate God's ways. For example, we are told that we must visit
the sick, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, etc., because God does all these
things (Babylonian Talmud, Sotah, 14a). In the same way, this passage implies
that we must help those with disability to see beyond their apparent handicap
and help them learn how to compensate and/or accommodate in order to
lead fulfilling and successful lives (i.e., "and I will be with you as you speak
and I will teach you what to say"). I believe this passage serves as a proof-text
for the mitzvah to provide special education.

The second — more general — point I believe is equally important, though
it is also theologically more difficult .It has to do with God's hand in disability.
This text asserts (with no equivocation) that God is the cause of disability
just as He is the cause of ability. It says, "who makes one mute or deaf, seeing
or blind? None but Myself, God." This statement is comforting and provoca-
tive at the same time. The history of human response to disability is fraught
with misplaced blame and guilt. How many parents of disabled children
have asked if they somehow caused (genetically, environmentally or other-
wise) their child's disability? The scientific community and society at large
also contribute to these views. Let's not forget, for example, that autism was
thought for years to be the fault of bad mothering. Placing the responsibility

for disability firmly on God's shoulders removes the guilt (at least on some
level) and admits our lack of control over such vagaries in life. But at the
same time, it begs the question of why? Why would God purposely create
individuals with disability?

One answer might be that it is a reminder of what we each subconsciously
know — that we are all flawed, that we all have limitations, and that our purpose
is to live the best lives we can, despite those limitations. That's an important
lesson, but I think an overly simplistic reading of this passage.

To get at what might be a more satisfying answer, we need to think about
the development of Moses' leadership and of his character, from this point
in Shemot all the way to Parashat BeShalah and Moses' Song at the Sea

— Shirat haYam. Moses' task was an impossibly difficult one, but one which
he ultimately accomplished: to bring a downtrodden slave people up and out
of their physical and spiritual bondage, and to defeat the inclinations of an
evil Pharaoh all at the same time. Moses accomplished all of this and more,
and it would be natural when one is so unusually successful as Moses proved
to be, to think that all or at least a significant part of the success was due to
his own innate abilities — his dynamism, his zeal, his leadership skills. And
that is perhaps why God chose Moses, a man with an obvious speech and
language impairment. The choice underscores the fact that it is God's might
that brought about the miracles surrounding the Exodus from Egypt, not
Moses' ability to overcome Pharaoh's will through his oratory or dynamism.
In other words, it is the fact of Moses' disability itself that makes it less likely
for him to be seen as the cause of the Israelites' victory. This is also the im-
plicit rationale for Moses not being mentioned even once in the redemptive
story of the Haggadah during the Passover Seder. The emphasis is on divine

— not human — agency.

Considered in this way, there is a very important lesson to be learned here.
The biblical view of Moses' disability inverts the typical (albeit incorrect)
perception that one who is disabled is somehow unable to serve as well as
someone without disability.Indeed, in this instance it is Moses' disability
that serves God, at least in large part.Moreover, the story of Moses' ultimate
success stands as an historic reminder that disability need not be equivalent
to handicap, and that we must look past apparent disability in appreciating
a person's true worth.If God had not chosen Moses with all of his imperfec-
tions, we never would have benefited from his critical leadership, and we
might still be living in the straits of Mitsrayim. 1

1 The Hebrew name for Egypt — Mitsrayim, unvocalized in Torah scrolls — can also
be read as metsarim: "a distressful place."

55

From this perspective we can now confront Shirat haYam in a new light.
When Moses exclaims

Ozi ve-zimrat yah vayhi li liyshuah

The Lord is My Strength and Song,

and He has become my salvation,
we perceive a fresh nuance in his exultation. God was Moses' strength when
he had none, the One Who said "I will teach you how to accomplish what
you need to accomplish." God had confidence in him when Moses had none
in himself, and ultimately God's confidence enabled Moses not only to speak
but to sing.

The preamble to Shirat haYam states

Az yashir Moshe u-venei Yisrael et ha-shirah ha-zot la'Adonai

Thus sang Moses and the children of Israel this song to God.
The commentators observe: this statement comes to teach us that all of Israel
sang to God along with Moses. In a comment on a related passage Rabbi David
Kimkhi (RaDaK) states that it is incumbent upon each of us to compose and
sing our individual song of praise to God for each miracle that He has per-
formed for us.No two songs will therefore ever be the same.Each person has
his or her own voice, and it's no doubt true that not every voice will appear on
the surface to be as beautiful as every other one.Yet, this fact does not release
us from the responsibility to sing, to learn and to serve.May each of us come
to find our unique voice, and together may our human chorus come to serve
as a true korban, drawing us nearer to God's divine eminence.

Hazzan Scott M. Sokol, PhD, MSM and immediate past editor of the Journal of
Synagogue Music, is dean of the Jewish Music Institute and director of both the
Cantor-Educator Program and the Special Education Program at Hebrew College.
He serves as part-time cantor at Temple Beth Shalom in Framingham, MA.This
piece was presented —in slightly different form — as a devar Torah on Shabbat
Shir ah.

Bar/Bat Mitzvah Training for Special Needs—
A Case in Point

by Ruth L.Ross

I recently had the privilege of working with a handicapped child who was
preparing for Bar Mitzvah. This was a young man who suffers from a genetic
defect that allows him almost no voluntary movement, and what movement
he can manage is fairly uncontrolled. He and his younger brother were to
celebrate their religious coming of age in one day, and I had two goals for
each boy.

For the older boy I wanted to make sure that his voice would be heard; he
does not speak but he can vocalize. As I worked with him it became clear
that he could in fact match a pitch or an interval intentionally, but only after
trying for a period of fifteen or twenty minutes. For the purposes of the ser-
vice we moved to plan B. I recorded the trills, scales and grunts he produced,
and brought them to a sound engineer. The engineer isolated the pitches and
created a CD with the Shema melody in this boy's voice. He really did it as a
deed of loving-kindness; the charge was in no way reflective of the time he
spent. We played that recording during the Torah service; you could hear a
pin drop.

My second goal for this young man was to get the boy's father to let go of the
wheelchair. He is an exceptionally dedicated Dad, his son's primary caregiver,
and he often speaks on his son's behalf. It took a lot of gentle encouragement
to persuade him that his job at the Bar Mitzvah ceremony was to sit by his
wife and kvell; on that day the community would take this boy in as their own.
The Torah service was a beautiful illustration of that. We bound our smallest
scroll to the tray of the wheelchair and as we walked around the synagogue
and the congregation patted and stroked his shoulders and head, it was as
though he was being passed from hand to hand.

For the younger boy I also wanted two things. Obviously, I wanted him to
be as well prepared as any of my students. But in addition, it was very impor-
tant to me that his day not be overshadowed by his brother's. I spoke to him
often about that, and I told him how much I respected him and how much the
congregation admired him for his decision to share the day with his brother
in such a kind and caring way. He went far beyond our shul's requirements
for leading services, and he clearly felt that this was his day, too.

Finally, I was looking for a way to provide the family with a sense of dig-
nity, something that is so often lacking when home life revolves around a
handicapped family member. We removed several rows of seats, set up a
low-standing podium so that both boys could be seen, and used an additional
Ark on the floor level so both boys could be involved in taking out and put-
ting away the scrolls. We did everything we could think of to make the place
accessible, and it paid off in spades.

The family was thrilled, the congregation was deeply moved, and I would
do it again a heartbeat. What a wonderful experience!

Ruth Landau Ross is hazzan at Temple Beth El, the largest Conservative synagogue
in Maine. She lives in Portland with her husband David and four children: Samuel,
Mierka, Nathan and Abraham.

Training Children with Pitch Problems for Bar/Bat
Mitzvah

by Sam Weiss

Rather than encourage children with pitch problems to read their entire
haftarah in a monotone instead of chanting it, I would teach them at the
very least to phrase the words in appropriate trope groups, pause variously
at Katon, Etnahta and Sof Pasuk, as well as count the number of pulses on
different syllables — so that the distinction between melismatic and syllabic
tropes is communicated. Recognizing these characteristics, I believe, is much
more essential to chanting than is the singing of correct pitches.

To take this issue a step further, in thirty years of teaching B'nei and B'not
Mitzvah I have not had a single tone-deaf student (including several with
Down's Syndrome) whose actual singing I could not improve to some degree.
The challenge lies in enabling them to create different pitches without the aid of
tone imitation, often the one tool that they lack. (Certain true monotones may
lack the physical ability to modulate their voice altogether, which is definitely
a special case.) My normal approach is built on the following four steps.

1- Strengthening their ability to distinguish loud from soft, which I
gradually carry over into distinguishing and reproducing different
pitches via their intonation of English sentences. Simulating the
process of calling someone in another room is very useful, since
even among tone-deaf children this increase in volume is almost
always accompanied by a rise in pitch. Having them listen closely
to their own intonation of English sentences (with syllable stresses
within individual words as well as tonal variations that indicate
surprise, disdain, inquiry, etc.) is the next step in developing their
sense of pitch.

2- Relating pitch changes to physical sensations in their throat rather
than to sounds — not unlike the process of sensitizing a singer to
different vocal registers— and then forcing them to sing everything
in a "skinnier" voice. Often, tone-deaf children can hear pitch
differences in another's voice, but they can't hear it in their own.
This ability improves radically once they hear themselves "sing" in a
register even slightly different from their normal speaking voice.

3- Totally abandoning the terms "high" and "low" in favor of skinny/
thick, light/heavy, girl/man, etc. Thus I will ask them to imitate a

woman's voice, followed by a man's voice. Or I may ask, "What is
the skinniest sound you can make?"
4- Using body motions like standing/sitting, arm-raising/lowering
to accompany singing. (Cheironomy meets Kodaly.) With many
students the arm motions become a regular feature of their singing,
and I advise them to do it at home as well.

I would take a different approach with children who have the ability to
hear pitch differences but cannot transfer that ability to their own singing. It
is unfortunate that in common parlance this rather mild condition is often
given the name "tone deaf." (This mild condition becomes more and more
typical with each and every year that American Pop music continues to be
an exercise in rhythm and volume rather than melody.) A more useful term
for this average type of student would be "poor singer," keeping in mind that
no matter how poor a singer, this is not a tone-deaf child.

The distinction between these two cases is analogous to the difference
between not knowing the words "aquamarine, turquoise, emerald, olive," and
being color blind. Our job is to distinguish between the two cases. As any good
voice teacher would tell us, thinking of pitches in terms of "up and down" or
"high and low" only relates to reading Western musical notation. It may make
some sense when playing an instrument (but why shouldn't a pianist think of
"right and left"?) and is essentially irrelevant to singing— and disadvantageous
to the professional singer. These terms are quite arbitrary, so that, by testing
a child on them we may really only be testing their vocabulary.

With a "poor singer" I will therefore do quite a bit of falsetto work (including
recording their assigned parts in falsetto) to help them recognize different vo-
cal registrations. In my earlier teaching I would ask children to sing something
they knew (like "Row, Row, Row your Boat"); these days it is miraculous if
they can sing anything exceeding a range of three or four notes— the typical
"scale" of music that they are regularly exposed to. This is why many are so
afraid of singing "high" (i.e., normally), and why I often teach and record in
falsetto for a few sessions.

I believe the fruits of such labors are much more rewarding to the child, to
the family and to the teacher, than having a musical student merely do what
comes naturally.

Sam Weiss, hazzan of the Jewish center in Paramus, NJ, is a recitalist, lecturer and
Jewish Music consultant in the fields of liturgical, Yiddish andhasidic song. His article,
"Congregational Singing in Hasidic Synagogues" appeared in the 2005 Journal.

Planning to Succeed in Teaching Prayer and Song
in Afternoon Religious Schools

by Sheldon Levin

Teaching songs and prayers in Afternoon Religious Schools succeeds or fails
from congregation to congregation. In the Conservative Movement each
congregational afternoon school is a separate entity. The Education Depart-
ment of United Synagogue does not require that every school teach the same
prayers or songs. While many schools have well-developed curricula, others
have few guidelines for their teachers. In some schools, teachers select which
prayers or songs they will review or introduce each year. In other congregations
the Cantor, Educational Director, Rabbi or Education Committee carefully
oversees what prayers and/or songs they expect the children to learn.
Why teach prayer and music?

With the number of Afternoon Religious School hours so limited, educators
and lay leaders must make difficult decisions regarding what to teach and
what not to include. For most American congregations, synagogue partici-
pation is a very high priority. The Hebrew that is taught is rarely meant for
conversation, but used instead to familiarize the students with prayers and
blessings. The more comfortable the children are with leading prayers and
participating in congregational services the better they tend to do with Bar
and Bat Mitzvah skills. These skills will hopefully carry them into becoming
participating adults as well.

The question of music is more controversial. When children spend a few
minutes a week singing Israeli or Holiday songs, is this time taken away from
Bible or Hebrew text study well spent? The more children enjoy coming to
Religious School, the better they will learn. Students will be positively im-
pacted through the time they spend singing. Through Israeli songs they will
help develop a closer affinity with the people and country of Israel. Through
Ruah songs they will be able to joyfully and energetically participate at sum-
mer camps, youth group activities, Religious School assemblies and programs.
Some children will learn more Hebrew vocabulary through the songs they
sing voluntarily than from the texts they will be required to read.

From Holiday selections they will be encouraged to celebrate Jewish cer-
emonies and will remember many historical and cultural facts. From musical
programs, choir concerts, skits and plays based on Jewish themes, and quality
age-appropriate songs, the children will feel pride in their people. Parents
generally experience great joy when seeing their children perform; concerts

featuring the kids are usually the best attended programs at any shul. And if
the congregation should present a Cantorial concert with its children's choir
singing a few songs — by themselves and/or with the cantors — even better!
The children and their parents will learn to appreciate that repertoire as well.
I have often heard that "a singing school is a happy school" and I sense that
a school without any music would indeed be a sad one. Hopefully, the joy-
ful spirit that the students feel about being Jewish through the songs of our
people will remain with them through their teen and adult lives.
Why have prayer-or-song goals?

This article discusses goals for each grade of the school. Yet, it does not
prescribe a curriculum, which implies detailed guidelines of what to teach
and how to teach it. The "goals" simply list the prayer or song that is to be
covered, without stating how they are to be taught. If we have no goals, there
is no way of insuring that children will learn a wide breadth of prayers and
songs and it is likely that many important prayers or songs will not be cov-
ered. A famous axiom states: "Those who fail to plan, plan to fail." Without
a carefully crafted plan as to which prayers or songs will be taught in which
school years, chances are some will be reviewed many times and others will
not be taught at all.
Do we already have set curricula?

In the last few years, the Jewish Theological Seminary Education Department
has been testing a curriculum for Middle School age students. The Etgar
("challenge") Project was, in large part, co-authored by Cantor Marcy Wagner,
under the direction of Dr. Steven Brown, Dean of the Davidson School of
Education. This clearly designed curriculum, which includes detailed lesson
plans, as well as broad goals, is being tested in twenty afternoon schools.
When the Seminary and United Synagogue Education Department, together
with leaders of the Jewish Educators Assembly, have studied the results of the
work of these pilot schools, the plan is to offer this program to all afternoon
Religious Schools.

In 1974 the United Synagogue Education Department published a com-
prehensive set of curricula, know as the Rainbow Curriculum. Each school
was to select one area of expertise to spend most of the limited afternoon
Religious School hours. Each section was in a different color, thus the "Rain-
bow" name. Dr. Saul Wachs, a graduate of the Cantors Institute, wrote the
lessons for schools that selected prayer as their primary focus. Through
teaching prayer the students would also learn Hebrew skills, Israel identity
and Jewish history. Very few schools have accepted the premise and though

this curriculum includes brilliant ideas, it has not brought the many schools
of our Movement together.

The United Synagogue has recently developed the Framework For Excel-
lence models. There are several ways a school can include enough hours or
programs to be considered a "Framework" school. One school might meet
six hours, three days each week while another school meets two days but in-
cludes a monthly Shabbaton. Some schools meet fewer hours in the primary
grades but retain more students in a well-designed Hebrew High School.
Each school accepted in the Framework must demonstrate the quality of its
programs, curricula, staff, lay and professional leadership (including the role
of the Hazzan in the school). The Framework includes suggested curricular
goals for many subject areas. There are no specifics for song goals, and the
prayer goals are very general ("Students should learn Shabbat Evening and
Morning Prayers"). Those generalities need to be defined, and the Education
Committee of the Cantors Assembly has volunteered to help write specific
prayer goals. We will be working with leaders of the Education Department
of both the United Synagogue and the Jewish Theological Seminary to further
set those goals nationally.
What is currently being taught?

While many schools do have carefully crafted prayer goals for each grade of
their schools, many others do not. It is often left to each teacher to decide
what is taught. Some teachers have more interest in teaching prayer than do
others. If a student has a teacher who is non-observant, he or she may spend
an entire school year and learn no new prayer texts, meanings or skills. In a
school that has three different "Aleph" classes, it is possible that each group
of children will learn different prayers, depending on their teacher's expertise
and interests.

In many congregations the curriculum follows the textbooks that are used.
Each publisher or text author decides which tefillot are included in which
years. A school that uses Torah Aura's S'fatai Tiftah series teaches different
prayers than a school that uses Berhman House's Hineni textbooks and mate-
rials. These and other texts include many prayers, but clearly, our Movement
lacks consistency from school to school.
Moving from place to place

In today's mobile society it is not unusual that a family will move several
times during their children's school years. It would be ideal to know that a
child who attended a Religious School in New York through second grade
would be ready to enter third grade in a new home in Nevada. Similarly, a

student who completed fifth grade in California would hopefully learn enough
Hebrew and prayer skills to easily transfer to a congregation in Pennsylvania
for sixth grade.

Ideally, when children attend Camp Ramah or a USY encampment or
summer programs, they will have learned the same prayer skills and songs
that are taught in a Conservative Afternoon Religious School (Day School
students will always have more opportunities to learn more skills, prayers
and songs).

Anecdotally, it is embarrassing how little Afternoon Religious School stu-
dents learn or remember past their Bar/Bat Mitzvah celebrations. This past
year I served as one of the chaperones on a trip to Washington for Jewish
students, run by Panim El Panim to instill ethical values. Of the sixty stu-
dents in our group — from ten different Conservative Afternoon Religious
Schools — only one school's eleventh and twelfth graders were able to chant
the complete BirkhatHaMazon, lead a morning service or chant Torah parts.
Most of those kids honed their skills at USY encampments or Wheels trips
around the country or to Israel. Clearly, more of our Afternoon Religious
Schools and Hebrew High Schools can be doing a better job of teaching these
prayers and skills.
Keva or Kavvanah?

One obstacle we face with a fixed set of prayer-or-song goals is how to avoid
monotony and find opportunities for teaching new melodies. In 1992 the
Reform Movement published its Manginot curriculum with specific songs
to teach in certain age ranges. In 2004 Reform totally revised the list of selec-
tions and published materials in Manginot Volume II. Some songs that were
deemed as essential a few years earlier were removed and conversely, some
new songs have recently been composed that the publishers now believe
should be included.

How can a school — or a movement — select which prayers and songs to
include and which do not make the cut? The Cantors Assembly Education
Committee has begun surveying the current practices in Conservative after-
noon schools and hopes in the next year to work together with leaders of the
United Synagogue and the Jewish Theological Seminary in listing which age
appropriate prayers should be taught in all of our congregational schools.

How do we keep the classes interested, yet cover all of the needed materials?
One solution for teaching prayers is to expose the students to more then one
melody (if multiple tunes are available). For example, the third graders could
learn the Le wandowsky melody for Lekha Dodi while the fourth graders learn

a different setting of the same prayer, by Craig Taubman. Fifth graders could
learn a hasidic version. Then, for a monthly Family Service, the older grades
could help select which tune they wished to use that month.

This same system could apply to many other prayer texts. Besides helping
to review the text while keeping the learning process fresh, it offers several
other positive benefits. If children visit another congregation, chances are
they will be able to more easily participate, regardless of which tunes are
used. If students go to a summer camp or USY program they will similarly
feel included. When they become adults they will hopefully not say, "Cantor,
you are using the wrong tune," since they will have discovered early on that
there are at least three different settings for many of the prayers.

For song goals, there should be a basic list of Holiday and Israel songs that
the younger grades are taught, and additional ones taught as the students
mature. By Middle School the kids should be able to pick from a list whatever
songs they wish to sing. This helps empower them. Teachers or cantors could
then alternate between the new selections they wanted to teach (or old ones
they felt needed reviewing) and the choices made by the students. Schools
could present a special Holiday or Israel concert to perform either the new
selections or the students' favorites, or a combination of the two.
What to do until we have national goals?

Since the process I've outlined above is far from complete, it is premature
to list prayer or song goals at this time. We hope within a year to be able to
share these lists with all cantors and educational directors. Until communal
standards are accepted and adopted, I would encourage each Religious School
to design a list of prayer and song goals that works for its situation. One could
start with the textbooks that are currently in use, looking at the prayers that
are included there. Then one could brainstorm with teachers, rabbi and
cantor concerning which prayers must be completed by seventh grade, and
work to teach some of these each year. It is important to review prayers and
songs taught in previous years, or students will forget them. If they learn the
Shabbat evening Kiddush in third grade but never sing it at home or in school
again, they will need to re-learn it for their Bar/Bat Mitzvah service. It would
be better to find opportunities to sing the Kiddush every year many times.

It is also helpful to share the list of prayers and songs that one compiles
with faculty and parents. Each class might post a chart listing their prayer
and/or song goals for the year, with places for each child to "get a star" when
he or she can read or chant that prayer or song. Weaker students who needed

extra help could work with a teen or adult volunteer, CD player or hevrutah
partner to learn the prayers that proved difficult for them.

Students need many opportunities to use these prayers in actual services.
Schools should plan Junior Congregation, Family Services, Shabbatonim,
Youth Group programs, Class Services and in-school prayer experiences. For
the songs, Zimriyot (Song Festivals), concerts, assemblies and community
or school-wide programs can be planned for holiday-and-Israel oriented
events. Sing-Downs (song contests) can be played in school to excite kids
about singing Hebrew songs. Regular Ruah programs are easily scheduled
in school, with lots of enthusiastic singing. Exciting music can be played in
halls and classrooms (the Spirit Series CDs, with an entire CD devoted to
one theme, are great for this purpose).

I've tried to show that the congregational Afternoon Religious School en-
joys many opportunities to turn children on to prayer and song. As we work
toward a unified set of goals for all of our congregations, we can hope that
each school will do its best to teach as many prayers and songs as wonder-
fully as it can.

A Past President of the Cantors Assembly, Sheldon Levin is Hazzan at Neve Shalom
Congregation in Metuchen, NJ, and Principal of its Afternoon Religious School.
He chairs the Assembly's Committee on Education and has edited seven books on
Jewish Music and Music Education. He taught for over two decades at the Solo-
mon Schechter Day School in Philadelphia and served as Rosh Tefillah and Rosh
Musikah at Camp Ramah in the Poconos.

Masters of the London Blue Book— Marking 350 Years
Since the Resettlement of Jews in England

by Charles Heller

David Kusevitsky once summarized his experiences as a hazzan in London:
"They had a blue book that they gave you, and they tell you, 'use it as much as
possible.'" 1 (This was just one of several perceived indignities, which included
having to leyn and having to take direction from the choirmaster.)

It is the mysterious "blue book" that I wish to discuss here. Although the
printers have long changed the original bright blue cover to black, the volume
is still known as the Blue Book to British synagogue musicians, amongst whom
it retains its venerable position at the heart of the repertoire. In this article
I hope to show why that is, focusing particularly on the achievements of its
three editors: Rabbi Francis L. Cohen, D. M. Davis and Samuel Alman.
The Voice of Prayer and Praise

The Blue Book 2 started life in 1889 as a slim volume, Shirei Knesset Yisrael/A
Handbook of Synagogue Music for Congregational Singing, edited by Francis
L. Cohen and B. L. Mosely It was intended not just for choirs but also for
the average worshiper (who was assumed of course to be able to read music)
so that they could sing along with the choir, a point which is stressed in the
original Preface and again in the Preface to the 1948 reprint. In 1899 the
Handbook was expanded into its Blue Book form with the additional title: Kol
Rinnah VeTodah / The Voice of Prayer and Praise under the joint editorship
of Cohen and D. M. Davis, published by the United Synagogue (London; i.e.,
British Orthodox). The third edition (1933) was further expanded by about
twenty per cent through the addition of a "Supplement" section edited by
Samuel Alman. Since then the volume has remained in print. It is now also
available on-line at www.shulmusic.org.

' Mark Slobin. Chosen Voices — the Story of the American Cantorate (Urbana, IL:
University of Illinois Press), 1988:85.

2 Cohen, EL. and Davis, D.M., eds., Kol Rinnah VeTodah/The Voice of Prayer and
Praise (London: United Synagogue), 1933.

The Blue Book is an anthology of choral and congregational music for the
Orthodox service, ranging from the two chords of Amen (in different modes
for the different nus-ha'ot of the whole year) to elaborate motets such as
Mombach's LAdonai Ha'arets and Salaman's Mah Yedidot (which was origi-
nally published by Novello with organ accompaniment). 3 Let us now look at
various noteworthy aspects of this volume and at the particular achievements
of its editors.
Nusah

The first topic to discuss is the adherence of the Blue Book to nusah (meaning
of course British nusah, which closely follows German nusah). We should
clarify here exactly what we mean by nusah. To some people, it means little
more than singing a familiar tune. But there is far more to it than that.

Briefly, nusah is the application of traditional modes which are specific
to each prayer. The main characteristics of nusah are that it is appropriate
and uniform — it is appropriate to the liturgical occasion, and because it is
uniform, everyone accepts it. The Blue Book indicates which service each
selection is intended for. There are separate responses (Mi-Khamokha etc.)
for Friday night, Shabbat morning, Festivals and High Holydays, Ma'ariv and
Shaharit. There are settings of congregational responses such as the Shirah
and Ashrei ha'am yod'ei teru'ah. There are separate Yigdals, Hodus etc., etc.,
for each holiday, and there are specific melodies for the Sefirah period. And
each different melody is another gem.

The Ashkenazi community in London's East End grew up beside the Span-
ish-Portuguese community which was centered in the historic synagogue of
Bevis Marks, and adopted many of its beautiful melodies. There has always
been a close relationship between these two London communities: my late
father Otto Heller z"l was just one of many Ashkenazi choristers who periodi-
cally sang at Bevis Marks. Similarly in Germany, Baer and other Ashkenazi
hazzanim made use of melodies from the Spanish-Portuguese Temple in Ham-
burg. 4 As in the Ashkenazi community, the Spanish-Portuguese melodies are
carefully apportioned out to their appropriate service, and woe betide anyone
who mixes them up. Although intended for the Ashkenazi community, The

3 These two fine pieces in their original (not Blue Book) versions may be heard on
the CD: The English Tradition of Jewish Choral Music, performed by the Zemel Choir
of London. Olympia OCD 647 (1997).

4 See: Seroussi, Edwin, Spanish-Portuguese Synagogue Music in 19 th Century Reform
Sources From Hamburg: Ancient Tradition in theDawn of Modernity (Jerusalem: The
Magnes Press, Hebrew University), 1996, Yuval Monograph series 9.

68

Blue Book has made good use of these Spanish-Portuguese melodies, which
were first published in 1857 in the volume The Ancient Melodies, expanded
and re-issued by the Society of Hesha'im / Oxford University Press in 1931
as Talelei Zimrah/Sephardi Melodies: beingthe Traditional Liturgical Chants
of the Spanish and Portuguese Jews' Congregation, London. 5 As an example
of this repertoire, here is the still-familiar Hallelu (Example 1) as given in

Example 1. Hallelu as given in the Blue Book.

The Blue Book, borrowed from The Ancient Melodies (i.e. it was considered
"ancient" in 1857) (NB: please bear in mind that The Blue Book uses Ashke-
nazi pronunciation, although I am using standard Israeli pronunciation in
this article).
Choral Settings

The Blue Book throughout is designed for an A Cappella SATB choir, with
some pieces scored for hazzan and choir. There are no solo cantorial pieces.
The SA parts were intended to be sung by boys, and indeed they were so
performed until the last boys faded away around the 1970s. Nowadays most
Orthodox choirs are men's choirs, and the SA parts are sung by tenors and
baritones. There was however the occasional nominally Orthodox choir which
had women singers, the last holdout being the Hampstead Synagogue where
Alman himself was choirmaster. There is a story that the Chief Rabbi once
visited a London synagogue and was concerned whether there was a mixed
choir. The choirmaster replied: "We have men and women who sit together,
but they do not really sing together, although during your sermon they may
sleep together."

To understand the psycho-dynamics involved, it must be stated that the
London United Synagogue, which was the model for Solomon Schechter
and the United Synagogue of America, was far more liberal when founded in

5 This volume is discussed in: Seroussi, Edwin, "Ha-Manginot Ha-atikot", Pe'amim
- Studies in Oriental Jewry. Ben Zvi Institute, Jerusalem, Vol. 50, Winter 5752: 99-
131.

6 Page 42.

1870 than it is today. This liberal attitude is reflected in the readiness of the
Blue Book editors to borrow material from the Reform community, such as
Psalm 121— Essa Einai—bj C. G. Verrinder. 7 The Blue Book was designed to
be conservative (with a small "c") and "English," as opposed to the Orthodox
Eastern European style of the immigrant community, which of course was
growing rapidly at the end of the nineteenth century. The British Chief Rabbi
is connected with the United Synagogue; despite his title he has no jurisdiction
over those numerous fellow Jews who belong to the Federation of Synagogues
(Orthodox), Liberals, Masorti, Spanish-Portuguese etc. Over the years the
United Synagogue has gradually become more Orthodox so that it now bears
no relation to its Conservative (capitalized) American namesake.

One feature of the Blue Book which always puzzles Americans is the use
of "tonic sol-fa" notation for the SA parts (in addition to staff notation). In
Victorian times tonic sol-fa was routinely taught in schools, so that it was
expected that boys could read it. Tonic sol-fa notates music using the "do-
re-mi" names, but unlike "solfege" it works on the principle that "do" is the
tonic note, not necessarily the note C. If the music modulates to a new key,
then you indicate which new note is now "do". This is easy to learn, and relates
to what you actually hear. Far from thinking it weird, experienced educators
today know that it is an essential tool in training children. 8
Francis Lyon Cohen

Rabbi F.L. Cohen (1862-1934) was a consummate musician and musicolo-
gist as well as a minister. He was also the music authority for the old Jewish
Encyclopedia (1901-1905), still prized today. Like his co-editors, he did not
just "edit"; he polished both traditional melodies and the rough work of other
composers into finely-crafted gems; and he paid meticulous attention to He-
brew accentuation (in the words of the Preface, ". . . eradicating that excessively
faulty treatment of the Hebrew by which some Anglo-Jewish choirs have been
invidiously distinguished"). Some examples of his work follow.

7 KolRinnah VeTodah, page 311. In the original 1889 Handbook, F. L. Cohen thanked
Verrinder for supplying his harmonization of traditional pieces used at the (Reform)
West London Synagogue, where he was the organist. Charles Garland Verrinder (died
1904) was a church organist and composer, whose published work included seven
volumes of synagogue music, both original compositions and settings of traditional
tunes. His Essa Einai is a simple yet dignified piece which is still very current in British
services. His church appointments included St Giles in the Fields, London, famous
for its outreach to the beggars and down-and-outs in London's notorious no-go area,
the "Rookery" of Seven Dials. See: John MacLachlan Gray, The Fiend in Human (N.Y.:
St Martin's Press), 2003.

8 Bartle, Jean Ashworth, Sound Advice: Becominga Better Children's Choir Conduc-
tor (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press), 2003:80.

Here is part of Mombach's La'Adonai Ha'arets (Ps. 24; Example 2) as origi-
nally published (although we must bear in mind that this version itself went
through the editorship of the Rev. M. Keizer).

A f^~~l A

Example 2. Mombach's La'Adonai HaArets as originally published.

Here is how Cohen gives it (Example 3): 10

Example 3. Cohen

of Mombach's LaAdonai HaArets.

Here is the beginning of Cohen's setting for a "traditional" Shema Koleinu (Ex-
ample 4), 11 which until today has never failed to move the congregation:

9 Mombach, Israel Lazarus, ed. Kei
(London), 1881:128.

l0 KolRinnah VeTodah (the Blue Book), page 147.
11 Ibid., page 201.

M., The Sacred Musical Compositioi

>wly, and with much feeling

Example 4. Cohen's setting for a "traditional" Shema Koleinu.

The reader is also recommended to look at the Shavuot Yigdal (pp.110-
111).

D. M. Davis

David Montague Davis (1872-1932) 12 was choirmaster and organist at the
New West End Synagogue, London, whose rabbi was Rev. Simeon Singer
— his edition of the standard British Orthodox siddur (The Authorised Daily
Prayer Book) is still called "Singer's." The synagogue's members included
Herbert Samuel, the first High Commissioner of Mandated Palestine, and the
family of the scientist Rosalind Franklin, whose X-ray work was essential for
Watson and Crick's elucidation of the structure of DNA. 13 " D.M.D." (as he is
still called) was also active as an educator and conductor in the non-Jewish
sphere — it is said that he sometimes played organ at St George's Church,
Hanover Square, where Handel himself had worshipped. The main contribu-
tion of D.M.D. is his corpus of original compositions. They are all marked by
a simplicity of style, being easy to perform and pleasingly tuneful such as the
highly serviceable Halleluyah (Example 5). 14

Example 5.D. M. Davis' highly serviceable Halleluyah.

12 For biographical details, see his obituary in the Jewish Chronicle, December 9,
1932:12.

13 There is a thorough description of the New West End community in: Maddox,
Brenda, Rosalind Franklin: The Dark Lady of DNA (London/New York: HarperCol-
lins), 2002.

u KolRinnah VeTodah, pages 243-244.

Samuel Alman

Samuel Alman (1877-1947) is best known today for his two volumes of
synagogue compositions, but he had many other works for organ, choir etc.
published, much of it by Oxford University Press. In 1947 a proposal was
made that the United Synagogue should create a special position for him
to devote himself to composition, but he died shortly after. 15 He brought to
the Blue Book some of his own compositions and a considerable number of
classics which he ingeniously re-scored for A Cappella SATB choir, as we
see in this very useful and beautiful choral accompaniment to the cantorial
recitative in Lewandowski's Uvenuho Yomar 16 (originally scored with organ
accompaniment).

Ill, ^i Jli i A.

Example 6. Alman's A Cappella accompaniment to Lewandowski's Uvenuho Yo-

Not all of Alman's improvements were successful, however. He corrected
Lewandowski's familiar Mah Tovu (Example 7): 17

Example 7. Lewandowski's familiar Mah Tovu.

to agree with the rules of milel/milra accentuation, but the result sounds
clumsy (Example 8): 18

15 Apple, Raymond, The Hampstead Synagogue 1892-1967 (London: Vallentine,
Mitchell), 1967:59.

X6 KolRinnah VeTodah, page 268.

17 Lewandowski, L. Todah W'Simrah Vol.1 (Re-issued: New York: Sacred Music
Press/HUC, 1954), p.3.

73

Example 8. Alman's "corrected" \

< of Lew andow ski's Mah Tovu.

The fact is that no British choir has ever sung Alman's version of this piece
despite their noses being stuck in his Blue Book for seventy years. There are
three possible reasons: choristers choose to sing Lewandowski's original; or
they have preserved an oral tradition of Lewandowski's original; or they have
difficulty reading the music in the Blue Book. My suspicion is a mixture of
all three.

Alman also "improved" Lewandowski's Zakharti Lach, and its inclusion
in the Blue Book must have contributed to its popularity. I was formerly the
choirmaster at the New Synagogue, London (so called because it was new
when it was founded in 1760). 19 When the choir was about to sing Zakharti
Lach on Rosh Hashanah, Mr. Hinden — the shammes — would suddenly
appear in the choir loft in his customary top hat, white tie and tails, and he
would sing the second tenor part effortlessly. Ever since then I have always
told my singers that Lewandowski's music is so basic to our repertoire that
every shammes knows the second tenor parts...

One of Alman's more successful improvements is his version of Adon Olam 20
by David Aron De Sola, the original co-editor of the Ancient Melodies. De
Sola's composition, which itself contains echoes of other Spanish-Portuguese
melodies such asAvarekh 21 , has been neatly pruned and given some dramatic
shifts of harmony in the last verse.

18 Ibid., page 252.

19 The New Synagogue's historic building is now used by Bobover Hasidim. It is not
to be confused with the present New London Synagogue (Masorti).

20 Kol Rinnah VeTodah, pages 276-277.

21 This and other pieces from The Ancient Melodies are performed by Cantor Louis
Danto with Rivka Golani (viola) on the CD I Heard A Voice From Heaven (Cadenza
Records LRCD 110, 1996).

Example 9. De Sola's Spanish-Portuguese melody for Adon Olam.

Example 10. Alman's more dramatic harmonization ofDe Sola's Adon Olam.

Conclusions

The Blue Book is an under-valued resource bequeathed to us by high-prin-
cipled Victorian masters. It unquestionably has a British flavor — or perhaps
I should say flavour. It exploits British nusah; its musical style is modeled on
Mendelssohn (there are even some pieces by Mendelssohn , most notably the
chorus Open the Heavens from Elijah (arranged by D.M.D. to fit the response
Va'anahnu and sung to this day); and it is steeped in the British traditions of
exemplary choral writing.

But the enemy is at the gate. In April 2005 the Jewish Chronicle 12 reported
that with the retirement of its longtime hazzan, Stanley Brickman, the
Hampstead Synagogue will depart from tradition. The warden-president said:
"We're moving away from the Blue Book. ..We can't stay in the nineteenth
century. We've got to give people what they want." The new "modern, par-
ticipatory style" is aimed at those members of the congregation who "want
to see the average age decrease." Is this then the Secret of Youth: abandon
the Blue Book?
Acknowledgements

For their invaluable assistance it is a pleasure to thank Rabbi G. L. Shisler,
New West End Synagogue, London; Elkan Levy, past president, the United
Synagogue; and Keith Feldman of the Jewish Chronicle library. I am writing

22 "Hampstead to Depart from Traditio
April 2005:25.

. with New Cantor," Jewish Chronicle, 12

this article about London on July 7, 2005, a dark day in London's history, which
has seen centuries of bombs, Blitzes and massacres. 23 Leonard Bernstein said
after the assassination of John F. Kennedy that the only response was for
everyone to resolve to do their own job to the best of their ability, which for
singers would mean sing as well as you can.

Charles Heller is choir director at Beth Erneth Bais Yehuda Synagogue, Toronto, anda
consulting editor for the Cantors Assembly. His choral arrangements have been pub-
lished by the Toronto Council ofHazzanim and by Kjos (San Diego). His latest book,
titled What to Listen For in Jewish Music, is about to be published by Ecanthus Press
(please contact the author for information: charlesheller(S>rogers.com) .

23 The massacre of London Jews at the coronation of Richard I in September 1189
was described at the time as a "holocaust;"see Ackroyd, Peter. London: The Biography
(London: Chatto and Windus), 2000:55.

The Processes and Politics of Engaging Cantors in Alsace:
1818-1871

by John H. Planer

Introduction: Citizenship and the Consistory System

In the nineteenth century, the French government paid salaries of Jewish and
Christian clergy, legislated minimum qualifications for these state-salaried
rabbis and cantors, and provided the structure for Jewish communal self-
governance. To understand the processes and politics of engaging cantors
in Alsace, we must understand the consistorial system and the legislation
affecting cantors.

Under Napoleon Jews became French citizens. Prior to 1806, Jewish com-
munities, called the "Jewish nation," negotiated individual treaties of tolera-
tion with local nobility or landowners for specified periods at specified rates
of taxation. Granting Jews citizenship was a novel idea; many individuals
and communities, particularly in Alsace, protested vigorously. Napoleon
convened a Jewish "Sanhedrin" to determine whether Jews could indeed be
integrated as French citizens; on the basis of their carefully worded responses
to his carefully written questions, Napoleon proposed legislation granting
citizenship.

Modeled after the Catholic diocesan hierarchy and a similar structure for
Protestants, the consistorial system was a Jewish hierarchy linked formally
with the French government. Individual synagogues were governed by one of
seven departmental consistories consisting of elected members and a "Grand
Rabbi." Each consistory had a "consistorial synagogue," where the Grand Rabbi
presided. A Central Consistory supervised the seven departmental consisto-
ries; its Grand Rabbi was Chief Rabbi of France. The Central Consistory re-
ported directly to the French minister of religion. This legislation formalized a
religious hierarchy: the Chief Rabbi of France, seven Grand Rabbis, communal
rabbis, cantors (called Ministres officiants), and the Shochetim and Mohelim.
Before 1844 the departmental consistories appointed Commissaire surveil-
lants to administer each community; after 1844, each community elected its
own Commission administrative (synagogue board) and president.

The consistory system was advantageous, for it integrated Jewish self-
government within the French national government. The government feared
dual-national Jews who accepted citizenship and then might actively un-
dermine the government. The Consistory assured the government that the
Jewish community would enforce French religious and secular laws — that

the Sanhedrin's assertions, which resulted in citizenship, would not be empty
promises.

Jewish communities too benefited from the consistorial system. (1) The
structure granted Jewish communities autonomy to exercise self-governance.
Each superior level in the hierarchy had coercive powers, subject, of course, to
appeal. (2) The consistorial system formally recognized Judaism and granted
it authority comparable to that of Catholics and Protestants. (3) The consisto-
rial system granted access to governmental funds to pay salaries of rabbis and
cantors, to build synagogues, and to fund the French rabbinic seminary.

Laws Affecting Cantors

The Reglement of 1806 created the consistorial system, specified the process
for electing consistory members, and set rabbinic qualifications and salaries.
Cantors are not mentioned.

The Ordonnance of 20 August 1823 modified the details of the consisto-
rial system. In the consistorial synagogue, the Consistory itself nominated
the cantor; in non-consistorial synagogues, a commission, nominated by the
Consistory and presided by the Commissaire surveillant, elected the cantor,
subject to Consistorial confirmation.

The Ordonnance of August 6, 1831 established state-supported salaries for
communal rabbis and cantors comparable to Catholic and Protestant clergy.
In the consistorial synagogue in Paris the cantor received an annual salary
of 2,000 francs; in the departmental consistories, the cantor received 1,000
francs. In small communities of 200 to 600 Jews, the annual salary of a rabbi
or cantor was 300 francs; in a community of 601 to 1,000 Jews, 400 francs; in
communities larger than 1,001 Jews, 1,000 francs. To become eligible for state-
supported positions, the community wrote to the departmental Consistory,
which requested a certified census of the Jewish adults and children in the
town or in a district of several close towns. The Consistory then submitted
the request for approval to the minister of religion.

The Ordonnance of May 25, 1844 1 specified that ministres- officiants be
at least twenty-five years old, have a certificate of competence signed by the
Grand Rabbi of the departement, and be French citizens. In the consistorial

1 An Ordonnance of 1839, which was projected but never enacted, further elabo-
rated the hierarchy of clergy and the salaries for rabbis and cantors.The Grand Rabbi
led the religious knowledge of cantors before approving them to serve, and
ied the cantors in his district.The proposed legislation required that all cantors

synagogue, the Consistory named its cantor directly. In other synagogues, the
Consistory appointed a committee of local residents, presided by the presi-
dent of the Commission administrative or the Commissaire administrateur.
The community then sent a formal statement of election to the departmental
Consistory with supporting documents (birth certificate and statement of
competence), to be forwarded to the Central Consistory for confirmation.
Approval by the Central Consistory and authorization to install the cantor
then returned down the hierarchy to the community. The congregation then
sent a formal statement of installation to the departmental Consistory, Central
Consistory, and Prefet to initiate the state salary. This paper trail documents
basic information about French cantors.

