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J O U R N A L

OF SYNAGOGUE MUSIC

April 1975/ IYAR 5735

Volume V I

Number 1

CONTENTS

An Analysis of Salamone Rossi's

SONATA Detta La Modern (1613) Dr. Daniel Chazanoff 3

"A CANTOR Travels Westward" From Morton Shames and
The AUTOBIOGRAPHY of H Irsch Shoshanna Igra, 8

We i nt r au b Translators

HAZZANIMand HAZZANUT

Pinchos Jassinowsky 12

Music AND MusiciaNs IN THE

Works of SHOLOM Aleichem

Max Wohlberg 43

Todros the CANTOR

Michael Miner 43

DEPARTMENTS

M usic Section

Two Holy Day Compositions by Chemjo Vinauer

Record Review

Music from ANSHE Emet SYNAGOGUE

Morton Shames 61

Journal of synagogue music, V oluiflC VI, Number 1

April 1975/Iyar 5735
Published by Cantors Assembly

editor: Morton Shames

managing editor: Samuel Rosenbaum

editorial board: Abraham Lubin, Saul Meisels, Dr. Edgar Mills,
David J. Putterman, Moses J. Silverman, Robert Shapiro, Dr. Max
Wohlberg.

associate members: Ivan E. Perlman, Chairman; Sidney Karpo,
Karl KritZy Ephraim Rosenberg.

officers of the cantors assembly: Gregor Shelkan, P r e s \ cl e n t ;
Michal Hammerman, Vice President; Louis Klein, Treasurer; Harry
Weinberg, Secretary; Samuel Rosenbaum, Executive Vice President.

journal of synagogue music is a quarterly publication. The sub-
scription fee is $10.00 per year. Second-class postage paid at New
York, New York. All articles, communications and subscriptions
should be addressed to Journal of Synagogue Music, Cantors Assem-
bly, 150 Fifth Avenue, New York 10011.

AN ANALYSIS OF SALAMONE ROSSI'S
SONATA DETTA IA MODERNA (16131

Da. Daniel Chazanoff

Included in Rossi's Third Book of variation Sonatas, Sinfonias,
Galliards etc; dated 1613, is a work with a curious title. The Sonata
in d minor which Rossi subtitled, "detta La Moderna" (called The
Modem) is the earliest example of a four section sonata. Its slow-
fast-slow-fast format forms the beginning of what was to become the
'sonata da chiesa' (church sonata) by the middle of the 17th
Century.

On first glance, from a 20th Century perspective, the work
appears to be a sonata with four distinct movements. Yet, when
one considers the time in which it was written, it becomes a variation
sonata containing four different moods within a single movement.
Regardless of which interpretation is acceptable to the reader, Rossi
was far ahead of his time in 'La Moderna' . The first approach, as
mentioned before, would lead us to the 'sonata da chiesa' while
the second would point still farther ahead to the changing moods
within individual movements of the late Beethoven string quartets,
some 200 years later. One should remember that sonatas, by
definition, at the time of Rossi were individual movements to be
sounded on instruments in contrast to cantatas, which meant works
to be sung by voices. In that sense, also, the Sonata detta La
Moderna is a variation sonata.

structure

while the work is only 41 measures in length, without repeats,
it nevertheless contains four distinct sections as follows:

1. Grave — measures 1-12

2. Vivace — measures 13-23

3. Largo — measures 24-26

4. Presto — measures 27-41

With repeats, this sonata's length is doubled. Since phrases
and cadences during the early Baroque were short, repeats were

Dr. Daniel Chazanoff is the Director of Music for the City School District
of Rochester, New York. He has more than two decades of experience as
teacher, conductor, performer and administrator. He is a first-rate cellist,
having served at the first desks of The Birmingham Symphony, The Berkshire
Music Festival among others.