Hiring Cantors

In Strasbourg the hiring process began with a vacancy occasioned by the
death of the previous cantor, his retirement, or his resignation/dismissal.
Cantors usually resigned to accept another position, but on occasion a cantor
decided that resignation was preferable to dismissal. Resignation or dismissal
for cause could result from a violation of civil or criminal law, including illegal
residence status of aliens; physical or mental illness, including loss of voice;
and moral turpitude. In Strasbourg, where the Premier ministre- officiant was
a public representative of the community, even the hint of scandal concerning
the cantor or his wife usually prompted the community leaders to counsel,
if not coerce, resignation.

Formal publication of the vacancy was in major Jewish newspapers and
periodicals, but word also spread quickly informally, for the annual state-sal-
ary of 2,000 francs attracted outstanding candidates. Interested cantors often
inquired about specifics of the position and then formally indicated their
candidacy by letter. That letter might also include attestations of competence
from rabbis, letters of recommendation from prominent cantors, and perhaps
supporting letters from community members.

On the basis of these letters and opinions of those who had heard the ap-
plicant officiate, the community invited its choices to a concours — a public
audition-competition; the cantor officiated at Shabbat services and usually
read from the Torah. The community paid travel, food, and lodging for candi-
dates it was courting; when an applicant was not a top choice, the community
did not offer to pay expenses.

know French and that those serving in Alsace and Lorraine— Bas-Rhin, Haut-Rhin,
Meurthe, Moselle— also know German.

The Strasbourg community preserved many documents of the various
stages of candidacy but little information about the actual processes of select-
ing among candidates, perhaps because community members had different
priorities in engaging a cantor and because effective politics often necessitated
secrecy. Obviously a strong audition was necessary, for the premier ministre-
officiant was not only the representative of the community in prayer but also
a jewel, shown with pride to other Jewish communities and to the Christians
of Strasbourg. The Grand Rabbi checked with rabbinic colleagues to confirm
the candidate's morality, religious knowledge, and character; administra-
tors checked with their counterparts. Supporters of a candidate sometimes
circulated petitions and sent them to the Consistory, which examined them
to assure that all names were indeed eligible members of the community.
On occasion the Consistory asked the commission administrative or the
community to vote its preference before making a decision, and to submit
a certified statement of election. This process assured that the Consistory,
not the local commission administrative, hired the cantor; when tensions
with the local president or with the commission arose, the cantor appealed
or resigned to the Consistory.

Of the three criteria for state-subsidized cantors — age of twenty-five or
older, French nationality, and competence— occasional problems with the
French government arose on issues of age and nationality. Issues of religious
competence rarely arose: candidates certified by the Grand Rabbi were usually
competent. On occasion, however, a man younger than twenty-five applied for
a state-subsidized position; the minister of religion granted few exceptions.

On the issue of nationality, however, numerous areas of contention arose.
Many cantors came to Strasbourg from Germany — particularly Silesia. The
law of 1844 was the first to specify that state-salaried cantors must be French
citizens; non-French cantors hired before 1844 were grand-fathered. Although
the legislation provided means for approval of rabbis and cantors younger than
twenty-five, no exceptions were available for non-French nationals. A foreign
cantor, therefore, had to apply for and receive French nationalization.

The minutes of the Strasbourg Consistory and the Commission adminis-
trative of its consistorial synagogue contain examples of irregular cantorial
appointments. In 1831 the position of cantor in the consistorial synagogue
was vacant; Jonas Reiss, then age 62, was nominated to receive a salary of
2,000 francs. 2 One week prior to his nomination, Reiss formally promised

2 Archives of the Central Consistory in Paris (hereinafter ACQICC-14; Lettre de
30 decembre 1831No. 2313 de Registre de Correspondence, from the CBR to the
Consistoire Central at Paris.

to donate half his salary to communal charities; 3 should he fail to do so, he
consented to be dismissed immediately and to reimburse the Consistory or
community all expenses. Reiss's generosity was not voluntary but rather a
condition of employment. A state-salaried cantor relieved the Strasbourg
Jewish community and the Consistory not only of a paying a salary but also
afforded a means of augmenting charitable coffers. 4 Once Obercan tor Maurice
Loewe was hired, Reiss returned to his prior salary as sous-chantre. 5

Some irregularities were illegal. In several small communities one person
received the state-salary while another actually served as cantor. On occasion,
again in rural Alsace, a cantor in a state-subsidized position would resign, but
the community would not formally report his resignation — thus his state-
salary would continue to be paid and cashed.

On several occasions jurisdictional conflicts between the community and
the Consistory arose in appointing the cantor in the consistorial synagogue.
In 1823, for example, Josee Morel, the CommissairesurveillantdX Strasbourg,
opposed the Consistory over engaging a cantor from Darmstadt 6 — the first
of many disputes about cantors at Strasbourg.

In October 1823 the Consistory wrote to Morel. 7 "We are astonished that
you have assembled a number of Jews of the community to engage a foreign
cantor. We remind you that in light of the law of 20 August 1823, the Consistory

3 Strasbourg: Synagogue de la Paix, Bibliotheque Victor Marx, File folder entitled
"Ministres-officiants." This dossier was microfilmed by the Central Archives for the
History of the Jewish People at Jersualem, HM 5525.

4 One indication of payment made to Reiss and to the chorists appears in the minutes
of the Commite d'Administration of the consistorial synagogue in Strasbourg (herein-
after CAS) of 5 September 1833, pp. 33-35: Expenses from 1 Sept 1832 to 1 Sept 1833.
Concierge Haller received an annual traitement/salaire of 1,083.85 francs; 20 francs
were awarded aux choristes; a gratification of 12 francs was paid to Reiss. Thus the
community and consistory might have felt that an annual salary of a thousand francs
was inappropriate for Reiss, particularly since a concours for a new cantor was being
considered and since in December 1831 Reiss would be sixty-two years old.

5 Strasbourg: Commite dAdministration, Proces-verbaux for 18 decembre 1833,
p. 41.

6 These letters are preserved in the ACC in Paris.

7 ACC: ICC-14, Letter dated 12 octobre 1823, No. 1530 in the Registre of Corre-
spondence of the Consistoire du Bas-Rhin. We do not know whether this register is

is responsible for nominating the cantor. 8 Consequently you are not to meddle
in this matter; if a cantor presents himself, the Consistory will meet with him;
if the community has opinions, they should address the Consistory — not the
Commissaire Surveillant. We, who are charged with executing the laws and
ordinances of our religion, invite you not to exceed your authority."

But Josee Morel persevered. The Strasbourg Consistory then complained
to the Central Consistory: "Today we learn, again indirectly, that despite our
warning, the gathering took place; after reading our letter, M. Morel harangued
the assembly arguing that the law need not be respected, that the Consistory
had no right to meddle in community affairs, that the community should never
lose its sovereignty, and that he would continue to try to hire the cantor from
Darmstadt despite the law, despite the Grand Rabbi, the Consistory, and all
powers spiritual and temporal. Some of the assembled, finding this proposition
ridiculous, counseled doing nothing without checking in advance with the
Consistory. But most of the assembled, being less well informed, composed
of those who had never read the laws and ordinances, agreed with Morel and
hired the cantor on the spot at their own risk." 9 The Consistory dismissed
Morel and appointed a new commissaire surveillant. 10
Letter of Service and Salary

A formal contract, called a "letter of service," specified the terms of employ-
ment: the services at which the cantor would officiate — usually Friday evenings
and Saturday mornings, festivals, weddings, and synagogue services for na-
tional holidays. Travel outside Strasbourg was permitted with prior approval
from either the commissaire surveillant, the Commission administrative, or
the Consistory. A four-week vacation was also accorded, subject to approval
of the date and location by the synagogue board or Consistory. If the Consis-

8 See Phyllis Cohen Albert, The Modernization of French Jewry.Consistory and
Community in the Nineteenth Century (Hanover, New Hampshire: Brandeis University
Press, 1977), pp. 350-51.

9 ACC: ICC- 14, letter of 1 3 octobre 1 823, number 1 53 1 in the register of correspon-
dence of the Consistoire du Bas-Rhin.

10 The last record of this dispute is a response of the Consistoire du Bas-Rhin to the
Central Consistory dated 27 October 1823.(ACC: ICC- 14, letter of 27 octobre 1823,
number 1536 of CBR register.) In reply to a letter from the Central Consistory, they
affirm that no need exists for the local authorities to enforce Tordonnance Royale au
sujet de la nomination du Chantre. Le plus gran nombre des Israelites de cette ville a
fait justice de la conduite peu mesuree — d'une minorite turbulante dont le S. Morel
s'est fait le Coryphee." [sic]

tory anticipated areas of concern, the letter of service might specify a system
of reprimands, fines, and even suspension for flagrant, repeated offenses.
Usually the letter of service mentioned the cantor's conduct in general terms,
such as being above reproach, but occasionally the Consistory or Commission
administrative felt constrained to specify improper conduct: smoking on
Shabbat and festivals; attending concerts and the theater; applauding a female
singer in a cabaret; giving voice lessons to young men and women; appropriate
morality of the cantor's wife; and avoidance of illegal activities. These letters
do not refer to a retirement or pension program: there was none.

Although the cantor's salary in Strasbourg was set by legal ordinance, the
actual salary was higher if congregants, the synagogue board, or the Consis-
tory supplemented it. For officiating at weddings, the cantor (as well as the
choir members, shamashim, and organist) received supplementary payment
from the family; a cantor might also give private voice lessons. In the mid-
nineteenth-century, housing for the ministre-officiant became part of his
remuneration. The cantor might also have additional sources of income, such
as a music store; the cantor's wife might be engaged in commerce acceptable
to the community.

Trial or Probationary Period

Most cantors were hired for a probationary period, usually one or two years,
with options for non-renewal by both parties. 11 The provisional appointment
revealed a cantor's character and abilities. If a concours were not decided
definitively, the provisional contract provided an opportunity for factions to
undermine a cantor's chance for long-term employment. For an incautious
or unsuitable cantor, problems often arose during the first year.

Eduard (Elias) Griin asked to audition in Strasbourg in April 1844 and was
hired provisionally to be premier ministre-officiant. The following month he
inadvertently initiated a power struggle between M. Blum, the commissaire-
surveillant, and M. Weill, the president of the commision administrative over
who should instruct the cantor about local traditions— in this case, singing
Adon olam. President Weill fined the commissaire five francs, but Blum af-
firmed that the president had no authority to fine him and refused to pay. The
president arose and threatened to toss the commissaire out of the synagogue.
The minutes relate that a lively altercation followed, which the Consistory
eventually resolved by finding both parties at fault. By mid-July thirty-eight

11 When Maurice Loewe was rehired by the Strasbourg community, this probation-
ary period was waived.

members of the community signed a petition asking that Cantor Griin be
released because he was incapable of exercising his duties in a synagogue
like Strasbourg. 12 In September the synagogue board called assistant cantor
Dennery to task for critical comments against Griin and for showing little
enthusiasm assisting him. Dennery replied that he could not support Griin,
who was just as irreligious as his predecessor. 13 In January 1845 Griin was
suspended from his duties. 14 A Consistory member cited the deplorable
(facheuse) impression of legal proceedings against Griin's wife in a matter
involving M. Oppenheimer; while no responsibility fell on Griin himself,
the situation placed him in a position incompatible with his public religious
duties in the synagogue. Griin was suspended with pay.

The six-month probationary appointment of Maurice Pereles, a choirboy
under Salomon Sulzer, was most contentious. The synagogue board wanted
Pereles out; the Consistory supported him firmly. In December 1848 the
synagogue board invited Pereles to its meeting "to express its discontent at the
conduct (albeit private) of his wife which, instead of enhancing the brilliance
of our faith can, to the contrary, debase it in the eyes of the entire world." 15
In January the board's rhetoric heated up: "Each day unfortunately adds to
the more and more reprehensible conduct of that one, who does not fear to
demean the respectable character of his position. The presence of this man
before the holy ark is an outrage to religion; his bad conduct, which manifests
itself as much in his private relationships as in his religious duties as Ministre
officiant, has become such that all the faithful are scandalized and demand
repeatedly his resignation." 16 The commission administrative won round one:

12 CBR: PV 17 July 1844.The original petition is in the Bibliotheque Victor Marx in
the Synagogue de la Paix, Dossier "Ministre-officiants." A draft of a letter from the
Consistory is response to the petition is preserved in the same file.

13 The synagogue board promptly suspended Dennery from his duties. CAS: Proces-
Verbaux, 8 September 1844, p. 157.

14 The Consistoire du Bas-Rhin: Proces-Verbaux (CBR: PV) 2 October 1844 men-
tion that the CAS transmitted a copy of Griin's letter of resignation to the Consistory.
Either the resignation was effective at the end of a year or else the resignation was
withdrawn.

15 CAS: PV 9 December 1848, p. 282.The commission administrative announced its
discontent with Pereles on 18 June 1848; it noted, in particular, Pereles's high salary and
cited financial difficulties in the community, in addition to citing Pereles's weaknesses:
inadequate instruction of the choir and insufficient capacity and knowledge to fulfill

in February Pereles was fired. But the Consistory then immediately dissolved
the synagogue board and appointed two provisional administrators. 17

Strategies

The strategies for a cantor and a community differed in the hiring game.
The cantor enjoyed the advantage of being a single person and a free agent.
In general the first applicants at Strasbourg were rarely chosen, perhaps be-
cause early application gave the community a long period to discover areas
of dissatisfaction; engaging a cantor was quicker once communal fatigue had
begun. The most effective strategy was to concentrate numerous important
references within a short period near the end of the concours. Usually the
cantor also could dangle offers of other positions to urge prompt action. The
wise candidate usually avoided playing factions. Only after the community
made had offered the position could a letter of service— that is, a contract— be
negotiated. A cantor was well advised to behave above reproach until his pro-
bation ended — that is, subordinate to the Grand Rabbi, President of the board,
commission administrative, and Consistory. And the cantor's spouse too.

The community wielded primary power in the employment process for it
offered the position, access to a considerable state-supported salary. Its main
disadvantage was the number of community factions that had to be pleased.
The Grand Rabbi was a decisive force; his opposition easily doomed a can-
didacy. For example, early in his first tenure at Strasbourg, 18 Maurice Loewe
once spoke inappropriately to Grand Rabbi Arnaud Aron, who suspended
Loewe for fifteen days and proposed that the commission fine him twenty
francs, which they did. Later, when Loewe was rehired, Grand Rabbi Aron
refused to sign two letters from the Consistory making his appointment
definitive for reasons concerning his religious practices. 19

Conclusion

the office of cantor. CAS: PV 18 June 1848, pp. 265-66. In July 1848 four choirboys
quit; one of the four boys claimed that Pereles had slapped him. The commission ad-
ministrative pressured the parents to compel their sons to rejoin the choir. CAS: PV
13 and 16 July 1848, pp. 269-70.

16 CAS: Correspondence 111 of 15 January 1949 and 15 February 1849.

17 CAS: PV 16 February 1849, p. 290.

1S CAS:PV 22 June 1837, p. 102.

19 CAS: PV 3 November, 10 November, 17 November, 15 December, 20 December

The serious study of synagogue musicians — Oberkantoren, Hilfskantoren,
cantorial assistants, choir directors, choir members, and organists— has not
yet begun. Most literature involves rabbis and histories of communities; most
cantorial biography, like rabbinic biography, resembles hero-worship — it is
often inaccurate— perhaps because of Jewish teaching that we not dishonor
the living or speak ill of the dead. Consequently we have bad history — inac-
curate, distorted knowledge which idealizes complex personalities and ignores
serious conflicts. Bernard Malamud notes in "The Magic Barrel" that exag-
gerating the positive departs from truth and therefore ultimately demeans.
Nineteenth-century cantors served in difficult public positions with complex
levels of interaction with rabbis and communal factions. That political process
and the personalities underlying those complex interactions — particularly the
conflicts and their resolutions— merit sympathetic yet serious study.

Dr. John H. Planer currently chairs the Music Department at Manchester College,
Indiana. He has been involved in Jewish liturgical music all his life while research-
ing early medieval Gregorian modality, art and literature criticism and rhythmic
theory and accentuation. A three-time president of the Guild of Temple Musi-
cians, he has spent sabbaticals in Strasbourg, France and taught at the Shenyang
Conservatory in China. This article was first presented as a paper at the Voice of
Ashkenaz Conference in New York City on November 9, 1997.

1849, pp. 306-12.CAS: Correspondence, No. 145 of 23 December 1849 to the Consis-
tory.

Beautiful Harmonies - A Choir Director Revives the
Western European Cantorial Tradition in Munich

by Philipp Grammes

Shema Yisroel begins vibrantly, growing louder, developing into a four-part
chorale, echoing through the synagogue, whirling its way upward - and abruptly
terminating. Kodaush! shouts Barry Mehler and looks sternly at his thirteen
singers: "with an au, German Ashkenazic pronunciation!" He gives them a
new tone, signals them to start, and again the four-voiced Shema Yisroel fills
the room. Mehler stops them again, still not satisfied with the Kodaush.

This is not just any choir rehearsing, but Germany's first Orthodox syna-
gogue choir since the Shoah. They're not just singing any Shema Yisrael, but
an arrangement by Emanuel Kirschner, Munich's great composer of cantorial
music. Kirschner served as Chief Cantor of Munich from 1881 to 1938 and
didn't speak Modern Hebrew, but rather a special variety with a German tint.
This is why Barry Mehler is making every effort to teach them the authentic
old Kodaush." The Ashkenazic Hebrew pronunciation is particularly difficult
for my Israeli singers," says Mehler and laughs." They're continually trying to
figure out what they're singing."

Mehler is actually choir director in Amsterdam, but due to his ambition to
revive Western European cantorial Music he travels once a week to Munich."
My dream is to keep the Western European Tradition alive." In order to ac-
complish this, he established a foundation: The European Cantorial Founda-
tion, whose goal is to reconstruct, document, publish and perform Western
European cantorial Music. Today, sixty years after the Shoah, many liturgical
compositions of German-Jewish cantors have largely fallen into oblivion.

Germany was the catalyst for the reformation of Western European
cantorial music (hazzanut). In the beginning of the 19th century German
and Austrian cantors began to introduce the western "chorale" form into
synagogue services for the first time." They took traditional melodies, some
of which more then a thousand years old, and made new arrangements for
four-part choirs, later adding organ accompaniments for Liberal communi-
ties," explained the choir director. Since only the texts of psalms and prayers
are holy, the music could be changed and further developed.

The quantity, variety, and quality of Western European hazzanut show us
the extent of its legacy today. Every large community had its own repertoire
of compositions and arrangements that were strongly influenced by their
non-Jewish neighbors - as Jewish music in every country was influenced by

87

its local environment. Barry Mehler had found music from his grandmother
who was soloist in Bonn's synagogue choir. That group sang works composed
primarily in Berlin and Frankfurt." A few works were written by composers
from Bonn, and sound (surprise!) a lot like Beethoven." However, he wasn't
the only well known composer who influenced Jewish music. "I'm not yet
that familiar with the Munich repertoire, but I am certain that we will find
echoes of Bavarian songs in this collection."

This mutual interchange went so far that Schubert wrote a setting of Psalm
92 for the inauguration of the Seitenstettengasse Synagogue of Vienna in 1826,
while in 1910 Cantor Yossele Rosenblatt wrote a new composition for the
80th birthday of the Austrian Emperor Franz Josef." For this, he took a famous
melody and intertwined it in the traditional prayer," says Mehler and smiles.
This famous melody was the hymn from Joseph Haydn's Emperor Quartet of
1797 (Opus 76) - which would become Germany's national anthem in 1922.
Traditional hazzanut was developing into music of concert quality.

Munich was not the forerunner of this development, but Kirschner's
compositions gave Munich the most advanced and harmonious hazzanut
tradition in all of Germany. Cantor Meyer Kohn initiated this development
in 1839. He built the bridge from the traditional to more modern forms of
hazzanut in Munich. There are examples of melodies in oriental style simply
accompanied by a bass and boy-soprano, but Kohn also included examples
of four-part chorale settings. His successor, Max Lowenstamm, composed
and arranged only in four-part harmony. Emanuel Kirschner, who succeeded
Lowenstamm, included appealing harmonies in romantic style within his
works, and gave the organ and choir more independent voices. The differ-
ence between classical and liturgical music could no longer be distinguished
in Kirschner's compositions.

After the Second World War, the Western European traditions of the Ger-
man communities were replaced by those of Jews who had emigrated from
Eastern Europe. This is how the works of the great cantors of Munich were
lost - until Barry Mehler tracked them down in libraries and private archives
throughout the world: "We've found all of the Published works of Munich's
cantors. Among these are five volumes of Kirschner, four of Lowenstamm,
and additionally, valuable manuscripts from which we'll be able to reconstruct
the service, for example, the musical transition from individual prayers and
psalms."

Rabbi Steven Langnas also would like to take advantage of this opportu-
nity to bring back the pre-war traditions. "We want to continue the Western
European tradition, because in the meanwhile there are many community

members who are not that experienced with the synagogue service. For them,
the Western European tradition is more 'user- friendly,' as they will recognize
and appreciate the melodies which sound classical in nature."

Barry Mehler has a dream: In the collection of music and manuscripts he
found a composition of a psalm that Max Lowenstamm had composed in
1887 for the opening of Munich's Great Synagogue. He would like to sing this
psalm with the choir when the new synagogue is inaugurated. Then these all
but forgotten melodies will once again fill a newly built sanctuary, in authenti-
cally Ashkenazic Hebrew. And with the old Western European tradition as its
foundation, a new tradition will hopefully be re-established in Germany.

However, that goal is still a long way off. In order to publish and record (a
portion) of Munich's hazzanic heritage, monetary support will be needed.
Furthermore, the choir lacks a name. Barry Mehler's favorite is Shema Kole-
inu: "Hear our voice!" The choir can be heard in the Reichenbachstrasse
Synagogue where, among other prayers, it regularly sings Kirschner's Shema
Yisrael-Ehad Eloheinu (Example 1.) with a Germanically pronounced Ko-
daush Schemau.

Editor's Note: this article first appeared in the Judische Allgemeine-Wochen-

zeitung (Munich: April 28, 2005), and is reprinted with permission here, after a
translation by Barry J. Mehler. Ironically, the passage that Barry Mehler was re-
hearsingso assiduously with his choir of "Israelis" is the one that Emanuel Kirschner
singled out for special mention in the Preface to his Tehillot Le-Eil Elyon,Volume
II (Munich: January 1898, p. 23; Example L).

The well justified request of congregants to afford them the opportunity for
active participation, even in synagogues with a reformed liturgy, led me to
provide a broad range of congregational songs. I was eager to base the majority
of their melodies on the spirit and character of both traditional and more
recent synagogue usage. This applied not only to the responses, but equally
important, to parts of solo songs. Thus, recitatives to be chanted by the cantor
without choral or organ accompaniment are quite in accord with the old prayer
modes. In reworking the Torah Service, however, I used in part an existing newer
melodic approach, with the exception of Shema Yisrael and Ehad Eloheinu.
Cantor Kirschner, who had officiated at the Munich Synagogue's Dedication cer-
emony in 1881, led its final service fifty-seven years later, just before it was demolished
on Hitler's order— four months before —because of its proximity to a Nazi cemetery.
Overcome with grief, he fell sick and died shortly after. 1

1 Akiva Zimmermann. BeRon Yahad (Tel Aviv: Central Cantorial Archive, 1988:110),
citing Die Shul Un Die Khazonim Velt (Warsaw: May 1939).

Example 1. Emanuel Kir schner's Shema Yisrael andEhad Eloheinu — "in accord
with the old prayer mode"

Opinion Piece: Is the German Tradition
Viable for Today's Synagogue?

By Erik Contzius

Something that is "classic" is considered to have lasting significance or
worth— in other words, it is enduring. I have therefore always found it ironic
that the Sacred Music Press should publish something it calls Out of Print
Classics. For one thing, if the material will again be in print why is it called
out of print? But more significantly, for a classic to be deemed out of print
seems like an oxymoron, especially when the music contained in these vol-
umes is so enduring.

Most of the Out of Print Classics come from the Reform German rite of
the mid- to-late 19th century, and bear the authorship of the likes of Louis
Lewandowski, Solomon Sulzer, 1 Emmanuel Kirschner, and others, captured
the hearts and minds of Jews everywhere for nearly 200 years. When faced with
the term "traditional" in the synagogue, the nusah ha-tefillah of our Eastern
European great-grandparents speaks to one part of the Jewish psyche, but
the German rite has infiltrated the entire Jewish world, from the Americas to
Europe and even the black Jews of Uganda. When Salomon Sulzer Westernized
the melismatic flourishes of the Alte Weise (Old Prayer Modes), he brought
together East and West, preserving one tradition, but creating it anew.

And it is this newly crafted tradition which has become sacrosanct in prac-
tically every American synagogue. Hazzanim, rabbanim, shlihei tsibbur and
songleaders have all tried to bring new melodies into the prayer service, and
yet on Friday evening, there is almost no household or shul where the strains
of Louis Lewandowski's gently flowing melody sanctifying the Sabbath's ar-
rival over Kiddush wine are not heard. Modify a congregational Shema all
you want, but when it comes to the Torah service, Sulzer 's tunes prevail.

Why should we be surprised that this music can and certainly does still speak
to us? For one, it is music composed by cantors who stood on the shoulders
of Beethoven, Schubert and Schumann, a musical tradition that still thrills
audiences today for its classic nature (here I use the term to mean enduring,
and not in a musicological sense). As well, the German synagogue tradition
marked the first time in Jewish history that the effects of the Enlightenment
and Emancipation really held sway in Jewish culture. It was the first time that
the Jews developed a musical expression that spoke to the modern Jewish
soul as well as to the timeless Jewish spirit.

1 Sulzer was Austrian, just as Lewandowsky was raised inthe Polish tradition of Posen,
but I include them both - stylistically and idealistically - in the German rite.

This is something that the would-be innovators of today think they are do-
ing because they imagine it has not been done before. There are many trying
to bring more progressive musical idioms into the Jewish sanctuary: Rock,
folk, pop, jazz, New Age... even gospel (which — as an aside — I have a great
problem with, for that idiom— for me— embodies a religiosity which is not a
part of my faith tradition, but I digress). Their efforts seem to hold sway for
a year or two. ..or sometimes a decade or two. And yet, some 150 years after
Sulzer published his two-volume SchirZion, his music is still used as spiritual
expression in the modern synagogue. Why?

I believe the reason can be found in the form. Where present day innovators
have sought to bring a popular, and by definition ephemeral, musical form
into our worship, Sulzer and his peers brought a classical musical form into
the synagogue. As praying Jews, we have sought more permanence in our
lives, looking for everlasting truths in Torah and Tradition. The prayer book
remains relatively unchanged in structure, but the music that expresses the
prayers contained therein has been tinkered with over millennia. When a
language speaks only to one generation at one point in time, the next genera-
tion needs to develop a new language with which to dialogue with the eternal.
When one uses a language that can be heard and understood by all to contain
elements of beauty, elegance, grandeur, and holiness, it can be understood at
any point in time or in one's life.

The challenge, however, is that in past generations, we had worshipers who
were musically literate. They could read music; they regularly sang. There was
no television or internet with which musical performance at home had to
compete. Today, people experience music like most other cultural offerings
of the 21st century — in a cursory fashion, embraced today and glossed over
tomorrow. They are unsure how to embrace something that has been called
a classic all too often. There is no longer a frame of reference.

What, then, of the German tradition's viability in today's synagogue? Is it
to be abandoned in favor of the "soup of the day" music that will eventually
become passe? I think not, for several reasons.

First, regardless of an individual's musical exposure or education, the choral
music of the Reform German rite has a hymn-like quality that can and often
does engender congregational singing.

Second, the musical language itself, being something much more than a
hastily tossed amalgam of notes, speaks to us across time, for intrinsic in many
of the Germanic offerings is a solid musical structure which, as exemplified
in the work of J.S. Bach and others, has a musical logic, allowing us to hear

the eternal within the notes. To my ear, what is lacking in the popular music
of the synagogue is that lasting element of holiness, sadly sacrificed in favor
of a simple tune.

Third, there is a Jewish musical subconscious that runs like a deep vein
through most American congregations. In Sulzer's day, that vein was made
up of nusahhatefillah. Today, when nusahhatefillah has all but disappeared,
the common element is made up of the music of Sulzer and his contempo-
raries. It is a safe and comfortable musical place in which to pray. As a child, I
remember clearly having gone to only a few Shaharit LeShabbat services and
hearing the Sulzer Kedushah responses (although I was a synagogue regular
in my youth, my synagogue's main service was Kabbalat Shabbat, and Satur-
day services were rarely held). As an adult, I can still conjure those strains as
easily as a lullaby from my childhood. For many others as well, the German
rite still holds a place, although that place may be shrinking.

I would suggest that the German rite deserves to be re-examined closely,
for not only is there considerable breadth to the repertoire, there is also
redeeming musical and spiritual value. Its many settings that invoke the old
nusah hatefillah connect us to the distant past, and its Late Romantic har-
monies reflect the more recent European childhood of many of our parents
and grandparents. And there's no denying that its well-structured hymns do
engender the congregational singing that seems to be all the rage nowadays,
and do so without resorting to complicated syncopation or grating chords.
Finally, for any congregation seeking to bolster its choir's repertoire, one need
look no further than the entire set of Out of Print Classics to discover (or re-
discover) a treasure of music which was born out of a once vibrant tradition
that continues to thrive.

To my mind, Lewandowsky's 1883 setting for cantor and optional organ
accompaniment of Shema Koleinu (Hear Our Cry; Example 1, transposed
from E minor), from the Yom Kippur liturgy, represents the very best of what
might be called a Pan-European nusah.

Erik Contzius is cantor at Temple Israel of New Rochelle, New York, a prolific com-
poser and well-travelled concert artist. He has led services at the Great Synagogue
ofGoteborg, Sweden, soloed at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C and at the
Leo Baeck Institute in Manhattan. In 2005 he was featured in Munich, Germany in
a concert titled Vergessene Musik — the Forgotten Music of the German Jewish
Reform Movement. Although he enjoys stage performance, Cantor Contzius feels
most at home in the pulpit, leading prayer.

Example 1. Louis Lew andow sky's "Pan-European" setting ofShema Koleinu.

Cantor Jakob Dymont and His Friday Night Service,

Berlin 1934-

Part One— A Rabbi's Observations

by James Baaden

During the 1980s I had occasion to visit Berlin a number of times. I became
acquainted there with its two Jewish communities - one, by far the larger, in
the Western half, the other in East Berlin. "Larger" is purely relative: at this
time, the Jewish population of Berlin as a whole was around 6,000 - but a
shadow of the community of 170,000 which had lived there before the Ho-
locaust. Nearly all of those 6,000 Jews lived in West Berlin, where organized
community life was focused on a modest, functional Gemeindezentrum
(community centre) which had been built on the ruins of the imposing
Fasanenstrasse synagogue in the 1950s. (It remains the headquarters of the
Berlin Jewish community today. ) On the other side of the Wall, meanwhile,
the situation was yet bleaker. Here, according to the statistics produced by the
German Democratic Republic (the GDR, i. e. East Germany) of which East
Berlin was the capital, there were barely 200 Jewish residents. An organised
community existed for this handful of souls, though it kept a very low profile.
Religious services took place at one site: the mighty Rykestrasse (Ryke Street)
synagogue, dedicated in 1904 with seating for 2,000 worshippers - a capacity
ten times the size of East Berlin's tiny Jewish community.

It had been built at the beginning of the 20 th to serve the needs of the (then)
growing Jewish population in the Prenzlauer Berg district on the northern
side of the city centre, and though obviously a very substantial structure, it
was constructed in effect within the centre of a city block, surrounded by
residential buildings of several stories. This circumstance was to prove its
salvation, for although the Rykestrasse synagogue was set alight at the time of
the Nazis' Kristallnacht ("night of broken glass") pogrom in November 1938,
the fire was quickly put out - owing to the proximity of the other buildings.
Rather amazingly, as World War II broke out and ever more extreme forms
of persecution were introduced, the community was nevertheless permit-
ted to make repairs to the synagogue and it was again used for services in
the years 1939-1943. During this period, nearly all Jews who had been left
in Berlin at the war's outbreak (tens of thousands had managed to emigrate
from Germany in the 1930s) were deported to concentration camps, and in
May 1943 remaining officials of the Jewish community were forced to sell the
building to the district council of Prenzlauer Berg - just before they them-

selves were deported. It was then put to military uses that remain unclear;
the latest sources suggest that there is no truth in the long-established story
that the army used it as a stable.

When Jewish worship was restored in the Rykestrasse synagogue after Nazi
Germany's defeat in July 1945, Berlin - now subject to the administration
of the Allied Powers— lay in ruins. Rykestrasse was in the Soviet Sector, and
eventually the Russian military authorities and the government of its satellite,
the newly founded GDR, backed a full renovation of the synagogue, which
was rededicated in 1953. The peculiar enthusiasm of Stalinist officialdom for
this project may perhaps be explained in part by the new name given to the
synagogue - the Friedenstempelor "peace temple". To be sure, it was a syna-
gogue (and indeed the largest in Germany, East or West), but it was supposed
to fulfill a symbolic purpose as well, alongside a variety of other buildings and
monuments in East Berlin which were all intended to celebrate the triumph
of Communism over Nazism. This particular "triumph" ran its course within
four decades, the Wall came down, Germany was reunited, and the two Berlin
Jewish communities were again fused into one body. Most recently, the ar-
rival of Jewish immigrants from the former Soviet Union has boosted Berlin
Jewry, more or less doubling the community to about 12,000 today - and the
Rykestrasse synagogue plays an important role in community life. To be sure,
its 2,000 seats are never filled by Jewish worshippers attending a religious
service (in fact, services take place in a smaller "side sanctuary"), but on other
occasions - such as concerts and state commemorative functions - it is often
full, and those present can have an idea of its glory a century ago.

I was not a Rabbi at all when I visited Berlin in the 1980s and became ac-
quainted with the Rykestrasse synagogue. However, now, in the first decade
of the 21 st century, I am the Rabbi of a British congregation - South London
Liberal Synagogue - and one of the members of my community, Paul Min-
dus, is the grandson of Jakob Dymont (1881-1956), a notable cantor and
choirmaster whose liturgical compositions were heard to much acclaim in
the Rykestrasse synagogue during its last years before closure in the Nazi era.
Each year at my synagogue, we organise an event called the John Rich Memo-
rial Event, named after a late president of the congregation, and last year Paul
suggested to me that we might use this occasion to organise a performance
of one of his grandfather's works. Fortunately, his mother, the concert pianist
Lily Dumont, had retained an original handwritten score of her father's Erev
Shabbat liturgy - first heard in the Rykestrasse synagogue in February 1934
and then (as far as we were aware) never again. To say that the music was
"heard" in the Rykestrasse synagogue does not do justice to the occasion in

1934, which attracted widespread attention in the Jewish press at the time

- the early years of the Third Reich - and which finds a chapter of its own in
a recent history of the synagogue published in Germany in 2004 to mark its
centenary. The author Hermann Simon stresses the unique qualities of Jakob
Dymont's composition: written for unaccompanied male voices, it embodied
a more traditional Orthodox form, yet the music itself was marked by chal-
lengingly modern tonalities. Press reports from 1934 in particular attest to
the sensation which this created, not just in the Rykestrasse congregation,
but more widely in the Berlin Jewish community: commentators explicitly
dwelt on the return to traditional Jewish (and non-German) forms as a vitally
necessary departure from existing musical styles and likewise highlighted the
challenging harmonies in the music as symbolic of the times and circum-
stances in which Germany's Jews were living.

Born in Lithuania (then part of the Russian empire), Dymont underwent
a conventional Eastern European Orthodox training as a hazzan but also
acquired a Central European knowledge of classical music and composition.
By the early 1930s, he was the choirmaster at an unusual congregation in
Berlin, no great distance in fact from Rykestrasse: the Adass Jisroel syna-
gogue. This was an Orthodox community that had officially separated from
the general Berlin Jewish community earlier in the 20 th century, securing its
own independent status in law in pre-Nazi Germany. Jewish communities
in Germany were not organized according to denominational affiliations;
there were no bodies corresponding to our present-day unions of Orthodox,
Conservative, Reform and Reconstructionist congregations. Instead, each city
had as a rule one single Jewish Einheitsgemeinde — or "unitary community"

- comprising all of the officially registered Jewish residents of that city; and
it was up to those community members to determine what type of religious
services took place in its synagogues. Generally speaking, by the second half
of the 19 th century, most communities solidly opted for a liberal style of liturgy

- and it is worth noting that the German Jewish idea of liberate Judentum
was quite different from the British movement known as Liberal Judaism
to which my own synagogue belongs. Whereas our Liberal Judaism here in
Britain is quite close to North American Reform Judaism, the liberale (the
German adjective is specifically meant in this context) movement in Juda-
ism in Germany had more in common with certain strands of Conservative
Judaism in the English-speaking world. Although the accompanying organ,
for instance, was widely in evidence, services were relatively long, men and
women were seated separately and prayer books included various elements
associated with traditional Judaism. In Berlin, however, there were two al-

ternative options for those who were not happy with the happy medium: the
Reformgemeinde and the Adass Jisroel community. The first of these, seen
as radical and innovative in the Germany Jewish world of a century ago, had
mixed seating and employed the German language throughout its service
- not surprisingly, the term it preferred, namely Reform, was the term which
prevailed in due course in like-minded synagogue communities in the US.
Meanwhile, the Adass Jisroel congregation was unsatisfied with the existing
arrangements for Orthodox worshippers in the Berlin Einheitsgemeinde, and
duly went its own way.

Thus, Dymont was associated with a highly Orthodox community which
had made plain its rejection of the German Jewish status quo of the early
20 th century - as represented by the Rykestrasse synagogue. This is perhaps
slightly unfair, in that Rykestrasse, according to Hermann Simon, had always
tried to occupy its own special position, reflecting a "synthesis" of classical
liberal and more traditional elements. Nonetheless, details of the synagogue's
dedication in 1904 are revealing: the event began with a Prelude by Handel
and men and women were seated together. Interestingly, the Adass Jisroel
synagogue was dedicated on the same day in 1904; though we may safely as-
sume without either a Handel prelude or mixed seating. On the other hand,
Rykestrasse did not have an organ. This was a perplexing omission, not least
for the Ryekstrasse worshippers, who had voted 690 to 38 in favour of the
instrument. But a dispute within their elected congregational council had be-
come so bitter that the organ question was put to one side. (Strangely enough,
an organ was installed many decades later, after the Holocaust, during the
GDR period in the early 1960s; it was only rarely played and is now in very
bad repair. JMeanwhile, Confirmation (rather than Bar/Bat mitzvah) was the
order of the day, Kol Nidre was not recited at all, and distinguished rabbis
representing the Progressive/Liberal tradition were employed. Nonetheless,
the absence of an organ gave the synagogue a "more traditional" feel, and set
Rykestrasse apart from the Berlin synagogues with which it otherwise shared
numerous key similarities.

The year 1934 marked the 30 th anniversary of the synagogue's founding.
The silver jubilee in 1929 had been celebrated with some modest festivity,
but in 1934 the mood was obviously very different. It is not clear whether
Dymont 's Shabbat Evening service was composed in connection with the
30 th anniversary - contemporary accounts mention both, namely music
and date, without expanding on any more specific relationship between the
two. The title page of the score names the composition in German as "Rinat
Yaakov - A Friday Evening Liturgy for Cantor and Male Choir composed

by Jakob Dymont. "In an introductory note, Dymont said that the work was
intended to "enhance the uniformity of the exterior musical apparel of our
liturgy," expressing the wish that it could eventually be "a building block in
the renewal of synagogue music. "Altogether 50 pages in length, the score is
divided into various liturgical elements, all named in Hebrew (handwritten
by Dymont himself):

Mah Tovu

Minhah Ashrei, Hatsi Kaddish, Shmoneh Esreh, Kedushah,

Kaddish

Kabbalat Shabbat Lekhu Neranenah, KolAdonai, Lekhah Dodi, Tov
LeHodot, Adonai Malakh

Ma'ariv Barekhu, Hashkiveinu, VeShamru, Hatsi Kaddish,

Vaikhulu, Retseh, Kiddush, Oseh Shalom, Aleinu
Although his Table of Contents is entirely in Hebrew (transliterated above),
Dymont used the transliteration of Hebrew common in German in his day
for romanized transcription of the liturgical text throughout the ensuing 49
pages: e. g. "Mah towu oholecho jaakow", "L'cho dodi", "Tow I'hodoss", "Bor'chu",
etc. I myself am not a musician. Nonetheless, when the score came into my
hands, I was at least able to discern that some of it was illegible. Thus I had to
make a selection of items to be sung. I chose 7 sections of the service, arriv-
ing at my selection purely on the basis of legibility, first of all, and secondly,
my desire to offer a representative collection of the better-known elements
of the erev Shabbat liturgy - such as Mah Tovu, Lekhah Dodi, Hashkiveinu
and Kaddish. Next, I had to find singers. In my ignorance, I thought that a
score seemingly marked for alto, soprano, tenor and bass parts should (or
could) be sung by men and women, although I had seen Dymont 's notation
that the service was for Maennerchor — a men's choir. A knowledgeable female
singer put me right - the upper voices would sound bizarre sung by women,
she said: it was a work for male voices and needed to be sung by men. With
the help of Christopher Dee, an experienced professional musician here in
London with substantial knowledge of synagogue music, an ensemble of male
singers was assembled - and the music was transcribed (by Mr Dee) into a
more manageable printed form. Then, 71 years after it had premiered in the
Rykestrasse synagogue, Jakob Dymont 's evening service was heard again, this
time at South London Liberal Synagogue, in September 2005. 1 am glad to say
that his daughter, Lily Dumont Mindus — in her 95 th year - was present.

Due to my own lack of musical knowledge, any effort on my part to com-
ment on the character of the music would most likely prove embarrassing.
However, as mentioned above, we can turn to voices from 1934 to find out

99

what musically knowledgeable Jewish listeners made of Dymont's composi-
tion. We read that the Rykestrasse synagogue was full on February 16 th of that
year. The cantor's part was sung by the resident cantor, Leo Ahlbeck, and the
male voice choir directed by the synagogue's choirmaster, Kurt Burchard. Dr.
Oskar Guttmann (1890-1943), then choirmaster at Berlin's most illustrious
synagogue, the Neue Synagoge in the Oranienburger Strasse, wrote in one
of the main German-language Jewish periodicals of the day: "From the first
note, we know we are in a world of sound more attuned to us as Jews, and we
feel ourselves to 'be in shul'" (Example 1).

Example 1. Cantorial solo, KolAdonai (Psalm 29:9) from Jakob Dymont's Friday Night
Service, Berlin, 1934.

The choice of words is significant, given that Guttmann was the author.
The Oranienburger Strasse synagogue - as its gilded dome and front facade
(the only surviving parts of its original structure) once again testify - was a
place of some magnificence, associated with the name Louis Lewandowski:
not the sort of place Jews went "to be in shul. "And indeed Guttmann went
on to stress that Dymont's music was a break from the rich neo-Romantic
choral sound of Lewandowski, Guttmann's own predecessor at Oranien-
burger Strasse - though interestingly, he gently criticised Dymont for not
being entirely capable of "wresting himself free from the German Romantic
style which still remains predominant in synagogue music. "Another com-
mentator, Ludwig Altmann, noted the "modern-complicated harmonies"
and suggested that these did not always accord satisfactorily with the more
traditional character of the music, though he hailed Dymont's composition
as a "serious and artistically valuable" example of a much-needed "attack"
aimed at achieving a comprehensive "renewal of the liturgy". Finally, we can
hear from Kurt Burchard himself, the Rykestrasse choirmaster. Writing a week
after conducting his choir in Dymont's evening service, he set the scene for
his readers in 1934 in terms that speak to us today:

For some considerable while now, efforts have been made in interested
circles to make our services more full of life, giving them new blood. Of
course, to speak but of Berlin, we have our entire annual cycle of liturgy
by Louis Lewandowski, a gigantic and in the main truly valuable body of
work which has shown a unique success in anchoring itself in the hearts
of our older generation. But we must consider that this music, which was
published in two volumes between 1871 and 1882, was entirely rooted in
the contemporary musical style of that era - the feeble swan song of the
Romantic epoch of Mendelssohn and Schumann - and that, especially
in its choral dimensions, it had precious little Jewish content to show for
itself.
Yet, continued Burchard, "what a miracle" that contemporary Jewish com-
posers should be emerging in his own day, 1 934, full of zeal to set about a thor-
oughgoing renewal of synagogue music - mentioning Alexander Weinbaum,
Leo Kopf and finally Jakob Dymont. Turning his attention to Dymont's Friday
Evening service, he praised the "reverent piety [and] deep sincerity" which
characterised the whole composition, though observing that it occasionally
reached moments of intensity which were perhaps excessive: nonetheless,
Burchard stressed that this was achieved "not by artificially emotive, sickly-
sweet melodies" but by "harmonies which grow to an intensity and sharpness
which only too accurately reflect the nature of our times. "

Soon, the "intensity and sharpness" of the times were to grow lethal, silenc-
ing Rykestrasse, forcing Dymont into exile - and bringing about Burchard's
death in Auschwitz in 1942. In 2005, as we listened to Dymont's composition
in my synagogue in London, we pondered Kurt Burchard's words: what we
were hearing was not only evidence of an attempt to contend with the chal-
lenges of the times in an age of tyranny but a concerted endeavour to renew
synagogue music by returning to traditional forms whilst at the same time
exploring innovative, even difficult new sounds.

Rabbi James Baaden grew up in the US and Canada, and enjoyed a
nalism and Social Services before studyingfor the rabbinate at London's Leo Baeck
College and at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. The minister of South London
Liberal Synagogue since his ordainment in 2000, he has a strong commitment to
interfaith relations.

Cantor Jakob Dymont and His Friday Night Service,

Berlin 1934-

Part Two- A Daughter's Observations

by Paul Mindus

After my mother, Lily Dumont, heard the recital of selections from her father's
1934 service at South London Liberal Synagogue in September 2005, 1 read
aloud some remarks that she had written for the occasion. Recalling her own
youth as a child practicing to become a concert pianist in Weimar-era Ber-
lin of the 1920s, my mother once characterized this era in her life as one of
steadfastness and innocence. From the observations which she jotted down
about her father, Jakob Dymont, I think you'll understand where the spirit
that brought her to the ripe young age of 95 came from.

Jakob Dymont was born in 188 1 a small village in Lithuania where families
shared their gardens and news with friends. My father was physically
quite strong, muscular with beautiful dark curly hair. There were more
brothers and sisters, but none of them shared my father's interests. As a
youngster, he worked very hard in school. Beside the normal courses, he
showed early special interest for German and English. Fishing and reading
were his main hobbies.

It was his great dream to go to Germany and study there. Secretly he
searched his surroundings for young trees which were easy to shape into
a raft for his plans. He prepared the craft very carefully and announced to
his parents his plans to go to Berlin. This was his great dream. He was 15.
He kissed his parents goodbye and left. The trip took him along the Baltic
coast and eventually to Berlin. At that time, Kaiser Wilhelm had a great
reputation for his interest in helping the unending stream of travellers
who came through the city. The Kaiser built many houses where young
clean-cut people who spoke German could find room and board without
any charge. Since the conditions suited my father beautifully, he gratefully
moved in. He was a nice looking boy with dark curly hair, well dressed and
very polite.

My father was a natural high tenor, his voice was flexible, had a
beautiful timbre, and his ability to change harmonies quickly helped him
enormously. His ability to pick up any key made him quickly quite popular.
Opportunities were offered to sing solos and, gradually, his success grew.
He also began to save some money which he lovingly sent to his parents.
Around this time, he was perhaps 17 years old, and already busy with
small, but paid, engagements. It was his gift that he could repeat a melody
he heard only once, but immediately and correctly.

My father began to study theory and with his beautiful tenor voice he was
also appearing in operas and on the stage, without ever being recognised.
He studied music theory, languages and old synagogue melodies along
with Jewish history and music history. His early compositions were
encouragingly received.

My father's approach to religious music was to carefully preserve old
traditions, which he treated with great respect. I have to make it clear
how sincere he was in this regard. There was no sentimentality, Jakob
Dymont was only devoted to authenticity, right down to the last chord.
He recited prayers very carefully, making sure every point and comma
were carefully observed. He shaped prayer words into music.
"The music has to be completely convincing," he said. "Each setting should
convince those who pray of the seriousness of what it is expressing. In
fact the music has to be even more convincing than the words. Jewish
thought can be destroyed by those who oppose it. Therefore, the music
has to show creative conviction without any effort, to make clear how
convincing and strong God is against the lies of all the others. "

When PaulMindus came from New Bedford, MA to London in 1 990 to head Reuters'
Corporate Communications department, the sudden proximity to Berlin helpedhim
to learn a great deal about his family, as both sets of grandparents had lived in the
German capitol before the War. One set— Paul and Johanna Mindus— stayed there
and died in a concentration camp, while the other set— Jakob and Rosa Dymont left
in 1938 and came to the United States. Paul's mother, pianist Lily Dumont, passed
away in March of 2006, six months after she had attended the commemorative
performance of her father's Friday Night service.

From Study of Scripture to a Reenactment of Sinai: the
Emergence of the Synagogue Torah Service

by Ruth Lunger

The rabbis of late antiquity, with their constant engagement in the study of
the Torah text itself and their focus on regularizing other elements of their
new liturgical system, did not find it necessary to make elaborate ritual state-
ments about the meanings inherent in the ritual reading of Scripture. Instead,
they focused exclusively on clarification of procedures such as the frequency,
language, extent, and type of participation appropriate for reading. But with
time, some of the meanings implicit in the rabbinic system received voice
and an elaborate liturgical moment evolved. While these meanings by no
means remained static, a close reading of the early texts in light of themes
which emerge later in the medieval and modern rites enable us to interpret
the symbolic role and little voiced (liturgically at least) centrality of the ritual
Torah reading in the synagogue. This article focuses on the emergence of this
elaborate ceremonial and its increasingly explicit statement of the mean-
ings embedded in it, up to the point where we begin to have any significant
manuscript record of actual rites, in the twelfth century. Future studies will
trace and analyze the differences among the various medieval and modern
rites and the reinterpretation over time of the meanings that have emerged
in this earlier period.

It is highly likely that the ceremonial surrounding the Torah reading was
not elaborate in the period of the early history of the synagogue. The only
early rabbinic descriptions of Torah ceremonies are actually situated in the
Jerusalem Temple. We find in Mishnah Sotah 7:7-8: 1

How does the High Priest recite his blessings [on the Day of Atonement,
towards the conclusion of his sacrificial functions]? The officiant of the
synagogue takes the Torah scroll and hands it to the president of the
synagogue, and the president of the synagogue gives it to the adjutant high
priest and the adjutant high priest gives it to the High Priest, and the High
Priest stands and receives it and reads Leviticus 16:1-34 and 23:26-32.
Then he rolls the Torah and, embracing it in his bosom, says: More than

1 Translation mine. Compare Mishnah Yoma 7:1.

what I have read to you is written here. Then he recites Numbers 29:7-11
by heart, and recites eight blessings over [the Torah]: for the Torah; for
the worship; for the thanksgiving; for the forgiving of sin; for the Temple;
for Israel; for the priests; and for the rest of the prayers.
How is the king's portion performed? On the conclusion of the first festival
day of Tabernacles, on the eighth year of the sabbatical cycle, they make
a platform of wood for him in the courtyard (of the Temple), and he sits
on it, for it is said, "At the conclusion of seven years during the festival..."
(Dt. 31:10f) Then the officiant of the synagogue takes the Torah scroll
and gives it to the president of the synagogue, and the president of the
synagogue gives it to the adjutant high priest, and the adjutant high priest
gives it to the high priest, and the high priest gives it to the king, and the
king stands and receives it and reads it sitting. King Aggripas stood and
received it and read it standing, and the sages praised him... He reads from
the beginning of Deuteronomy to Shema, and Shema (Dt. 6:4-9) and Dt.
11:13-21, 14:22-29, 26:12-15, and the Portion of the King (Dt. 17:14-20),
and the blessings and curses, until he completes the entire chapter (Dt.
28). The blessings that the high priest recites, the king also recites, except
that he substitutes that of the festivals for the forgiving of sin.
A close reading of these descriptions is highly illuminating. The preparation
for the ceremony of the king's post- sabbatical reading requires the building of
a simple wooden platform, probably in the larger "Courtyard of the Women."
This deliberately echoes the wooden tower built near the city gate for Ezra's
public reading of Scripture recorded in Nehemiah 8:4. This erection of a special
structure was itself an announcement of a significant event. However, one
should note also that, according to the Mishnah Sukkah 5:1-4, this was the
same location as the elaborate nightly celebration during Tabernacles of the
Simhat Beit Hasho'evah, the water drawing festival, complete with numer-
ous golden candelabra, torches, instrumental music, singing and dancing.
In contrast, this ceremony of Torah reading was apparently austere, lacking
physical ornamentation, instrumental accompaniment, or song. A similar
observation might be made about the High Priest's reading on the Day of
Atonement, which, although also taking place in the courtyard, lacks even a
special platform. Mishnah Yoma 7:1-3 indicates that, in order to fulfill this
obligation of reading, the High Priest simply stepped aside from the main,
sacrificial work of the day which continued in his absence. Unlike his sacri-
ficial duties, this reading required no special vestments and was not the sole
focus of Temple activities. These observations lend support to claims that
these Scripture readings were possibly foreign or late interpolations into the
Temple cult; their native locus was in another social setting. 2

See the discussion in Joseph Heinemann, Prayer in the Talmud: Forms and Pat-

105

Both Torah reading ceremonies include a procession of sorts, but the texts
record no musical or liturgical accompaniment to the performance. In both
cases, the practical object of the procession was to bring the scroll to its
place of reading, and here, also to the reader. After taking the scroll from an
undisclosed place, 3 the officers of what was, at least later, the scroll's normal
realm, the synagogue, pass it to the officers of the realm of this ceremonial
reading, the priests, and in the second case, then to the king. As the Talmud
recognizes, 4 there is a symbolic message encoded in this movement. It is an
act of deliberate deference to the High Priest and the king, expressed not
only in the chain of transmission of the scroll, but also in the very fact that
the scroll is brought to the reader. Indeed, the Palestinian Talmud indicates
that normally, readers go to the Torah scroll, but in this case, the scroll was
brought to the king, as an indication his elevated stature. It also reports, and
a later Babylonian chronicle verifies, that the Babylonian Jews continued to
honor their civil ruler, the exilarch, in this way. The Babylonian exilarchs, like
the Israelite king, claimed royal Davidic descent. 5

The center of the performance, the reading, lies for these particular in-
stances only in the realms of the priest and king. Both show deference to the
scroll by standing to receive it. The priest continues to stand for the reading,
and the sages applaud the king who humbles himself similarly despite the
extreme length of his reading. Rabbinic law required that every reader stand. 6
In the hierarchy of symbols, Torah reigns supreme over all human beings,
including kings. 7

Apparently, the High Priest and the King did not even preface their reading
with a blessing. Following the reading, however, both recited a series of eight
benedictions. This is particularly curious; rabbinic liturgical law establishes
on principle that a blessing precedes the fulfillment of any divine command-
ment. The rabbis had to struggle to justify only the blessing after the reading,

terns, trans. Richard S. Sarason (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1977), 126 and n. 9 there,
citing Samuel Krauss, Synagogale Altertumer (Berlin-Vienna, 1922), 70.

3 Commentaries assume this to be the synagogue situated on the Temple mount near
the courtyard. While locating a Torah scroll somewhere in the priestly precincts on the
Temple Mount is not problematic, the assumption that this was in a "synagogue" may
well be an anachronistic retrojection of later rabbinic norms onto an earlier period.

A BYoma 69a; BSotah 40b, 41b.

^PSotah 7:6, 22a. For the later Babylonian custom, see below.

6 See below.

7 This relationship is implied in the rulings of Dt. 17:18-20, in the requirement that

basing it on an analogy to the laws of table rituals. 8 Obviously, at the time
of these Temple ceremonies, the concept of framing the Torah reading with
blessings was not yet established.

Little can be said about the content of these eight blessings, for, typically,
the Mishnah itself lists only their topics, and the talmudic traditions provide
little additional detail. It is possible that, at this period, only general forms
and topics were fixed, and the person performing the ritual had the freedom
to improvise within the established ideational and syntactic structure. While
the blessings listed in the Mishnah show every sign of fitting into the general
patterns which emerge in rabbinic prayer, this particular sequence of themes
never appears together in known rites, and many of the individual blessings
find their parallels in liturgies distinct from the Torah rituals. 9 As we shall
see below, later Jewish communities will come to understand the presence
of the Torah itself to create an opportunity for efficacious prayer and spe-
cial access to God. Two arguments can be made against that being the case
here: first, these ceremonies took place on the Temple Mount in reasonable
proximity to the Holy of Holies, the most reliable point of contact with God
for Jews, making this later, post-destruction function of the Torah scroll as
yet unnecessary; and second, if these blessings were understood to have this
function, one might expect them to have been preserved or imitated in this
locus in later rites.

The mishnaic description of these Temple rituals does not record anything
about the return of the Torah to its place and the movement of the various
ritual actors on to their next tasks. The picture which emerges, in spite of the
ceremonial of the setting, is one of a very functional, unembellished ritual
moment. The Torah itself had a sanctified status, deserving of special respect,
but it is not evident that this status was articulated in any marked way.

the king constantly study the Torah which is to be with him at all times.

% PBerakhotl:\ ,11a; PMegillah 4: 1 , 74d; comp . BBerakhot 48b. Compare also Deuter-
onomy Rabbah, Lieberman ed.,Nitzavim 1:2 (Vilna ed. 8:2), which derives the blessing
after the reading from the order of Moses' addresses to the people in Deuteronomy,
where his blessing, Ch. 33, follows his song, Ch. 32. Although the exegetical basis of
the answer is different, the question eliciting the responses is the same.

9 BYoma 70a; BSotah 41b; PYoma 7:1, 44b; PSotah 7:6, 22a. Heinemann, Prayer...,
126, 227-8, understands this series of benedictions to be an independent and early
prayer, derived from the same formal structures as that which led to synagogue prayer,
but independent of it. A general thesis of his work is that prayer texts were not fixed
in this period.

Other literary and archaeological sources from the late Second Temple and
early rabbinic periods clearly indicate the centrality of Torah reading in the
synagogues of Israel and the diaspora. There is room to question, though, as
we will see below, whether this early Torah reading was simply communal
study of the sacred text, or if it had already become a liturgical rite. At Qum-
ran, although study of Torah was indeed a highly valued and even a ritualized
activity of the community, it seems to have been more similar to the rabbinic
study of Torah than to the synagogue's public reading of the text. Although
one text found at Qumran mentions prayer and study together, it does not
suggest an actual liturgical setting for the study itself. 10 This sense of reading
as an act of study rather than an act of ritual is only reinforced by the extant
descriptions of synagogal reading of Scripture. We have little or no indication
that there was any liturgical accompaniment to the reading, suggesting that
there was no need to mark a transition into a ritual moment or to express
meanings embedded in the symbolism of that moment. The most expansive
New Testament description, Luke 4:16ff., describing Jesus' actions on a Sab-
bath in the synagogue in Nazareth, simply reports:

He stood up to read the lesson and was handed the scroll of the prophet
Isaiah. He opened the scroll and found the passage which says,... He rolled
up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down; and all eyes in
the synagogue were fixed on him. He began to speak...
Here we lack any blessings at all, for Torah or, in this case, Haftarah. That
the scroll is handed to the reader may not have special significance, as Judaism
does not assign prophetic texts the same degree of sanctity as the revealed
Torah. In addition, the requirement that a ritually fit Torah scroll contain all
five books in a single scroll made it a much bulkier and less easily handled
book.

10 See Steven D. Fraade, "Interpretative Authority in the Studying Community at
Qumran," /o«r«fl/ of Jewish Studies 44 (1993): 46-69. Fraade, 56, cites 1 QS 6.6-8, which
dictates that "...the Many shall watch together for a third of every night of the year, to
read the book, to study (communal) law, and to pray as a Community." This combi-
nation of study and prayer does perhaps reflect the same merger of activities which
becomes the norm in the rabbinic synagogue, but the prayer and study could equally
well be read as separate, sequential activities. But Fraade, in this article makes the larger,
and for us, significant point, that the "concluding of the nightly study sessions with a
liturgical practice suggests that communal study was itself a religious performance..."
(57-8). The transition from ritualized study to ritualized reading need not have been
difficult. See too, Shemaryahu Talmon, "The Emergence of Institutionalized Prayer in
Israel," in The World of Qumran from Within, Collected Studies (Jerusalem - Leiden:
Magnes Press, E.J. Brill, 1989), 241.

Yitzhak D. Gilat, among others, suggests that, based on the evidence of the
early rabbinic texts and of Philo, the idea of a cyclical and systematic reading
of all of Torah did not emerge until the period following the destruction of
the Temple, and its mechanics were still being clarified in the early second
century. Indeed, the earliest readings seem to have been functional, remind-
ing the community of its obligations pertaining to a particular holiday. 1 1 This
movement to a regular, complete reading of all of Torah is consistent with a
move to an elevated conception of Torah as the single object best connecting
the community with God's revelatory voice. Instructional reading, while still
important, fades in the synagogue setting in comparison to the Sinai over-
tones. 12 While the Jerusalem Temple still stood, a Jew could reliably access
God there. In the absence of the Temple, new routes had to be forged. Study
of Torah, and at a more richly symbolic level, the ritual reading of Torah, was
a way to fill this gap.

The blessings that come to frame the Torah reading are the most direct
expression of this meaning. Although we do not find explicit definitions of
the texts of these blessings in the talmudic literature, there is no doubt that
blessings were recited. There is no significant documentable variation in the
texts of these blessings as they have come down to us in the various rites;
and the familiar blessing texts begin to appear explicitly in the post- talmudic
discussions of the Torah reading. 13 Both blessings evoke Sinai. They both
conclude praising God as the Giver of Torah. The opening blessing speaks
of God's choosing Israel and giving it the Torah; the concluding blessing
speaks of God's giving Israel the Torah, implanting the source of eternal life
in its midst. While neither speak specifically and exclusively to Sinai, both

^Studies in the Development of the Halakhah [Heb.] (Bar Ilan University Press,
1992), 356f. See also Ezra Fleischer, "Annual and Triennial Reading of the Bible in the
Old Synagogue," [Heb.] Tarbitz 61 (1991/2): 29f. Fleischer traces in the early rabbinic
texts evidence for the apparent transition from a reading devoted solely to the didactic
needs of the moment to a cycle in which the entire Torah is read seriatum.

1 2 It retains some rank through the Palestinian institutions of the sermon, of liturgical
poetry, and, in Aramaic speaking communities, through the institution of the targum,
the often interpretive translation of the text into that language.

^Massekhet Soferlm 13:6 (Higger ed.) provides an alternative blessing to precede
the reading as well as the conventional blessing afterwards, but this explicitly pertains
to an individual's reading when no quorum is present. For the earliest, most histori-
cally reliable appearance of these blessing texts in their standard setting in the geonic
literature, see the tenth-century Siddur Rav Saadia Gaon, 359. If the blessings had
been the subject of any dispute, we would be more likely to find dis

highlight the relationship which began there. These themes are reiterated in
the blessings surrounding the haftarah, the prophetic reading. 14

However, these blessings would seem to be insufficient to express the
profound meaning of the ritual of Torah reading. They are brief, and they
are recited only in direct proximity to the actual reading. Initially, they were
recited only once, before the first reading and after the last, but because of "the
people coming and going," the custom was adjusted so that each person called
to the Torah recited the full set. 15 One might wonder whether, rather than
simply a response to communal irresponsibility, as the Talmud suggests, this
liturgical adjustment deliberately emphasized the meaning of the entire rite
through the reiteration of its basic spiritual underpinning. This explanation,
of course, would depend on these blessings having existed in their current
formulation, or in similar formulations, at the point of the adjustment. This
cannot be demonstrated.

If correct, this observation points to very early evidence for a tendency to
make more explicit the symbolic significance of this meaning-laden reading.
In much of Jewish liturgy, in marked contrast to the rites of other religions,
there is a tendency to avoid explicit statement of the mythic referent of the
ritual. The amidah, the "Eighteen Blessings," for example, gains much of its
centrality and significance from the fact that it corresponds to and, in the
absence of the Jerusalem Temple, replaces, the biblically ordained sacrifices. 16
Yet, except in the additional service on Sabbaths and holidays, there is no
mention at all of this purpose. The move to repetition of the blessings by
each reader may be interpreted as a device to enhance the growing symbolic
role of Torah in the Jewish world as the embodiment of the Sinai revelation,
the sacred myth on which all of Judaism stands. Torah reading, as it moved
to a sequential reading of the entire text, whether over a year or a period of
approximately three and a half years, became the ritualized recitation of the
central myth of the Jewish people, the heart of the liturgical experience. Its
reading reenacts Sinai, and, over time, tells the story of Sinai too. No longer
really an act of study or instruction, it has become a ritualization of the myth
in sacred time, or in Paul Bradshaw's categories developed to describe the
Christian liturgical use of Scripture, it has moved from a "didactic" to an
"anamnetic" reading. 17

14 Heinemann, Prayer..., 227-9, identifies this series of blessings as one which may
well have antiquity predating the emergence of rabbinically standardized prayer.
15 15. BMegillah 22a.
16 BBerakhot 26a-b.
1 '"The Use of the Bible in Liturgy: Some Historical Perspectives," Studla Liturgica

110

A final point regarding the early description of Torah readings deserves
discussion. We noted that the High Priest stood to read the Torah, the king
who did so was praised by the rabbis, and when Jesus read in the synagogue,
he too stood. While this might seem simply a logistical ideal enabling the
reader to project his voice and receive the congregation's attention, the rab-
binic discussions would suggest otherwise. Mishnah Megillah 4:1 begins: The
one who reads the scroll of Esther may stand or sit. To this the Babylonian
Talmud comments, "It is taught [in a tannaitic tradition]: which is not the
case with the Torah." The later, amoraic talmudic discussion then asks:

What is the [biblical] source for this? Rabbi Abbahu (Palestine, c. 300)
said, "From the fact that the verse says [recording the words God spoke
to Moses at Sinai], "And you stand here with Me [and I will tell you all
the commandments and laws]' (Dt. 5:28)." And Rabbi Abbahu also said,
"Had Scripture not phrased it in this way, it would be impossible to utter
it, but it is as if even the Holy One, blessed be He, was standing." 18
Standing to read the Torah is much more than a logistical necessity or an
expression of respect. According to this interpretation, by standing, the reader
emulates, not Moses who stood to receive the Torah, but God who revealed
it. The ritual reading of the Torah then, is not simply an act of study, but a
reenactment of Sinai itself. The tradition recorded in the Palestinian Talmud
does not go quite this far, but it does rebuke the reader who leans against the
table while reading, saying that this is forbidden because "just as [the Torah]
was given with fear and reverence, so too we need to treat it with fear and
reverence." 19 While, in this more conservative understanding the reader rep-
resents Moses, or perhaps the Israelites, who received the Torah, the public
reading is still a reenactment of Sinai and is to be treated as such. 20
22 (1992): 36-41. 1 would argue strongly, based on the evidence presented in this paper,
against Bradshaw's characterization of the synagogue reading as primarily "doxologi-
cal." (42) While there is undoubtedly a doxological quality to the liturgical reading of
Scripture in Judaism, this is tertiary at best to the "didactic" and "anamnetic" qualities.
Bradshaw is correct in pointing out that the rabbis consider(ed) study a form of wor-
ship, but this applies primarily to non-liturgical study, limud torah, and not to the ritual
reading of Torah, qeriat hatorah. A more detailed comparison of the development of
these traditions and their possible cross-influences is a desideratum.

1 ^BMegillah 21a. The continuation of this passage tries to determine what postures
are suitable for the teaching of Torah in both its written and oral forms. There is agree-
ment that even though, ideally, all study and teaching should be performed standing,
human weakness makes this impractical.

19 PMegillah 4:1, 74d.

20 This understanding did create a tendency among various groups of Jews through-

The architecture of the synagogue itself helps us to map this shift to
heightened symbolic meanings. In the earliest synagogues, in Palestine at
least, there is no permanent housing for the Torah ark. Like the original ark
housing the Ten Commandments, the Torah ark was a mobile furnishing,
brought into the synagogue when it was needed. This was perfectly functional,
especially in small communities where the Torah scroll was needed both for
regular study in other buildings and for the ritual reading in the synagogue.
However, even this mobile ark formed a ritual focal point, as the early rab-
binic tannaitic texts identify the person leading the recitation of the amidah
as the "one who goes down before the ark." But evidence from synagogues
from the fourth century on points to the permanent housing of the Torah
scroll in an elaborate niche on the Jerusalem-facing wall, sometimes displac-
ing the earlier synagogue's doors which opened towards that sacred city. Not
only was the ark the architectural focus of the synagogue, but it also came to
mark the direction of prayer. Any prayer which needed to be recited facing
Jerusalem now was physically mediated by the Torah scroll. This became a
universal feature of synagogues throughout the world. In Palestine, by the
sixth century, some synagogues marked the sanctity of the Torah scroll even
more dramatically, setting it apart from the rest of the synagogue's space by a
set of chancel screens. 21 The Torah and its housing have moved from merely
representing the Sinai revelation in its mobile housing, to representing the
permanent housing of that ark in the Jerusalem Temple itself. This does not
detract from the centrality of Sinai, for after that unique event, "Torah shall
come forth from Zion and the word of the Eternal from Jerusalem." (Isaiah
2:3.) Like the Temple, these synagogues marked off their most sacred space

out history to extend the requirement to stand during the reading to the entire congre-
gation. See, for instance, the comment of Joseph Karo in his Beit Yosef, OH 141, who
criticizes this custom. Is the Christian custom of standing to hear the gospel is a related
phenomenon? On various early medieval customs for standing during the processionals
to bring the Torah to or from its ark, see Mordecai Margulies, The Differences Between
Eastern and Palestinian Jews [Heb.] (Jerusalem, 1938), #49, 173-4.

21 See Steven Fine, "From Meeting House to Sacred Realm: Holiness and the An-
cient Synagogue," in Sacred Realm: The emergence of the Synagogue in the Ancient
World, ed. Steven Fine (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 21-47; and Rachel
Hachlili, "Synagogues in the Land of Israel: THe ARt and Architecture of Late Antique
Synagogues," in the same volume, 106fF; Shmuel Safrai, "The Synagogue," [Heb.] in The
Ancient Synagogue: Selected Studies [Heb.], ed. Zeev Safrai (Jerusalem: The Zalman
Shazar Center for Jewish History, 1986), 31-32. On the chancel screens, see Joan R. Bra-
nham, "Sacred Space Under Erasure in Ancient Synagogues and Churches," Art Bulletin
74 (1992): 375-394 and "Vicarious Sacrality: Temple Space in Ancient Synagogues," in

112

with architectural barriers. This holiest of places is explicitly the locus of God
and of God's revelation. 22

It is impossible to know whether any further liturgical texts accompanied
the Torah service in the talmudic period. Because these liturgies lay outside
of the realm of the legal concerns of the halakhah, talmudic texts had no
compelling reason to discuss them. In addition, the early liturgies were likely
not fixed, and they almost certainly were not written down in any authorita-
tive fashion. The first Jewish prayerbooks date only from the ninth century.
As a result, we have very limited knowledge about the details of the liturgy of
the early synagogue. However, by the twelfth century, the point from which
we begin to have prayerbook manuscripts in any number, very rich and very
varied liturgies have emerged which do enrich and express the performance
of this reenactment of Sinai.

From the intervening period, we have only three descriptions of any detail,
each problematic in its own way. The Seder or order of prayers of Rav Amram
Gaon is an invaluable resource, but unfortunately, we possess no manuscript
in which the prayertexts (as opposed to the extensive discussions of the
rules about prayer) can be demonstrated to be original. Because the text was
such an important source of liturgical law, copyists rewrote it to conform to
their own rites, substituting their own liturgical variants where necessary.
Hence, for the purposes of understanding the development of the liturgies
accompanying the geonic Torah reading, this text is not a reliable source. 23
The two other texts, the narrative of Nathan the Babylonian and a section of
Massekhet Soferim, deserve detailed treatment. Both of these demonstrate
continuity with some of the themes discussed above and give first witness to
themes and meanings which will continue to accompany the Torah reading
to the present day.

Ancient Synagogues: Historical Analysis and Archaeological Discovery, ed. Dan Urman
and Paul V.M. Flesher (Leiden: E.J.Brill, 1995), 319-345. The antiquities gallery of the
Israel Museum in Jerusalem houses a reconstruction of the chancel screens and ark
from Khirbet Susiya, pictured in plate 18b in the Urman and Flesher volume.

22 This theme has vast implications, extending to the contemporary custom of
opening the ark for the recitation of various important prayers, especially on the High
Holy Days.

23 See the introduction to E.D. Goldschmidt's critical edition of this text. Other geonic
texts, like the SiddurRav Saadia Gaon, and the legal compendia like Halakhot Gedolot include
extensive discussions of various legal issues concerning the Torah reading, but indicate
no liturgical framework beyond the simple blessings.

The narrative of Nathan the Babylonian records the service of installation
for a new exilarch in wonderful detail. 24 As for the mishnaicly described
Torah reading of the king, a special wooden platform is constructed, this
one specifically seven cubits high by three cubits wide. Unlike the king's
platform, though, this one is completely draped with the richest of cloths,
disguising its humble structure. A canopy of rich cloth is also suspended over
this platform, an addition perhaps made possible by the indoor setting of the
ritual, and one which certainly accentuated the royal Davidic descent of the
exilarch. Hidden under this platform, from the beginning of the service, sits
a boys' choir. The exilarch himself only appears after the completion of the
morning prayers, accompanied and escorted by the heads of the Babylonian
academies of Sura and Pumbedita, the geonim; the three of them seat them-
selves on this platform. Preceding the Torah reading, the leader (the cantor)
of the synagogue offers a soto voce blessing to the new exilarch, and then the
exilarch and the geonim deliver sermons which are received with immense
reverence. This entire section of the installation stands alone and is concluded
with the kaddish prayer, 25 an ancient marker of the completion of a period of
study. This is followed by blessings offered by the leader to the new exilarch
and to the two geonim, and a recognition one by one of the (probably Jewish)
representatives present from other places. 26 All of this points to an unusual,
elevated ritual. However, we do not have sufficient information to identify
where it might deviate from the pattern of a normal Sabbath service.

The description of the Torah reading itself is mostly unremarkable, except
in the special treatment accorded to the exilarch. Nathan reports:

And then (the officiant) takes out the Torah scroll, and the priest
reads, followed by the levite. Then the officiant (lit. the cantor of the
congregation) lowers the Torah scroll to the exilarch while all the
people stand. He (the exilarch) receives the Torah scroll in his hands
and stands to read in it. The heads of the academies (the geonim)

24 A. Neubauer, ed. Medieval Jewish Chronicles and Chronological Notes, Vol. II
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1895): 83-84.

25 Modified only slightly to recognize the occasion, reading, "in the lifetime of
our prince, the exilarch, and in your lifetimes and in the lifetime of all the house of

26 The text reads "states," and Neubauer suggests that this should be read "acad-
emies." The context supports his reading, as it suggests that these are communities
that contribute to the upkeep of the Babylonian academies. It would make less sense to
suppose that the non- Jewish nations paid attention to this event to the extent of being
required to sit through an hours-long service which was largely in Hebrew.

114

stand with him, and the head of the academy of Sura provides the
Aramaic translation. Then (the exilarch) returns the Torah scroll
to the officiant who returns it to the reading desk. 27 After (the
officiant) reaches the reading desk, he sits down in his place and
then all the people sit in their places. Then the roshei kallah (the
heads of the semi-annual academy sessions) read, followed by
the students of the heads of the academies, but the heads of the
academies themselves do not read because others have preceded
them. 28 When the reader reads the prophetic portion, a wealthy
and important man should provide the translation, and he should
be greatly honored by this. When he finishes, he (the officiant, the
reader, or the translator of the prophetic portion?) should continue
by blessing the exilarch with the Torah scroll, and all of the prayer
leaders (lit. the representatives of the congregation) who are
practised and expert in leading prayers stand around the reading
desk and respond "amen." After that he blesses both of the heads
of the academies. Then he returns the Torah to its place and they
pray the additional service and leave. 29
Absent in this description, as from all others seen to this point, is any
liturgical accompaniment to the movement of the Torah scroll from the ark
to its place of reading and back again. Given the wealth of detail in Nathan's
account, we must assume either that this movement was accomplished with-
out liturgical marking or, less likely, that it was accompanied only by some
standard texts that therefore required no notice. Otherwise, this ceremony
continues to echo that of the ritual Torah reading of the king, in that the scroll
is brought to the exilarch to read from his special platform. However, because
this ritual occurs in the setting of a Sabbath service run by the conventions
of rabbinic Judaism, seven individual readers must participate. The exilarch
may not be the only reader. That the other readers come up to the reading
desk while the scroll is carried to the exilarch who remains on his throne-like
platform, decisively marks his extraordinary status.

Finally, we have here the germ of what will become standard practice in
conjunction with Sabbath and holiday Torah readings, the blessing in one

27 The technical term used here is teivah, which can also refer to the ark in which
the Torah is housed. This is clearly not the intent here.

2 ° The precise intent of this phrase is obscure, but it seems to refer to issues of rank
and its privileges.

29 Neubauer, 84.

form or another of the heads of the community, both secular and religious,
in conjunction with the presence of the Torah scroll itself. 30 Indeed, it is not
happenstance that these leaders are blessed at this point in the service. Nathan
says that the exilarch is blessed with the Torah scroll. The very presence of
the scroll enhances the power or the efficacy of the blessing. This happens,
I suggest, because the scroll itself becomes not merely an icon of the Sinai
experience, but the very embodiment of it. It is the word of God, forever
communicating. As such, the presence of the scroll ritually marks God's pres-
ence. 31 A prayer offered in proximity to it has an enhanced opportunity for
efficacy. The ritual expression of this concept goes well beyond the prayer for
the exilarch, encompassing eventually all "mi sheberakh" prayers 32 offered for
those called to the Torah, for the sick, for the congregation, and for naming
baby girls; and the blessing recited by one released from danger, memorial
prayers for the dead, and the announcements of the new month or fast days.

30 On the history of the prayer for the secular government, see: Joseph Fenton,
"Prayer for the Government (Rashut) and Permission (Reshut) for Prayer," [Heb.]
East and Maghreb 4 (1983):7-21, and S.D. Goitein, "Prayers from the Geniza for the
Fatamid Caliphs, the Head of the Jerusalem Yeshiva, the Jewish Community and the
Local Congregation," in Studies in Judaica, Karaitica, and Islamica (Leon Nemoy
Festschrift), ed. Sheldon R. Brunswick (Bar-Ilan University Press, 1982): 47-57, who
give some early examples; Barry Schwartz, "Hanoten Teshua ' The Origin of the Tradi-
tional Jewish Prayer for the Government," HUCA 57 (1986): 113-120; and for a concise
summary of the former and an investigation of more recent materials, see Jonathan
D. Sarna's forthcoming article, "Jewish Prayer for the United States Government: A
Study in the Liturgy of Politics and the Politics of Liturgy," in the the David Brion Davis
Festschrift, Moral Problems in American Life: New Perspectives in Cultural History,
ed. Karen Halttunen and Lewis Perry (Cornell University Press). Less up to date in its
questions and methodology but more directly relevant to this prayer for the exilarch
is C. Duschinsky, "The Yekum Purkan," in Sefer Hazikaron Likhvod Hadoktor Shmuel
Avraham Poznanski (Warsaw, 1927; rpt. Jerusalem, 1969), Vol. II, 182-198.

3 ! This needs to be compared in more detail to the Christian use of the Bible as "a
sacramental expression of Christ's presence in the assembly." See Bradshaw, "The Use
of the Bible...," 35.

32 This type of prayer, commonly recited in conjunction with the Torah scroll
(although not exclusively so) begins "May He who blessed our ancestors, Abraham,
Isaac and Jacob, bless so-and-so with ... because..." Often when the prayer is offered for
a woman, the matriarchs are also listed. For an exhaustive collection of the varieties
of this prayer, see Avraham Yaari, "Mi Sheberakh Prayers," [Heb.] in Kiryat Sefer 33
(1958):118-130, 233-250; 36 (1961): 103-118; and the comments and additions made
by Daniel Cohen in 40 (1965): 542-559.

Outside the context of formal prayer, various private petitions, especially
those of women, and even oaths were also recited in deliberate proximity
to the scroll. This is a theme deserving of much greater elaboration. Nathan
the Babylonian's account gives only our first hints of the appearance of this
theme in a ritual context.

In contrast with the apparent lack of ceremony surrounding the Torah's
movements in Nathan's account of the exilarch's installation, Massekhet
Soferim describes an extended liturgy. Massekhet Soferim, a post-talmudic
tractate often printed with the Talmud, prescribes protocols for creating Torah
scrolls, and then, almost incidentally, the rituals surrounding them. The text's
provenance and dating are unclear; theories place it anywhere from the sixth
to the twelfth centuries anywhere between Babylonia and Europe. In many
aspects, including those of interest here, the text of Massekhet Soferim clearly
represents traditions which do not conform to those of the then, or soon
to be, dominant Babylonian rituals. Scholars used to assume that anything
from this period that was not Babylonian was necessarily Palestinian. The
fact that no manuscripts of this tractate have appeared in the Cairo geniza
makes this assumption questionable. 33 Additionally, we know that medieval
copyists often inserted the prayer texts of their own rites into passages like the
one of interest here. In spite of the fact that Higger's critical edition gives no
evidence of such tampering, we must be somewhat suspicious. But whatever
the provenance of this passage, whether it is original or not to the tractate, the
form in which we and those few who cite it in the medieval world received
it seems to be the first witness to liturgical elements surrounding the Torah
reading which persist in the later rites. Yet, this text apparently describes its
Torah ritual as the prayers to be recited by the reader of the prophetic portion,
the maftir. As we shall see, it is not obvious that Massekhet Soferim describes
a real situation. The text reads: 34
[14:4] ...How does he begin?
A. Happy are they who dwell in Your house...(Ps. 84:5.) 35

33 1 am indebted for this perspective to Rabbi Debra Reed Blank, who is completing
a dissertation on this tractate at the Jewish Theological Seminary.

34 My translation follows Michael Higger's critical edition in text and numbering
(New York: Debei Rabbanan, 1937). The narration of the author/ editor appears in
boldface. Bible translations are based on the new translation of the Jewish Publication
Society unless the liturgical use demands otherwise.

Commonly prefixed to Ps. 145, which is recited in various rites as a prelude to
returning the Torah to the ark. This is not necessarily the context here.

Then the reader of the prophetic portion stands and says:

B. There is none like you among the gods, O Eternal One, and there are no

deeds like Yours. (Ps. 86:8.)

C. Who is like you among the gods, O Eternal One, who is like You majestic

in holiness, awesome in splendor, doing wonders. (Ex. 15:11.)

D. Your kingship is an eternal kingship; Your dominion is for all generations.

(Ps. 145:13.)

E. The Eternal One is king, the Eternal One was king, the Eternal One will

reign forever and ever. (Elaboration on Ex. 15:18.)
E The Eternal was pleased for His righteousness' sake, to make the Torah

great and majestic. (Isaiah 42:21.)
G. The Eternal will give strength to His people, the Eternal will bless His

people with peace. (Ps. 29:11) 36
H. You alone are the Eternal One, you made the heavens, the highest heavens

and all their host, the earth and everything that is on it, the seas and all

that are in them. You keep them all alive, and the host of heaven prostrate

themselves to You. (Nehemiah 9:6.)
[14:5] Immediately, the reader of the prophetic portion goes in and holds

the Torah and chants:
I. Hear O Israel, the Eternal is our God, the Eternal is One. (Dt. 6:4, shema.)
And even the people repeat after him, and he repeats and says:
J. One is our God, great is our Lord: holy. One is our God, merciful is our Lord:

holy.One is our God, great is our Lord: holy and awesome is His Name

- corresponding to the three patriarchs, and there are those who say

that this corresponds to the three "holies." 37
K. Your beneficence is high as the heavens, O God, for You have done great

things; O God, who is like You? (Ps. 71:19.)
L. O Eternal, Your name endures forever, Your fame, O Eternal through all

generations. (Ps. 135:13.)
M. Let everyone ascribe might to our God and ascribe glory to the Torah.
N. Exalt the Eternal with me, and let us extol His name together. (Ps. 34:4.)
He must lift up the Torah during "Hear O Israel," and during the three

declarations of God's unity, and during "Exalt the Eternal with me."

ly understood in the midrashic traditions to describe the giving of the
"Strength" is Torah.

[14:6] Additionally, he must recite:

O. For everything, 38 let the glorious and awesome name of the King, the king
of kings, the Holy One, blessed be He, be exalted, sanctified, praised, (seven
additional synonyms), in the worlds which He created, in this world and in
the world to come, according to His will and according to the will of those
who revere Him and according to the will of all His people the House of
Israel. Let His majesty be revealed and seen among us speedily, and let
Him rebuild his house in our days, and may He, in His great mercy and
with much lovingkindness favor our remnant and the remnant of all His
people the House of Israel with favor, lovingkindness, mercy, life, and
peace, and may He have mercy on us and on all His people the House of
Israel for the sake of His great name, and let us say "Amen."

[14:7] After this he lifts the Torah up high and says:

P. One is our God, great is our Lord, holy and awesome is His name forever
and ever.

And he begins to chant, saying:

Q. The Eternal is God (IKings 18:39), the Eternal is His name. (Ex. 15:3.)

And the people answer after him, repeating and doubling his (words), and
they answer after him twice.

[14:8] Immediately he unrolls the Torah scroll to (show) three columns, and
lifts it up and shows its writing to the people standing to his right and left,
and he turns it frontwards and backwards, for it is a commandment for
all the men and women to see the writing and to bow and say:

R. This is the Torah which Moses set before the Israelites. (Dt. 4:44.)

Additionally he says:

S. The Torah of the Eternal is perfect, renewing life; the decrees of the Eternal
are enduring, making the simple wise; the precepts of the Eternal are just,
rejoicing the heart; the instruction of the Eternal is lucid, making the eyes
light up; the fear of the Eternal is pure, abiding forever; the judgements
of the Eternal are true, righteous altogether; more desirable than gold,
than much find gold; sweeter than honey, than drippings of the comb.
(Ps. 19:8-11.)

3 ' Either the threefold repetition of the word "holy" in Isaiah 6:3, or the three modes
in which this verse is embedded in the synagogue liturgy.

38 Naphtali Wieder suggests that these words, "al hakol" which appear in this form
in the vast majority of appearances of this prayer, are actually a mistranscription of
the common Judeo-Arabic instruction to recite the prayer "haqol" He points out that
the Spanish rite seems to know this opening without the word "al" See his "Marginal
Comments to the Article * Research on the Text of the Amidah in the Early Babylonian
Rite,"' Sinai 78 (1976):279-280.