This is the fifth of a series of articles on the music of Salamone Rossi.
Dr. Chazanoff' s studies on Rossi were made possible by a grant from the
National Foundation for J ewish Culture.

traditionally used to enlarge musical structures. In this case the
first section, Grave, is marked with a repeat while the Vivace,
Largo and Presto are tied together as a unit with a repeat sign.
If any logical explanation can be found for Rossi's choice of repeats,
the answer may be found in the character of the four sections. The
Grave is slow and serious, resembling a sinfonia which may have
been intended as an introduction whilethe second, third and fourth
sections resemble dance forms of the period. The Vivace resembles a
lively galliard, the Largo a slow, stately pavan and the Presto, a
fast fiddle tune or giga (gigue). But an even more convincing argu-
ment for the second, third and fourth movements being tied together
is found in the harmonic relationships of the three. The Vivace,
in the tonality of D, ends on a D Major chord which becomes the
V. or dominant chord of G Major, the key of the Largo which
follows. In the same way, the Largo ends on a G Major chord
which becomes the dominant chord of the Presto which is in the
key of C Major.

Tonality

The four sections are in the following keys:

1. Grave — d minor

2. Vivace — begins in d minor and ends in D Major, a practice
of the Baroque.

3. Largo — G Major

4. Presto — begins the C Major and modulates into D, with

the final cadence closing on a D Major chord.

Chromaticism

Of the four sections, only the Largo is void of chromaticism;
since this section is only three measures in length it has only enough
time to establish the key of G Major. Rossi's use of chromatic
change as it relates to tempo is interesting; the slower the tempo,
the more chromatic change while the faster the tempo the less
chromatic change. Chromatics appear six times in the Presto, ten
times in the Vivace and twenty-nine times in the Grave section.
Obviously, Rossi used chromatics to add interest in the slowest
moving section where the ear could absorb more frequent changes
in tonality.

Chromaticism also varies the tonality from Major to minor
by raising or lowering the third of the tonic and dominant chords
in the first and second sections (Largo and Vivace). In the fourth
section, marked Presto, Rossi uses chromaticism to modulate from
C Major to D Major, the closing key of the sonata.

Instrumentation

The Sonata detta La Moderna is unique in still another way.
Rossi specified two violins and basso continuo as his instrumentation
for the book of instrumental compositions of 1613. From this begin-
ning the viol in became the standard instrument for Italian Baroque
composers in the writing of sonatas. Traditionally, trio sonatas are
played by four instruments i.e. two violins, a keyboard instrument
and a cello, doubling the bass line of the keyboard.

I n this sonata, the ranges of the parts are as follows:

EX. 1

Vlm-I

-o- rr

VLH-1L k C£LLO
* —ft <v*Ttt\

fLvs
A Fifth

"EE^^fmz

The ranges point out the similarity of instrumental and vocal
writing at the beginning of the 17th Century. It should be pointed
out that even the great Arcangelo Corel I i, in the latter part of the
17th Century, believed that the violin did not sound right above
the third position.

Texture

While Rossi was among the first, if not the first, to employ
monody (the figured bass), he did not abandon the Renaissance
techniques of canon (imitation) and counterpoint (melody against
melody). Thus, we find both homophony and polyphony in 'La
Moderna' . A clear example of monody is found in the first four
measures of the Presto section's keyboard part which exhibits block-
like chords :

EX. 2

Canon, the strict imitation of a musical subject or theme is
absent from this trio sonata. Rossi, however, does make use of
rhythmic imitation as illustrated by the two violin parts in the
opening two measures of the Grave section:

EX. 3

:3&

=J£

Jfrl^fm

^m~

The composer evidently intended a dialogue between the
two violin parts rather than a fugal setting. This is reinforced in
the third and fourth measures when, after the initial rhythmic
imitation, the two parts carry on counterpoint (the two melodies
sounded simultaneously) :

EX. 4

p^jjggH

Rhythm

The interrelationship between rhythm and texture has already
been pointed out — and/ also the inverse relationship between the
tempi of the four sections and chromatic change. A rhythmic tech-
nique used by Rossi to compensate for the limited range of the parts
is syncopation (accents on weak beats) which is found in measures
31 through 33 of the second violin part:

EX. 5

m&^m^ ^m.

Melody

I n the emancipation of instrumental from vocal music, early
Baroque instrumental melodies display scale-like vocal and chord-
like instrumental characteristics. Since playing ranges were limited,
crossed-voices were used to add melodic interest. A scale-like vocal
passage is found in measures 24 and 25 of the first violin part:

EX. 6

LRK§0_

3E^

£-

K^iPi

Measures 31 through 33 display chord-like instrumental char-
acteristics in both the first and second violin parts:

EX.