119

[14:9] And the reader of the prophetic portion gives it (the Torah scroll)
to the prayer leader, and he girdles the Torah to cover the heads of
the readers, for it does not honor the Torah for it to be alone in the
hands of a single prayer leader... 39

Chapter 14 oiMassekhet Soferim begins with laws for the megillah reading.
Our scenario appears in the context of a commentary on Mishnah Megillah
4:5, which like Massekhet Soferim moves from issues of reading Esther to
the larger issue of Torah reading. But Massekhet Soferim presents a rather
peculiar reading o£ this Mishnah. Rather than understanding it to mean that
"One who may read the prophetic portion may (also) lead the recitation of
{pores al) shema..." Massekhet Soferim interprets it as "The one who reads
the prophetic portion also leads the recitation of shema" While the first un-
derstanding discusses the qualifications for prayer leaders, a theme which
receives further elaboration in the continuation of the Mishnah, this second
reading presupposes some combination of only the first two rituals listed in
the Mishnah; inexplicably excluded from this is the continuation of the list:
the leading of the amidah and the priestly benediction. This second reading
is supported neither by the readings of either Talmud nor by the various
commentary traditions, all of which consistently interpret this Mishnah as
discussing the qualifications of the prayer leader. Massekhet Soferim 's read-
ing and its consequent question, "To which shema does this refer?" is thus
very bizarre.

The bizarre nature of this passage is only heightened by the fact that my
preliminary research in the medieval prayerbook manuscripts indicates that
shema only very rarely appears in the rituals surrounding the Sabbath Torah
service of any rite, and even within a particular rite, its appearance in the
medieval prayerbooks is irregular. 40 This is such an integral part of Massekhet
Soferim's discussion that we cannot dismiss it as a gloss or copyist's addi-
tion. There seems to be no justification for claiming broad familiarity with

39 This last instruction is obscure, most likely because the textual tradition is corrupt.
The words that I have translated as "girdles" and "to cover" are extremely unusual in
this context. Higger lists a significant number of variants, none of which make more
sense, all of which are the preferred readings of significant commentators on this pas-
sage. Most of them read some variation on "and he returns the Torah to the first of the
readers" or "in order to count or appoint the readers." Higger explains his text in light
of the continuation of the passage, saying that this refers to the traditions of having
three people stand at the reader's desk at all times for the Torah reading.

40 In a survey of the collection of hundreds of microfilmed prayerbook manuscripts
of the Institute for Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts at the Jewish National and Uni-

Massekhet Soferim's assumption that there is a shema connected to the Torah
reading which was to be recited by the maftir. The few traditions that include
shema may well simply rely on Massekhet Soferim. This may be inferred from
the absence of this shema in any weekday Torah service, pointing to its link-
age to services including a prophetic reading, thus preserving some remnant
of Massekhet Soferim's system. In addition, even if we posit that Massekhet
Soferim is recording the actual rite of a community, we cannot posit that this
rite is the direct ancestor of any known later rite, as this shema does not appear

versity Library in Jerusalem, I found this shema appearing in the following twelfth to
seventeeth century manuscripts:

• Sephardi (Spanish) rite: Of eighteen manuscripts checked, only in a
fifteenth-century Sicilian si^Mr, Ms. Parma 1741 (570). It does not appear
in today's Spanish-rite prayerbooks.

• Italian/Roman rite: Of twenty manuscripts checked, only one, produced
in 1420 in Ortona, Ms. Vatican Ebr. 545. This manuscript surrounds shema
with many of the verses found in Massekhet Soferim, but not found in the
other Italian rite manuscripts. The edition of this prayerbook produced
by Samuel David Luzzato in 1829 does not include this shema.

• Ashkenazi (German) rite: Of twenty-one manuscripts checked, only three:
Ms. Parma 2225 (898), from the 12-13th c; Ms. Cambridge Dd.l3.7(13),
dated 1387; and Ms. Vatican Ebr. 323, from the 13-14th c. It also appears
in the rite recorded by Rabbi Isaac son of Moses of Vienna (d. mid- 13th c.)
in his Sefer OrZarua, who explicitly justifies his custom on the precedent
of Massekhet Soferim, but notes that the Jews in the Rhineland do not
include it. It does not appear in the rite of Mahzor Vitry. Note, though,
that shema is a standard and most dramatic feature of today's Ashkenazi
rite. This transformation requires further study.

• Romaniot (Balkan) Rite: Of nine manuscripts checked, only three: Ms.
Parma 1791 (435), a 13-14th c. Greek prayerbook; Ms. Alliance Israelite
Paris H.58.A, a 15th c. Romaniot prayerbook; and Ms. Parma 2587 (947),
a 15th c. Greek prayerbook.

• London, British Museum Or. 10516, 16-17th c. prayerbook) contains
liturgy for a Sabbath Torah reading, and this includes shema. Shema also
appears in a geniza manuscript of uncertain origin, Ms. TS NS 150.168,
and in Ms. Eastern Rites: Of the four manuscripts checked of the Persian
rite, only one (Ms. Cincinnati 407, a prayerbook from fifteenth-century
Aleppo.

• French Rites: Shema does not appear at all in the five prayerbooks checked.
It also does not appear at all in the manuscripts checked from Yemen,
Corfu, and North Africa.

uniformly in any family of manuscripts and it is never lead by the maftir. It is
more likely that individual communities which accepted Massekhet Soferim
as a source of legitimate liturgical guidance 41 used it as a partial model for
their own liturgies, adding from it to their pre-existing traditions.

Brief mention must be made of another ambiguity in this text. As Massekhet
Soferim only implies the connection of this ritual to a Torah reading, scholars
have debated whether its placing this ritual in the hands of the maftir really
means that this ritual occurred, not before the reading, but rather after it, at
the point when the Torah was to be returned to the ark. The description of
the ritual is, in any case, incomplete; it fails to state clearly where the Torah
scroll is before the reader takes it and it only hints at its location at the end.
Therefore, one cannot conclusively state that this describes either the taking
the Torah from the ark or its return there, or, alternatively, some movement
in the middle of the entire service. What can be said, though, is that all later
liturgies derived from or otherwise similar to that recorded here have these
prayers during the ceremony in which the Torah scroll is removed from its
ark and brought to the reader's desk. It seems most likely that the placing of
this ritual in the hands of the reader of the prophetic portion derives only
from Massekhet Soferim's strange interpretation of the Mishnah; it may be
wisest not to read it as a record of actual practice. 42

The wide variations from one community to the next, the lack of direct
duplication of Massekhet Soferim's liturgy in the liturgy of any known com-
munity on what was apparently, to it, a very important point, and the very
fact that so many sources, including prayerbooks, have no recorded liturgy
for bringing the Torah from its ark to its place of reading and back again all
speak to the non-halakhic status of this moment of the liturgy. Anything
that was said fell into the category of simply beautifying the moment; it was
not mandatory or legislated. On the other hand, this opened this liturgical
moment to freer and more poetic expression of its meanings. At this level,
Massekhet Soferim does serve as a model and/or as a witness to the emerging
patterns of Torah liturgies in the medieval Jewish world.

41 The authority of this text was not universally accepted. See, for example, its influ-
ence on the question of whether the individual may recite the kedushah in the morning
yotzer prayer, discussed in my The Impact of Custom, History and Mysticism on the
Shaping of Jewish Liturgical Law (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew Union College - Jewish Institute
of Religion, Cincinnati, 1994), Ch. 7, especially 402-405, 423ff.

42 For a summary of the arguments on this matter and an argument for this being a
liturgy following the Torah reading, see Heinemann, Prayer..., 259-60, n. 18.

The most obvious characteristic of Massekhet Soferim's liturgy to find
echo in all later rites is its use of biblical verses, mostly in direct citation, but
occasionally in elaborated form. The stringing together of biblical verses to
create liturgical compositions is known in Judaism, but it is also not charac-
teristic of the central prayers. This form appears in such likely post-talmudic
prayers as the birkat hapesukim (the blessing of the verses, the third blessing
after shema in the evening in most rites), in collections of verses included in
the morning pesukei d'zimra (verses of song, mostly from Psalms), and, in a
slightly different way, at the conclusion of major segments of the Palestinian
compositions of liturgical poetry. It is also the outstanding characteristic of
the liturgy of the Karaite Jews who, rejecting the official forms of rabbinic
prayer and turning deliberately to biblical models, may have simply accepted
this available pattern for liturgical language instead. Although there is no
absolute proof, these observations suggest a post-talmudic but fairly early
geonic origin for this liturgical structure. The specific combination of verses
that appears in Massekhet Soferim does not appear without modification in
other rites. Communities obviously generated their own liturgies, probably
based on some combination or gradual modification of existing models. Ad-
dition of new verses or entire passages was not restricted, and these liturgies
gradually expanded over the centuries.

The prayer beginning "For everything" (O) is the only really significant
exception to this use of biblical language. Once again, Massekhet Soferim
is the earliest witness to this prayer, and this prayer does appear, with some
modification, in every rite. From a form-critical perspective, it is obvious that
this prayer belongs to the type that Joseph Heinemann identifies as "study
house" prayers. It is largely a Hebrew variant of a kaddish prayer, with the
characteristic "study house" language which addresses of God in the third
person, as the King of Kings, and as the Holy One blessed be He, and requests
redemption. 43 In these features, the prayer is unremarkable. As Heinemann
indicates, it is not at all strange to find prayers associated with the study house
and its rituals retained in connection with the synagogue's ritual reading of
Torah, especially as it may be surmised that the ritual reading grew out of
the study context. Given that we have demonstrated the lack of influence of
Massekhet Soferim on the later rites, we must assume that it here is record-
ing a text that was well-known and widespread. It is possible, although not
necessary, that the prayer itself has some real antiquity.

43 Heinemann, Prayer..., To9, 271. Note that Heinemann's list of the rites in which
this prayer occurs is incomplete. I have found it in every rite I have examined.

This prayer acquires specific meaning through its inclusion and place-
ment in the Torah service. Although there is not a single verse in Massekhet
Soferim's liturgy which explicitly proclaims a reenactment of Sinai, this theme
is nonetheless present and voiced. The verses recited by the maftir move from
general to specific praise of God as the giver of Torah (F,G). In this context,
the reader holds the Torah and proclaims God's oneness, both with shema
(I) and with the direct declarations of God's unity which follow (J). Then,
with some intervening praises, the reader proclaims the anomalous, non-
scriptural line, "Let everyone ascribe might to our God and ascribe glory to
the Torah" (M). Torah is thus the abiding symbol of God's presence among
the people. It is the perpetuation of Sinai, its covenant, and its theophany
This then creates a particularly auspicious moment for praise of God and
for request for that event most desperately hoped for by the Jewish people,
redemption (O). The intensity of this moment is only heightened by what fol-
lows: a reiteration and intensification of the "unification" (P) and references
to the responses to two additional biblical demonstrations of God's presence
and providence, Elijah's at Mt. Carmel, and the Israelites' at the Sea (Q). At
this point the revelation actually occurs. The scroll is opened, and its text is
displayed to the entire people, men and women, who must see its essential
aspect, its words. The people respond with the explicit declaration that this
scroll is the Torah revealed at Sinai (R); the verses from Ps. 19 that follow
simply respond to this (S).

Later liturgies rearrange the parts, adding and subtracting specific verses,
but they maintain the basic concepts and symbols embedded here. By the
time that the known rites emerge in the medieval world, Torah reading has
moved from an almost entirely unadorned study of Scripture to a ritual which
establishes the Torah reading as a primary and symbol-rich moment of the
Jewish liturgical cycle. The authoritative texts of the rabbinic literature appar-
ently still reflect, for the most part, the unadorned rite. As a result, later texts
derivative of these in their content and structure also pay little attention to
the richness of meaning which emerges - and which, as prayerbook manu-
script evidence suggests, clearly has emerged in a fairly mature form by the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries. This tradition of non-attention continues in
modern academic studies of Jewish liturgy, belying the fact apparent to the
most uninformed observer of a Sabbath morning service: the emergence of
the Torah scroll from its ark, its presence in the midst of the congregation
before, during and after its reading, forms the ritual highpoint of the service.
Far from being a routine reading of the book, these liturgies have emerged as
expressions of the deep symbolic significance of the ritual. The Torah itself is

approached with the greatest of reverence, for it embodies the theophany at
Sinai, the core myth of the Jewish religious experience. Its treatment ritually
is at many levels a reenactment of Sinai, recreating, not the fearful awareness
of God's immense power loose in proximity to the human community, but the
awesome, beloved grandeur of a providential God who speaks to Israel and
who listens to their prayers. It took centuries for this liturgical statement to
be recorded at all in any detail; it took many more centuries for it to reach a
degree of fixity and authority, but that is the subject of another study.

Ruth hanger Is Associate Professor of Theology at Boston College, and Associate Direc-
tor of Its Center for Christian Jewish Learning. She Is the author of To Worship God
Properly: Tensions between Liturgical Custom andHalakhah in Judaism.

This article appeared originally In Worship 72:1 (1998): 43-67, and is reprinted here
with the editor's and author's kind permission.

Psychological Time and Improvisational Technique in
Jewish Music

by Stephen Lorch

A Point of Departure: The Aesthetics of Imperfection

The aesthetic principle underlying Jewish music is unique in that its
goal is different from that of Western music. Although both Jewish and
Western music are expressive, they differ in their expressive content.
An ancient midrashic source, Heikhalot Rabbati, proves an insight into
the expressive character of Jewish music:

Rabbi Ishmael said: Blessed is Israel- how much dearer are they to the
Holy One than the servant-angels: since as soon as the servant- angels
wish to proceed with their song in the heights, rivers of fire and hills of
flame encircle the throne of glory, and the Holy One says: Let every angle,
cherub, and seraph that I created be silenced before Me, until I have heard
and listened to the voice of song and praise of Israel, My children. 1

That human song takes precedence over the song of the heavenly hosts
indicates that the ideal of angelic music, abstract beauty, is not the model on
which Jewish music is based. By contrast, the quest of the Christian Church
for pure and flawless music, as well as the increasing inclination in Western
music through the nineteenth century toward instrumental music and hence
a cleaner, more precise sound, points toward an espousal of the concept of
abstract beauty in imitation of the angelic choirs.

The Jewish attitude toward musical aesthetics is attested to in numerous
sources spanning two millenia. A medieval pietistic text, Sefer Hasidim, de-
velops further the notion of human vocal imperfection as a positive aesthetic
element:

You should never say: My voice is not agreeable.. .Speaking this way, you
complain against Him who did not make your voice beautiful. There
is nothing that induces man to love his Creator and to enjoy His love
more than the voice raised in an extended tune.... If you are unable to
add something (of your own to the prescribed test], pick out a tune that
is beautiful and sweet to your ears. Offer up your prayer in such tunes,

1 Adolph Jellinek, ed. Bet Hamidrash, 6 vols. (Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1967), Vol. 3,
cited in Hanoch Avenary, S.V. "Music," Encyclopedia Judaica (Jerusalem: Keter) 1972,
12: 580.

and it will be full of kawanah, and your heart will be enchanted by the
utterings of your mouth... 2

Spiritual heirs to this tradition were the mystics of Safed, whose aesthetics
called for "prayer song from everybody- regardless of the beauty of the tunes
and the agreeability of the voice; only the intention and the devotion of the
singer count." 3 Lest it be inferred that the aesthetics of human imperfection
is only a mystical and midrashic phenomenon foreign to the mainstream of
rabbinic tradition and life, it should also be noted that the criterion of voice
quality is only a tertiary one in the appointment of a musical functionary in
the Jewish community, ranking behind personal conduct and reputation as
well as physical bearing. 4 In fact, even the capacity to grow a full beard takes
precedence over vocal quality. 5

Is this penchant for imperfect vocal quality simply an inversion of Western
aesthetic taste, or does it attest to an alternative aesthetic criterion which
overshadows abstract beauty and which furnishes an insight into the deep
structure of Jewish music? The association of vocal imperfection and "extended
tune" which was presented most clearly in Sefer Hasidim provides the first
clue on the road to the discovery of a fundamentally different psychological
goal in Jewish music.
Psychological Time

Avenary is drawn off base by the element of free rhythm that is characteristic
of all Biblical and liturgical chant; he concludes that any music which lacks
regular rhythm also contains no element of time whatsoever.

The differentiation of long and short syllables is foreign to the Hebrew
language. It was, rather, the intensity of enunciation that provided the
poetic "weight" (mishkal); It may be seen, for instance from Yose b. Yose's
Darkekha Eloheinu le-Ha'arikh Appekha that the singer had to utter
one, two, or three syllables, as the case may be, between the accents;
this precludes a regular beat and meter, and the tune had to be either
psalmodic or in free rhythm. It can be said that this poetry did not include
the dimension of time as an object of aesthetic configuration. 6

2 Judah ben Samuel he-Hasid. Sefer Hasidim, ed. Jehuda Wistinetzki (Frankfurt
a.M.:M.A. Wahrmann Verlag, 1924), 11, pp. 8-9.

3 Ibid., p. 613.

*Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayim 53:5.
5 Ibid., 53:6, 8.

6 Hanoch Avenary, s.v, "Music," Encyclopedia Judaica (Jerusalem: Keter), 1972, Vol.
12:594.

A somewhat different conception of Jewish musical time maybe found in the
theoretical treatise of Weinfeld. For him, the psychological impact of time
irregularities brings ancient prophetic experience to the fore,

so that the reader may understand the wonder, the rebuke, the supplication,
the equanimity, the skepticism, and the like. ..From their cantillation, you
can understand as if the prophet is standing before you face to face. 7
The telescoping of millenia over which the historical experience is relived is
a function of the free rhythm of the cantillation. Moses Maimonides explains,
in a different context, the obligatory nature of re-experiencing and the hu-
man capacity to arouse, by exposure to symbolic experiences, an empathetic
response to the historical agent:

In every generation, man is required to demonstrate himself as if he
personally had escaped Egyptian bondage right now. 8
Of critical importance is the word "demonstrate" (lehar'ot), for it represents
a subtle departure from the talmudic formulation "see" (lir'ot). The impli-
cation is that man can control his powers of historical empathy through
symbolic experience. 9 For Weinfeld, musical experience, particularly that of
free rhythm, serves the same psychological function as symbolic experience
does for Maimonides.

The Integral Structuralists discuss the aspect of Jewish musical time,
which evokes such a strong psychological response. While in the auditory
interpretative context, time is represented as a cycle of present/non-present,
in which non-present includes both past and future; and while, in the visual
interpretation context, time is represented as a segmented line of past-pres-
ent-future, "the integral context suggests a temporal structure which permits
the interpretation of self and world not in terms of moments (spatial) but as
'presence' of world in an a-perspectival manner." 10 Presence implies a struc-

7 Samuel Judah Weinfeld. Ta'amei Hamikra (Jerusalem: Eshkol) 1972:12, quoting
Solomon ben Abraham Ibn Parhon, Mahberet Ha'arukh (Salerno, 1161).

8 Moses Maimonides. Mishneh Torah, Zemanim, Hametz u-Matzah 7:6.

'Parenthetically, this dynamic, interactive approach to historical experience is
unusual in itself. In reference to Christian religious experience, Mickunas notes, "In
brief, it can be said that the audial context, which assumes a circular time with the
predominance of past to be repeated and announced to subsequent, generations
which in turn live in the rhythm inspired by 'memory' is made pesent in the artistic
creations of mythological people;" Charles Mickunas, "Contexts and Din
Art Interpretation" (Ohio University: mimeographed), p. 17.

10 Ibid., p. 26.

turingto time psychologically rather than chronologically. The conception of
time and presence "opens up possibilities of non-successive interpretation
and interdependence of linguistic phrases 11 and of entire sections - hence the
biblical hermeneutic principle, ein mukdam ume-uhar baTorah (the order
of events in the Torah is not based on temporal sequence). This is also what
Gebser means by when he discusses the timelessness of integral conscious-
ness:

A person who has such an Integral consciousness is no longer dependent
on his ego: His ego, with all its passions, no longer dominates him; rather,
he governs his ego. Then the world as a correlate of ego - a world that
confronts us with all its conditions of time and space - becomes a shared
world, a world of participation in that which, like the divine or the spiritual,
is not linked to time and space because it is, by its very nature, timeless
and spaceless. 12
Leonard Bernstein alludes to the concept of "virtual time," terming it Aes-
thetic Time, and claiming it as a property of Western music. He maintains
that this is so precisely because the musical lines in counterpoint produce
a simultaneous ambiguity, while in poetry, for example, the ambiguity con-
structed in the reader's imagination is based on consecutive understandings
of the text. 13 We can see that this criterion results from a Western surface
structure in both music and poetry in which the aesthetic object is enslaved
to the clock, so that multiple perceptions of the ambiguities imbedded in the
piece must, of necessity, be perceived simultaneously, or else the listener will
fall behind in his following (what constrictive perspectival implications this
word has!) of the piece.

In contrast, Jewish music is more closely suited to an integral structure
incorporating psychological time, allowing the piece-and the listener-per-
former- to breathe, so that the ambiguities and other implications of the music
may be taken in before one is pushed into new sections and their multiple
meanings. The only imaginable Western music parallel to the virtual time built
into Jewish music would be if the New York Philharmonic spent an hour ana-
lyzing the first twenty-one bars of each Mozart symphony before playing it.
Improvisational Technique

11 Ibid., p. 29.

12 Jean Gebser, " The Integral Consciousness, " inMain Currents in Modern Thought,
Vol. 30, no. 3:108.

13 Leonard Bernstein. The Unanswered Question (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Uni-
versity Press), 1976:113.

The concept that lurks just beneath the surface of our argument is improvi-
sational technique. Without it, very short pauses between musical episodes
interfere with the continuity of the music; with it, if used appropriately by
a well-trained and sensitive Jewish musician, even a long structural break
contributes to the specification and elaboration of structural meaning. It is
on account of the improvisational material inserted by the performer that
the multiple perspectives of the music and text are brought to the fore. Each
improvisational choice entails the acceptance of one possible elaboration as
more appropriate, on the balance, than all other alternatives, in terms of all
their functions within the textual and musical context. This, then, is the critical
significance of free rhythm in Jewish music: to facilitate the introduction of
improvisational technique for the purpose of presenting multiple perspec-
tives of the music.

The most advanced Jewish music form, in terms of its improvisational
demands, is liturgical chant. The hazzan must command a good measure
of musical creativeness. He does not simply reproduce a pre-conceived
piece of music, but must give final shape to the general outlines of a theme
by an improvisation of his own. 14

The only minutely determined elements of liturgical chant are, in each piece,
a prescribed mode or predominant tetrachord and a number of obligatory
motives. It is the task of the hazzan to improvise the sequence of motives, the
repetitions — if any — and the linking material which is frequently of greater
length and intricacy than the compulsory figures, such that the improvisation
heightens the structural clarity and unity of the piece and presets a well-
formed, coherent interpretation of the text in accordance with the functional
implications of the compulsory material. In this way, psychological time is
exploited in liturgical chant almost to the exclusion of chronological time,
for the elapsed time between two prescribed motives in a piece ranges from
fractions of seconds to several minutes, depending on the hazzan's interpre-
tation of the musical requirements of the text.

To a lesser extent, Biblical cantillation also has flexibility and an allowance
for improvisation to convey a meaning or mood deemed important by the
performer.

The musical rendition of the text in conformity with the accent signs
is based on the convention of each sign or group of signs representing
a certain melodic motive. The graphic symbol does not stand for an
absolutely predetermined sequence of tones. As in all music cultivated by
oral tradition, the motives exist as "ideals" to be realized in performance,

14 Avenary, op. cit, page 589.

within certain margins of flexibility. Preservation of the "ideals,' i.e. the
style, is assured by several factors; the support of the well-defined and strict
doctrine of the grammatical and syntactical function of the accents; the
deliberate teaching by which the tradition is handed on from generation
to generation; and the constant public practice of the system in the
synagogue, where not only the layman's rendition (when "called up to
read") but even that of the specialized reader, ba'al keri'ah- not always, and
in some communities never, identical with the hazzan - is always subject
to the critical ear of the more learned members of the community. The
margin of flexibility, on the other hand, makes it possible to link, or rather
blend, the motives as they are recalled and enunciated by the reader so as
to create a melodic organism. The style itself remains constant, but each
reader may interpret it with a certain individuality and will never repeat
his previous performance precisely when he reads the same passage upon

A truly proficient ba'al keri'ah can render a passage in numerous ways,
thereby lending support in each case to a multiplicity of semantic approaches
to the text. This feat is all the more remarkable because the time permitted for
improvisation within and between motives is rigorously circumscribed and
limited to fractions of seconds. 16 Tempo, dynamics, and the selection of an
appropriate melodic motive for each accent from a handful of closely related
variations- these are the only improvisational techniques at the ba'al keri'ah's
disposal. The articulation of nuance in spite of the dearth of improvisational
repertoire is, to my mind, the consummate Jewish musical art.
Point of Return: The Aesthetics of Total Involvement.
In the light of our treatment of psychological time and improvisational
technique as the structural core of Jewish music, we may now return to the
two musical features — imperfect vocality and extended tune — which were
apparently inexplicably linked in the mystical Sefer Hasidim. 17

The Jewish music practitioner is urged to improvise his own extended
introduction and intermezzi (" ... pick out a tune...") which, by virtue of their
appropriateness to the text, will contribute to the meaning and to the reader's
understanding ("... it will be full of kavvanah"). In fact, the power of these
improvisational interludes to confer new and diverse semantic perspectives

15 Avigdor Herzog, s.v. "Masoretic Accents: Musical Rendition," Encyclopaedia
Judaica (Jerusalem: Keter), 1971, 11:1103.

16 It is critical to the understanding of the deep structure of Jewish music as integral,
that improvisational license never totally be eliminated.

17 See above, pp. 1-2.

on a text is so great that they are equivalent to adding something of one's own
to the prescribed text and avoiding, through independent, totally involving
contribution of new meaning, a mechanical, perfunctory reading. 18 For the
identical reason, human imperfection is also a prescribed aspect of Jewish
musical performance, because abstract beauty is irrelevant to the aesthetics
of improvisation, or nearly so, and because the vocal quality reinforces the
structural impact of psychological time.

Dr. Steven Lorch is the founding head of the Solomon Schechter School of Manhat-
tan, having previously headed schools in Philadelphia, Melbourne (Australia) and
Jerusalem. In the 1970s he served as assistant conductor of the Zamir Chorale. This
article is excerpted from his dissertation, The Convergence of Jewish and Western
Culture as Exemplified Through Music (New York: Columbia University, 1977),
and is reprinted here with the author's kind permission.

8 Babylonian Talmud, Avot 2:13, cf. Tif'eret Yisrael ad loc.
132

The Problems a Modern Jew Faces in Prayer

by Avraham H. Feder

I have been a rabbi for forty years and a hazzan for well over fifty years. As
such, I have had a long and abiding professional interest in the parameters
of the Jewish prayer experience, particularly the experience oitefillah betsib-
bur— public worship. 1 As rabbi and hazzan I have taught courses over the
years examining and discussing aspects of the davening experience, ranging
from the theology of Jewish prayer to the aesthetics and mechanics oinusah
hatefillah. But it is from my existential experience as a sheli'ah tsibbur, lead-
ing or trying to lead Jews in prayer in the moment of prayer, that I come to a
consideration of the problems that our contemporary Jewish worshiper faces.
Looking back, I suppose that I have been struggling all of my life as a sha'ts
to pinpoint these problems.

I suggest four major areas of concern which inhibit many a modern Jew
from deriving the appropriate cathartic value from his participation in public
worship:

1 . the absence of an ongoing will to pray;

2. the need to appreciate the particular dramatic staging of the Jewish
prayer experience;

3. the lack of knowledge of the structure of the liturgy and the
meanings and contexts of individual prayer texts; and

4. the near total ignorance of the rich and complex musical component
of the worship.

The Will to Pray

Psalm 69:14 has the worshiper appealing to God:

As for me, may my prayer come to You, O Lord, at a favorable time; O God,
in Your abundant faithfulness, answer me with Your sure deliverance.

1 My family background is Ashkenazic. My hazzanic training and education was also
Ashkenazic, having begun under the tutelage of my father Hazzan Louis Feder, z"l, and
the composer Joshua Weisser, z"l. Over the years I have officiated in Conservative and
Orthodox congregations in North America and Israel where the nusah hatefillah has
been Ashkenazic. Whatever I have to say in this article, particularly regarding the musi-
cal component of worship, is obviously conditioned by my Ashekenazic experience.

"At a favorable time" is a free translation of the Hebrew eit ratson, which liter-
ally means "the time of will." The traditional explanation given is that we pray
that our words will reach God as a moment when His "will" will be favorably
disposed to us. For our purposes, however, I suggest that eit ratson should
point initially to the indispensability of the worshiper's will being favorably
disposed to the experience of prayer. Rabban Gamliel's instruction in Pirkei
Avot 22'A is relevant:

Aseh retsono kirtsonakh kedei sheya'aseh retsonakh kirtsono

Do His will as you would your own will,

so that He may do your will as He does His own will.

Without the committed will of the human worshiper to praise God and to
petition Him, how can he dare to expect that God's will should be in tune
with his!

The question is whether or not all the strategies and tactics used to induce
our fellow Jews to join regularly and enthusiastically in public worship have
any positive effect if the will isn't there! All the homiletics and other peda-
gogical techniques, all the aesthetic effects including hazzanut at its best,
together with a rich diet of folk tunes spicing up the nusah, will not inspire
a Jew to pray more than sporadically and listlessly if he doesn't want to, if he
isn't ready to.

It isn't that our people are opposed unalterably to exposing themselves
to spiritual/aesthetic experiences. On the contrary, many Jews will commit
themselves on a regular basis to serious theater and to the concert hall, even
though their knowledge of sophisticated drama and music may be no deeper
than their knowledge of Jewish liturgy. Jews — along with non-Jews — will be
aficionados of Shakespeare and will get season tickets to the Stratford Fes-
tival regardless of which plays are being presented and whether or not they
understand the nuances of Elizabethan English. 2 Jews — and non-Jews — will
subscribe year after year to the local symphony with no deeper appreciation
of Beethoven and Brahms— let alone Mahler and Bartok— than a child in
elementary school. Yet they go religiously] Whatever their motives for going,
whether these be at some level cultural or inspired by nothing more than
a vulgar Philistinism, they will themselves to go. The Jew who prays regu-

2 1 purposely mention "Stratford" because in the years when I myself was a frequent
visitor to that Shakespeare Festival in Ontario, Canada, I noted that the company felt
duty-bond to present some of the Bard's lesser-known works along with his master-
pieces. They wouldn't have if they hadn't counted on the audience being religiously
committed to Shakespeare whether it was Hamlet or Titus Andronicus.

134

larly — whether biy'hidut (privately) or betsibbur (publicly) — does it because
he wills himself to do so.

There is a proverb found in several places in the Talmud, which states:
Gadol hametsuveh ve'oseh mimi she'eino metsuveh ve'oseh
Greater is he who performs because he was commanded than he who
performs although not commanded. 3
The proverb is arguing that in halakhic terms it is preferable to do the mitzvah
out of a sense of obedience to the Almighty than out of personal impulse. The
Jew who has been praying regularly for a long time may have so internalized
the initial outer command that his motivation to pray at this point in his life
is autonomous. But whether the motivation to pray is heteronomous/thono-
mous (commanded by God) or autonomous (commanded by self), in both
cases the worshiper is certain that he is commanded. And the command
inspires his will. Whether he obeys the Outer Voice or his inner voice, he
wills himself to pray regularly. His readiness to pray is not dependent on the
unpredictability of his feelings. Not that his feelings aren't real! They are real
and psychologically authentic. But feelings are also notoriously fickle; as such
they are hardly a reliable foundation for assuring the disciplined regularity
of traditional Jewish prayer.

It may be argued that one's will to pray is dependent upon the strength
of one's belief in God, a God, moreover, who is reputed to be shomei'a tefil-
lah, Who listens to prayer. I would not discount the importance of such a
theological given. Nevertheless, most Jews who don't pray regularly do not
claim they are atheists or agnostics. If there are some who do mount cogent
philosophical arguments as to why they don't pray, equally convincing argu-
ments may be mobilized against their claims. Furthermore, many a Jew who
does pray regularly is not embarrassed to admit that from time to time he
himself may have theological doubts. When at such time he nevertheless
wills himself to pray, he follows the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge's advice
regarding the necessary "willing suspension of disbelief " which must under-
gird one's commitment to various types of aesthetic experience, e.g., poetry,
fiction, drama — in our case — prayer. But does not the act of praying demand
more commitment to true belief than the imaginative suspension of disbelief
which Coleridge is calling for?

The answer is certainly, Yes! The Jew who prays regularly truly believes
in the validity of what he is doing because he truly believes that there is a
God Who is attending to his prayers. Nevertheless, in considering the cir-

3 BT Kiddushin, 31a; Bava Kamma 38a, 87a; Avodah Zarah 3a.

cumstances of true belief and willing suspension of disbelief, what would
we make of Maimonides' instruction to the worshiper regarding the proper
kavvanah (intention) in prayer? In his Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tefillah 4:16
Maimonides asks:

Keitsad hi hakavvanah

What is the proper intention?

shey'faneh et libo mikol hamahashavot

the worshiper is to turn his heart from all thoughts

veyir'eh atsmo ke'ilu hu omeid lifnei haShekhinah

and see himself ke'ilu — as if — he is standing before God's
indwelling Presence.
What does the word ke'ilu — as if — mean? Does it mean that the Shekhinah
is there in truth? To the worshiper, to the believer who is the worshiper, of
course God's shekhinah is there in truth. The essence of the believer's belief
is that God's Shekhinah is there in truth. But then, why say ke'ilu — as if?

Maimonides is always afraid of anthropomorphism. He uses the term ke'ilu
as a stage direction, an exhortation to us to move our selves — so to speak — into
God's "sight" and "hearing." We will ourselves to believe that God is there
and is attentive to our prayers. At the same time, for us to imagine — with
our human limitations — that we can talk to God, is tantamount to hubris, to
arrogance. What then is this ke'ilu— as if— other than a necessary form of seri-
ous play-acting? By play-acting, I mean taking ourselves out of our mundane
everyday situations and assuming an alternative formalized posture in order
to perform a particular specialized act: the act of prayer! 4

Is then prayer an act? It is— except that unlike theatrical make-believe,
the worshiper truly believes that what he is doing is reall But in both cases
the ke'ilu stage direction requires the player or prayer to will him self into
the required posture. If he is not ready to assume the role of worshiper, if
he is not willing, then he will not pray. He will certainly not pray privately.
But even if he finds himself in a synagogue ostensibly participating in public
worship, unless he has willed himself to pray, he will not be praying. He may

4 The word ke'ilu is the key word in the central spiritual-historical instruction of the
Passover Seder [editor's emphasis]:

Bekhol dor vador hayyav adam lir'ot et atsmo ke'ilu hu yatsa miMitsrayim
In every generation one is obligated to see himself as if he went out of Egypt.
Here as well we are being asked to play-act our total empathy with that generation
of the Exodus.

be mouthing words along with other congregants. He may be joining in the
congregational singing, sitting and standing when the congregation sits and
stands. He will nevertheless only be a spectator of Jewish worship — not yet
a worshiper.

The Dramatic Staging of the Prayer Experience

A number of years ago I had an illuminating experience as a non-professional
worshiper in a Masorti synagogue in Jerusalem. That particular Shabbat
morning I was serving neither as sheli'ah tsibbur nor as officiating rabbi on
the bimah. And so I found myself sitting within the congregation trying to
daven. Seated next to me was a tourist couple— husband and wife— who were
obviously not familiar with the siddur being used nor with its order of prayer.
But what I found particularly annoying was their constant fidgeting. They were
trying to see what was taking place on the bimah. Because the synagogue was
crowded that Shabbat morning and taller-than-average people happened to
be sitting in front of our row, my immediate tourist neighbor — the lady — kept
straining herself this way and that way while complaining to her husband
— "I can't see" — I had a mild epiphany! It struck me as never before that
someone sitting or standing in a shul looking to see what is going on around
them, trying especially to take in what is happening on the bimah, has the
dramatic staging all wrong! Such a worshiper is behaving as one who is in
the audience at a theatrical or concert performance looking appropriately to
see— and to hear— the performers on stage. In Jewish worship, however, it is
the worshiper who is performing "on stage." And God, it is hoped, constitutes
the audience!

This is not to say that worship or sacred theater in many cultures does
not present the model that my tourist couple and many other Jews expect
when they attend synagogue. In ancient times pagan audiences looked to
their worship as an opportunity to peer into the lives of the gods, to imitate
them, to participate vicariously somehow in the lives of these gods. The ethical
monotheism of biblical Judaism rebelled against such worldviews and their
accompanying worship practices. Yet, there is enough evidence in biblical
literature to underscore the universal human temptation to try to see the
transcendent. Doesn't Moses ask to see God? And God responds: "Man may
not see Me and live!" (Exodus 33:18-20). Nevertheless, the Psalms provide us
with examples of the worshiper yearning to see God, e.g., Psalm 63:3.
Kein bakodesh hazitikha lir'ot uz'kha ukh'vodekha
I shall behold You in the Sanctuary, and see Your might and glory.
Of particular interest is Deuteronomy 16:16:

Shalosh pe'amim bashanah yir'eh/yeira'eh kol zekhurkha
Three times a year all your males shall appear [editor's emphasis]
et penei Adonai Elohekha bamakom asher yivhar
before the Lord your God in the place that He will choose.
The four letters comprising the Hebrew word for "appear" — Y-R-E-H — make
more grammatical sense being read as yir'eh (will see). But then the text would
read: "Three times a year all your males shall see God in the place that He will
choose." For the rabbis such a reading was unacceptable. And so, the maso-
retic vocalization of the Bible preferred the passive yeira'eh (will be seen). It
is clear that the theological sensibility of the rabbis would not countenance
any human pretence at seeing God. 5

As long as the Temple stood and the focus in its worship rite was on the
performance of the priests assisted by the Levites, then in some respects the
Judean worshiper could be described as the audience looking on at the priestly
staging of prayer. But long before the destruction of the Second Temple, the
democratization of Jewish worship had begun and would eventually alter
the staging of the Jewish prayer experience decisively. For millennia now,
the epicenter of the Jewish prayer experience has switched from the priest
and the sacrificial order to each individual worshiper as he joins himself to
a minyan (quorum) of other worshipers. And the prayerful activity of this
minyan constitutes the dramatic performance of Jewish worship. It is this
minyan which is on stage! It looks to no other stage. And each individual
member of this minyan feels commanded to act his best before an ultimately
critical audience — the Lord of the Universe, the God of Israel.

The question still stands: Even if we are on stage, if what we are doing
in prayer is real and not make-believe, why do I insist that we are acting 7 . We
know that professional actors play different roles from week to week, day to
day, moment to moment, if need be. And their audience is made up of people
who are moved, entertained, sometimes uplifted by a performance or by the
capacity of the actor and the playwright to evoke with particular keenness a
truth about the human condition. Are we saying this about ourselves stand-
ing ke'ilu before God? Why must we consider ourselves actors? Why are we
not standing before God as ourselves 7 . Because our day to day, moment to
moment selves may not be our best selves'. And the existential moment of
prayer requires us to be our best selves as we act out our beliefs in a sacred
drama in which we proclaim our devotion to God and to his covenant.

5 Max Kadushin. Worship and Ethics (Chicago: Northwestern University Press),
1964:163-166.

One of the most serious moments in classical theater is Hamlet's famous
soliloquy. It is a heshbon hanefesh, a self-examination focused on a profoundly
human question:

To be or not to be, that is the question; whether 'tis nobler in the mind to
suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against
a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them.
Hamlet's question is in essence whether to live or not to live in a world that
for him has become Sodom. Hamlet never does decide; and in a final parox-
ysm of despair he lashes out and destroys the world around him along with
himself. We in the audience who watch Hamet on stage have a rich vicarious
experience in that we watch an actor playing a human being who is strug-
gling to discover meaning in his life, enough to motivate him to oppose the
"outrageous fortune" which has crippled his will.

But we human beings — we Jews — living out in excruciatingly vivid terms,
personally and collectively, the question "to be or not to be," have more to look
for in our own life than tragically afflicted Hamlet. We, acting ourselves, our
best selves on stage in prayer, are proclaiming our belief in a God who has
created us and revealed to us a path which will give us redemptive meaning.
The audience facing the ke'ilu stage of our prayer is the God of Israel Who
has assured us a long time ago that there is a reason for being. At the burning
bush (Exodus chapter 3) He answered the question "to be or not to be" with
ehyeh asher ehyeh — I will be, I will be — with you My people as a people and
as individuals belonging to this people no matter what sea of troubles may
engulf you.

Furthermore, once we appreciate that as worshipers we are the central
performers on the liturgical stage, and that ever since the suspension of animal
sacrifices verbal prayer is our normative mode of expression in worship, then
everything we say is of critical importance. Has it ever been more eloquently
and poignantly expressed than in Psalm 19:15,

May the words of my heart and the prayer of my heart
be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer."

Again, God is the audience — and He can't be seen. But we stand on our ke'ilu
stage hoping that He is listening. We risk the very meaning of our existence
as Jews on our emunah (faith) that He is indeed listening.

6 This verse appears in the liturgy as part of the postlude to the Daily Amidah, the
prayer. Another verse from psalms— 51:17— serves as the prelude for every Amidah.
An invocation, it expresses the same inadequacy before God: O Lord, open my lips
and let my mouth declare Your praise.

Words, meaning and Liturgical structure

In an essay entitled Lekha Dumiyah Tehillah 7 Andre Neher contrasts two
verses from the Psalms which summarize opposing views as to the efficacy
of words in prayer:

Lema'an yezamerkha khavod velo yidom Adonai elohai le'olam odeka

So that my glory may sing praise to you and not be silent;

O Lord my God, I will give thanks unto You forever (Ps. 30:13

[author's emphasis]);
Lekha dumiyah tehillah Elohim beTsiyon

Praise for You, O God of Zion, is silence (Ps. 65:2).
The contraposition of these two verses reflects a theological paradox: How
can man dare to think that words which he creates will speak to God or in-
terest God? Isn't devoted silence (dumiyah) the most authentic prayer? And
yet, man must speak words if he is to express in prayer his most authentic
feelings and thoughts (velo yidom).

I suggest two possible responses to the paradox. As one response we can
admit that the language of prayer is a language constructed by man to talk to
God whether or not the language has any correspondence to ultimate reality.
With such an admission, the language of prayer can include even nonsense
syllables as long as the worshiper is sincere in his kavvanah to use these speech-
sounds as prayer. During the debate in the Catholic Church decades ago over
the continued use of Latin in the liturgy — a dead language understood by
practically no one in the pews — the Catholic theologian Evelyn Underhill
made a case for the mystery of liturgical texts as singularly appropriate for the
worship experience. To underscore the mystery, she argued, it was preferable
not to understand the words. 8 Such an argument is not entirely absurd in the
context of the practical situation found in diaspora synagogues where most
of the congregants do not understand Hebrew, yet participate regularly or
irregularly in prayer. Nevertheless, considering the intellectual grounding of
Jewish tradition, it is difficult to sustain an argument which would accept as a
desideratum total liturgical illiteracy. It is fair to suggest that most Jews— even
in the diaspora— who pray every day or at least every week understand enough
of the words of the matbei'a shel tefillah (the statutory prayers) to make of
the service more than a mumbo-jumbo exercise.

' This was the opening address at the 16 th Conference of Jewish Art, held in Jeru-
salem, Pesah 1984.

8 Evelyn Underhill. Worship (New York: Harper & Row), 1936: chapter 6.

140

A second response to the theological paradox makes more sense in that
it reflects the actual content of the traditional prayer book. It is clear that
most of the prayers which make up the matbei'a shel tefillah are excerpts from
the Bible or are derived from verses and half-verses in the Bible. The most
obvious example is the generous selection of Psalms and pieces of Psalms
that appear throughout the liturgical landscape. But verses from the Torah
and the Prophets are regularly quoted as well. And those prayers that are not
biblical are biblically inspired. It is safe to suggest that the rabbis who arranged
and edited the traditional order of prayers — Amram Gaon, Saadiah Gaon
et al— were certainly sensitive to the theological paradox. In their humility
they were reluctant to insert their own words into the prayers. They didn't
dare to! They could feel comfortable, however, with God's words! It was as
if— ke'ilu— they were saying to God as they prepared to compose the order
of prayers: "O Lord, how can we presume to invent words of prayer with
which to address You? What we can do is to quote Your own biblical words,
thoughts and ideas as the core content of our prayers."

J. D. Soloveitchik is alluding to the same idea when he talks about proph-
ecy and prayer being two sides of a theological dialogue. In prophecy God
speaks and we in silence listen; in prayer we speak and God in silence listens.
But the same words, thoughts and ideas are being spoken by God and by us.

In his essay HaMeyahlim LiTefillah — Those Yearning to pray — Eliezer
Schweid describes prayer as "the art of the repeated word." 9 Again, because
of our awe in the face of the challenge to find the proper words with which
to talk to God, we prefer repeating words that have already been spoken to
God by greater people than us. Let us take a particularly dramatic example
of this technique. On the Day of Atonement all of us who make up the House
of Israel are looking to have our sins forgiven. On Yom Kippur Eve, in par-
ticular, the synagogues are filled with people listening to Kol Nidre. Yet, it
is the well-known music of this legal formula that dominates the liturgical
moment. The text of Kol Nidre serves as a hatarat nedarim—zxv absolution
of [unfillable] vows. It is meant to offer comfort to the worshiper who feels
that he can be released in the coming year from those vows that he may make
foolishly or under force majeure. But following the Kol Nidre paragraph is an
even more dramatic passage made up of verses from the Book of Numbers.
The passage is a flashback to the enormous sin of the Dor HaMidbar — the
Wilderness Generation— the sin of the Spies and their refusal to go on to face
their destiny in settling the Promised Land. The sin is compounded when

" Eliezer Schweid, "HaMeyahlim LiTefillah," in Emunat Am Yisrael VeTarbuto
(Jerusalem: S. Zack & Co.), 1976:96-108.

the Spies influence all of Israel to join them in their retreat from fulfilling the
promise of the Covenant.

The sin is, at first, unforgivable in God's eyes. He is prepared to destroy
all of Israel. But Moses, the meilits yosher— the honest advocate— the pre-
eminent sheli'ah tsibbur of our people, pleads with God to forgive this stiff-
necked Israel:

Pardon, I pray, the iniquity of this people according to Your great

kindness, As You have forgiven this people ever since Egypt (Numbers

14:19).
The passage continues:

And the Lord said, "I pardon, as you have asked" (Numbers 14:20).
Congregations of Jews gathered together on Kol Nidre Night — intimidated,
so to speak, about finding the right words with which to appeal to God to
forgive their contemporary sins— repeat verbatim Moses' words offered at
one of the most critical junctures in all of Jewish history. And when these
congregations of Jews daven aloud the words:

Vayomer Adonai salahti kid'varekha

And the Lord said, "I pardon, as you have asked,"
They are joining themselves to that earlier generation who — despite the
enormity of their sin— were forgivenl

This is but one small— though important illustration of the structuring
of Jewish liturgy. To attempt to discuss the meticulousness with which the
larger services are structured would take us far afield. Suffice it to say that
the prayer book is a tribute to theological comprehensiveness and pedagogic
thoroughness, structured with a keen sense of aesthetic form and literary
suggestiveness. Any of the services, e.g., Shaharit, Minhah and Arvit, whether
for weekdays, Sabbaths, Festivals or High Holy Days, can only be appreciated
when the worshiper begins to see things such as the focus of the blessings
surrounding the Shema (God the Creator, Revealer and Redeemer) or, as Max
Kadushin has pointed out, the "conceptual continuum" found in the Amidah
and the Birkat HaMazon. If the worshiper is deaf to these subtle aspects of
the structure of Jewish prayer, to the meanings of words and phrases and
their allusions to other contexts in Jewish literature and history, how can he
be expected to continue praying regularly with a freshness of spirit born of
a deepening sensibility!

The Musical Dimension

No matter how little Hebrew one knows, no matter how insensitive one may
be to the ideas expressed in the prayers and the aesthetic subtleties of the
various orders of worship, one does have available these days prayer books
with contemporary translations along with instructions and commentaries.
With the will to make an effort, one does not have to be at a total loss for lack
of knowledge of the liturgy and lack of experience in davening. Where the
musical dimension of the Jewish prayer experience is concerned, however,
we face a different kind of challenge.

At first look, the musical dimension ought to be less problematic. Unless
one is tone-deaf or temperamentally prejudiced against the sound of music,
there is sheer pleasure — some would say magic — in the setting of the words
of prayer to music. In Man's Quest for God, Abraham Joshua Heschel quotes
the Kotzker Rebbe on sorrow.

There are three ways in which a man expresses his deep sorrow: the man
on the lowest level cries; the man on the second level is silent; the man
on the highest level knows how to turn his sorrow into song.
How much more redemptive of the human spirit is the "song" when its stimulus
is not sorrow, but joy! Commenting on the Song of Moses and Israel following
their victory over the Egyptians at the Sea of Reeds, the Tosefta (6:5) says: "As
Israel was singing their Song at the Sea, the angels were commenting critically,
'What is man that You have been mindful of him...' At that moment God said
to the angels: 'Go and appreciate the song which My children are chanting
before Me.' The angels promptly joined in with the singing!"

Indeed, no matter how ignorant a worshiper may be of cantillation, of
nusah, of the subtleties of hazzanic art, there is a captivating quality to the
musical dimension of davening, which lifts one emotionally beyond where
one would be if there were no music. What, then, is the problem?

Simply stated, as attractive as the music is within the format of Jewish
communal worship, it is nevertheless only a surface attraction. Ignorance of
what is really going on musically within the prayer experience, limits — and
at times aborts— the spiritual, aesthetic and even socio-moral impact of the
music upon the worshiper. The average synagogue attendee doesn't know
that Jewish public prayer — tefillah betsibbur — is an integrated folk-art ex-
perience in which three musical elements— each different in style from the
others— lend the words of prayer an extra dimension of transcendence. These
three elements are:

1) the sacred order of cantillation chanted to those Torah and other biblical
portions prescribed for public worship, along with the traditional order
of nusah hatefillah which provided the prayers with stability, familiarity,
continuity and coherence;

2) the hazzanic art which lifts the nusah hatefillah and the total prayer
experience towards a rainbow of emotional and spiritual radiance; and

3) the folk song or folk tune which intentionally welcomes popular expression
into the prayer experience, opportunity for the entire congregation to join
together in simple, uncomplicated evocations of communal joy.

All three of these musical elements must be integrated with an ideational
and musical coherence so that the entire prayer service becomes a multi-
colored but single tapestried celebration. (These comments regarding the
integration of musical elements are intended chiefly for Sabbath, Festival and
High Holy Day services, although there is some relevance even for the short,
quick davening of weekdays.) Musically speaking, there must be integration.
For if a service consists only of cantillation and nusah (#1), then public wor-
ship eventually becomes monotonous and lifeless. If a service is dominated
by the art of hazzanut (#2), the worship becomes idolatrous and in the long
run, degenerate, spiritually. If a service is exclusively an unbroken melange
of folk tunes (#3), it may be stimulating but is no more spiritually uplifting

than a campfire kumzits.

r ******

The chief responsibility of the professional hazzan and capable amateur
sheli'ah tsibbur is to "teach" these three musical styles and their integration
by exampM Obviously, classes and lectures that explain in workshop fashion
what is going on musically in the service is an auxiliary responsibility of these
same individuals. A brief guideline of suggested emphasis is in order.

1) Whether one is talking about cantillation and the chanting of prescribed
biblical texts or nusah and its use in chanting prayer texts, the idea of keva— a
fixed order — is critical. The regular repetition of motifs in cantillation is
understood by every 13-year-old Bar or Bat Mitzvah. He or she understands
very quickly that there is a musical order to the chanting of the Torah, Haf-
tarot and Megillot. Moreover, alert students of any age learn that there is
variety within the system, e.g., the six separate orders of cantillation among
the Ashkenazim, not to mention the different musical traditions of other
ethnic groups among our people. The same principle — of variety within
keva— applies to the rich, kaleidoscopic system of prayer nus-ha'ot used on
different occasions: nusah le-hol; nusah le-Shabbat; nusah leShalosh Regalim;
and nusah leYamim Nora'im. The 12 th -century Sefer Hasidim (paragraph 302)
records the principle that

144

Kol nigun kemo shehu metukkan...sheha-kol halakhah leMoshe miSinai
Shene'emar (Shemot 1 9:1 9): . . . vehaElohim ya'anenu bekol. . .
Every melody which has become acceptable is to be treated as if given
from Sinai, as it is written in Exodus 19:19, "...and God answered with
the sound."

2) The congregant needs to learn enough to know that the true art of the
hazzan is manifested when he transcends his virtuosity. He is before all and
after all a sheli'ah tsibbur. As such he is always leading a congregation in
worship. Should he ever forget his principal function, then he will have been
described millennia ago in the Book of Jeremiah (12:8): "My own people acted
toward me like a lion in the forest; she raised her voice against Me — therefore
I have despised her." But as an authentic sheli'ah tsibbur with the special gifts
of the artist, the hazzan will bring to the prayer:

a) a beauty of sound;

b) an expert musicianship;

c) a mastery of the nus-ha'ot;

d) interpretive insights into the text;

e) a readiness to bring the congregation regularly and often into
the music;

f ) a capacity to bring all these attributes together in an artistic
whole; and then

g) the yearning to reach beyond, aiming for that aesthetic rainbow
which points — if one is worthy — to the Gates of Heaven (sha'rei
shamayim).

3) Every Jew— man and woman— is commanded to pray. Communal prayer
is a reflection of the yearnings and anxieties oiamkha, that is, the folk. And a
worship service that doesn't express the Jewish folk spirit — notwithstanding
the sacred order of cantillation and nusah along with the artistic sophistication
of hazzanut — is deficient, if not spurious. Folk melodies of every origin — Jew-
ish and non-Jewish — have always crept into the liturgy. Some were welcomed
universally. Others were condemned by authorities for their vulgarity; but
many of these "vulgar" melodies survived in the worship and became "tradi-
tional." With great wisdom the Hasidim developed a theology of sanctifica-
tion for these questionable melodies, "redeeming" them, so to speak, from
their "impurity" to be sung davka (precisely) within the prayer experience. In
any given generation, there is an abundance of available tunes. The current
Carlebach Craze, as welcome as it may be, is only one source among many.
To be alive in an era when our State of Israel provides us with hundreds of
delightful tunes that are easily adaptable— with taste, of course— to liturgical

145

texts within prayer is a glorious opportunity for a symbiosis of art and folk in
the service of Jewish worship as well as Zionist fellowship.

When the integration of these three styles of musical expression is achieved
within a service and the worshiper has developed some sense of the creative
effort and ingenuity which has been required to attain this integration, his
experience of prayer will not only have been deepened, ennobled and enriched.
He will feel himself transported to a sphere of understanding in which he will
sense that he has fulfilled the loftiest hopes of the Psalmist, having truly offered
his total self — body and soul — in the worship of God, as it is written:
Kol atsmotai tomarna Adonai

All my bones [i.e., my body] shall proclaim, 'O Lord...' (Psalms 35:10);
Kol Haneshamah tehallel Yah, Hallelujah

Let every soul praise the Lord, Halleluyah (Psalms 150:6;)
[author's emphasis].

In the face of the four areas of concern that I have suggested are impedi-
ments to a rich experience of prayer for many of our congregants, we dare
not be despondent. Good sense and determination dictate that if we can
uncover the "whys" of a problem, we can also find the solutions to it. At the
very least we will be better able to cope with the problematic situation. Our
fundamental attitude must always be to thank God for the privilege and op-
portunity to lead our fellow Jews in prayer wherever they happen to be on
the ladder of worship skills and sensitivities. As it has always been, our task
remains two-fold:

1) to address these four concerns with persistent and imaginative pedagogic
input in classes, lectures and workshops; and

2) in our own service as shelihei tsibbur to keep growing, to keep investing
in ourselves— musically and intellectually, ethically and spiritually.

As hazzanim and as rabbis with an abiding faith in the efficacy of the prayer
experience, our pre-eminent model — as he has always been — is Moshe Rab-
beinu, our teacher, our sheli'ah tsibbur, our incomparable Oheiv Yisrael and
Eved Adonai.

Avraham H. Feder earned a Masters degree in Sacred Music as well as rabbinic
ordination from the Jewish Theological Seminary, and a doctorate in Educational
Philosophy from the University of Toronto. He is Rabbi Emeritus of Beit Kenesset
Moreshet Yisrael in Jerusalem, and continues to officiate for the High Holy Days at
Beth Tikvah Synagogue in Toronto, as he has done for the past 25 years.

146

Klezmer and Hazzanut— Uncovering the Connections

by Mark Kligman

I am a native Californian and accept that with pride. I grew up at Temple
Ramat Zion in Northridge, where Cantors Jerry Hoenig, Farid Dardashti and
Lance Tapper were very instrumental in my Jewish music education. I feel
the necessity to express my thanks to those who really helped get me started,
because they led me to a very interesting journey. I never dreamed of being a
Professor at Hebrew Union College. After growing up Conservative, I went
to college and started studying music at Yeshiva University in Los Angeles.
On the way, I was the Music Director at a Reconstructionist Synagogue and
now I work in a Reform institution. So I guess I am a demonstration of Jewish
pluralism in some ways, and my work is always about connecting things.

That, in a way, is the approach I want to share with you in looking at klezmer
and hazzanut. Admittedly, neither one is my formal area of research, so I am
reporting on the research of others but doing so in a way that interests me. I'll
explore connections between the two not only by showing musical similarities
but also by looking at the meaning and the function of the music as well.

For me, ethnomusicology is a field that, unlike musicology, is one that looks
at how people are involved: the cultural processes, the ideas, contexts for the
music and how things connect. That, in a sense, is my primary purpose. The
connections are not ones that are abstract, because the people we are looking
at are real people who came from the same place — Eastern Europe. There are
various klezmer genres, and by offering examples of them, I will demonstrate
some of the interesting connections we can make to cantorial music.

My purpose in making these connections is that I feel history has separated
music that was really once together. In my view, Judaism in 19 th -century East-
ern Europe worked because the music of the synagogue— hazzanut, Yiddish
songs, klezmer music, and even hasidic music, all stemmed from the same
source. They were all closely related at that time but are now considered dif-
ferent genres of music. I do not believe that they are different genres of music;
I believe that they are just different contexts of music, and contexts fade and
move in different directions. Over time, these have come to be considered
almost separate worlds. Putting them together may seem antithetical, but I
don't think it is.

I'll share with you, the reader, why this is the case. As our primary source,
let's focus on the klezmer music of the 1920s and 1930s, as well as the haz-
zanut of that period, so there is some control to this comparison. At the same

time, I want to describe what has been revived and what we can learn from
what is known as the "Klezmer Revival."

We begin our story in the so-called Pale of Settlement between 1881 and
1906, the prime area where Eastern European Jews lived. This is, of course,
was the main seed of Jewish culture from what is now modern-day Poland
and going into parts of Russia. This is the area where all of the famous cantors
were from, as well as the various well-known klezmer musicians. One thing to
note at the beginning of this comparison is that we do not have a plethora of
musical sources. We do not have notated Jewish liturgical music until 1750.
The amount of notated music picks up in the early 1800s. Notated kezmer
music appears much later, coming originally from various oral sources.

Research in Russia has spawned various scholars who discovered the ar-
chives. Think about the life of A. Z. Idelsohn; someone who we all know. We
have his books, and we study them. His 10-volume Thesaurus and his 1929
book Jewish Music in Its Historical Development are liturgically based; almost
to the extent that there is a bias. For him, Jewish music is liturgical music. In
fact, as far as klezmer music goes, in volume 8 of his Thesaurus, which covers
Eastern European music, he has virtually no coverage of klezmer music. In
addition, Jewish Music in Its Historical Development devotes only five pages
to the study of various Klezmorim. Idelsohn's opposite is Moshe Beregovski,
who lived between 1892 and 1961. He, too, was a European scholar who
went on all kinds of expeditions, learning about various forms of Jewish and
non- Jewish music such as Moldavian, Rumanian and Russian folk song. His
publications in this field are quite significant. Many klezmer musicians today
view him the same way as we, who work in the synagogue field, view Idelsohn.
In many ways, contemporary bias about the separation between liturgical and
secular styles began in the early 20 th century with Idelsohn's and Beregovski's
research. I will return to that subject later.

We know that Klezmorim were playing in the Medieval period. 1 Etymo-
logically, the term Klezmer is a contraction of two Hebrew words — klei ze-
mer — klei meaning "vessel" and zemer meaning "song". So, Klezmer signifies
using the instrument as a vessel of song. This is a wonderful metaphor, for
what klezmer musicians talk about, particularly the ones who have studied
with old timers, is that the purpose of playing your instrument as a Klezmer
is to make your instrument sing.

1 Israel Abrahams. Jewish Life in the Middle Ages (New York: Meridian Books),
1958:127.

We know a good deal about this music through wedding celebrations. A
part of them that has become the modern-day badekn ("veiling") was once a
very long ceremony in which Klezmorim would accompany the bride to her
bazetsn ("seating") where she was veiled {badekn), sung to (bazingn), in a way
that often brought her to tears (bevein'n). Today, any part of that process is
called badekn, with the klezmorim and sometimes a badkhn ("rhymester")
playing a pivotal role. In the 19 th century, klezmer instruments were divided
about equally between strings (multiple violins with a bass) and winds (two
flutes and a clarinet, two trumpets and a trombone). 2 Certainly "Fiddler on
the Roof" is our image of 19 th -century Klezmer, where the violin was the main
instrument, and this was true of the early-20 th century as well, up until the
Jazz era of the 1920s; witness Marc Chagall's 1911 sketch of a "Jewish Violinist
at a wedding," the only instrumentalist in sight. 3 The dominant solo clarinet
in a klezmer ensemble is really an American phenomenon.

We tend to think of the Klezmer as the downtrodden, poor peasant, and that
certainly used to be true in Europe. But, poor as they were, Klezmorim not
only played in the shtetl environment but also in bigger cities as well. Paint-
ings dating from the 1860s show weddings of the aristocracy, with klezmer
musicians clearly in evidence:

One of the most useful sources to learn about klezmer music is a book by
Seth Rogovoy called The Essential Klezmer.* In it, he makes the following
distinction in terms of the different periods of klezmer music: During the 18 th
and 19th centuries we really did not know a lot about the music; just what
people remembered. Then began what he calls the "immigration of classical
Klezmer." This is virtually iconized in our minds by 78-rpm recordings of the
1920s and 1930s. Of recordings that were done for the Jewish market during
that period, about 80%, were cantorial. Klezmer music represents only about
20%, but that 20% has been thoroughly mined by the Klezmer Revival of the
late 1970s — 1990s. People relearned the music from the recordings and at-
tempted to recreate it. Most people who are scholars in this music refer to it
as the "Klezmer Renaissance."

Two clarinet virtuosos of the 1920s and 1930s define the music of the
Klezmer Revival in America, Naftule Brandwein and Dave Tarras. A wonderful

2 Nathan Ausubel. Pictorial History of the Jewish People (New York: Crown Publish-
ers), 1961:238; photo of "A Patriarchal Family of Klezmer in Tsarist Russia."

3 The Jewish World— History and Culture of the Jewish People, Elie Kedourie, ed.
(New York: Harry N. Abrams, Publisher), 1979:127.

4 Chapel Hill, NC: Algonquin Books, 2000.

149

program about Yiddish radio was done by NPR a couple of years ago. Here is
a short excerpt where Brandwein and Tarras Are discussed.

Paul Pinkus: Hello, I'm Paul Pinkus, and I'm a klezmer musician. I've got
to interrupt Claire Barry for just a couple of moments to talk about the
Yiddish melodies and swing bandstand. Listen to the clarinet (music
plays). That tune is the "Bridegroom Special." On clarinet: Dave Tarras,
possibly the greatest klezmer clarinet player of the 20 th century. "Possibly,"
because of one other clarinet player, but we will get to him in a second.
For now, let us listen to what Pete Sokolov, Dave Tarras' last piano player,
and Henry Sapoznik, who chronicled the Klezmer Revival, have to say
about Tarras.

Pete Sokolov: Dave was a total and complete master and he played the dickens
out of everything

Henry Sapoznik: He played like he had twenty-two fingers on each hand. Dave
was the disciplinarian, a real strict bandleader. Only the best could be on
a Dave Tarras bandstand.

Pinkus: Dave had a very severe way about him, when he came on with,
"Young man, know your place, you are in the presence of royalty!" But
there was another contender for the crown; Dave Tarras' arch rival,
Naftule Brandwein. I'm one of the only guys alive who played with both
of them.

Sokolov: Brandwein was brilliant; he had this command, this edgy kind of
sound.

Sapoznik: With Naftule, you always got this feeling that he was just about to
fall into some flaming abyss.

Sokolov: He was a total and complete alcoholic, he was a drunk.

Sapoznik: He was the preferred bandleader for Murder Inc.

Sokolov: Dave used to say that all of his friends were bums; they were gangsters,
lowlifes...

Sapoznik: Well, they were. Whoever he was playing poker with the night
before, they were up on the bandstand the next day whether they played
an instrument or not.

Sokolov: He would take chances with things the others wouldn't dare; he was
like the Charlie Parker of his music. Charlie Parker took every chance that
was possibly imaginable to take, and that was Naftule as well.

Sapoznik: You listen to these records today and it still takes your breath away.
Naftule had a suit like an Uncle Sam costume, made up of Christmas tree
lights, that he would wear.

Sokolov: ... with the. ..stars and stripes, tall hat...

Sapoznik: ...the blue swallow-tailed jacket with the stars and the red and
white striped pants...

Sokolov: ...wrapped in Christmas lights, plugged into a wall. One day he was
going hot and heavy and he began to sweat and all of a sudden you hear
"zzzt, zzzt" and you begin to see sparks coming out of the Christmas
lights, while he is playing.

Sapoznik: Lights start popping, smoke starts emanating, there is sizzling...

Sokolov: ...he doesn't stop — he's drunk and he's boogying away and the steam
is coming out of the wires and the other guys in the back, they see this
— they come running out and throw blankets on top of him to draw the
smell of the fire.

Sapoznik: Somehow they manage to put him out, and in typical Brandwein
fashion, he just keeps on playing like nothing happened.

Sokolov: He was one of a kind.
The way in which these people remember and retell the stories is the same
way that people have wonderful personal memories of various great cantors.
One of the best documentaries on the revival of klezmer music is called A
Jumping Night in the Garden of Eden, featuring Hankus Netsky. It shows how
people were reinventing the music and how seriously they took it.

Hankus Netsky: Back in 1980, 1 was already teaching at the New England
Conservatory of Music where there was a very creative musical
environment. A lot of students there were fair game for just about any
kind of exciting music, although very few of them had heard or played
any Jewish music and I played very little of it myself. My own connection
to Klezmer actually comes from my family in Philadelphia. I was down in
my grandmother's basement, poking around for old relics when I chanced
upon a large photo of my grandfather's band. My Uncle Sam was one of the
clarinet players in that photo. I put on that first Naftule Brandwein record
and that was it. That really was it! It took a tremendous amount of effort
to really hear all of the instruments. But, in fact, it was very much worth
it because I did not grow up hearing music played this way.. .and every
ornament and every trill, for me, is something that I have to study.

If we look at various klezmer genres, there are two major categories - rhyth-
mic and non-rhythmic. The rhythmic genres are made of several different
beat patterns: The Bulgar, the Hora and the Turk, and there are distinct non-
rhythmic styles as well, chiefly, the Doina. If we look at cantorial music, we
know we must make the same sorts of differentiations. We have a series of
rhythmically oriented musical styles and also different forms of non-rhythmic
hazzanut. The Kaleh Bazetzn, I think, is similar to the cantorial neo-hasidic
style, and the recitative style that we call hazzanut is similar to the klezmer

Doina. In terms of the basic rhythmic patterns that are found in klezmer
music, there are three main ones: The Bulgar rhythm is made up of an eight-
beat pattern in two groups of three and a group of two (1-2-3-1-2-3-1-2).
The Hora rhythm stresses beats on counts one and three, as does the Turk.
The Bulgar, from a 1923 Brandwein recording (Example 1.), offers a good
illustration of the energy level of klezmer music; yet the distinctive rhythm
pattern does not manifest itself in the accompaniment, which is simply an
oompa-oompa.

Example 1. Heisseh Bulgar, From a 1923 Naftuleh Brandwein recording

Now we come to the Klezmer Revival, whose four main performing groups
are: The Klezmorim; Kappelye; The Klezmer Conservatory Band; and Andy
Statman. The Klezmorim were the first ones, starting in Northern California
in 1976. In the Klezmer Renaissance, people not only want to faithfully revive
the music, but also to do something different with it. There are hundreds of
bands today, but these four are the trendsetting ones, even when performing
the identical piece. The Klezmer Conservatory Band will fill out the sound,
often by inviting guest artists like violinist Itzhak Perlman on the violin. Their
recording In the Fiddler's House is from 1995, but played in the 1980s revival
style. The popular Klezmatics group will often use only drums and clarinet,
with the drums supplying the underlining pattern. That innovation is subtle,
yet it shows a high level of musical thinking, of doing something different
with the music. They are returning the music to its roots simply by playing
an underlining rhythm that we do not hear when listening to the original
recording of a given tune.

The first among non-rhythmic genres is the Kaleh Bazetsn, when instrumen-
talists and vocalists accompany the Bride. There is a group called Budowitz
that recreated the music of a wedding— on a recording 5 — using the musical

5 Wedding Without A Bride (London: Essential Music CD), 1999:4.

style of Piotrkov, a particular region in Poland. In the Budowitz Kaleh Bazetszn
(Example 2., with an instrumental prelude or forshpil), the badkhn (rhyme-
ster) makes use of the Lern Shtaiger ("Study mode"), in this case, motifs of
the Magen Avot prayer mode. It sounds just like an old-fashioned baal tefilah
davening, with different cadential patterns at the end of each phrase.

(Forshpil)

Example 2. Budowitz Group's Kaleh Bazetsn in Study Mode.

The Doina (Example 3.) is a genre where klezmer musicians get to show
off their musical virtuosity. The Doina contains mixed components, includ-

Slowly

m i ctortf i rt - $ =fe n ' f itf y

Example 3. Dave Tarras Doina

ing an improvisational one. All the Jewish Doinas use the Ukrainian Dorian
(a.k.a. Mi SheBeirakh) mode, in minor with its fourth and sixth scale degrees
raised a half-step. In addition, about 60-70% of the time, they briefly visit
the subdominant. This is also common in the Ahavah Rabbah prayer mode,
where the visit often lasts long enough to warrant being called a modulation.
Notice how often the motifs repeat at different pitch levels.

Clearly, there are similarities here to hazzanut. Since Brandwein and Cantor
Pierre Pinchik were roughly contemporaries, and since Tarras and Cantor
David Kusevitzky were also comparable in terms of their dates, they were
looking at the same things, musically speaking. Consider the use of repeated
phrases in David Kusevitzky 's recitative, VeKholHa-Hayyim ("Let All the Liv-
ing Praise You"). This type of extended composition typically begins with an
opening section in one particular mode, then a development section which
may or may not be in another mode. Next comes w hat's called the d'veikah
("clinging" to God, a supplication) section (Example 4.), 6 typically in a mode
that will be greatly expressive in relation to the mood of the previous section.
It might be in a major-like Adonai Malakh mode or continuing in Ukranian
Dorian, but on a higher reciting level. It's generally followed by a calmer
section, 7 and depending on length of prayer text, the entire sequence may
repeat, either fully or partially.

Example 4. The D'veikah section of David Kusevitzky's recitative, VeKholHa-
Hayyim

Pierre Pinchik's Elohai, Neshamah ("My God, the Soul You Gave Me is
Pure") represents, for me, one of the greatest achievements of cantorial mu-

6 The Golden Age of Cantors, transcribed & edited by Noah Schall (New York: Tara
Music Publications), 1991:135.

7 G ershon Ephros. "The Hazzanic Recitative— A Unique Contribution To Our Music
Heritage," Journal of Synagogue Music, Vol. 6, No. 3, March 1976.

154

sic — in the way it is organized and structured. Pinchik uses a recurring motif
to frame the structure of the entire piece— the repeated words "neshamah,
neshamah." In the d'veikah section (Example 5.), 8 we see how these words
have risen to Bb minor from their original key a fourth below: F minor. The
repeated words ve-Atah atid litlah mi-meni ("and in the future, You will
demand it back from me") then carry the chant to Eb minor, a fourth higher
still, and back down to Bb minor in Ahavah Rabbah. The original framing
words neshamah, neshamah then close this section in Bb minor, setting the
stage for yet another d'veikah that will begin on Bb Ahavah Rabbah — all in
all, a stunning juxtaposition of prayer modalities.

Example 5. The d'veikah section of Pinchik's Elohai, Neshamah — rising and
descending via the same motif but via different prayer modalities

The use of repeated phrases is certainly a stylistic similarity between klezmer
music and hazzanut, as are the modal changes that articulate each rise and
fall in the reciting or playing level. There are other comparisons that one can
make about the "vocal" style employed by klezmer clarinetists, mainly a limpid
mezza di voce ("half-voice")— not quite a falsetto— that many 20 th -century
hazzanim imitated with varying degrees of success.

Among recent recordings from the Klezmer Renaissance, those of an
Eastern European group called Khevrisa tries to get Klezmer music back
to its roots. Khevrisa plays only on period acoustic instruments, and uses
music from sources that are not part of the 1920s and 1930s, but comes from

8 The Golden Age of Cantors, 1991:41.

scholars like Moshe Beregovsky, 9 who actually wrote out various authentic
versions of Doinas and other pieces. With many of these musicians, there
is both a direct attempt to sound like the old klezmer musicians in the ways
that they play, and also a tendency to look into hazzanut for the expressive
nuances within the music. In doing so, klezmer musicians become true klei
zemer; they make their instruments sing.

The Budowitz group has an accordion player named Josh Horowitz who
plays an instrument with buttons instead of an upright piano keyboard. On
the CD Wedding without a Bride, where they recreated an entire traditional
wedding, there is one track called the Horowitz Zogakhts ("recitation"). When
a hazzan is called a zoger, he is reciting like a baal tefillah. On this track,
Horowitz tries particularly to make his accordian sound like a hazzan. Frank
London, another popular klezmer recording artist, tried to recreate the style
of cantorial music on the trumpet. For one album, he made the recording in
a synagogue, with the accompaniment played on a pump harmonium. For
many musicians, klezmer music provides the entry point — but the way they
are turning to hazzanut may be far different from the path taken by many
readers of this article.

For many musicians who are attracted to klezmer, the attraction is not only
to Jewish music, but it is a way into Judaism — through the music — the music
provides the sensibility to be involved in Judaism. As Alicia Svigals, one of
the violinists who used to play for the Klezmatics says, "I'm trying to recreate
a soundtrack for a new Jewish life." That is her purpose for writing music as
well as playing it. She wants Judaism without obligations, pretty much the
attitude that prevails today in our synagogues. For Alicia and many like her,
the music is providing a way into Judaism.

While I do not personally subscribe to that approach, for some, this is where
their music is coming from. One of the things that always fascinates me when
I work and talk with klezmer musicians is their deep attachment to what they
have created. I marvel at their accomplishments. They have taken a music
that pretty much died out, and by listening to recordings, they have brought
it back to life. They continue to make new recordings, perform concerts and
conduct workshops and run programs such as Klez Camp and Klez Canada.
Any band playing weddings in the United States needs to include klezmer in
their repertoire. Even the term "klezmer" has become significant. Recording
companies say that if you put the word klezmer on an album cover you are

y Old Jewish Folk Music, Mark Slobin, ed. (Philadelphia: Pennsylvania University
Press), 1982.

sure to sell recordings because klezmer has a certain cool buzz to it. In my
last 15 years in academia, over a dozen people have approached me, wanting
to write their doctorates on the subject and go on to study and play klezmer
music. There are three recent doctorates on klezmer music, and more and
more books are coming out on the subject. There is a lot to learn here.

I wish I could say that about the cantorate. I wish that we could get scholars
in academia, outside of synagogue life, to be interested in synagogue music.
We need to take this problem seriously, and convince others to take it seri-
ously as well. One thing that is talked about in contemporary folklore and
ethnography is the aspect of heritage music: how music is able to help people
access their heritage. To do this, one must go beyond the sensibility of looking
at music as an object. Music is not simply a sound, music is about life— the
people who created it, the people who are reconnecting to it, and the people
who are recreating it as well. I think that the explosion of klezmer music in
so many different places is something we can all learn from, and then we'll
hopefully be inspired to look further and deeper into what we do.

Mark Kligman is Professor of Jewish Musicology at the Hebrew Union College-
Jewish Institute of Religion in New York where he teaches in the School of Sacred
Music. This article, transcribed by Journal Editorial Board member David Sislen,
was presented originally as the Samuel Rosenbaum Memorial Lecture at the
Cantors Assembly's 58 th annual Convention in 2005.

The Seduction of Crossover Music -
How a Successful Composer Sees It

by Michael Isaacson

An old adage suggests that there are two ways to destroy the Jewish people;
with great evil or with great kindness. Great evil, as Hitler proved, almost
eradicated an entire European Jewish culture. Great kindness, however, the
kind of carte blanche acceptance currently being "enjoyed" by American
Jews, is far more insidious and, ultimately, the most effective because the
largesse we feel shown to us by our Christian host majority lulls us into
joining with them as full blooded Americans (without a Jewish-hyphen in
front) . We eventually diminish, then destroy ourselves through forgetting and
abandoning our own uniqueness, making intermarriage an accepted norm,
and enthusiastically adopting Christian mores and traditions (no matter how
seemingly innocent).

One of the "kindnesses" floating about in our midst (one that demands
our vigilance) is the concept of crossover music. Crossover music is a type of
music originally used for one purpose and later adapted for another purpose;
e.g. "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" was first a Christian hymn and then
became a folk song.

Styles can also "crossover." Dance forms used in popular culture now can
be heard in sacred music. Pop bands that once played for casual dances now
play for Jewish services. Pretty soon "we" will have enthusiastically become
"they".

This is the real issue underlying the growing difference of opinion between
guitar-playing song leaders versus trained cantorial leadership. Underneath
the "easy" economics, the "keeping up with the times" and bringing in fresh
sounds, is the real issue (unpleasant as it is to fully admit); the desire on the
part of today's post war Jewry - an American Jewish generation born after
Viet Nam and, thank God, mostly knowing American prosperity and relative
serenity, to "crossover" and pattern our worship more closely on Christian
worship. We buy generics in our medicine, television programming, why not
in our worship?

When Hebrew is replaced by English, when an entire text is replaced by a
brief motto, when the depth of a text's meaning is replaced by a "funky" riff,
when the performance supercedes the prayer, when we rapturously wave our
hand over our heads as we sing, and when a Jewish text setting seems it could

be equally at home in a church service as a Temple service, you can bet your
guitar you've been seduced by a crossover song.

The irony is compounded when rabbis (especially those planning "model"
services in this new century) endorse these sounds erroneously as the new
"God Songs" that will save our dwindling attendance, and lethargic obser-
vance. Sometimes, I honestly feel that Jews for Jesus could not do a better job
of obfuscating Jewish identity and promoting Christian fellowship.

Should we retreat to shtetl melodies and the nineteenth-century choral style
of Nowakowsky? Those readers familiar with my music and its exploration of
contemporary usage know that that is the last strategy I would recommend.
However, I've always put musical style secondary to the illumination and
thoughtful interpretation of the liturgical or biblical text being set. I don't
hear this in crossover songs. I see solo performers selling singable ditties with
little or no illumination of the text's deeper meaning. Today, generic bliss has
become sufficient.

Please communicate this to your congregations. It's not that choral music
is better than folk songs; though it's often more thoughtfully conceived. It is
not that a cantor is better than a song leader; though a cantor brings a histo-
ricity and Jewish knowledge and subtext of meanings to a performance that
a lesser-trained singer simply does not.

Jewish music is not only meant to be sung by the congregation, it is also
meant to be actively listened to in a thoughtful manner; one that calls our
Jewishness to the fore for meditation, examination, improvement and repair.
After all, don't we sit quietly and listen to a rabbi's sermonic wisdom; why have
we curtailed the cantor's ability to affectively teach through music?

Sure, crossover songs may be catchy and irresistible, but are we taking the
time to ask ourselves what have we lost and who's traditions and values have
we adopted when we are seduced into using them? Are "we" becoming they;
and are we rapidly losing a sense of "us"?

Will nothing be sacred?

Dr. Michael Isaacson, a prolific composer, conductor and producer, is founding Music
Director of the Israel Pops Orchestra and the Milken Archive of American Jewish Music.
His two-volume Michael Isaacson Songbook is published by Transcontinental, and
he recently completed thirty-six Seder songs for a new sight- and- sound Haggadah.
His most recent Journal Article, "Music on the Balanced Bimah" appeared in the
2005 issue.

The Golden Age of Cantors

by Velvel Pasternak

Although little documentation of the period commonly refered to as
the "Golden age of Cantors" is available, it is possible to piece together
information from articles printed in cantorial souvenir journals and
personal interviews. In the early 1900s, the few American cantors with
permanent synagogue positions were to be found primarily in New
York City. Although remuneration at the time was quite low, these
cantors were able to exist on meager compensation because many of
the amenities we now take for granted were not available. Electricity,
steam heat, refrigeration (and their costs) were not yet in widespread
use, even in wealthier homes, and, if a cantor was frugal, he could live
modestly on a yearly salary of $500-$800.

Synagogues large and small were able to hire a year-round
cantor and often a choir to accompany him. The synagogues on the
Lower East Side of New York City engaged the most recognized
cantors of the period. Among them were: Pinchas Minkovsky, K'hal
Adath Yeshurun Synagogue (Eldridge Street); Israel Cooper, Attorney
Street Synagogue; Israel Michilovsky, Beth Medrah Hagodol, (Norfolk
Street); Yechiel Karniol, Oheb Zedek (Norfolk Street), Permanent
cantors and mixed choirs also officiated in a number of Liberal temples
whose membership consisted primarily of German Jews.

The massive European- Jewish immigration of two and a-half
million had not yet peaked and there were daily arrivals. Most of the
immigrants were from the shtetl where they had lived their entire
Jewish lives in a religious atmosphere. On the first Sabbath after
their arrival in America, relatives and friends would take them to the
synagogue to pray and to hear the cantor. It is likely that this experience
influenced many of these immigrants to remain synagogue worshipers
for the rest of their lives.

During those early days, a number of prominent cantors issued a warning to
their colleagues that they should unite and form an organization which would
protect their welfare. Although many cantors heeded this warning and joined
an organization known as The Cantors Association of America, this was not
a professional entity. The Association was more like a club for cantors where
members would come together to discuss their profession, its difficulties and
its rewards. The leadership of the organization was in the hands of cantors
from synagogues established by German Jews, and the meetings were held
in Germanized Yiddish, with the minutes recorded in German.

In 1903 the infamous Kishinev Pogrom took place in Russia and it was fol-
lowed in 1905 and 1906 by similar types of attacks on Jews. The wary Jewish
population began to look to emigration as the only solution, and hundreds
began arriving on America's shores. This immigration affected the established
synagogues and especially their cantors. Orthodox synagogues began to grow
in membership, and the latest immigrants, with their strong bent towards
tradition, helped develop synagogue life in America. Although immigration
expanded rapidly, the European cantors were not yet willing to give up their
positions in order to emigrate. Due to this unwillingness, the maturing of
the American cantorate was delayed, and many cantorial positions remained
vacant. In addition, as the Jewish inhabitants of the Lower East Side improved
their economic situation, they found their living quarters small and cramped.
They began to look for alternative housing, which they found in more upscale
areas, especially Harlem and its surrounding communities.

Within a relatively short period the Jewish inhabitants of these Uptown
neighborhoods began building new and often luxurious synagogues and
temples. Many Gentiles felt encroached upon and moved out of the neigh-
borhoods, leaving their churches empty. A number of these edifices were
purchased and transformed into Jewish houses of worship, and the new
synagogues began hiring cantors and choirs. When an adequate cantor could
not be found, a well-known European hazzan would be invited. High salaries
were offered, and, when American currency translated into Russian Rubles
or German Marks, it offered an additional incentive to leave home and come
to the Goldene Medine (Golden Land). This lasted until 1914.

With the outbreak of the First World War, Jews suffered terribly, especially
in Russia where they became the scapegoat for the defeat of the Czarist armies.
After pogroms in the Ukraine, mass emigration took place, not only from Rus-
sia but also from many countries in Europe. Along with the new immigrants
came an influx of cantors, many more than were needed. Following the war,
and perhaps partially due to the war, America entered a period of prosperity,

161

and many individuals became wealthy. Jews also found themselves in higher
economic brackets and with additional wealth came the desire to build new
places of worship. Synagogues costing a quarter of a million dollars and more
were built with relatively small amounts of up-front cash collected from the
newly rich. Large mortgages and financing were secured from banking and
loan institutions. How these loans would be repaid did not seem to present
a major problem. The coming financial crisis in America and the crash on
Wall Street, although lurking in some dark corner, was not yet foreseen. These
newly established synagogues gobbled up the immigrant cantors; the larger
the synagogue, the more prestigious the cantor desired.

Suddenly, almost overnight it seemed, the United States became the world
center of cantors and cantorial art. Word spread that some hazzanim were
paid as much as $10,000 a year, and cantors began streaming into the United
States from all parts of Europe. Although the situation for star cantors was
favorable, the cantorate in general did not benefit. Each synagogue desired a
star cantor of its own in order to compete with other synagogues. In addition,
when a cantor received a decent salary, demands were made on him to be as
good as, if not better than, the star cantors. That many hazzanim received
one-tenth the salary of the star cantor did not seem to enter the equation.

Gradually the new immigrant hazzanim from Poland and Russia became
members of the Cantors Association of America, whose leadership they now
assumed. Meetings were conducted in Yiddish and a determined effort to
form a professional organization was undertaken. However, there were now
distinct groups of cantors within the organization. The Reform cantors, who
primarily served German-Jewish temples, were against making the organiza-
tion professional. Since they were treated well, by and large, they did not feel
the need for a unionized type of organization. A new group, who held positions
in the recently established Conservative synagogues, also felt that they did
not gain necessarily from a professional organization since their synagogues
treated them relatively well. The real problems lay with the largest body, the
Orthodox cantors. Their plight did not seem to be of great concern to the
cantors of the other movements. Along the way, three distinct organizations
developed - none of them professional, and after a number of years, the three
groups amalgamated into The Jewish Ministers and Cantors Association or,
as it was familiarly known, the Khazonim Farband.

During the 1920s, European hazzanim continued to arrive in the United
States. It was a period of prosperity and synagogues hired cantors on yearly
contracts. Many were supported with professional choirs conducted by first-
rate musicians such as Zavel Zilberts and Meyer Machtenberg. The American

Jew looked forward with great anticipation to Sabbath services in the syna-
gogue. All week long, he worked tirelessly to provide for his family's needs.
Shabbos was the time to forget the week day travails and to be enraptured by
the improvisational artistry and neshamah (soul) of the cantor. To sit in the
synagogue until early afternoon was a joy.

Cantorial competition, however, was very keen. Many hazzanim were not
rehired after their contracts expired, and synagogue search committees set
auditions, known as probes, to find the next star cantor for their synagogue.
Applicants would lead services on Sabbath without receiving compensation.
A synagogue might sometimes go for months without hiring a permanent
hazzan, contenting itself with auditioning new candidates every week, gratis.
Cantorial agents became managers and served as a liaison between cantor
and synagogue. After a successful hiring and a signed contract, the managers
were rewarded with a percentage of the cantor's first year salary. Often, agents
would help a synagogue dismiss its cantor after the year so that they could
place another star in his place and thus collect a percentage of the wages of
the newly hired cantor.