An example of crossed-voicing is found in measure 25 where
several notes in the second violin part are higher than those of the
first violin part:

EX. 8

In conclusion, the Sonata 'detta La Moderna' provided im-
pulses which influenced the works of later composers. Perhaps, the
most striking feature is found in the slow-fast-slow-fast format of
its structure which led to the 'sonata da chiesa' by the middle of
the 17th Century. Looking still farther ahead, to the 18th and
19th Centuries, the concept of a sonata as a four movement work
had its beginnings in this composition by Salamone Rossi.

1. Salamone Rossi. "Sonata in d minor detta La Moderna," Hortus Musicus
110, (Kassel: Barenreiter)

"A CANTOR TRAVELS WESTWARD"

FROM THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF HIRSCH WEINTRAUB

Ever since 1967 a vast collection of books and musical manu-
scripts have been kept at the national library in J erusalem. This
collection of music is entitled 'The J acob Michael Collection of
J ewish Music". Upon superficial examination of this rich collection,
the viewer becomes more and more convinced that here is buried a
treasure which could provide musicologists and historians enough
material for generations of research. This material could conceiv-
ably open many roads of deeper understanding with our musical
past as well as uncovering many worthwhile compositions. These
documents are somewhat lifeless, as though one were reading an
encyclopedia of names. However to the discerning reader and mu-
sician we recognize a specific period in history of J ewish music with
clear distinctive musical characteristics. These musical remnants are
rough drafts of musical compositions written by Cantor Hirsch
Weintraub (1881-1913). The historic documents themselves deal
with his own life; the son of a cantor who, from a congregation in
Dobno in Russia seeks to travel to countries where J ews have com-
pletely assimilated. We are witness to the change in his musical
writings and style as he is influenced by other cantors. He seeks
a new musical momentum and success. The many pages of rough
manuscript are obviously written for the purpose of requesting an
honorary degree from the government of Prussia. It is at this
point that we end the short biography.

The historical value alone justifies the publication of this docu-
ment. It was translated into Hebrew with the permission of the
owner of the original paper from the Hebrew Union College Library,
Cinncinati, and the holders of the Michael's Collection in the Na-
tional Library in J erusalem. M.S.

My father, Solomon Weintraub, may he rest in peace, was a
very famous cantor who was blessed with a tenor voice, high, pleas-
ant, and rich in quality. He possessed a naturally beautiful color-

Translated and edited from the Hebrew by Shoshannah Igra and Hazzan
Morton Shames from the publication "Tatzlil" (The Chord) September,
1969, the Haifa Museum and Amli Library, H Struck House, P.O.B. 5111,
Israel.

atura, and was also inately musical.' He was a cantor in the great
synagogue in Dubno in the district of Volallin, Russia. It was here
that I was born in the year 1813 and not 1811 as it was originally
recorded in books. He was known as "the Red Head" by all his
J ewish brethren, who still call me that name, even in Berlin. 2

My father made sure that I started studying the violin at the
age of 7 and by the time I had reached 12 years of age I had already
acquired a great facility in playing that instrument. By the time
I was 14 years old I had already played many variations of Maisder
and could also play the concerto in a minor by Rhode. 3

After the death of my father in 1830 I was appointed his suc-
cessor as cantor in Dubno, 4 but soon left to concertize with some
other cantors. 5 We travelled first in Russia, and then in Galicia,
Tamepol, Brodi, Lvov, and from thereto Hungary. I finally ar-
rived in Vienna where I remained for four months. I n November
of 1836, I travelled to Prussia and performed with great success
in Breslau in the congregation of Kampan in the region of Pozen. 6 - 7
Because I could not get Prussian citizenship I was forced to remain
here for 10 months. I then travelled to Leipzig and performed during
the high holy days with great success. Then on to Frankfort where
several merchants from Berlin had implored me to go. I arrived in
Berlin in October of 1837 and conducted two Sabbath services ac-
companied by a string quartet. The congregation accepted me with
great excitement .*, 9 Besides singing, I also appeared as violin soloist
with the Philharmonic with great acclaim from the critics who
wrote that my playing brought back memories of Paganini. I re-
mained in Berlin for five months and composed many musical
settings for the Psalms according to the rules of harmony. The
congregation was especially impressed by the fact that a cantor
from Russia was capable of performing such a beautiful service. I
was also the first cantor to introduce to the congregation a choir
that was trained in the singing of beautiful compositions. 10 During
my stay in Berlin I also became aware that one must study com-
position professionally and therefore I immediately started study-
ing with my first teacher, Mr. Bohmer, who was a musician in the
Royal Theater. I remained in Berlin for five months, and was a
good student, and could repeat by heart all that I learned from my
teacher, Mr. Bohmer. 11