Outside the synagogues, cantors were becoming full-fledged artists for
recording companies like Columbia and RCA Victor. Cantors appeared regu-
larly on radio programs devoted to liturgical music and Yiddish folksongs.
Concert halls and Vaudeville theaters throughout North America also featured
programs devoted to cantorial artistry. However, the widespread economic
devastation of the Great Depression wreaked havoc with the cantorial pro-
fession. Many synagogues were forced to curtail expenditures; cantors and
choirs were let go in order to relieve financial pressures, and large-scale
concerts were rare.

During this period, new Orthodox congregations were formed, and as these
synagogues began to proliferate, they did not hire cantors but used their own
members to lead services. Many began to feel that the synagogue service, with
cantors singing long, intricate liturgical recitatives, was beyond the patience
of the majority of the membership. The lay baal tefillah was, for them, a better
solution. With few exceptions this has continued to be the case in Orthodox
synagogues. In Conservative and Reform synagogues, the cantor, along with
the rabbi, has remained an integral part of the worship service.

Velvet Pasternak, a noted ethnomusicologist, has worked to capture and transmit the
musical traditions of World Jewish Communities through Tar a Publications, the firm

he founded and still serves as President. This article first appeared as a chapter in his
book, The Jewish Music Companion (2002), and is reprinted here with permission.

The 1916 cartoon that follows shows Josef Rosenblatt being pursued by the Chicago
Grand Opera Company to singfive performances of La Juive, at a thousand dollars a
night, an offer which he refused on religious grounds. That gesture earned him the title
"King of Cantors" The newspaper in which this cartoon first appeared is unknown, as
is the artist who has signed it, "Lola."^

1 Samuel Rosenblatt. Yossele Rosenblatt - A Biography (1954), reprinted by the
Cantors Assembly as The Immortal Cantor (New York:2005), page 182d.

The Future of Hazzanut in America

by B. Shelvin

If someone picked up an American newspaper prior to the High Holy Days or
a Yom Tov, he or she might mistakenly think that hazzanut is in an extremely
flourishing state.

Daily notices tell us that Hazzan X or Hazzan Y made a tremendous hit
with his Kabbalat Shabbat, that the shul was packed and that the crowd was
so enraptured that it totally forgot where it was, and applauded the hazzan
just like in a concert hall. It's also frequently reported that this or that hazzan,
newly arrived from Europe, was approached by an affluent congregation and
promised a fabulous salary which instigated a bidding war among a half-dozen
other synagogues, all of whom had hoped to hire him.

You no longer have to attend services in order to hear a hazzan. All that's
needed is to arrange a benefit concert in a hall, list his name as guest artist,
and people will come running. Whichever direction you turn, you'll hear a
juicy piece of gossip about hazzanim, and very often you'll have the pleasure
of seeing their pictures plastered on wall posters as well. Whether you like it
or not, this hazzanic boom is bound to give you the impression that hazzanut
is currently undergoing its golden age.

Is hazzanut really in such a brilliant state at this point in time? Unfortu-
nately, the answer is a negative one. The golden age of hazzanut is long past,
and its so-called "boom" in America is really no more than a beautiful sunset
whose gilded rays blind us temporarily. In a short while their intensity will
have faded into twilight.

The true golden age ended when young people stopped davening and syna-
gogues were left in the hands of an older, dying generation. The decrease in
the number of daveners diminished the influence of synagogues in the com-
munity, and the field of cantorial activity dwindled in direct proportion. The
lessened interest in synagogues automatically reduced interest in hazzanut
which then ceased being a valid market commodity. Once that happened,
the impulse to promote the Old Style waned, and it goes without saying that
the urge to achieve anything new vanished.

Among the thousands of men who sang in synagogue choirs here and
in Europe during their boyhood, many were inspired to go on and be-
come hazzanim. Today's meshorerim— and even a number of established
hazzanim— would rather become singers on the world's stages. Few of them
succeed at this or have anything to show for their efforts. Yet, to them, an

165

appearance under the worst circumstances on a concert stage is preferable
to an appearance under the best circumstances at the prayer Amud.

The Amud no longer attracts a great flow of new recruits, It is therefore
natural that hazzanut should gradually fade from the scene and that even
those who devote themselves to it should contribute only negligibly to its
development. Wherever competition is lacking, the creative spirit is also
absent. That is one reason why the hazzanut of recent years is of little artistic
value; it's being produced by a lesser number of truly creative spirits.

Every year the number grows smaller and the level of hazzanut drops. The
Eastern European Jewry that once produced the best hazzanim no longer has
the economic capability to carry the burden of full-time hazzanim. Thousands
of communities were impoverished by the Great War of 1914-1918, and a
huge portion of them were completely obliterated. Those that survived have
concerns more pressing than that of supporting hazzanim. Communities like
Odessa, Minsk, Berdichev, Warsaw, Vienna, Budapest and Bucharest cannot
afford the spiritual luxury of a hazzan.

The hazzanim of all those places typically wound up fleeing to America
where the public's love affair with them usually heats up for a short while
until it overcooks, and then the cantorial fad goes the way of all fads on the
Jewish Street.

And should this particular fad defy all odds and last a long time, hazzanut
can still not count on America for its salvation. It's become too commercial-
ized. And it exists in a Jewish vacuum with no native soil in which to grow
freely. Hazzanut always drew its nourishment from Jewish life, from the Jewish
soul, from Jewish thought and feeling, from Jewish tears and laughter. None of
these exist in America. Most of all there is no Jewish atmosphere here. In its
place we find a faint reproduction of the rich Jewish life in Europe, not nearly
vivid enough to inspire hazzanut or any other form of cultural creativity.

In a country where women can learn hazzanic recitatives and parade
successfully as "khazntes" 1 while real hazzanim are forgotten, it's hardly likely
that a native-born Rozumni or Nisi Belzer or Boruch Schorr will suddenly
appear.

Hazzanut is different from what it was, here and in Europe. It lacks the
creative spark generally and the improvisatory impetus particularly. Today's
hazzan is not as inventive as his predecessors, and when he occasionally
tries to be, the result doesn't ring true. It may be skillfully done but it simply

1 Literally "cantor's wives," but commonly used for "female cantors."

doesn't sound like the genuine kind of hazzanut one expects to hear at the
Amud. Few and far between are the places in America where a hazzan is not
forced to cheapen his art for the sake of pleasing congregants utterly lacking
in taste.

In America the chief moulder of opinion regarding hazzanut is the know-
nothing who in European towns would stand by the door of the Shoemakers'
Shul or the Tailors' Shul or the Butchers' or Bakers' Shul, holding forth for
all who would listen. This vulgar individual understands not one word of the
prayers, has no idea of their content nor the slightest notion of how a haz-
zan can take a simple word and inflect it in a way that refracts its meaning in
every direction like sunlight passing through a diamond.

Under these conditions, American hazzanut must inevitable slide from
bad to worse. That is because rivalry drives hazzanim to pander after popular
taste instead of educating the public and attempting to raise its standards.
It is the reason why hazzanut is in rapid decline at the same time that its
practitioners are able to maintain themselves materially quite adequately.

Rampant popularization reveals itself in the form that cantorial notices
take in newspapers. It's hardly necessary to note that in European cities the
greatest hazzanim never allowed their promoters to place the screaming-types
of advertisements to which we've become accustomed in America. Here, it
is the hazzanim themselves who supply the copy.

Unlike Eastern Europe, this country is capable of supporting the cantorial
profession into the distant future. The Jewish population here has become
more and more conservative and synagogue-affiliated as it has grown. And
having a cantor is a draw for many congregations. Yet, something must be
done to assure that hazzanut does not sink any deeper into crass material-
ism—during the years ahead— than it already has in the brief time it's flour-
ished and peaked here. If not, many are convinced that hazzanim will shortly
be killing the goose that lays their golden egg.

This is the most challenging problem that the Khazzonim Farband 2 must
solve. Until now that organization has had to concern itself mainly with pre-
serving the integrity of the cantorial profession. In great measure that meant
assuming responsibility for the shameless self-promotion that American
hazzanim have lately indulged in, along with a breakdown of ethics regarding
colleagues who had attained a greater degree of professional success.

2 Jewish Ministers Cantors Association of Am
167

The Khazzonim Farband must also undertake to publish and distribute
the best of its members' musical compositions. A readily available repertoire
of cantorial literature can only help in prolonging the viability of hazzanut. It
will allow younger current practitioners of the art as well as future generations
to familiarize themselves with true hazzanic creativity as it was performed
in its heyday 3

Should the Khazzonim Farband's present milestone usher in a new era
that witnesses the changes mentioned above, then American cantors will
have more reason to celebrate than over anything else their organization has
achieved in the thirty years of its existence.

B. Shelvin was Music Editor of the Yiddish daily newspaper, The Morning Journal, in
New York. This article, "Die Tsukunft fun Khazones in Amerikeh," is reprinted from
Die Geshichtefun Khazones (The History of Hazzanut), issued to celebrate the 30 th
anniversary of the Jewish Ministers Cantors Association of America (New YorkAgudas
Ha-Khazonim DAmerikeh VeKanada, 1924). It is translated by Joseph A. Levine.

3 The author may have had in mind the published works of Z. Kwartin, P. Minkowsky,
J. Rappaport, J. Rosenblatt, Z. Rovner, S. Weisser and Z. Zilberts, among others, all of
whom were active members In 1924 (Editor's note: Minkowsky died later that same

year).

168

Recalling Max Wohlberg's Skill at Impropvisation

by MarkSlobin

As part of a three-year study of the American cantorate which I directed, 1
Max Wohlberg was interviewed several times. Wohlberg's longtime teaching
position at the Cantors Institute (Jewish Theological Seminary) had made him
a major force in the molding of younger American-trained cantors, and his
experience and insight earned him the title of doyen of American cantorial
music. Giving graciously of his time and knowledge, Wohlberg elucidated
many points of interest and, in a final session, consented to sing a sample of
improvised sacred song. We requested that he concentrate on Hashkivenu,
since several other cantors interviewed had spoken of that focal night prayer.
Not only did Wohlberg oblige, but somewhat to his own surprise, he offered
three spontaneous versions, each quite different. The present article uses this
material for modest commentary on the structural principles of cantorial
improvisation in the spirit of Hanoch Avenary's work. 2 A broader account
of the concept of nusah and the nature of improvisation as understood in
America today can be found in my book-length study (Slobin, 1989). The
Wohlberg variants demonstrate the viability of hazzanut as an improvisatory
art in the United States at the end of the 20 th century, a fact which emerged
from sampling not only a few veterans but a cross-section of 93 cantors of
all ages and backgrounds. 3

In his pioneering study, "The Cantorial Fantasia," Hanoch Avenary (1968)
expressed the view that "the art of improvising a Fantasia. ..took refuge in
Eastern Europe," and suggested further research on hazzanut in Eastern
realms. In a preliminary way, I would like to address three points Avenary
raised in his article, using the Wohlberg material as an example of more
general trends. Two are stylistic and one is what he calls "semantic." The
first points out that the cantorial fantasia is "of its nature melismatic" and "is
composed of single themes each of which is a closed unit, and the composi-
tion itself is a string of such self-sufficient members." The second proposes
that "a full review of the ornamental element in cantorial song demands a
separate effort of investigation," while the third states that " the uncovering
of the spiritual foundations of specific cantorial singing habits is a task as yet
almost untouched." I can take only a couple of steps along the path Avenary
has pointed out, concentrating on the compositional process as implied by
the structure of three successive settings of the same prayer.

Briefly put, my approach is to imagine an improvised version of a set text
as a set of choices about how to combine the parameters of performance
to project the singer's conception of the spiritual essence of the words.
The choices made created a series of rather free-standing segments of text
(Avenary's "closed units"). While the range of possible combinations is not
broad, it yields a striking variety of patterns in a kaleidoscopic manner. I will
concentrate on just five parameters of performance, listed in Figure 1. for
the three Wohlberg variants of Hashkivenu:

1 . length of segment (where the "final word" of segment falls, which
involves the decision of how to mark off units of test;

2. tonal orientation, dealing with internal relationships of pitches
within a segment;

3. "rhythmic type," or basic rhetorical approach to expounding the
text (discussed in ore detail below);

4. degree of ornamentation, concentrating only on how melismatic
a segment is; and

5. location of highest pitch level. 4

As Figure 1 shows, I feel all three variants consist of five segments, la-
beled A through E. Of course, all such decisions are arbitrary, but there is no
question that the singer thinks of the overall text setting as having distinct,
differentiated units, as discussion with Wohlberg and other cantors showed.
An analysis of each parameter follows:
Length of segment

Within an apparently understood notion of five segments, the variants do not
agree at all as to their boundaries. Thus, 1 and 2 agree on segment As end,
but not segment B's cadence, where 2 and 3 end B at the same place. Variant
1 ends C where variant 3 ends D, and so forth.
Tonality

Without getting into the vexed discussion of the tonal orientation ("modes?")
of liturgical music, it is safe to say that the segments do tend to have obvious
tonal axes. Broadly put, it is clear that the natural minor and what cantors
callfreigish (featuring the G-Ab-B-C tetrachord) predominate, but, surpris-
ingly, variant 2 ends in a strongly declaimed major. Within segments, there
maybe some shifting, exemplified twice by an opening in freigish and closing
in minor.

Worth a closer look is the distribution of this narrow range of possibili-
ties within the overall pattern of a setting. Here we find no agreement at all

170

among the three variants, underscoring the universal remark made by many
cantors interviewed, that tonal orientation is important only at the end of
prayer texts, not at the beginning or in the middle, since the piece "must end
in the proper nusah " However, even the ending is not uniform here, illustrat-
ing the cantors' point that some items in the flow of a given service are more
"nusah-bound" than others.
Degree of melisma

Another arena for choice is how heavily ornamented a segment can be. There
seem to be three possibilities: non-melismatic, occasionally melismatic, and
heavily melismatic. As before, the distribution of choices across a variant
differs markedly from setting to setting, showing no clear preference.
Location of highest pitch level

In the interview, before singing, Wohlberg suggested that Hashkivenu should
start moderately, rise to an emotional high point, then subside, suggesting
an arched contour:

An analysis of the text will show us that the Hashkivenu consists of at least
4 elements. One is the introductory, where one introduces the Hashkivenu
lyrically or otherwise. Number 2, where the emotional element will come
to the fore and is sort of a climax. The Element number 3 would be where
I would leave this warm-spirited element and go back to the original style
of introduction or just calm down in a diminuendo from the excessive
emotion. Finally would come the conclusion, the ending.

So the location of the highest pitch level is of some interest to us, while variant
2 suggests the arch contour, 1 doubles the arch (two high points), while 3 has
both a midpoint and final surge, belying Wohlberg's own generalization.
Rhythmic type

What I mean by this term is a group of four "mindsets" about rhythmic orienta-
tion frequently found in any large corpus of improvised text settings. Briefly,
I feel these embody the singer's notion of the rhetoric of performance: how to
convey the meaning of a sacred text to the congregation. One is what I call a
"reciting" style, which features no melisma, and frequent strings of syllables
on the same pitch. A second is "parlando-rubato," using Bela Bartok's term
for folksong performance. This implies an elastic rhythmic sense ("rubato")
combined with strong interest in text projection ("parlando"). The third
possibility incorporates pitches underscoring the singer's interest in calling
attention to a certain phrase of the prayer. The fourth approach is the use of
metric tunes to organize passages of text.

Wohlberg uses all four rhythmic types, with just a bit more consistency
than for the other parameters cited above, perhaps indicating that the rheto-
ric of text presentation is a paramount parameter. In our three variants, the
declamatory seems reserved for endings and the metric for middle sections.
Still, what cantors call a lidl (metric tune) falls in two different places, show-
ing the singer's freedom to decide where to introduce this approach even
within a general sense of its appearing neither at the beginning nor at the
end of a text setting.

Having surveyed five of the basic parameters of performance, we can step
back a bit to view the larger picture, approaching, albeit tentatively, Avenary's
question of the "spiritual significance" of the cantorial fantasia, or what can-
tors call a cantorial "recitative," Wohlberg himself supplies a good point of
departure here:

Since the musical elements of the recitative consist of a limited number
of motifs and their variations. ..it is in their selection, combination and
emphasis that the individuality of the [cantor] composer appears. Thus,
the recitatives of Kwartin are pleading, those of Rosenblatt are melodic,
Roitman's are intricately plaintive" (Wohlberg 1979:85).

I find this area of rhetorical presentation of the text setting particularly
suggestive in understanding how cantors construct their improvised perfor-
mances. For it is not just the great cantors of the past who thought this way,
as shown by the following remark of a veteran cantor, taped in 1985:

Hashkivenu to me. ..this great prayer for peace, and to take away oyev,
dever, veherev vera'av; I have no difficulty with that. I have all I can do to
stop from breaking down. When I look at the news pictures on television
and I see these little African children, I have no trouble tearing my heart
out.
Though this may fall short of Avenary's broad and deep notion of "spiritual
significance," it is as close as one can get through asking today's sacred singers
about this work, as we did with some 130 American cantors.

Even a brief foray into the creative world of the cantorate convinces one
of the importance of the points raised by Avenary, but also of the need for a
close look at the technique of live performance, not just the notions of the
past. The literature on Eastern European Ashkenazic sacred song in practice
is woefully small compared to the significant bibliography which has built up
on communities of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern origin. The present
article is meant only to show the power of the material rather than to present
definitive conclusions, as well as to demonstrate how much more needs to
be done in defining the basic concepts of hazzanut in action.

Figure 1. Summary Table of Five Parameters in 3 Variants
Variant 1

Final word
of segment

melismatic? i

highest
range

s p-r = parlando-rubato
Variant 2

of segment

shlomekha shemekha

3T

shlomekha

Tonality

minor minor

freigish/

minor

major

Rhythmic

p-r p-r

p-r

hint

declama-

melismatic?

medium

no

no

no

highest !
range

Final word le-hayim shemekha tastirenu rahum

of segment atah

Totality

Rhythmic

freigish freigish

lelismatic?

highest

Example 1. Musical transcription ofWohlberg'sHashkivenu improvisations, Version
One (see key of transcription symbols located below).

Transcription symbols

J

= very short notes

= short note

*

= longer note

= very long note

'

= breath

t

= slightly higher than written

4.

= slightly lower than written

/

= glide

Example 2. Musical transcription o/Wohlberg's Hashkivenu improvisations, Version
two (see key of transcription symbols located after version one).

J

r cj f f i r ^:r r i Cr ir l D"? \ " = i

Example 3. Musical transcription ofWohlberg's Hashkivenu improvisations, Version
three (see key of transcription symbols located after version one).

Works Cited

Avenary, H. "The Cantorial Fantasia of the 18th and 19th Centuries:A Late Manifesta-
tion of the Musical Trope." Yuval 1 (1968):65-85.

Slobin, M. Chosen Voices: The Story of the American Cantorate, Urbana, IL:1989.

Wohlberg, M. "Some Thoughts on the Hazzanic Recitative," Journal of Synagogue
Music Vol. 9 (1979):82-86.

Max Wohlberg (1 907-1 996) helped found the Cantors Assembly of America and the
Jewish Theological Seminary's Cantors Institute. He spent a lifetime researching
and collecting synagogue melodies and was a beloved teacher of nusah to almost
two generations of cantorial students until his death.

Mark Slobin is Professor of Music and Chair of the Department of Music at Wes-
leyan University. A former president of the Society of Ethnomusicology, he is the
author of Sub cultural Sounds: Micromusics of the West, Chosen Voices; The Story
of the American Cantorate, Tenement Songs: The popular Music of the Jewish Im-
migrants, and Fiddler on the Move: Exploring the Klezmer World.

This article first appeared in Orbis Musicae No. 10, 1990-91 — "Thoughts on
Three Versions of Hashkivenu" — and is reprinted here with permission.

Miriam Gideon Remembered on Her 10th Yahrzeit and
100th Birthday

by Neil W. Levin

Miriam Gideon was not a woman composer. She rejected and resisted
that demeaning label consistently throughout her life. She was a woman; she
was American; she was Jewish; and she was a composer — a superbly gifted,
emotionally and intellectually secure, exceedingly modest, and justifiably
distinguished composer. She ranked with such doyens of the intelligentsia
of American composers as George Perle, Milton Babbitt, Elliot Carter and
William Shuman, who had the utmost regard for her talents and considered
her simply a colleague. To earn their respect on that level was no easy feat
for any composer, and few did so. Miriam did.

"I didn't know I was a woman composer until 'the movement' in the 1960s,"
she reminisced in the mid-1980s. "I knew I was a young composer, and then,
suddenly, an older composer. But never a woman composer." Not for her
any of the belligerent whining about supposed gender-related obstacles that
became so politically convenient for others, and she emphasized on many
occasions that she had never felt hindered in her career. "I've always had my
fair share of recognition," she insisted.

Miriam disapproved heartily and vocally of concerts, broadcasts, and
recordings devoted specifically or exclusively to music by women, as if that
constituted a genre of its own, and she refused to permit her music to be in-
cluded in such formats. "I don't care for isolating musical activity by gender
and would caution against it," she said, further explaining that such musical
isolation and identification is a tactical mistake that "makes it difficult to
judge the music on its own merits."

For those of us who are deeply immersed in the rather closed world of Ju-
daically related music and whose primary personal association with Miriam
was through her longtime service on the faculty of the Jewish Theological
Seminary's Cantors Institute, it has always been tempting to claim her as
"ours" — as a Jewish, or Jewish music, composer. That was only part of her story,
of course, but I am certain she would forgive our proprietary inclination. She
was not only a beloved teacher and colleague, with whom all of us felt at ease,
but also that rare phenomenon today and even then: a thorough modernist
who was at the same time a grand lady in the old manner. For years after she
taught her last class, and even after she had passed away, many of us could
close our eyes and imagine her, decked out in her signature broad-brimmed

179

or cartwheel hat, ascending the steps to the Seminary for another day devoted
to imbuing students with her unconditional love of music.

In 2001, as artistic director of the Milken Archive, I was in London to
supervise the recording of Miriam's Sabbath Eve Service by the chorus of
the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields. Joseph Cullen, its conductor at the
time, actually expressed embarrassment at not having known previously of
Miriam or her music. "She must be very famous in America," he remarked,
basing his assumption on the quality of her work. "Lu y'hu — it should only
be—" I had to reply lamentably. On the other hand, that situation is hardly
unique, and Miriam remains in the good company of many under appreci-
ated American composers.

In his eulogy at her funeral ten years ago, Rabbi Morton M. Leifman, dean
of the cantorial school from 1973 until 1998, drew some poetic parallels
between Miriam Gideon the composer and King David the psalmist and
musician according to tradition:

His playing soothed even the tempestuous emotions of highly volatile

chieftains and kings. He was a romantic charmer, a devoted friend, a

person whose influence was international in scope.

Eventually King David became old and ill; and yet, 'til death's door he

retained his royal bearing. He was always David the King.

Miriam was a long time dying— illness and pain and memory loss; but

until nearly the end she remained a royal figure, one who reacted regally

to sounds, to language, to poetry, to people, and, of course, to music and

ideas — almost to the end.

And Rabbi Leifman read an ancient poem that had been translated from
the Japanese and which Miriam had set to music, because he felt that it
reflected her "incredible optimism— that hint at not giving in, even to the
reality of death":

/ have always known
That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know it would be today.
Miriam Gideon was born in 1906 in Greeley, Colorado, where her father — an
ordained Reform rabbi who chose Western parameters of academia over the
pulpit — was a professor of philosophy and modern languages at the Colorado
State Teachers College (the forerunner of the University of Northern Colo-
rado). Her family's cultural orientation was informed by the sophisticated
orbit of German Jewry. Her grandparents on both sides had come from the

180

area around Bayreuth, and typical of many highly educated second and even
third generations of German Jewish immigrants at that time, German was
spoken along with English in her home.

Uprooted several times over the next several years by her father's succes-
sive teaching appointments, in Wyoming, California, and Chicago— where
she began piano lessons with a cousin — the family resettled in Yonkers, New
York, by the time Miriam was ready to begin high school. She was enrolled at
the local music conservatory, where she studied with Hans Barth, a Leipzig-
born pianist and composer who had been a pupil in Europe of Carl Reinecke
and Ferruccio Busoni.

After one or two summers in Boston studying music with her paternal
uncle, Henry Gideon— the music director and organist at Temple Israel, one
of the city's leading Reform synagogues, and editor of an early-20th-century
Reform hymnal — her parents allowed her to stay in Boston to finish high
school, so that she could avail herself more intensively of his tuition. He
taught her piano and theory as well as organ, which she played on occasion
for services at the synagogue.

Meanwhile, her interest in composition — begun in childhood as an ancil-
lary, experimental, and almost private activity— had started to blossom, and it
soon became the primary focus of her creative energies. At Boston University,
where she earned her bachelor's degree with a major in French literature and
a minor in mathematics, Miriam continued to study music, and when she
returned to New York after graduation, she took several music courses at
New York University with a view toward a career in public school teaching.
But the urge to compose absorbed her more and more, and after about a year
she abandoned that path in favor of university level involvements that would
leave her more time for composition.

One of the most important imprints on Gideon's future direction as a
composer was her association and private study, for several years during
her late twenties, with the now fabled emigre Jewish composer from Rus-
sia, Lazare Saminsky One of the principal players in the forging of the new
national school of Jewish art music in Russia, and an active participant in
the Gesellschaft fur Judische Volksmusik in St. Petersburg from its founding
in 1908, Saminsky was then the music director and organist at New York's
Temple Emanu-El. "Saminsky was an invaluable influence for many years,"
Gideon recalled some twenty-five years later in an interview. "To begin with,
he was most perceptive in coordinating my previous training in harmony,
counterpoint, and composition. As for my excursions into Jewish music, he

showed the same understanding for my attempts at personal expression."
Later, in 1945, he commissioned her to write a piece— The Hound of Heaven,
based on a poem by Francis Thompson — in celebration of Temple Emanu-
El's centenary.

After a few years of private lessons, Saminsky suggested that Gideon study
with the esteemed American composer and composition teacher Roger
Sessions, who had been a pupil of Ernest Bloch's. Saminsky facilitated the
introduction, and Miriam worked with Sessions for eight years, joining the
prestigious list of his students that has included such luminaries as Milton
Babbitt, Edward Cone, David Diamond, Leon Kirschner, and Vivian Fine.
Through her work with Sessions, Gideon gradually emancipated herself from
her previous, completely tonal orientation and developed her distinctive and
deeply expressive combination of extra-tonal and pan-tonal idioms that was
to define her music thereafter.

In 1946 Gideon earned her master's degree in musicology from Columbia
University with a dissertation on Mozart's string quintets, but even before
matriculation she began teaching at Brooklyn College. A few years later (1949)
she married Frederic Ewen, a member of the English department there and a
scholar of European history and 18th-century European literature.

Ewen's unmasked left-wing political associations and activities and
even— for those days, socialist leanings— to which he adhered benignly and
in principle throughout his life (dignitaries from the old left such as Ossie
Davis spoke at the memorial meeting for him in 1989)— had their affect on
Miriam's career in the fear-soaked climate of the late 1940s and early 1950s. She
always felt that her termination (in the form of non-renewal) from Brooklyn
College in 1954 was owed to her husband's perceived political persona and
affiliation. And, as she related in a 1991 interview, she resigned from City
College of New York (CCNY, where she had begun teaching in 1947) in 1955
rather than cooperate in identifying faculty with suspected leftist or so-called
procommunist sympathies.

But her severance from CCNY (where she returned on a part-time basis
in 1970, long after the dust of panic had settled) turned out to be to her ad-
vantage. And it was certainly to the benefit of the next two generations of
American cantors within the Conservative movement and to Jewish music in
general. For it was that same year, in the wake of her new availability, that the
eminent composer and intellectual, Hugo Weisgal, who chaired the faculty
at the Jewish Theological Seminary's Cantors Institute and Seminary College
of Jewish Music (now the H. L. Miller Cantorial School), invited her to teach
there. Thus began her most fruitful, rewarding, and mutually beneficial af-

182

filiation, and for some forty years, until age and ill health forced her to retire,
the Jewish Theological Seminary was her home base. Notwithstanding other
concurrent teaching positions, and apart from her principal commitment
to composition, her tenure there and her relationship with her students was
the closest to her heart of all her professional activities. She taught theory
and harmony, composition, and introductory surveys of the Western musi-
cal canon, and she gave unstintingly of her time and energies to individual
students and to the life of the school. Weisgal became a fervent champion of
her music, and in 1970 she earned her doctorate (Doctor of Sacred Music)
from the Seminary under his guidance.

As in Weisgal's case, Miriam's musical range and interests extended well
beyond Jewish works to form a lasting contribution to serious 20th-century
American music. Yet on an emotional plane, both she and Weisgal attached
special and personal value to their Jewish works, which they considered
among their most important creations. And, also like Weisgal, Miriam had
a particular affinity for literature and its expression as vocal music, which
amounts to more than half of her oeuvre— although in some ways she was
more comfortable than her mentor with purely instrumental, non-program-
matic composition. She was fascinated bywords and literary constructs, and
she once said that she was "moved by great poetry and great prose almost
as much as by music." As George Perle, the composer and ardent admirer of
Gideon's music, once observed, the musical structure of her verse settings
usually runs parallel to the basic "sense of the poem" and its intrinsic verbal
interrelationships, rather than concentrating on the external formal poetic
features. And her concern for declamation of text was always paramount.

Apart from her secular as well as sacred choral works and her opera,
Fortunato, Miriam was especially prone to set literature in the context of
vocal chamber music— voice with small instrumental ensembles— in which
the vocal line often functions as one of the instruments. In such pieces the
voice carries forward and supports the text as the principal melodic mate-
rial, simultaneously constituting an individual yet interdependent part of the
overall musical structure. To this category belong such works as Nocturnes
(1976, on poetry by Shelley); The Condemned Playground (1963, with words
by Horace, Milton, Akiya, Spokes, Baudelaire, and Millay); Spiritual Mad-
rigals (1965, with words by Ewen, Susskind von Trimberg, and Heine) and
its reworking in 1979 as The Resounding Lyre; Rhymes from the Hill (1968);
and Five Sonnets from Shakespeare, among others. Even more remarkable in
terms of its individuality was Gideon's fondness for dual-language and even
multilingual settings— either an English text juxtaposed against words in

other languages from other poetry, or a text (or parts of a text) in its original
language together with English translation. In her Steeds of Darkness (1986),
the original Italian of the text is set, without translation, alongside an English
poem with similar sentiments and imagery, so that the two texts reinforce
each other. In her setting of a poem about Hiroshima, on the other hand, she
had the original English poetry translated into Japanese for her setting. "I'm
particularly fascinated by setting the same poem in the original language and
also in translation," she once remarked. "The challenge of finding a different
musical garment for the same poetic idea, with all the subtleties of color and
connotation that each language represents— the right clothing to drape on the
same skeleton and at the same time resolving this diversity into an integrated
whole— is a never-ending source of creative interest to me."

Gideon's first Jewish work was her English setting of Numbers 24:5 and
other verses, from Psalms— known liturgically in its original Hebrew as Mah
Tovu, a text used frequently as an optional introduction to formal worship,
but composed and published by her as How Goodly Are Thy Tents (Example
l). 1 Written for women's voices only because the competition for which it
was intended specified that medium, it won the Ernest Bloch Choral Award
in 1947 (shared with a piece by Norman Lockwood). Then came her first
Hebrew setting— Adon Olam—'m 1954, scored for soloists, mixed chorus,
and chamber orchestra (with alternative organ accompaniment). It was com-
missioned and premiered by Hugo Weisgal at the Chizuk Amuno Congrega-
tion in Baltimore, where Weisgal directed the Chizuk Amuno Choral Society
and where his father, Abba Yosef [Adolph Joseph] Weisgal was hazzan. Three
Masques for organ followed in 1958, commissioned by composer and virtuoso
organist Herman Berlinski, who received the Jewish Theological Seminary's
first doctorate in composition — under Weisgal's supervision. Gideon based
that work on cantillation motifs for the annual Purim rendition of the Book
of Esther. "I used those motifs as a basic vocabulary," she later explained to
colleagues, "and then transformed them rhythmically and intervalically to
characterize the persons who dominate the three sections of the work: Ha-
inan, Esther, and Mordecai." Her cantata The Habitable Earth (1965) can
also be included among her Judaically inspired works, based as it is on the
Book of Proverbs.

Gideon's two Jewish magna opera, however, or the twin yet very distinct
achievements constituting her magnum opus in terms of Judaic music, are

1 Out of print, SSA version available at the JTS Library.

unquestionably her two artistically sophisticated Sabbath services. The first,
Sacred Service (for the Sabbath), was commissioned in 1971 by The Temple
in suburban Cleveland, an heir to one of the major mid-western Reform
synagogues founded in the 19th century by German Jewish immigrants and
their families. This work, premiered there in 1971, was scored for baritone
and tenor soloists, with mixed chorus and an ensemble of six wind and string
instruments together with organ. There is no specific cantorial role, since at
that time The Temple still followed the so-called classical American Reform
format that, in many cases (especially away from the Eastern Seaboard), elimi-
nated the separate role and function of a cantor altogether. The performance
took place at a Sunday morning service, since the congregation still adhered
to the now mostly antiquated practice in some classical American Reform
synagogues— dating to the 19th century— of holding Sabbath morning services
on the Christian Sabbath, for various professed practical and sociological
reasons, while still conducting the Sabbath Eve services on Friday nights.

Substantial excerpts of the Sacred Service have been recorded by the Milken
Archive of American Jewish Music for future release in its historic recorded
anthology, sung by the Rutgers Kirkpatrick Choir under the direction of
Patrick Gardner. Gideon's second service, comprising principal elements of
the liturgies for Kabbalat Shabbat and Sabbath Eve (ma'ariv), is titled Shirat
Miriam L'shabbat. Commissioned and premiered by Cantor David Putter-
man for the annual Friday evening service of new music at New York's Park
Avenue Synagogue in 1974, it is scored more conventionally for tenor cantor,
mixed choir, and organ. It too has been recorded by the Milken Archive at
sessions in London, and awaits release.

As she began to compose her first service, Gideon allowed her conscious-
ness of Ernest Bloch's famous Avodat Hakodesh to guide her— not so much
musically, as she discussed with her colleagues even before the work was
completed, but conceptually, with regard to his treatment of the prayer
texts, and, even more significantly, in terms of Bloch's artistic concept of the
service as a larger, cohesive formal unit. "I have tried to view it [the service]
as fresh and powerful poetry," she observed, explaining that she had chosen
not to use or rely directly on any traditional melodic material or formulas.
What emerged was indeed a unified work of skillful harmonic and melodic
inventiveness within the framework of her own personal approach and un-
compromised modernity, which offered new insights to the words. "It was as
though we were encountering the prayers for the very first time and discov-
ering new implications in them," wrote the learned Jewish musicologist and
critic Albert Weisser following the New York premiere the next year at the

New School for Social Research — an event whose venue he also lamented
as symbolizing the decline in taste and aesthetic curiosity among New York
synagogues, since none had seen fit to provide so important a work its local
premiere. Weisser was also convinced that Gideon's service could be consid-
ered the most important advance in that liturgical art form since Milhaud's
Service Sacre of nearly a quarter century earlier — a compliment that could
hardly be surpassed.

In fashioning her Friday evening service, Shirat Miriam L'shabbat, Gideon
accepted some of Cantor Putterman's well-meant advice to consider tradition
a bit more than she had done in her first service — not so much for the sake
of the Park Avenue Synagogue performance or that congregation, but so that
the work would stand a better chance of a life afterward. Indeed, she did draw
upon some thematic melodic and modal elements of Ashkenazi synagogue
tradition, and she even employed a recurring thematic device derived from
a Palestinian shepherd song— but in no less an artistically original and har-
monically sophisticated conception than that of the Sacred Service. Shirat
Miriam is infused with transparent lyricism and a highly skilled, judicious
brand of appropriate simplicity. Especially innovative as well as imaginative
was her use of quartal harmony. Weisser thought this service was "the clos-
est thing to a genuinely populist work that Miriam Gideon has achieved ... a
living religious experience." Of course, Weisser was referring not to the pres-
ent connotation of the label "populist" in terms of pandering to unschooled
tastes, but to the ease of access and appreciation of this work by reasonably
cultured congregants and audiences, and to its power— through hints at
familiarity— to sustain interest.

Taken together, these two services, despite their specific function as music
for worship, provide a composite illustration of the techniques, style, musical
language, and idioms that permeate much of Gideon's wider oeuvre. They
demonstrate her refined craft, her ability to express emotional depth and
strength with subtlety, and the power of her exquisite economy. George Perle,
in assessing her music much earlier on, wrote that to Miriam, "the inherent
ambiguity of pitch-functions in the contemporary tone material means that
one must be more careful than ever, and this sense of the significance of every
note pervades her work." Miriam was fond of relating how, upon hearing her
Seasons of Time, a critic once remarked to her that he had "never heard so
many right notes."

Gideon's tonal and harmonic fabric grew out of the Second Viennese
School, but she rarely if ever adhered completely to its rigors, and she never
abandoned tonality altogether— enriching it instead with a combination of

diatonic and chromatic expansion, free pitch choice, and artistic license. She
accepted the characterization "free atonality" as the only applicable technical
term for her music. At the same time, she felt that defined considerations
of sonorities and technical devices, while they might attract the interest of
contemporary music performers and ensembles, wrongly mask the more
important matters of emotional impulses — with which she believed there
was insufficient concern in postwar 20th-century music. She cautioned that
many composers were so eager to demonstrate facility that they didn't allow
themselves to become personally involved in their own music. "As far as I
am concerned," she said, "I must see whether what I am writing comes from
a musical impulse, and whether I am responding to it. What I write has to
mean something to me. . . . It has to seem new. I have to be surprised by it, and
it must register as feeling."

Miriam was blessed with extraordinary patience and quiet tenacity, not
only in her painstaking musical choices as a composer, but as a teacher — of-
ten to cantorial students at the Seminary with widely differing backgrounds,
attitudes, and abilities, who required varying degrees of encouragement and
diplomacy. In fact, she was always quick to underscore how much she learned
from students as well as from colleagues at the Seminary, and how beneficial
that relationship was to her in broadening her musical and spiritual— espe-
cially Judaic — horizons.

Nearly all of Miriam's students at the Seminary had the single aim of becom-
ing cantors, and very few had even thought previously about composing on a
serious level. Yet she insisted that every cantorial student, regardless of back-
ground or professed musical interests (or lack of same), take her composition
class and try, eventually, to produce whatever he could. She was convinced
that, given some technical tools and a measure of positive reinforcement,
some dormant creativity could be coaxed out of most students. And though
she knew that in most cases, this would not "make them composers," she felt
that hands-on exposure to the composition process would at the very least
deepen their overall understanding and appreciation of music, and would
contribute, even if only indirectly, to their musicianship and expressivity as
performers. She also suspected instinctively — and correctly — that there would
be some undiscovered talents. So great was the administration's regard for
her that it acquiesced and made that course a requirement for graduation. It
was a courageous experiment that worked, and she proved herself right.

Miriam would come to faculty meetings armed with her old reel-to-reel
tape recorder and demand with glowing pride that we listen to samples of
her students' pieces that she had recorded in class. Naturally, some of those

187

results were primitive, but she would always remind us of the personal
achievement involved. In many cases, however— and in most cases in some
semesters — we were amazed along with her at what the students had been
able to produce. She succeeded indeed in drawing out creative forces where
none might have been imagined.

For those students who arrived at the Seminary with some demonstrated
talent for composition, Miriam provided invaluable inspiration and tutelage.
It is largely owing to her that a respectable number of Conservative cantors
today compose seriously and even successfully, and a few have achieved
substantial recognition as composers.

After Miriam's last semester teaching at the Seminary, that very special
course was eliminated from the curriculum as a requirement. (Although com-
position as an elective course remained, it was obviously geared to those who
had already been composing before entry to the school.) For many of us, it is
sorely missed to this day. But apart from the problems of more complicated
student schedules and necessarily denser course requirements in other areas,
it would require a teacher of her unique blend of gifts and her ultimate faith
in untapped student talents. It would require another Miriam Gideon, and
there is none.

Neil W. Levin is the artistic director of the Milken Archive of American Jewish

Music and, since 1982, a professor at the H. L. Miller Cantorial School of the Jewish
Theological Seminary. He earned his bachelor's and master's degrees from Columbia
University and his doctorate from the Seminary. He is an internationally recognized
scholar and authority on Jewish music history and literature, and is the author of
numerous monographs, articles, and books on Jewish music. He is also the founder
and musical director ofSchola Hebraeica, the professional Jewish male-voice choir,
which has toured the United States and abroad and appears on many recordings.

Example 1. The opening section of Miriam Gideon's first Jewish piece, How Goodly Art
Thy Tents, 1947.

When Sirota was Chief Cantor at the Tlomatzka Synagogue
in Warsaw

by Samuel Vigoda

Selihot was the only one of the High Holy Day services to which admission
was free (to all the other services a ticket was required). On such an occasion,
Hasidim from all the shtiblekh (small, unpretentious places of worship) came
in droves. Garbed in their Kaftans, Kapotes and Bekeshes (typical long coats)
and the rabbinical Kapelyush (velvet headgear), they pushed their way into
the overcrowded synagogue, intent on hearing the great cantor. They would
occupy every seat, and the modern synagogue took on the appearance of the
Kloiz (study house) of a wonder rabbi.

On the High Holy Days, usually there were riots in front of the gleam-
ing white marble temple on Tlomatzka Street. To be able to secure a ticket
was a rare privilege, and the chief sexton, Gonsher, used his office to great
pecuniary advantage. Successful businessmen used to come from faraway
cities purposely to spend the holidays in Warsaw. But they rarely succeeded
in buying a ticket. Weeks before the High Holy Days there were already
hardly any to be gotten for loved or money. There was only one man to turn
to: Gonsher. He was besieged by these anxious customers who knew how to
court his favor by bringing him expensive presents like fine Bielitz textiles,
silver and gold goblets, and other rare objects. In return, he secured for them
the much-coveted pasteboard that enabled them to hear the golden voice of
Gershon Sirota (1874-1943) in his High Holy Day prayers.

The superintendent of the synagogue, Frant, the deputy sexton, Rosenbehr,
and the five assistant sextons were also in on the deals. All those who were
active in some capacity around the synagogue had good reason to look for-
ward to the High Holy Day season as the most lucrative in the year for each
of them. People were ready to pay whatever they had to, rather than miss
Sirota's services on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Here is an excerpt from a newspaper report picturing the scenes around
the synagogue on the Holy Days.

Several hundred people besieged the building and repeatedly attempted
to storm the entrance and force their way into the main auditorium. They
met with strong resistance on the part of the police squads, both on foot
and on horseback, who surrounded the building determined to beat back
the onslaught and disperse the mob.

Inside the temple the people were packed like sardines. The stuffiness was
unbearable. Over four thousand people stood one on top of the other;
there was no air to breathe; many fainted, and were carried out into the
street where efforts were made to revive them.

The worst part of the resultant confusion was that a lot of pick-pockets
managed to get into the synagogue. Taking advantage of the over-crowding
and disorder, they had a field day and were able to carry out their nefarious
operations most efficiently. Several dozen worshipers went home much
lighter than they were when them came. For they were relieved of their
watches and wallets (if they carried any), and a great many women went
home minus their handbags and their jewelry.
Why were these people ready to put up with all these inconveniences just
to have the privilege of hearing Sirota? There must have been a potent rea-
son; and there most certainly was. His voice was one of nature's wonders. It
overwhelmed the listener with its diapason (fullness) of range and volume. It
was as though his voice consisted of two or three voices joined into one, a true
leonine voice, the color, quality and luster of which was like velvet, powerful
yet mellow, full and soft. There was no parallel to such a high, dramatic, heroic
tenor possessing such a dark-shaded baritonal-colored middle register, which
sounded like a cello. In addition, his voice was evenly adjusted in all registers.
He was blessed with a wonderfully agile, naturally flowing coloratura and he
sang in the Bel Canto style. Some dissenting critics characterized it as "can
belto," yet he was a warm, impressionable singer with such an effervescent
temperament that it seemed as if he wanted to infect and imbue everyone
and everything about him with his own burning fire.

Leo Leow, his choir leader, characterized his voice as without a beginning
and without an end.

His voice stretched over three octaves, and he traversed this range easily
without strain. With a little effort, he could 'shoot out' an E and F about
the high C. The latter was for him child's play and he could belt it out
immediately upon opening up his eyes after a night's sleep, while still
lying horizontally in bed.
He was especially unparalleled in his High Holy Day prayers. His assistant
cantor, Pinchas Sherman wrote, "The prayers Unetaneh Tokef-Berosh Ha-
shanah and Ki Keshimkha he sang with such bravura that he deserved to be

paid his whole yearly salary for them alone." While reciting the prayer Atah
Nigleita, when he came to the words Kolot Uv'rakim (thunder and lightning),
Leow — in a reflex motion — used to instinctively duck his head as if to hide
from being hit by the vocal bombs which he knew were coming. The whole
congregation trembled at the tremendous staccatos, that sounded as if they
were shot out from heavy Howitzer artillery, and the walls of the large syna-
gogue shook and vibrated. Every berakhah (benediction) at the conclusion
of the Malkhuyot, Zikhronot and Shofarot sections of Musaf he used to end
with a cadenza so high and mighty that it could have wakened the dead.

However, not always did his prayers consist of thunder, lightning and earth
tremors. Where a different approach was called for by the text, he could also
sing in a lyrical vein with touching soft feelings and sentimental intensity.

Another cantor in his place would, after such an exerting tour de force
be exhausted, fatigued and hoarse, but not Sirota. His stamina and physical
staying power were remarkable. As if nothing had happened prior to it, he
proceeded to the pulpit for the Neilah (concluding) service of Yom Kippur,
fresh and unaffected, as if he were just about to begin Kol Nidre. As if to show
the congregation that they had not yet heard anything, he only now began
to sing in earnest. With renewed vigor and inexhaustible power, he went to
town showering them with real atomic bombs that made everything that
went before look like child's play-and he made the audience forget entirely
that they were hungry after fasting for 24 hours. They could have sat there
all night and listened to their wonderful cantor.
******

A special occasion to which his congregants used to look forward was the
Shabbat Rosh Hodesh (when Sabbath coincided with the beginning of the
Hebrew month); then they had the privilege of hearing Sirota's Atah Yatzarta
(You Fashioned Your World as of Old). When he stormed the phrase
Horva ireinu ve-shameim beit mikdasheinu
our city had been laid waste, our sanctuary destroyed,
it went through the souls of all listeners and broke their hearts, so that tears
glistened in many eyes.

At the Tlomatzka Synagogue, Tishah Be-Av (the 9 th day of the Hebrew
month, Av) — date of the destruction of the Holy Temples in Jerusalem — was
very impressive. The facades of the marble Holy Ark and pulpit were draped
in black, with only two lamps relieving the somber darkness with their
faint, glimmering light. The assistant cantor (Tchiz, Hershman and later on

Sherman) recited the age-old Kinot (laments), while the chapter of Eikhah
(Lamentations) beginning: Eikhah Yu'am Zahav (how is the gold become
dim) belonged to Sirota. He did not cry, he only recited the sad lament with
resignation and deep feeling. His calm interpretation, nevertheless, was so
full of meaning and so effective that it penetrated deeply into the hearts of
the mourning worshipers, moving to tears even hardened assimilationists.

Polish-born Samuel Vigoda (1894-1990) studied at Yeshivot and conservatories in
Hungary, becoming chief cantor at the Arena Temple in Budapest while still in
his teens. Later he succeeded Yossele Rosenblatt at First Hungarian Congregation
Ohab Zedek in New York. This vignette of Gershon Sirota in his prime is reprinted
from Legendary Voices (1981), Vigoda's collected translations of cantorially related
articles that he had written for various periodicals here and in Europe during his

HaShamayim, a musical example ofSerota's idiosyncratic pray er chant follows, tran-
scribed from "Hoshana in the Old Synagogue" a scene from one of the last Yiddish
films made in Warsaw in 1938: TheDybbuk.

Hallel on Hoshana Rabba

"HaShamayim"

Two Poems

byjaqueline Osherow

Yom Kippur Sonnet, with a Line from Lamentations

Can a person atone for pure bewilderment?
For hyperbole? For being wrong
In a thousand categorical opinions?
For never opening her mouth, except too soon?
For ignoring, all week long, the waning moon
Retreating from its haunt above the local canyons,
Signaling her season to repent,
Then deflecting her repentance with a song?
Because the rest is just too difficult to face —
What we are — I mean — in all its meagerness—
The way we stint on any modicum of kindness—
What we allow ourselves— what we don't learn-
How each lapsed, unchanging year resigns us —
Return us, Lord, to you, and we'll return

Dead Man's Praise © 1999,

reprinted with the author's permission.

My Version: Medieval Acrostic

Jealousy? Homage? Longing? Superstition?
All I know is, I want to join those guys
Calling God's name, writing their own
Quietly, in steady pieces, as if praise
Unmasks the giver as it goes along,
Existing and singing simultaneous.
Let me in guys — even if I'm wrong:
I'm not fit for unremitting chaos.
Nudge me when another cornered word
Escapes as firmament the moment it's uttered..

The Hoopoe's Crown © 2005,

reprinted with the author's permission.

Jacqueline Osherow is Distinguished Professor of English at the University of Utah,
and the author of five books on poetry, most recently The Hoopoe's Crown (BOA,
November, 2005).

Shabbat as a Foretaste of Eternity
by Richard Wolberg

Six days a week we wrestle with the world,
wringing profit from the earth; on the
Sabbath we especially care for the seed of
eternity planted in our soul.

Abraham Joshua Heschel^

Shabbat is one of the best known and least understood of all Jewish obser-
vances. People who do not observe it may think of Shabbat as a day filled
with stifling restrictions, or as a day of prayer like the Christian Sabbath. But
for those who observe Shabbat it can be a precious gift from the Almighty.
Shabbat, after all, is the only ritual observance instituted by the Ten Com-
mandments (Exodus 20:8-11; Deuteronomy 5:12-15), and the very first
element of Creation that God declared "holy" (vaykadeish oto; Genesis 2:3).
Ahad Ha'am 2 wrote that "more than the Jews have kept Shabbat, Shabbat
has kept the Jews."

The Kabbalists of sixteenth-century Safed portrayed Shabbat in nuptial
terms; the Friday Night hymn Lekhah Dodi exhorts, "Come, my beloved, to
meet the Sabbath bride." 3 They went out into the fields to greet the Sabbath
with a series of psalms (95-99; 29). In the Zohar, a major compendium of
Kabbalah, Shabbat is called a time when the entire arrangement of the order
of the worlds is changed. The supernal Light that was there In the Beginning
descends like dew from the upper to the lower worlds and from there flows
in abundance to all of Creation.

1 The Sabbath (New York: Harper Torch Books), 1962:13.

2 Pen name of Asher Ginsberg (1856-1927); in a magazine article occasioned by an
early-twentieth century protest in Berlin against the growing trend of Reform syna-
gogues to move Shabbat to the Christian Sunday (Hillel Halkin, "You Don't Have to be
Orthodox to Cherish the Jewish Sabbath," Jewish World Reviews, Dec. 13, 2002).

3 Written by Shlomo Alakabetz, based on BT Shabbat, 119a.

196

When Sabbath arrives, the Shekhinah is in perfect union with the Heavenly
King and is separated from the Powers of Evil from the Other Side. All
the potencies of stern judgment are severed from the Sabbath, she being
in closest union with the Holy Light and crowned by the Holy King. All
the Powers of Severity and all the lords of stern judgment flee from her.
No other domination reigns — in any of the worlds — except her.^
Shabbat is considered the most important day of the Jewish calendar, even
more important than Yom Kippur. This is clear from the fact that more aliyot
to the Torah are apportioned on it than on any other day. Shabbat involves two
interrelated injunctions: to remember (zakhor); and to observe (shamor).

We are commanded to remember (zakhor) Shabbat, but remembering
means much more than merely not forgetting to observe the day. It also means
to remember the Sabbath's dual significance as: "a reminder of Creation"
(zikaron le-ma'aseh v'reishit); and "to recall the Exodus from Egypt" (zeikher
li-y'tsi'at mitsrayim). 5 During the week, we are slaves to our jobs and to our
need to provide for ourselves and our loved ones; on Shabbat we are freed from
these concerns, much as our ancestors were freed from slavery in Egypt.

We are also commanded to observe (shamor) Shabbat. This applies mainly
to work that is forbidden on the Sabbath. Certainly, if God's work can be set
aside for a day of rest, our own work can be set aside temporarily. The Torah
prohibits melakhah (Mem-Lamed- Aleph-Khaf-Heh), which is usually trans-
lated as "work," but does not mean precisely the same thing as the English
word. To understand the Sabbath restrictions we should define melakhah. It
refers to the kind of work that is creative, or that exercises control or domin-
ion over our environment. The quintessential example of melakhah is the
work of creating the universe, work from which God ceased on the seventh
day. Note that this type of work did not require a great physical effort: God
spoke; and it was done.

Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah says: On Shabbat eve, on the sixth of the month,
during the sixth hour of the day, the Jewish people received the Ten
Commandments. During the ninth hour of the day they returned to their
tents, and a two-day supply of Manna was ready for them. This is why they
rested on that Shabbat, rejoicing in the joy of the holiday on which they
heard the voice of the Holy One, Blessed Is He, as it says (Deuteronomy

4 Zohar, Part II, Terumah, 135a-b, recited in the Hasidic rite as prelude to the Maariv
service on Friday night; Siddur Tefillat Yisrael LeKhol Yemot HaShanah (Jerusalem:
Eshkol), n.d. pp. 180-181.

5 Siddur Sim Shalom for Shabbat and Festivals, Leonard Cahan, ed. (New York:
The Rabbinical Assembly), 1998:49.

197

4:23): "For who is there among all peoples [but you], who has heard the
voice of the living God." (Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, chapter 46).

Shabbat gives us a glimpse of the World To Come: Olam Haba. It is therefore
a custom to view each day of the week as a prelude to the coming Shabbat.
Symbolically, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday belong to the previous Sab-
bath, its "Remembrance" aspect. If one has forgotten to recite the Havdalah
prayer — which marks the end of Shabbat — on Saturday night, one may still
remember — and recite it — until Tuesday night. Wednesday, Thursday and
Friday, however, pertain to the Sabbath's "Observance" side; symbolically,
they are the days spent in preparation for observing the coming Shabbat. In
this way, every day of the week gives us a glimpse of eternity.
An eighth-century Aggadah

Acting as an advocate for the first man, Shabbat came and said to God:
"Sovereign of all the worlds; during the first six days of creation no one
was killed. Will You start death with me? Does this express the holiness
of Shabbat and is this its blessing?" So, in honor of the Sabbath, Adam
was saved from the punishment of hell. When Adam saw the power of
the Sabbath he said: "Not without good reason did the Holy One, blessed
is He, create Shabbat and hallow it." He then began to sing to the Sabbath
day, as it says (Psalms, 92): "A psalm, a song for the Sabbath day." Rabbi
Yishmael said, This psalm was first recited by the first man, and was
subsequently forgotten through the generations until Moses renewed it,
as it states (Mishnah Tamid, 7.4): "A psalm, a song for the Sabbath day,
for the day when it will be entirely of the Sabbath and repose of the life
of the World to Come {Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer chapter 18).
A second-century Mishnaic commentary

On the first day of the week what did the Levites sing in the Holy Temple?
"The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof..." for He created it and
He will judge the world... On the sixth day of the week what did they sing?
"God is sovereign, crowned in splendor; He reigns, robed in strength; He
set the earth on a sure foundation, He created a world that stands firm."
This implies that God completed His work and ascended and sat in the
highest realms. On Shabbat the Levites said: "A Psalm, a Song for the
Sabbath Day," for the day that will be entirely Sabbath and the repose of
the World to Come, when there will no longer be eating or drinking or
workaday concerns. Rather, there will be a state in which the righteous
sit with crowns of glory on their heads and derive their sustenance from
the radiance of the Divine Presence (Avot DeRabbi Natan, 1:8).

A nineteenth-century midrash 6

Rabbi Simon Schreiber of Cracow, son of the renowned Hatam Sofer,
was also a member of the Austrian Parliament. Once, he was invited by
Emperor Franz Josef to visit him at the Imperial Palace in Vienna on a
Sabbath afternoon. The Emperor handed Rabbi Schreiber a cigar, which
the rabbi was naturally obliged to accept. On account of the Sabbath law
which prohibits a Jew from handling or lighting fire on that day, the rabbi
kept it unlighted in his hand.

Graf von Pfuffendorf, a notorious anti-Semite who also happened to be
present, thought he saw an opportunity for embarrassing the rabbi. He lit
a match and approached the rabbi, saying: "I know you are accustomed
to smoking, Rabbi; will you not have a light?"
"No, thank you,"answered the rabbi.

"Perhaps," said Von Pfuffendorf, "the Emperor's cigar is not good enough;
His Majesty will then order some better ones."

At this remark the Emperor himself glanced up with surprise. But the
rabbi did not wish to raise the Sabbath law as an excuse, as it would
imply that the Emperor had been lacking in tact by offering him a cigar
on the Jewish day of Rest. Rabbi Schreiber therefore turned to Graf von
Pfuffendorf and said: "Honorable Graf, would you think it right for me
to let His Majesty's gracious present vanish in smoke?" Putting it away
in his pocket with great care, he added: I will keep it for an everlasting
remembrance."

Richard Wolberg is the hazzan of Temple Beth El in Fall River, MA. He chairs the
Cantors Assembly Ethics Committee, Conflicts and resolutions Committee, and shares
his broad knowledge ofTorah regularly with his colleagues on the Hazzanet and with
readers of The American Rabbi, Avodah, and The Orchard. He is also involved in
Medical Ethics and reviews of Research, and he chairs the Clinical Trials and Reviews
Committee of his community.

6 The Emperor's Gift; related by S. M. Neches.
199

Minhah LeShabbat as the Yom Kippur-Equivalent
of our Week

By Joseph A. Levine

How do we go about reclaiming the MiSinai 1 moments— those ancient-
sounding interludes that made people tremble— within Jewish worship? How
ironic that previous generations' familiarity with these melodies has led to our
generation's contempt for them along with anything that is old and revered.
Congregational singing— formerly cherished by synagogue goers like peanuts
in a box of Crackerjacks because of their rarity — now coats all prayers like
syrupy popcorn, and we are forced to go searching for even one deliciously
satisfying moment of hazzanut. 2

Where is that traditional element now to be found within a watered-down
ritual that veers between responsive English mumbling on the one hand and
mindless nursery tunes on the other? I submit that within the given limits of
an unaccompanied liturgy (in all Orthodox, most Conservative, and some
Reconstructionist synagogues), without benefit of instrumental or even
choral reinforcement, cantors can still lead us back to that place in the for-
est of our innermost being where each generation must ultimately go to find
itself. In every chanted (as oppose to sung-along) text lies the potential for
setting up meaningful allusions to other ritual moments in our lives and the
lives of our forebears over the course of three millennia. Take, for instance,
the "simple" Half-Kaddish 3 of Shabbat afternoon, just before Torah reading
during the Minhah service. It is actually a mini-catalogue of MiSinai Motifs,
all drawn from the High Holy Days and charted in the book, Synagogue Song
in America. 1 *

1 "From Sinai;" a stratum of melodic fragments thought to be so ancient that they
were handed down to Moses along with the other 613 commandments; now identified
with motifs used for cantillating scriptural material by Ashkenazic communities along
the Rhineland between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries.

2 "Cantorial art;" through which "the cantor breaks open the heart of the people in
joy or yearning to the influx of the Divine" (Herbert Bronstein, "TheElu V'Elu ((both/
and)) of Synagogue Music," CCAR Journal, Summer 1998, p. 79).

3 After Abraham Baer, Baal T'fillah (1877). Reprinted by Sacred Music Press (New
York: Hebrew Union College and the American Conference of Certified Cantors,
1953), No. 694.

4 Joseph A. Levine, Synagogue Song in America (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson),

Shabbat Minhah-Kaddish Phrases High Holy Day MiSinai Motifs

Yitgadal v'yitkadash
sh'meh rabah
b'alma div'ra chir'uteh
v'yamlikh malkhuteh
b'hayeikhon uv'yomeikhon
uv'hayei d'chol belt yisra'eil
ba'agala uvizman kariv

#5-(Torah; Neilah): Sh'ma Yisra'eil
#14-(Ko\ Nidre): v'kinusei ush'vu'ot

# 3- (Ma'ariv): uma'avir yom umeivi lailah

#28-(KoI Nidre): ud'isht'vana
#i8-(Shaharit): v'hahayot y'shoreiru
#i6-(Amidah): I'halot ul'hanein

# 6 - (Torah; Neilah): Adonai ehad

Jl l JJJ J J J JJJJ- m ^□ ■TJl rNUjjj JJJ;U . II

^

xih \ ^ XT^j ii ^Q-rri i ^ ^ ^^

What do Minhah LeShabbat and Yom Kippur have in common? They both
partake of an autumnal quality, a sense of approaching darkness. Not for
nothing did the thirteenth-century poet Mordekhai ben Shabtai refer to the
ancient Temple's late-afternoon sacrifice as MinhatArev, "Eventide's Offer-
ing." 5 Just as Yom Kippur can be considered the Minhah-time of our year, so

2001, pp. 44-54; numbered and cross-referenced with sources and parallels in Ap-
pendix C, pp. 217-227.

5 "Mas'at Kappai," Siddur Beit Ya'akov, Part I, compiled and annotated by Rabbi Ja-
cob Emdin, with commentary by Rabbi Shlomo Kluger (Lemberg: Joseph Schlesinger,
1923), page 210.

201

too can the Minhah service of Shabbat afternoon be understood as the Yom
Kippur-equivalent of our week, a time for reflection on the past and of hope
for future redemption. That theme colors the liturgy preceding and following
the Shabbat Minhah Amidah: 6

VeHayyei olam nata betokheinu hayyim ad ha'olam

Who implanted eternal life within us may there be life forever.

Hence, the Hatsi Kaddish nusah's fleeting High Holy Day references, ignored
on any conscious level of awareness. But they are picked up by the scanning
mechanism of our subconscious, which enables them to join a host of oth-
erwise unutterable feelings that lie buried deep in our psyche. Only when a
link with those feelings is forged— through music— can our hearts and minds
enter that transformed world that contemporary liturgist Rabbi Lawrence
Hoffman envisions in his much-discussed work, The Art of Public Prayer:
Not for Clergy Only 1 He calls that world "a continuum between a sacred past
that we identify as our own, and a vision of the future that we hope to realize
as the logical outcome of our lives."

Joseph A. Levine earned a doctorate in Sacred Music at the Jewish Theological Semi-
nary. He taught Liturgy and Jewish Music History there, at the Academy for Jewish
Religion and at the University of London's School of Jewish Liturgical Music. He is
editor of the Journal of Synagogue Music and serves on the Rabbinical Assembly's
Mahzor Committee. His Emunat Abba— the Sacred Chant of Abba YosefWeisgal
has just been republished by the Cantors Assembly in a 25" 1 Anniversary edition.

" U-Va LeTziyon and Psalm 133, The Complete ArtScroll Siddur, NossonScherman,
ed. (Brooklyn, NY: Mesorah Publications), 1984:50-507; 542-543.

7 Lawrence A. Hoffman. The Art of Public Prayer: Not for Clergy Only ( Washingon,
DC: The Pastoral Press) 1988, pp. 241-242.

Subject: JSM

January 16, 2006

Joe:

The Congregational Singing issue is a fabulous Journal. One of the best, if
not the best, in my memory. It should be required reading for every cantorial
student— with faculty-led discussion groups around it.

May I request that you send me an extra copy, if you have any extras?
My son writes a column on Jewish music for the Jerusalem Post. When I told
him about the 05 Journal, he requested a copy.

Best wishes.

Josh Jacobson

Professor of Music, Northeastern University

Author of Chanting the Hebrew Bible

Founding Director, Zamir Chorale

Singing and String Playing

February 1, 2006

Dear Joe,

Please excuse the brevity of these notes from our phone conversation of
last May; I've been recuperating from surgery these past few months...

In the 19 th century there were only two great violin soloists— Winiawsky
and Joachim — and none from Russia. In the 20 th century most great violin
soloists were Russian, and most of them were Jews.

Why? Social reasons. Because of Russian restrictions, the only way a Jew
could get into Moscow or St. Petersburg was with special permission. Since
higher education was a closed door for Jews, the natural detour was via the
arts, whose patrons — through their connections — could talented young Jewish
violinists (easier to carry around than a piano) into the big city conservatories,
salons and halls.

Why are there so few great Jewish violinists today? We've already made it
in America, economically and socially. Compared to the fortunes to be made
in industry— including entertainment— musical careers don't pay.

Israel in the 1950s was like America at the turn of last century, so the Eu-
ropean tradition of violin playing as a key to social climbing still prevailed.
Hence: Izthak Pearlman, Pinchas Zukerman and Gil Shaham. And Pearlman
didn't really blossom until he appeared on Ed Sullivan's show, got a Juilliard
scholarship and studied with Ivan Gallamian.

In my own childhood (ca. 1930), when Jewish immigrants were beginning
to make it economically, my zeide nixed a musical career for me: "there will
be no klezmorim in this family!"

But singing came naturally, so I became a child hazzan in Los Angeles, where
I grew up, even though what I wanted most was to study violin. Ironically,
this push/pull worked well for me throughout my career as a professional
musician/clergyman. Violinists always considered me a cantor, while cantors
always thought of me as a violinist. Result: no professional jealousy!

As for the connection between singing and string playing, when the cellist
Lynn Harrell was starting out on his career, he confessed to his teacher that
he just couldn't bring out the tone of his instrument. The teacher advised him
to go buy a record by Cantor Pierre Pinchik, called Raza DeShabbat (The
Mystery of the Sabbath). When Harrell played it for the first time, he broke
into tears at the passage, ve-khol shultanei rugzin u-marei de-dina (and all
the forces of evil and powers of severe judgement; Example l.). 1 When he
related this to his teacher he was told: "It's not the technique — fingering and
bowing in your case — that should concern you. Pinchik wasn't interested in
whether or not his coloratura was perfectly even or whether he should be
singing/orte or: piano; he sang from his soul, and this is the secret that all
great artists know."

1 "Raza DeShabbat," The Repertoire of Hazzan Pinchik, Vol. I (New York: The Can-
tors Assembly of America), 1964: 86-87.

I heard Pinchik daven one Pesah, and all through Shaharit, Hallel and the
Torah service the man did nothing. But in the prayer U-Mipnei Hata'einu
(Because of Our Sins) of Musaf he took worshipers to a different world. In
eight minutes he had that congregation eating out of the palm of his hand,

My friend Abe Salkov (z"l), who was cantor at Beth Am in Los Angeles,
later introduced me to Pinchik: "Khazn, I want you to meet a menagen godol
(great musician). I asked Pinchik: "What do you look for in a concert?" Pinchik
answered: "What not to do."

What ties singing to string playing is the flow, the legato (literally: "tie").
After Lynn Harrell had played Pinchik's Rata DeShabbat a dozen times he
told me: "I don't go anywhere without taking a tape of that recording with
me; every night it's at my bedside and I listen to it before falling asleep." In
fact, Harrell always tells students at his master classes: "Now play it again,
and this time, sing with it."

The reverse is true of voice teachers; they usually tell young students to
think of a violin while singing...

Be well,

Sam Fordis

Cantor Emeritus, Congregation Adat Shalom

Concertmaster Emeritus, Santa Monica Symphony

Example 1. The passage in Pierre Pinchik's Raza DeShabbat where many first
time hearers break into tears.

Sholom Kalib's The Musical Tradition of the Eastern
European Synagogue, Volume Two, in Four Parts: The
Weekday Services,
Syracuse University Press, 2005.

Reviewed by Laurence D. Loeb

Wow! Colossal! Monumental! Little did I know when I agreed to review vol-
ume two of Sholom Kalib's massive compendium of East European liturgical
music, what I had bargained for. Why did the author not continue with the
rich nusah of Shabbat or the holidays? Who really cares about the ordinary,
everyday, minyan davening? Vokhedik music, Yemot haHoL.it sounds well,
mundane. When I was a student of fourth year nusah with Max Wohlberg
z"l at the Seminary, I remember this nusah being approached almost with
disdain. Following Shabbat, Yamim Nora'im and Shalosh Regalim — the ex-
citing, creative core of hazzanut— what more could there be? While I recall
doing very well in that class and the material was certainly usable, much of the
more interesting music was for all-but-forgotten occasions like Yom Kippur
Katan, the eve of Rosh Hodesh.

Others of you practitioners of hazzanut, scholars or students trying to
comprehend and assimilate Ashkenazic liturgical music, who are of like
opinion, be advised that Sholom Kalib has collected and carefully analyzed
a corpus of material demonstrating how wrong we are. I have spent several
months poring over nearly 1400 pages of musical examples and 400 pages
of annotation in this almost encyclopedic masterpiece. There is a wealth of
material here! Furthermore, I am now of the opinion that Weekday nusah is
far more important as basis of hazzanut than I had thought previously.

So what is contained in these four parts of Volume II? And how are they
to be used? The first three tomes contain musical examples. Part I focuses
on the weekday service, Shaharit, Minhah and Ma'ariv. Part II contains Rosh
Hodesh, Fast days, Yom Kippur Katan, Purim and Hanukkah. Part III has Tik-
kun Hatsot, Tisha B'av, Brit Milah, Wedding and Funeral nusah. The examples
are drawn from published and unpublished musical works, commercial and

private recording transcriptions, and taped services of, and interviews with,
leading hazzanim. Musical "snippets" of incipits to paragraphs of liturgy and
conclusions, berakhot, full length recitatives, pieces with accompaniment,
choral settings — but surprisingly few "congregational melodies" — illumi-
nate this liturgical thesaurus. The focus is the "Eastern European" manner,
but examples are drawn from Western Ashkenazic, Central European, and
Lithuanian as well as Southern and Eastern European.

The material follows the customary order of the siddur. Each text has one
or more examples. Most texts have multiple versions— some have many. In
this sense, it is somewhat reminiscent of Abraham Baer's classic Baal T'fillah
of 1877. For comparative purposes, each set of examples is transcribed in
the same key signature, unless it has already been published elsewhere,
e.g., Sulzer, Lewandowski, etc. So, like Baer's work, Kalib's could serve as a
comprehensive text. In his Introduction, The Author makes some important
suggestions about using this as a text, and these should be carefully heeded.
Volume II would not be a simple self-study guide for the novice.

What makes it all work is the fourth part, designated: "Annotative Com-
mentary." If the music is the "heart" of this collection, the commentary is its'
essence, the neshamah Here is a rich glossary of terms, a biographical note on
the composers, and bibliography of sources. Do not be put off by its format,
which at first glance seems to be a collection of footnotes. Every single prayer
text evokes a comment. Often, the Author concisely conveys the critical intent
of the text and then explains how certain hazzanim convey specific sentiments
musically. Were this somewhat expanded and meticulously consistent, we
would have here what I believe could be the first example of a hazzanic-ap-
proach text on liturgy. I found the implications very exciting.

I quickly learned that what I thought I knew about Weekday nusah, was at
best simplistic. I was not aware of the subtle stylistic differences between the
simpler nusah of Shaharit, which rarely enjoyed the leadership of a profes-
sional hazzan, and Ma'ariv, which was sometimes led by hazzan with choral
and even instrumental accompaniment. I have now learned to appreciate
the Volhynian tradition which I knew from some examples, but had never
really comprehended. Textual differences and musical implications of Nusah
Sefarad are carefully noted. Kalib distinguishes the musical complexity of
examples by labeling simple rendering of the text: "incipent khazzonus;" this
would be suitable for a lay ba'al tefillah. Musically sophisticated illustration
at a professional level is designated: "advanced khazzonus."

Many questions of musical/liturgical practice asked in the Cantors Assem-
bly's Hazzanet correspondence are answered here with extensive comments

208

and examples; e.g., the numerous opportunities to interpolate alternative
trop or dramatic elaboration in reading Megillah on Purim, variations on
chapter 3 of Eikha during Tisha B'av, the introduction of High Holyday trop
at the congregational response verses during the reading for Fast Days — all
are presented with examples. A trove of "new" material for brit milah, wed-
ding, funeral and memorial services, tips for chanting Tehillim on various
occasions, and gems from recorded hazzanut not available elsewhere are all
here to savored and studied.

A key methodological device used in all the analyses are motivic patterns
from scriptural cantillation. Kalib explained and made extensive use of this
approach in Volume I and continues this in Volume II. I was not fully con-
vinced of the utility of this approach in Volume I, but in this latest work, I
better understand how helpful it can be. Being visually oriented, however, I
would have really appreciated summary charts or comparison tables to help
delineate styles, variations, etc. This leads to my one quibble— about the
author's use of certain terminology which was rather vexing. For ostensibly
good musicological reasons, the nusah modes that hazzanim have standard-
ized by terms : AhavahRabbah, Magein Avot, Selihah, Adonai Malakh, etc. are
either ignored or here designated by reference to medieval church modes such
as major-third phrygian, or specific usage/context such as "Sabbath morning
mode." Arguably, the usage of the scales, cadences, reciting tones and figures
in nusah modes are modified by context, but I found use of these substitute
terms disconcerting. I found myself constantly translating Kalib's usage back
to familiar terminology. Furthermore, I am not certain that this "translation"
of mode was always accurate! Reference to and explication of the customary
model designations would have been very useful. I would have also preferred:
defining modes with reference to their scalar note values and variations; and
melodic types isolated, identified and classified by occasion and location. This
is the manner suggested by contemporary scholars of Indian raga, Persian
dastgah and Arabic maqam systems — whose theory and construction often
parallel nusah, derived, perhaps, from a common ancient source.

Must one be familiar with Kalib's Volume I (published in 2002) in order to
use this set? Surprisingly, no! I was able to manage mostly without consulting
the introductory set, even though I often wanted to go back to it (and occa-
sionally did). If you do not have volume I, let me urge you to obtain it as well.
There is probably no greater bargain for hazzanim than these two volumes.
It is highly unlikely that anything will ever compete with this pioneering
masterpiece, because no one will again benefit from the personal access Kalib
has had to the last great practitioners of a Weekday hazzanic tradition that
is possibly on the verge of disappearing forever.

209

Lest you think I typically review with tenderness and praise with hyperbole,
I assure you that of the scores of books I have reviewed professionally, many,
if not most, have been skewered with criticism. So what makes Kalib's study
so exceptional? It is a work so imbued with respect and love that even the
painstaking detail of comparative analysis, delineation of mode, motif, and
reference to cantillation phrase, feels like a devotional caress. The scholarship
is impeccable, though different interpretations and methods of analysis may
one day yield alternative conclusions concerning our hazzanic Mesorah— as
our rabbinic Mesorah joyfully demands.

While The Weekday Service collection should have appeal for libraries,
musicologists, conservatories etc., Sholom Kalib has really written these
tomes for those among us who constitute the practicing and teaching can-
torate. I can hardly wait for what is to follow. Own a set, study it carefully,
use it and kvell\

Laurence D. Loeb has served as hazzan of Congregation KolAmi in Salt Lake City for
twenty-six years and is Associate Professor of Anthropology — and also teaches at the
Middle East Center — at the University of Utah. He is currently preparing a study on
the Jews of South Yemen. His last contribution to the Journal was the Review, "Two
CDs of Victorian Era Music in British Synagogues" in 2005.

Ketonet Yosef: Genesis and Beyond!

Joseph A. Levine's Hazzanic Compendium for the
Entire Year, Compiled for the H.L. Miller Cantorial
School of the Jewish Theological Seminary, Volumes I
and II, 2000

Reviewed by William Lieberman

I was fortunate during my undergraduate years at the Cantors Institute of
the Jewish Theological Seminary (1975-1979), to study and develop my craft
and cantorial tastes with a number of hazzanim/mentors. The synagogues
they served were vibrant. There was a healthy, competitive spirit, innovative
programming, and a solid commitment on the part of the worshipers to their
cantors. All of this encouraged an environment of scholarship and creativity,

210

which in turn, had a long-lasting beneficial effect on their students. Speak-
ing personally, as a native "Brooklyn Boy," it was a refreshing, eye-opening
experience- a unique glimpse into the modern American cantorate and my
own future as a hazzan.

It was in my first year at the Seminary that one of my mentors, Joseph Levine,
asked me and a fellow student to accompany him to a Detroit synagogue for
the Yamim Nora'im, as his meshorerim. It seemed ideal for both of us students,
since we were not yet ready to take on our own High Holiday positions. Hope-
fully, the experience would give us a foundation and confidence for the years
ahead. Levine would coach us through the hundreds of pages of music — a
formidable task for all involved, requiring many trips to his home in suburban
Philadelphia. The relationship proved very rewarding. We benefited greatly
from his guidance and from the family's gracious hospitality during the many
hours of rehearsals in their home. For the task involved, Levine relied on his
vast library of hand- written two-and three-part music for cantor, tenor, and
baritone. It reinforced his mission to create a usable repertoire of standard
recitatives— arranged for hazzan & two-part choir— that could easily be sung
by students in his classes at the Cantors Institute. The seeds, as it were, for
his Ketonet Yosef were planted.

As for me, this fateful encounter between teacher and student would
lead to public as well as professionally recorded performances of Levine's
scholarly endeavors, spanning well into the first part of my professional
career. They included: Adventures of a European Cantor: the life, music and
career of Joe's mentor, Abba Yosef Weisgal of Baltimore; Synagogue Song in
America, a textbook that took apart nusah like a swiss watch & put it back
together again; and numerous synagogue collaborations during my early
years as a hazzan, which we called Classic Shabbatot (or Festival) Services in
the Traditional Style.

From all these collaborations, I began to amass a large collection of ma-
terials arranged by Levine. My first pulpit in New Jersey had a professional
choir and I immediately integrated much of his Shabbat, Festival, and High
Holiday music into the service. I continue this practice today, especially dur-
ing the Yamim Nora'im, with a sixteen-voice volunteer adult choir in south
Florida. The music has been warmly received, in large part because it is sing-
able, memorable, and creates those sought-after spiritual moments that are
so hard to come by. As expressed by of one of my congregants, "the listener
is transported to an earlier time by its (the music's) authenticity and stirring
character." One such example is Levine's arrangement of Cantor Sholom Katz's
Ya'aleh in Rumanian Doina style for SATB and cantor soloist. (Example 1;
Volume II, page 1054)

211

Rumanian Doina style for SATB or 2-part

Example 1. Sholom Katz's Ya'aleh i,
choir and cantor soloist.

By 1999, succeeding generations ofLevine's transcriptions, which had been
successively copied, semester after semester, and distributed to his practicum

classes, were almost unreadable. So, when Henry Rosenblum, Dean of J.T.S.'s
H.L. Miller Cantorial School, requested from Levine new replacements of
the original spiral-bound volumes to supplement the students' curriculum, I
was among those able to locate original materials. It is important to note and
commend Levine's dedication and determination, years after he had stopped
teaching at the Seminary, which led to the focus of this review, the creation or
"genesis" of Ketonet Yosef, a monumental 1112- page compendium of hazzanic
literature for the entire year. He states in its Foreword, referencing what he
had learned from his two master teachers, Weisgal and Max Wohlberg, "...I
determined to make (their) written scores conform to the common hazzanic
practice I remembered hearing as a youngster, a convincing juxtaposition
of concise declamation with periodic flights of fancy." Levine's pedagogical
purpose and motivation is clearly stated at the outset: "This is my gift to
cantorial students— past and present— who must keep a constant vigil for
singable material."

Joe Levine's innate sense of choosing singable, lyrical repertoire, creatively
and meticulously reworking recitatives and choral arrangements, and making
them vocally accessible to students as well as to more experienced hazzanim,
is a hallmark of his contribution to our profession and a great strength of
Ketonet Yosef. A good example is his transcription of Jo Amar's Shokhein Ad
section of Shaharit for Shabbat and Festivals (Example 2; Volume I, page
235),where we see a creative blend of Western choral refrain wrapped around
a beautiful Moroccan-style recitative. In my own experience, tyhis piece has
worked most successfully in establishing the right mood and an immediate
connection between cantor and worshippers onShabbat morning.

Example 2. Jo Amar's Shokhein Ad section for Shabbat and Festivals: Western
choral refrains wrapped around Moroccan-style recitative.

Another opportunity for an immediate connection with one's congregants
has been during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, using Levine's arrangement
of the Ein Kamokha sequence (Volume I, pages 291-293). Here he combines
elements of Sulzer and Dunayevsky. My adult choir participates, and every-
one seems to enjoy the familiar melodies. As this section continues, another
spiritual moment is presented for solo hazzan in Levine's transcription of a
Zalman Rivlin's recitative Ana Avda (Example 3.; Volume I, page 294), leading
into the congregational anthem Bei Ana Raheits. Other examples of this kind
that have worked well for me over the years have been Levine's arrangement
of Max Helfman's Hashkivenu (Volume I, page 122), and Arthur Yolkoff's
May the Words (Volume I, page 136), from Shirat Atideinu.

Example 3. Zalman Rivlin's recitative, Ana Avda, leading into the congre-
gational anthem Bei Ana Raheits.

I am pleased to find the inclusion of modern works by Michael Isaacson,
and especially an arrangement of Debbie Friedman's Mi Shebeirach for can-
tor and children's choir. What are also needed are additional materials from
their contemporaries on the synagogue circuit, such as Craig Taubman, for
example. Also, unlike Levine's Synagogue Song in America, there are no CD's
available to illustrate performance practice. Those of us who had the op-
portunity for "live and in person" coachings can draw from that experience;
but how will later generations of students deal with this issue. With so much
material to absorb, I would suggest some kind of companion guide with an
audio component.

For nearly thirty years, I have used many of the musical arrangements and
compositions contained in Ketonet Yosef. In writing this review, I hope to
have piqued the interest of my colleagues and especially the students, who
might want to use it beyond the present time and into the future. To touch

on each individual section and genre, a monumental task, must be left to a
future reviewer. All I can hope is that this work finds its way to those who
wish to challenge themselves and reward their listeners as well.

William Lieberman holds a Masters degree in Music Therapy and is hazzan atB'nai
Aviv Congregation in Weston, Florida.

******

The New Rabbinical Assembly Mahzor's Evening
Service for Yom Kippur: Prayer Book or Prayer Prep.?

Reviewed by Alan M. Smolen

Whenever Jews truly want to make a statement, we do not take out ads in
newspapers, draft position papers, write philosophical treaties or produce
statements of principles. We publish prayer books. In the 20 th century, Morde-
chai Kaplan was a fine example. Most people paid little attention to his work
until he published a siddur containing his liturgical revisions. Then and only
then, in 1945, did the Union of Orthodox Rabbis burn The Reconstructionist
Prayer Book, sound the shofar and excommunicate Kaplan.

Why is the prayer book such a powerful medium, inciting some to extreme
response? I believe this is a complex issue, but in short, the siddur/mahzor
is the script (more accurately, the point of departure) for the human-Divine
encounter. In the hands of Jews looking for a better understanding of them-
selves and a connection with God and one's fellow Jews around the globe and
throughout history, no other genre of our literature has the potential impact
of the prayer book. According to Dr. Avraham Holtz of JTS, "Liturgy is that
which lends significance to time."

Apparently, it is time in the eyes of some to create the next expression for
Conservative Jews for Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, as the Rabbinical As-
sembly has released its "Preliminary Edition For Review And Comment" of an
Evening Service for Yom Kippur horn its complete Mahzor for the High Holy
Days, due out in 2008. 1 was privileged to have sent suggestions to previous
publications, but do not recall ever seeing an invitation comparable to the
one on the cover of this one. My cantorial colleagues have reacted informally
to it on the Internet, but it seems from their comments that several may not
be aware of the history and development of Conservative liturgical publica-
tions. Some, in fact, connect Yamim Nora'im only to their continued use of

216

the Silverman Mahzor. It's understandable that to them, reading through this
excerpt from the planned 2008 mahzor and discovering how far Conservative
liturgy has traveled since 1939 might be quite a revelation.
******

The title of this work, Mahzor le-Yamim Nora'im (Mahzor for the High Holy
Days) retains the Hebrew title from the 1972 RA publication (edited by Jules
Harlow), except that there the English subtitle was ". . .for Rosh HaShanah and
Yom Kippur — A Prayer Book for the Days of Awe." This new edition sepecifies
Yamim Nora'im, the phrase currently in vogue for collective reference to Rosh
HaShanah and Yom Kippur. I think it is a fine choice, but have to ask: will
it later call for a revision, similar to the changes made in the 1985 edition of
Siddur Sim Shalom when Shabbat Shuvah became the "Shabbat before Yom
Kippur" and returned to being Shabbat Shuvah in the 1998 edition: Siddur
Sim Shalom for Shabbat and Festivals 7 .

Is there a fear among 21 st century American Conservative Jews of con-
fronting the phrase Yamim Nora'im — "Days of Awe"? I might also mention
that the 1998 edition of Siddur Sim Shalom had already moved to using the
Hebrew itself and not transliteration for Hebrew terms in its rubrics. ESYK
generally follows suit, with certain inconsistencies: where it states on English
p. 36 that "It is customary to beat one's heart with one's fist when we say the
words 'We have sinned.'" The identical instruction on Hebrew page 36 should
conclude with the phrase "Al heit" Anyone worshiping from the Hebrew on
p. 36 will not be saying "We have sinned;" rather, they will say "Al heit" The
instructions on a given page — be it Hebrew or English — should consistently
reflect what is happening on that page. I also believe there needs to be con-
sistency with transliteration. If it is a long "e" vowel (as in "weigh") that we
want people to say, then "ei" should be used more frequently for the Hebrew
tsei'rei vowel, i.e. it should read " I'hit'a'teif,' and not " I'hit'a'tef.' (see examples
on pp. 1, 3, 4 and others).

Two rather nice features greet worshipers right at the start. The first is
a greeting that quotes words from the Haftarah of Yom Kippur Morning:
Shalom shalom, la-rahok v'la-karov, amar Adonai (Is. 57:19). The second is
an original meditation for putting on the white kittel, giving some measure
of meaning to this liturgical garment, with another appropriate quote from
Isaiah (1:18): Be your sins like crimson, they can turn snow-white. Texts and
rituals that may have been more readily appreciated in other generations are
given context through these additions.

The Amidah (pp. 12 - 20) offers some interesting features as well. A symbol
has been introduced to let the worshipper know where to bend the knees and
bow the head at the opening and closing of the Avot and Hoda'ah blessings
(pages 12-13 and 16-17, the same symbol appears in the Aleinu, p. 45). The
Amidah's opening page presents both the traditional and the matriarch-in-
clusive version of Avot (Ancestors). Both appear on the same page in a verti-
cal-read format, which may not be entirely clear to the worshiper. I presume
this is because some stigma attached to the separate-page format of the 1998
Siddur Sim Shalom for Shabbat and Festivals. I hope this new format will not
be confusing or reconsidered for revision. The word "avoteinu" is translated
as "our ancestors" in the Avot blessing, where the second column pairs all
four matriarchs with their husbands. In other places, where the patriarchs
are not named, neither are the matriarchs. Instead, the format has been
changed to "Eloheinu veilohei avoteinu ve-imoteinu" (Our God and God of
our fathers and our mothers [reviewer's emphasis] - see pp. 21, 32, 33, and
34), and this only for the first of a series in the same paragraph, to preserve
some semblance of continuity in the text.

The poetic selihah Omnam Kein ("Indeed, an evil inclination rules us")
and the line K'ra Ro'a G'zar Dineinu ("annul the evil decree," from Avinu
Malkei'nu), and some other selections fondly recalled from earlier pre-1972
volumes were already missing from in the 1972 RA mahzor. So, for those who
daven from Silverman, Birnbaum or some other traditional Ashkenazi mahzor,
much of that material has been gone for at least a generation. Our comparison,
therefore, needs to be with the 1972 RA mahzor. Our liturgical heritage
has a tremendous fluidity at times and especially with regard to piyyut. A
plethora of Creation piyyutim (Yots'rot) exists, but who is utilizing anything
other than EilAdon on Shabbat morning these days? At one time, there was
a new offering every week, to keep things fresh.

The decision of the RA to essentially be loyal to the Ashkenazi rite and yet
not be limited by it, to bring in selections from other rites as well, is enrich-
ing. And our congregations often include Jews from other communities as
well, let alone colleagues from around the globe. Yet, many of the piyyutim
from all traditions need a dry erase board and a few hours to truly appreciate
- they are not always written for the average congregant today, even though in
past ages people may have found them more meaningful. Today, I think that
when people hear Lekhu Neran'nah—m the "Mercy" verses that introduce the
Selihot section in traditional mahzorim — most will associate those words with
Kabbalat Shabbat and not with Yom Kippur. For that reason .ESlXwisely omits
that particular verse. Has the matbei'a shel t'ftllah (body of statutory prayer)

been disturbed by its omission? Prayer books are not published capriciously;
they are published when there is a genuine need to be addressed.

And why is it that previous generations could manipulate the prayer book
but it is considered khutzpadik for us to do so? Amram and Sa'adyah Ga'on,
the Ramba"m, etc. often had shorter versions of texts than we do today. As is
pointed out in the commentary to the "AlHeit" (p. 36), Sa'adyah had 6 lines,
Amram had 12 lines and Maimonides had 22 lines. Is our 44-line version
better than theirs? (The commentary mistakenly says 54 lines - it is a double
acrostic today: 22 x 2 = 44.) Do we really believe that when Sa'adyah recited
what he considered Birkat HaMazon (much shorter than today's "full" ver-
sion, a la the 1977 Conservative Movement laminated publication) he had
not fulfilled his obligation to recite Birkat HaMazon 7 . Longer is not always
better. The range of Moses' prayers extends from ShiratHaYam (Exodus 15:
eighteen verses) to EilNa R'fah Na Lah" (Numbers 12: a single verse). There
is a time to be lengthy and a time to be brief. We also have an obligation to
determine what is best for our time. It will be interesting to see if this mahzor
continues the tendency to gradually reduce the Al Heit recitations over each
of the Yom Kippur services (as per the 1972 edition), or whether it restores
the 44-line version in each service, as in earlier editions.

A major concern with ESYICs 4-column layout is the balance between
prayers and commentary. The main text does not feel likes it is swimming
in the commentary, although there is a decision to be made here: Will this
volume prove better for study and preparation, e.g. Or Hadash: A Commen-
tary on Siddur Sim Shalom (Reuven Hammer, editor, 2003) or will it be used
primarily during prayer, by the masses? That decision should be made by
each individual congregation — by an appropriate combination of professional
and lay leadership. The commentary includes traditional and contemporary
sources, providing the worshipper with additional levels of understanding
beyond the cursory meaning one may achieve on one's own. Size and weight
of the book will also be final factors, not possible to be considered from this
paperback excerpt of a single service. I believe the fonts and colors may need
to be revisited, to ensure that the final one chosen is easiest on the eyes. I
am sure we have all heard our share of complaints from congregants about
purple Shabbat-insertion pages in the 1972 edition.

There is concern that the five new piyyutim which appear in ESYK, whether
adapted from other rites or written as contemporary material, will either be
skipped or become options for English readings. Let us remember something:
Over the centuries, new poems were constantly introduced, for which the
hazzanim of that era had to create new music; had they not done so, those

those piyyutim would never have achieved the status they have today. Do
you think Un'taneh Tokef 'was a hit the first time out? Aside from its moving
language, two things helped it reach the top of the charts: 1) a great legend
(successful items often have a good story with them); and 2) great music.
And there is still great music being written, but for the canonical liturgy.
Why don't newer selections inspire (more) composers to write settings for
them, so they aren't merely read responsively or skipped entirely? Some of
the new texts could potentially turn into this generation's U'n'taneh Tokef.
True, there is not a lot of financial incentive to compose synagogue settings
for new texts, but that has rarely been the real obstacle. Those who create
liturgical music do so because it is in their souls; this is how their creative
impulse finds expression, and coincidentally contributes to the aesthetic of
synagogue worship.

Why did the term "Hazzan" become "Leader" in ESYK1 There was a won-
derful statement of intent by the RA in other publications, to recognize the
value of the cantorial profession and of the professionals who practice it. I
know there were also plans to use a term other than "Hazzan" in Siddur Sim
Shalom for Weekdays because the presumption was that lay people would
more likely lead during the week. But on the High Holy Days, who did the
RA Mahzor committee think would be chanting Kol Nidrei and leading the
Ma'ariv service on Yom Kippur Eve? To its credit the committee did include
a transliteration of Kol Nidrei is in the book, knowing that many worshipers
are moved to follow along with the hazzan's chant, sotto voce. As a matter of
fact, Sephardic mahzorim specify— about three-fifths of the way through Kol
Nidre— that the congregation should respond aloud with the remainder of the
prayer: Veha-Kahal Onin—kul'hon yehon sharan, shevikin shevitin...— until
the end.

To my knowledge, the greeting— LeShanah Tovah Tikateivu VeTeiha-
teimu — at the end of ESYK is incorrect (p. 49). That is the greeting for Rosh
HaShanah Eve only. To wish that for someone after Rosh HaShanah Eve is to
imply their fate has not been already sealed in the Book of Life. According
to a midrash, on the first night of New Year all the righteous and all the evil
are immediately sealed in their respective books. It is those in the middle
who have to wait. Our Sages, of blessed memory teach that wishing LeSha-
nah Tovah Tikateivu VeTeihateimu after the first night could imply that we
think our family and friends are not among the righteous already sealed.
The proper greeting for Yom Kippur, of course, is "G'mar / Gimri / Gimru
Hatimah Tovah.

******

Overall, I believe this will be another fine addition to the liturgical publi-
cations of the Movement. And while our colleagues Joseph Levine and Ken
Richmond are valued members of the Mahzor committee, when will the day
come when the Rabbinical Assembly and the Cantors Assembly will jointly
produce such publications? To date, these works are either the efforts of the
RA alone or jointly with the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism. In
other words, rabbis and congregants have produced these most crucial books,
while hazzanim have merely been consulted on the projects. As the ones who
have a great deal invested in how a prayer book might best function along
with knowledge and expertise in the art of prayer, it would seem natural for
members of the Cantors Assembly to play a more active and prominent role in
the production of liturgical publications for the Conservative Movement.

May the Mahzor for the High Holy Days, of which Evening Service for
Yom Kippur is a promising harbinger, inspire our generation to prepare and
participate most effectively in the drama of the New Year and Day of Atone-
ment, so that "repentance, prayer and good deeds may annul the severity
of the decree" during the Penitential season, and motivate us during the
remainder of the year to aspire to the most noble aspects of our heritage and
of the human spirit.

Alan M. Smolen is the recently appointed hazzan of Beth Judah Congregation in
Ventnor City, NJ. He has served on the production team for the CA -USCJ "Spirit
Series" CDs for the Cantors Assembly since 2003.

The Milken Archive of American Jewish Music:
Recordings in the Naxos American Classics Series

Reviewed Jacobson

Questions are much more interesting and rewarding than answers. To say,
then, that my immersion in the Milken series has set me to thinking about
many of the former without necessarily providing much in the way of the
latter is in no sense a complaint. This collection of recordings provides an
inestimable boost to the catalogs, while offering the opportunity of discov-
ering or rediscovering a number of musical gems, and it is my obvious first
duty to commend those associated with the project, including the Archive's
founder, Lowell Milken, and its artistic director, Neil W. Levin, as well as the

Naxos company, for the massive undertaking they have conceived and come
close to completing.

Whether the execution matches the conception is one of the questions I
have to consider; in doing so, I have been listening in recent weeks to a repre-
sentative 21of the 40 CDs so far released (out of a planned set of 90). A more
fundamental question is what that conception is-on the Milken side, what
exactly is "American Jewish Music," and, for Naxos, what is a "classic"? These
may seem like fairly simple questions, but they contain complex elements. In
addressing them, I shall be as brief as possible, and I hope you will forgive me
for the necessarily autobiographical component in my treatment of them.

For a start, what is "American music"? It was, I think, Virgil Thomson who
proposed, as one answer: music by Americans. That, however, begs a still more
basic question: what is "an American"? You may think this a silly question,
but I can assure you that, when I worked for the Philadelphia Orchestra and
tried to make lists of American repertoire either performed or crying out for
performance, I met with considerable disagreement on how to categorize
the various composers who came to the United States in the 20th century as
the result of political or other pressures in Europe: how long did they have
to have been here before their music could be considered American, and to
what degree did their assimilation of American cultural characteristics assist
toward that judgement? (On the most elementary level, for that matter-are
you accustomed to calling Dvorak's "New World" Symphony an American
work?)

And then, what is a "classic"? The word, it seems to me, is partly descrip-
tive and partly evaluative: I think of it as meaning something that has been
around for a long time, and that deserves to have been. But one dictionary I
consulted defines a classic as a literary or artistic work "generally recognized
as excellent, authoritative, etc." This seems to omit any appeal to longevity,
unless "generally" is to be understood as projected back in time to imply rec-
ognition by many judges in more than one period. In any case, that "generally"
clearly signals one reason why answers are not going to be easy to come by in
any consideration of the subject: how many persons constitute a generality?
For my part, I confess to an initial instinctive resistance to applying the term
"classic" to such works in the Naxos series as were created very recently. But
if the word helps such masterpieces-now there's another provocative word
for you!-as William Bolcom's Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience
or the symphonies of William Schuman to be recorded and marketed, well,
then, its proleptic use to signify a work that is sure to be around for a long
time is perhaps justifiable.

The element in those initial questions, however, that I find thorniest is, what
is "a Jew"? In the review Beyond the Fringe, Jonathan Miller told us, "I'm not
a Jew; I'm just ]ew-ish ... I don't go the whole hog." It was a wonderful line,
but we need a more serious answer, and in seeking one I cannot avoid an
autobiographical touch. Growing up as an atheistic Jew in England, I found
it hard to answer the question, "Are you a Jew?" It took me a long time to
realize that this is a question to which there can be no one answer, and that
the word "Jew" is close to being unique in this respect. Yes, "American" has a
variety of meanings, but most inhabitants of the United States, at least, can
say without hesitation or ambiguity whether or not they are American. Yes,
even "English" was used by my mother to mean "non-Jewish," but in general
usage the word "Englishman" has a certain clarity of reference. At the same
time, such questions as "Are you a Catholic?" or "Are you a Muslim?" need
hardly provoke equivocation, even if at certain times in history they may
have called for dissembling in the cause of survival. "Jew," and "Jewish," are
the only words that in this context demand dual answers.

I couldn't accurately respond with either a simple "yes" or a simply "no."
In the end, the answer I framed took some such form as, "Yes, I'm an ethnic
Jew but not an observant one." It's a long and perhaps somewhat pompous
answer to a short question, but it served. In responding to what must have
been a similarly thorny complex of questions, Neil Levin, in the prefatory
note printed in all the Milken Archive series booklets, arrives at a compara-
bly comprehensive answer. He describes the Archive's content as "all born
of the American Jewish experience or fashioned for uniquely American
institutions," and, further, as having been "created by native American or
immigrant composers." He and Lowell Milken, moreover, clearly indicate
that the works in the Archive and the series range through both the sacred
and the secular fields.

If all this leaves unanswered my questions about "American," "Jewish," and
"Classics," I hope I have said enough to illustrate just why answers are elusive.
So it is time to offer some description and some evaluation of the series un-
der review. I mentioned "gems." There are plenty of them to be found among
the more than 100 pieces contained in my 21 discs, and they do not all crop
up where I expected to find them. There are fine works by such well-known
figures as Leonard Bernstein and Lukas Foss, but some of the best works
come from the pens of composers many music lovers may not yet have heard
of. On the other hand (to get the negatives out of the way before going into
more detail), Ernst Toch, Kurt Weill, Hugo Weisgal and Yehudi Wyner are

widely respected composers, yet their contributions here have left me largely
indifferent, or worse.

Toch, in particular, is represented by a Cantata of the Bitter Herbs that is
almost unrelievedly banal and features positively nonsensical word-setting.
And whoever, in writing the blurb on the back of the box, opined that one of
its movements "recalls the beauty of the famous trio from Der Rosenkavalier"
ought to take a lesson the negative effect of exaggerated claims. (If Toch's
vocal writing can be said to recall that of Strauss, it can only be in the sense
of the remark an uncle of mine used to make to his wife: "You remind me of
Marilyn Monroe-you're so different.") Weill was a bigger talent than Toch,
but you would not think so on the basis of his voluminous pageant/music-
drama/theatrical extravaganza, The Eternal Road, or at least of the excerpts
recorded here: the seemingly endless succession of four-measure phrases in
square time had me longing for a triple meter, but relief was not to be found,
and the stiffness of the line-by-line text-setting reminded me of that overrated
American opera, Carlisle Floyd's Susannah, in its fatal lack of progression
from idea to idea-nearly every line in the music seems to stop dead, instead
of leading persuasively to what follows. The trouble with the disc of works by
Hugo Weisgal, a composer whose high reputation I have never understood,
is not so much rhythmic as harmonic, though I suppose really the harmonic
problem leads inevitably to the rhythmic one. The besetting pan-chromati-
cism in the language of Weisgal's T'kiatot: Rituals for Rosh Hashana, for
example, produces a total absence of real movement. In such an idiom, you
can flail around all you like, but the music is still likely not to go anywhere;
plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose, and the ostensibly fast music sounds
in consequence just the same as the slow. There is a tiny beautiful passage for
the strings near the end of this work, and the composer's earlier A Garden
Eastward starts well and has its moments, but these consolations are too little
and too late in my estimation. Yehudi Wyner (born 1929) comes off much
better than those three of his late colleagues. His narrative piece The Mirror
is enjoyable for its unpretentious fluency and a degree of charm. Its style,
however, depends a shade too much on the example of Stravinsky's L'Histoire
du Soldat and indeed of the better, cabaret-ish side of Weill. In the three
Wyner works recorded, indeed, I find little trace of an overarching individual
personality-and the booklet note's quotation of Bernard Holland's idea about
"consciously Brahmsian textures" in the second movement of Tants un Maysele
leaves me flabbergasted. If this essentially static music can be related in any
positive sense to Brahms's always-propulsive textures, I am the Pope.

Leaving these, and even less satisfactory works like Jacob Weinberg's
Second Piano Concerto (all gesture, with no substantial musical content),
Jan Meyerowitz's grossly overblown Midrash Esther Symphony (with a gro-
tesquely silly finale, and again with no real difference between fast and slow
music), and Joseph Achron's more attractive but still ultimately trivial First
Violin Concerto (where the essentially static nature of the cantillations he
draws on yet again inhibits any real movement), I pass, at long last, and with
compensatory enthusiasm, to the many pieces in the series that have given
me renewed or previously un-encountered pleasures. One disc couples four
works by Lukas Foss (born 1922) with The Heavenly Feast by Robert Beaser
(born 1954). Foss demonstrates triumphantly that it is possible to put a wide
range of styles to use and still project an unmistakably personal identity.
The legendary tone of Song of Anguish, for baritone and orchestra, is worlds
removed from the gamelan-like sonorities and gait of Lammdeni, for chorus
and percussion. Yet Foss stands before us, individual and uncompromising,
in both works, as he does also in the no less different and piercingly beautiful
setting for tenor, chorus, and organ oiAdon Olam—a miniature perhaps — at
its five-minute duration, yet, I am tempted to suggest, worth the price of
admission all by itself. Beaser is among the more talented composers of the
middle generation, and his cantata about Simone Weil has character and
some powerful scale-like build-ups in the orchestra, but coming on the heels
of Foss' luminous rapture, his music seems less consistently individual, and
there are rather too many threatening timpani crescendos that in the end
don't seem to lead to anything.

Bruce Adolphe, just a year younger than Beaser, seems to me an exception-
ally impressive talent. He is represented by two works and an excerpt from a
third, and all of them are beautiful, unfailingly well crafted, and unassuming
yet profound. His disc begins with Ladino Songs of Love and Suffering set for
soprano with guitar and horn, and poignant in its blend of passion and un-
derstated loneliness, and ends with the equally piquant Out of the Whirlwind,
based on Yiddish songs by Holocaust victims, which is scored for mezzo-so-
prano, tenor, wind orchestra, piano, harp, and bass. In between, we are given
just one scene, but a magical one, from Adolphe's opera Mikhoels the Wise.
Mel Gordon's libretto, by turns touchingly poetic, sophisticated, and funny,
recounts the story of a leading Yiddish theater star and Jewish spokesman
in the Stalin era. Adolphe makes something deeply moving of an encounter
between Mikhoels and a Korean girl who has identified with the sufferings
of the Jews. Superficially, his line-by-line textual treatment might be said to
resemble the methods I have criticized in Weill and Floyd; yet, where they are

stiff, he manages to secure an irresistible forward flow, and his chamber-style
handling of the orchestra is full of character and charm.

Paul Schoenfield (born 1947) is another composer currently enjoying
considerable success, and his exuberant and rhythmically inventive Klezmer
Rondos, for flute, tenor, and orchestra, demonstrates why, but I found the
disc devoted to three of his other works relatively conventional if not devoid
of momentary beauties. More rewarding is the three-movement string-or-
chestral Shirat Sara by Sheila Silver (born 1946), which is coupled, on a disc
titled "Jewish Tone Poems," with the Meyerowitz work already mentioned
and with Four Biblical Tableaux by Aaron Avshalomov, a good composer but
less arrestingly gifted than his son Jacob. Silver's finale is on the bitty side,
but her dark and concentrated idiom compels attention from the start; there
is real imagination at play in her piece, the notes matter (which ought to go
without saying, but is not always the case), and the music is strongly personal,
even if mildly reminiscent of the sound of Karl Amadeus Hartmann's string
writing.

Along with all these composers still active today, the series embraces
some broadly varied work by those no longer with us. A whole slew of them
may be found in the Genesis Suite, a curious Hollywood composite from the
1940s that brings together such widely disparate composers as Schoenberg,
Stravinsky, Milhaud, Castelnuovo-Tedesco, Toch, Tansman, and Nathaniel
Shilkret. Schoenberg's Prelude and Stravinsky's concluding Babel are both
rather undistinguished pieces, leaving Shilkret, with whom I was previously
unacquainted, and the others to bask in a relatively favorable limelight, but
the work as a whole is too short of striking ideas to stay vividly in the ear or
mind. Milhaud is heard to better advantage in his Service Sacre, a surpris-
ingly gentle and often radiant work that deserves to be heard more often.
It is, however, outshone by the Sacred Service for the Sabbath Eve of Mario
Castelnuovo-Tedesco, who emerges as a far more major talent than I had
ever suspected. Like the cantata Naomi and Ruth that precedes it on the disc,
Castelnuovo-Tedesco's Sacred Service has real counterpoint, real harmony,
lots of character, and genuine pace: there are elements of cantillation, which
in other hands, I have suggested, can lead to stasis, but Castelnuovo-Tedesco
sets them against a background of harmonic change that prevents the music
from ever bogging down. And the work concludes with another beautiful
setting oiAdon Olam.

Two other distinct categories represented by the series are songs from the
Yiddish theater and specifically liturgical works, including a two-disc set of
S'lihot for the First Day, billed as "The Entire Midnight Service According to

Orthodox and Traditional Ritual." This latter is stirring and compelling stuff,
a far cry (even literally) from the etiolated "deahly-beloved-bwethwen" man-
ner that I associated in my youth with the Church of England tradition. And
the discs of theater material-"Great Songs of the Yiddish Stage," volumes 1
and 2, featuring a broad swathe of composers headed by Abraham Ellstein,
and including such old favorites as Bai mir bistu sheyn and Abi Gezunt, are
a delight, covering the gamut of mood and expression from sentimentality
and lyricism to infectious humor and consuming energy.

Then there is Leonard Bernstein to be taken into account (as if, in living
memory, he ever wasn't). Two discs in the series present this multifarious
musician, whom I once saw referred to as "house genius to Columbia Records,"
in many different aspects. The one entitled "A Jewish Legacy" is, I think, the
less successful, juxtaposing as it does attractive chips from the composer's
workbench like his Hashkivenu setting with such inconsequential pieces as
Halil, given here in its chamber version for flute, percussion, and piano, in
which I can find little but noodling and banality.

The coupling, on the other hand, of the composer's Third Symphony, Kad-
dish, with his Chichester Psalms may justly be described as revelatory, even
if these two works are already well known. The Psalms I have always loved,
since even before I got to know the work from the inside by actually singing
in it. With Kaddish my first experience was decidedly negative, but that was
largely for textual reasons, since the lengthy spoken part included a number
of decidedly embarrassing passages. The 1977 revised version recorded for
the Milken series is a great improvement, and seems to liberate the whole
symphony to make its impact as a work of irrepressible invention-harmonic
and rhythmic alike, choral and orchestral alike-and of gigantic personality.
Here, more than in any of the other works recorded except for a few I have
singled out, is an authentic voice, the same voice we know also from Bernstein
the performer, Bernstein the teacher, and, yes, Bernstein the political activist
and social provocateur.

Where Bernstein the composer was concerned, that voice, utterly indi-
vidual for the most part, was also at times closely related to the voice of Aaron
Copland-but not here, because Copland wrote, aside from Vitebsk, little in
the way of recognizably Jewish music: his genius was mostly bestowed on
manifestations of such traditions as Shaker piety and Western country life.
Bernstein mined that vein also in some of his works, but in Kaddish and the
Chichester Psalms he comes close to answering my earlier question about
what "American Jewish Music" is.

The difference with Copland may be said to justify his omission from the
50 discs of this CD series. Other omissions, to come now to some points of
relative dissatisfaction, are harder to explain. There is no Shapey to be found
here, though Ralph Shapey was one of the most gifted composers of his time,
and wrote many identifiably Jewish works. There is at present no Wernick,
though Richard Wernick's Visions and Terror and Wonder and several of his
other works would surely be an adornment to the series. (His Oracle II was
actually recorded for the project at least seven years ago, but has still not
been issued or even definitively edited.) There is no Walden, though Stanley
Walden's chamber symphony, After Auschwitz, would surely be a natural
for inclusion. Any of these composers would add materially to the presence
of one Jewish characteristic-intellectual toughness-that is perhaps under-
represented in the repertoire so far chosen.

While I am on the subject of deficiencies, I have to say that, particularly
coming from an archival source, the series is blemished by some quite serious
weaknesses in presentation. The program notes, most of them contributed by
Neil Levin himself, are indeed of archival stature, but by virtue of that very
fact they tend to concentrate at great length (and with subordinate clause
piled on subordinate clause like Pelion on Ossa 1 ) on the cultural, textual,
or ritual underpinnings of the works recorded, to the relative neglect of the
music itself. The decision, for works sung in Hebrew or Aramaic, to print
translations but no transliterations of the original is in my view deeply regret-
table, for it makes it much harder to follow the progress of the music with
proper attention to its meaning. And there are far too many misprints and
omissions in the booklets, in some cases neglecting biographies of certain
soloists while including those of others with no larger part in the proceedings,
and frequently omitting even to tell us who is playing or singing what. I also
question the wisdom, in some cases, of offering excerpts rather than complete
works. I could happily have done without some of the less attractive music
in the series if I had been given, for example, not just a scene from Adolphe's
Mikhoels the Wise, but the whole score.

Where I have very little complaint is in the matter of the actual performances
and recordings. There is some superb singing to be heard. The baritones James
Maddalena in Foss and Nathaniel Watson in the Adolphe excerpt, the soprano
Yvonne Kenny in Bernstein's/<a<i<sfc/z, and the mezzo-soprano Phyllis Pancella

1 (Editor's note: Two mountains in ancient Greece, which the rebellious giants known
as Aloadae piled one atop the other in a fruitless attempt to reach heaven.)

in the latter composer's Out of the Whirlwind, are outstanding among a large
array of fine voices. Of the speakers, Willard White, again in Kaddish, is the
most majestic (one or two of the other speakers have somewhat unimpressive
voices, and one participating rabbi seems surprisingly lacking ingravitas). And
for the Yiddish songs, mostly done in effective new arrangements, as well the
liturgical works, the line-up of voices is headed by the cantors Simon Spiro
and Benzion Miller. Miller's mastery of a device in cantorial art very similar
to the repeated-note trillo in early Baroque Italian music had me wondering
what it might be like to hear him as, of all unlikely characters, Monteverdi's
Orfeo.) There are marvelous performances from some instrumentalists in the
chamber settings, including guitarist Eliot Fisk and horn-player David Jolley
in Adolphe's Ladino Songs and clarinetist Richard Stoltzman on the Wyner
disc. At least equally impressive is the work of the various choruses and or-
chestras involved. Among the latter are the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic
in Bernstein's Kaddish and Chichester Psalms, the Berlin Radio Symphony,
Czech Philharmonic, and Barcelona Symphony in several works, and the
Seattle Symphony in by far the largest number of recordings.

For me personally it has been particularly rewarding to encounter the series
just at the moment when my wife and I have moved from Philadelphia to the
Seattle area, for the contribution of the local orchestra, and of its music di-
rector, Gerard Schwarz, has clearly been crucial to its success. With his own
Seattle and Liverpool orchestras and with other ensembles, Schwarz, who
also serves on the Archive's editorial board, conducts no fewer than 18 of the
works I have listened to, including almost all of the most substantial ones, and
the dedication, stylistic commitment, expressive intensity, and sheer polish
of execution he and his players have consistently achieved in works that are
often complex and challenging is beyond praise.

What, then, is "American Jewish Music"? Explore these recordings, and
see if you can find out.

London-born and Oxford-educated, Bernard Jacobson was, until recently, a Con-
tributing Editor of Fanfare Magazine and has spent periods as music critic of the
Chicago Daily News, promotion director for Boosey & Hawkes music publishers, pro-
gram annotator and musicologist for the Philadelphia Orchestra (where he worked
for eight years with Riccardo Muti and created the orchestra's chamber-music series)
and artistic director of the Residentie Orkest in the Hague. In addition to books on
Brahms, on conducting and on the 20" '-century Polish Renaissance (Phaedon, 1996),

his publications include entries in Encyclopedia Britannica and The New Grove
Dictionary of Music and Musicians.

# « « * * *

MEDITATION ON THE MODES:

Jeffrey Melnick's A Right to Sing the Blues —

African Americans, Jews and American Popular Song,

Harvard University Press: 1999.

Reviewed by Gershon Friedlin

From the dust jacket: "Jeff Melnick means to displace the narrative of the
Black-Jewish political alliance. He goes back instead to the central role of Jews
vis-a-vis African Americans and African-American music in popular culture,
and how, finally, Jews developed new identities as American Jews through
their relation to real and imaginary African Americans and their music."

Look what I see here: an insight, apparently from out in left field, touching
upon our ubiquitous quest for Nusah (or, Minhag) America. To me it makes
sense that "the American Rite" is concerned not only with whether we should
say, "Keser!" (Keter) during Kedushah or even with which fork to eat gefilte
fish in Poughkeepsie, but also with whatever styles and content we have bor-
rowed in our move away from being - as Miss Liberty states - "the wretched
refuse of your teeming shore."

Say I: if absorbing Jazz or Blues motifs into our souls has been part of our ac-
culturation, then this act of absorption becomes part of Ritus Americanus.

To develop his account, Melnick examines the careers of major American
Jewish theater composers - especially Irving Berlin and George Gershwin
- whose works form part of the Jazz, Standard and Popular repertoire. The
book contains oodles of relevant lore - some of which makes one cringe. To
wit, author Samson Raphaelson's preface from the mid-1920s to the stage
version of The Jazz Singer: "Jazz is Irving Berlin, Al Jolson, George Gershwin,
Sophie Tucker ... Jews are determining the nature and scope of jazz more than
any other race - more than the negroes, from whom they have stolen Jazz
and given it a new color and meaning."

Melnick, who teaches American Studies at Babson College in Wellesley,
MA, does not generally cite what Jews in Pop culture have done to promote
awareness of the Black contribution to American culture. So, I'll cite a few of

230

those Jews - especially from around the time that A Right to Sing the Blues
covers. (No Examples from today are needed: no one in his right mind believes
that either Jazz or Blues does not derive primarily from Afro Americans.)

Irvin Berlin himself, in 1933, brought Ethel Waters down from Harlem to
appear in the hit Broadway musical, As Thousands Cheer, at a time when it was
not common for Blacks to appear on stage with whites. Berlin even composed
an anti-lynching song for Waters - half a decade before Abel Meeropol, a
Jewish high school teacher from New York, who later adopted the orphaned
sons of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg was so shaken by the news photo of a
Southern lynching that he fashioned the poem Strange Fruit, made famous
as a hit song by Billie Holiday. Holiday's venue for introducing that song was
the Jew, Barney Josephson's Cafe Society. And, who first featured Holiday as
his band's girl singer? Artie (a.k.a. "Avrom Yits-khok") Shaw.

Enough examples? I didn't think so. On the East Coast: George Wein,
founder of the Newport Jazz Festival. On the West Coast: Norman Granz,
producer of Jazz At The Philharmonic. Both these venues gave Black Jazz
musicians well-attended and well-paid outlets, as did Granz's record labels:
Verve and Pablo. Thus, whatever rip-off there may have been of Black artists,
there certainly was compensatory activity, too.

My primary interest, as I think about Melnick's book, is not the political
or social connection between Blacks and Jews, but the musical one, that
between the Blues and the melodies the major American Jewish theater
composers heard as they grew up and cavorted about New York (Gershwin,
gleefully on roller skates; Berlin, on the benches of Lower East Side saloons
where he slept). It pays to bear in mind that both Gershwin and Berlin, as
well as Harold Arlen ("Stormy Weather," "My Funny Valentine," "Over the
Rainbow") who also relied heavily upon Black musical lore and motifs, had
significant exposure to the modes we associate with East European hazza-
nut. Berlin's and Arlen's fathers were immigrant cantors, and Gershwin was
close with the Tomashevsky musical theater family. He was recommended
by composer and cantorial choir director Joseph Rumshinsky, to become his
co-successor as Tomashevsky 's music director. (Boris Tomashevsky, back in
the Ukraine had been "Borukh Sopran" - boy soprano in the famed choir of
Cantor Nissi Belzer.)

There is a musical connection between the Blues scale and the Ahavah
Rabbah (AR) and Ukrainian-Dorian (UD) modes prominent in the Shabbat
Morning services. Each features one-and-one-half step intervals, though in
different parts of the scales. The motifs of all three modes would have been
familiar to the three aforementioned Jewish-American theater composers.

231

It is worth noting that, whereas UD in Shabbat a.m. services is largely an
auxiliary mode, in theater music it comes to the fore. As in, "Chosn-Kalleh
Mazltov," "Yidl Mitn Fidl," "Grineh Kuzineh," "Sfelt Ir Dee Rozhinke" and
"Attorney Street."

The famed East-European-derived composers stood on AR/UD - ground
and looked out onto the Blues; Blacks and Jews are also connected by the
Blue Note, the sometimes-flatted third in a major mode. Whatever sensibil-
ity in both immigrant listeners and composers that made it so forms part of
the process oiNusah America. Does that connection apply to the immigrant
and first generations only, or, is there still more to be mined here for further
filling out the American Rite?

There is. Two highly regarded twentieth-century Jewish composers - one
for the theater, the other for the synagogue - used the Blues in arrangements
for prayer. In the Friday Night Kaddish that Kurt Weill composed and dedi-
cated to the memory of his father (1950), Weill featured the idiom throughout
- in the traditional mode for this prayer - Adonai Malakh. In Max Helfman's
Sh'ma Koleinu ("Hear Our Cry") for Yom Kippur, also written close to the
end of his life (1959), the composer drops Blues effects into UD as well as
the "Danny Boy" mode he had borrowed earlier from a Friday Night service
("Kiddush," 1957). I have occasionally heard skilled baalei kri'ah (Scripture
readers) - who were not composers - use Blues ornamentation quite con-
vincingly in their Torah cantillation. This has long-term importance but does
not stand out dramatically.

What does, is now a landmark of the American Rite: the emergence of
women as cantors, with a concomitant need for 1), enhanced text and me-
lodic repertoire; and 2), models for female pulpit vocal styles. The need, at
least for text repertoire, was nicely touched upon in The Journal of Synagogue
Music's Winter 2001 issue where a woman hazzan (ed. Note: Estelle Epstein)
rewrote the Hineni text - having called attention to its praise for the canto-
rial beard.

I don't see either opera or American Folk, Pop or Theater styles being
readily adaptable to the bimah. Listen to some of the finer Blues singers, and
learn: Bessie Smith giving a Blues inflection to Berlin's "Alexander's Ragtime
band," which I'd been accustomed to hearing belted sans subtleties by Al
Jolson. Or, to Aretha Franklin's chromatic and Bluesy embellishments on
"At Last" - hitherto, a syrupy ballad made famous by the Glenn Miller Band.
A treasured association comes to me with Bessie's and the Rev. Franklin's
daughter's deliveries of these songs: gedavntl

The Black-Jewish modal connection lives on and will continue - I hope

- to work its way into Nusah America.

An earlier review by Rabbi Gershon Freidlin — "Is There Tefillah after Dav en' n"

— appeared in the Journal's Fall 2005 issue. He thanks his three sons for guiding
his knowledge of Black lore into a new era.

Victor Tunkel's The Music of the Hebrew Bible:
The Western Ashkenazic Tradition
Tymsder Publishing, 2006, 155 pages
PO Box 16031, London NW3 6WL

Reviewed by Joshua R. Jacobson

Victor Tunkel is an amateur in the best sense of the word. A London law
lecturer by profession, he is neither an invested cantor nor does he hold de-
grees in Jewish Studies or ethnomusicology But Tunkel is passionate about
the Western Ashkenazic tradition of cantillation, and he has set out to pro-
tect this endangered species from disappearing under the hegemony of the
ubiquitous Eastern Ashkenazic tradition. In The Music of the Hebrew Bible:
The Western Ashkenazic Tradition, published in 2006, Tunkel brings together
a bit of history, a bit of theory, and a transcription into staff notation of his
tradition for cantillating the Pentateuch.

In the introduction, Tunkel relates that his primary aim is to provide Torah
readers and Bar Mitzvah teachers with a basic explanation of the hierarchical
system of the te'amim. Decrying the fact that many "teachers themselves have
no more than their own Bar Mitzvah-level knowledge" (p. 8), he sets out to
provide a new pedagogical model. In this, Tunkel's reach exceeds his grasp.
He correctly notes the lack of systematic logic in the classic "zarqa table."
But his proposed substitution (p. 78), while certainly an improvement, still
has some flaws.

For example, why is shalshelet followed by pazer gadol, and why did he omit
the combination merekha pashtal His other chart ("A Scheme of Disjunc-
tives" on p. 39) altogether omits shalshelet and yetiv, and grossly overstates
the predictability of the "companions" to the "level-Ill clause enders." When

explaining the difference between merekha tevir and darga tevir, he provides
an excellent suggestion: since darga tevir is sung only when there are at least
two unstressed syllables between the accents, he proposes singing the te'amim
on the words, darga utevir. The only problem there is that the sheva after the
shuruk is sheva nah, so the proper pronunciation is darga utvir.

Tunkel's explanation of the system of disjunctives and conjunctives
leaves something to be desired. Had he digested Breuer's seminal work,
which he cites in his bibliography, perhaps he might have avoided some
basic errors. In one diagram Tunkel shows revia and pashta as having
equal disjunction (revia is always stronger), and tevir and tippeha as hav-
ing equal disjunction (tippeha is always stronger) (p. 31). Tunkel can-
not explain the fact that there is a disjunctive ta'am on the word , J , J?7 in
"riSly" "J? "J , ^' i ? (Num 20:12; p. 34). He has trouble explaining the te'amim
in Numbers 1:3 ~J'. (p. 35), apparently ignoring the concept of

remote conjunctives (a string of conjunctives that can precede a pashta or
tevir). And again (p. 41) his difficulty explaining the pashta before zakef in
Gen. 22:3 iibrrnx EniTT. suggests that he has not considered the "upgrad-
ing" of munah to pashta before zakef '(or munah to tippeha before etnahta,
or munah to zarka before segol).

He champions a "radical new approach" by David Robinson, which "dismiss-
es the dichotomy theory and even dispenses with the disjunctive/conjunctive
distinction" (p. 33). Yet Robinson's theory, as Tunkel presents it, seems to be
no different from the dichotomy theory as advanced in the standard texts.

Tunkel's explanation of the musical realization also reveals a few lacunae.
On page 86 he introduces the reader to many of the "special rules and oc-
currences," but omits the special melodies for Torah reading on fast days and
Simhat Torah. On page 74 he states, "Munah has one basic tune. This is quite
acceptable in every context." Yet that is obviously untrue and contradicted
by his own chart on page 106. On page 79 Tunkel suggests that one should
interpret meteg as a "rest," but meteg is actually a slight lengthening or dynamic
reinforcement of the syllable.

Armed with quotations from Werner, Avenary and Kalib, Tunkel passion-
ately argues for the superiority of the Western Ashkenazic tradition over its
Eastern counterpart. But I cannot help wondering why he didn't also argue
for the preservation of the Western Ashkenazic pronunciation of Hebrew.

Tunkel's notation of the realization of the te'amim is a valuable tool for
practitioners of the Western Ashkenazic tradition, but it is a pity that he
didn't have access to a better music notation program. Hyphens and syllable
extenders are missing or misplaced, and the final notes of disjunctive te'amim

are often lacking a fermata (or some other way to indicate their rhythmic grav-
ity). One of the highlights of Tunkel's book is to be found in the appendix: a
biography of William Wickes, the first great English explicator of the system
of the Biblical accents.

Despite the errors, despite the inconsistent transliteration, and despite the
sometimes confusing prose, Victor Tunkel deserves credit for his enthusiastic
contribution to the study of Western Ashkenazic cantillation.

A frequent contributor to the Journal ("Arnold Schoenberg and AhadHa'Am," 2003),

Joshua R. Jacobson holds a Doctor of Musical Arts from the University of Cincinnati, is
Professor of Music and Director of Choral Activities at Northeastern University, and
is Visiting Professor of Jewish Music at Hebrew College. He is also founding director
of the Zamir Chorale of Boston, and has guest conducted the Boston Pops Orches-
tra, the Bulgarian National Symphony and Chorus, the New England Conservatory
Orchestra and the Boston Lyric Opera Company. His book, Chanting the Hebrew
Bible: The Art of Cantillation, published by the Jewish Publication Society, was a
finalist for the National Jewish Book Award in 2002.

The Works of a Master Cantor—
Moshe Taube's Latest CD

Reviewed by Stephen J. Stein

This recording offers listeners a sampling of the unique musical tradition
that prevailed at Beth Shalom Congregation in Pittsburgh over the past four
decades. Made shortly before Moshe Taube's recent retirement from the
full-time cantorate, the CD focuses on the Shabbat service. The recording
demonstrates that Hazzan Taube was one of the leading pulpit artists of the
second half of the twentieth century.

While Moshe was well known for his seductive lyric tenor voice, few may
be aware that he composed virtually all of the nusah, recitatives, choral pieces
and refrains presented in his congregation. Beth Shalom was blessed to have
had this gifted hazzan and composer in its midst for so many years, and the
recording should serve its members as a fond reminder of the sacred music
that touched their lives. Having grown up in Pittsburgh, this reviewer saw
first-hand how Moshe's international fame was a source of great pride not
only to his congregation, but to an entire city.

235

The all-male choir that accompanied him each Shabbat, Festival and High
Holy Day became an integral part of the congregation's worship experience.
For thirty years, Pittsburgh attorney Maurice Tito Braunstein served as choir
director. The six-voice ensemble is prominently featured on this recording.
True, the recorded selections are accompanied by organ, yet it is easy to
imagine how these pieces might have sounded on a typical Shabbat, sung A
Cappella.

Several wonderful selections that I do not recall having heard before are
featured on this new recording, including a setting of Ve-Al Kulam. Typical
of Taube's compositions, it incorporates a refrain, in this text to the words
yeshu'ateinu ve-ezrateinu selah. Perhaps another reason I was drawn to this
piece is that there are not an abundance of recitatives or cantor/choir com-
positions for this passage.

Settings for the texts Kadosh, Mimkomkha, Mi She-Asah Nissim and Tikanta
Shabbat are classic Taube compositions with new twists. For example, in Mi
She-Asah Nissim, a solo composition previously recorded on his well-known
album, "Synagogue Masterpieces," the congregational melody for Haveirim Kol
Yisrael is beautifully harmonized for choir as well. Mimkomkha is given a new
refrain, as is the middle section of Tikanta Shabbat— "Az MiSinai" to "Shabbat,
Ka-ra'ui" — which also introduces a few subtle changes in phrasing.

One of the unique elements that make listening to this recording so grati-
fying is that in addition to Moshe's sweet, well-preserved legato singing, his
coloratura remains as precise as it has always been. It's no secret that Moshe
Taube fell under the spell of Leib Glantz early on in his career. It is therefore
not surprising that, as with Glantz, an aura of mysticism pervades many of
the selections heard on The Works of a Master Cantor. Taube builds this
mood chiefly by highlighting the augmented-fourth interval both melodi-
cally and harmonically. In addition, virtually every piece contains an instantly
singable refrain, which— in this age where congregational participation is so
vital — should appeal to professional and lay listeners alike. The CD is avail-
able for purchase under a private label through Beth Shalom Congregation's
gift shop or from Pinsker's Judaica in Pittsburgh.

Yishar Kohakha to Moshe on a job well done. May he continue to inspire
us all with his artistry, in the best of health, for many years to come.

Stephen J. Stein serves as hazzan at Beth El Congregation in Akron, Ohio, and as
Executive Vice President of the Cantors Assembly.

Shabbat Morning Solos for Treble Voice (Bar/Bat Mitzvah),
with Congregational Refrains and Cantorial Obbliggati.

Ashrei

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The Music of the Hebrew Bihfe

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Tunkel's exploration of Western Ashkenazic cantillation fills a significant gap within the wider
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"One is struck by the artistry and the natural, almost disarming ex-
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Our Fall 2007 issue will celebrate

Twenty Years of Women Conservative Cantors —

featuring

the Stories and Concerns of the First Generation,

articles that discuss the historical role of women in synagogues, their official
recognition by the Jewish Theological Seminary, their acceptance as full mem-
bers of the Cantors Assembly— and their halakhic status as prayer leaders.

Other articles by and about women:

♦ Placing the Khazntes in Historical Perspective;

♦ Women's Voices and Traditional Recitatives;

♦ The New Mediterranean / Mizrahi Israeli Music;

♦ The Talmudic Debate on Hallel;

♦ A Cantor's Granddaughter Remembers;

plus Reviews, Music and much more!

Annual subscription and / or multiple copies: $10; single issue: $15 (add
$5 for outside the U.S.)- Mail check to Cantors Assembly, 3080 Broadway
#606, New York, NY 10027 — or Fax to 212-662-8989 using VISA, AMEX,
DICOVER or MASTER credit card.

Please send all requests for subscriptions, multiple copies, single issues or
address changes to the Editor: Dr. Joseph A. Levine, 1900 Rittenhouse
Square, #13A, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or E-mail jdlevine(g>comcast.net