Many important people of the synagogue in Berlin were eager
to write references for me to the Baron Von Rothschild in Frank-
fort. Amongst them were influential merchants and a well known
banker, Samuel Beichrader. The newspaper in Frankfort announced

my coming but I did not go there; instead, I went to Breslau, Pozen,
etc. In August I arrived in Konigsburg and after I auditioned I
was accepted as cantor. Since I already was famous the synagogue
was filled every Sabbath with congregants as well as Christians.
After a while I organized a choir.

The recommendations I received in Berlin were destroyed in
a fire in which I also lost my home.

Here in Konigsburg I continued studying composition with a
genius, Mr. Sobdewski. 12 I thoroughly learned double counterpoint
and fugue and I practiced a good deal. I wrote many compositions
under his supervision, and later on wrote independently; however,
he continued to be my advisor as long as I stayed here. 13

For a few years (as long as Sobolewski was conductor) I played
in the theater in order to acquaint myself with various operas.
Since the Musical Academy was founded in 1843 by Sobolewski I
remained a member of the orchestra, and I learned many partitas
by Mozart, Beethoven and others.

I n 1859, I published my composition "Songs of the House of
God" and Mr. Sobolewski who was then working in Bari men's
Theater, wrote a very warm critique for the magazine "Leipziger
NeueZeitschriftfur Musik, 1859." 14

Therefore, I submit that since I was the very first cantor in
Prussia not only to sing with a choir compositions according to the
rules of harmony, and according to the rules prescribed for syna-
gogue worship, and that I also was the very first cantor to publish
a book of synagogue music. I herewith request that I may be
worthy and privileged to earn the title of Royal Music Manager. 15

NOTES

1. The intention here is to emphasize the understanding of the artistic

music of Europe as opposed to the traditional music of a cantor. Solomon
Weintraub's style is demonstrated well in the book "The Songs of
Solomon" which were published by Weintraub, the son. Dritter Theil
des Schire Beth Adonai, herausgegeben Von H. Weintraub: Grosstentheils
componirt von meinen vater Solomon Weintraub, genannt Kaschtan,
Konigsberg 1859.

2. It was the custom among the Ashkenazic congregations to bestow nick-

names upon their favorite cantors.

3. J oseph Mayseder (1863-1789) was one of the greatest violinists of Vienna

between the years 1810-1830. He wrote 20 booklets of variations for the
violin. Pierre Rode (Paris 1772-1830) was violin soloist for the Czar
in Petersburg (1804-1808). He composed 13 concertos.

4. He was then 17 years old and the professional slogan seemed to be "a

cantor and a son of a cantor."

5. Weintraub joined the group of so-called wandering cantors when he was
21. Usually such a tour was reserved for well known cantors who could
return to their own congregations. Weintraub had no such congregation
and was only trying his luck.

6. He probably became familiar with the works of Solomon Sulzer.

7. "Kampan" was in those days an important community where rich
merchants and learned J ews lived.

8. The great J ewish merchants from all over Europe came to Leipzig which
encouraged the growth of many synagogues and also encouraged many
cantors who could find a position there.

9. These performances are mentioned in many books in Berlin. He was
one of the first cantors who performed with his choir in the synagogue
run by an affluent industrialist Levinstein, and then in the great Syna-
gogue Heiderentergasse. Since this was a first, it attracted attention.
In the congregational records it states that before the service he played
several pieces of Rossini on the violin with unbelievable perfection.

10. Weintraub's performance prompted the J ews of Berlin to establish a
musical group of singers of men and boys. This job was given to Asher
Lion, a cantor and representative of singers. The job was finally put
into the hands of Louis Lewandowski (1839).

11. This was apparently the violinist and composer Karl Bohmer born in
1802, who played the viola in the orchestra of the royal theater.

12. Fredrick Edward Sobolewski (1808-1872) Polish was a violinist and
conductor, and a well known musical figure in Kongisburg.

13. In 1854, Sobolewski received a position in Bremen and in 1859 he emi-
grated to the United States.

14. A respectable music magazine founded by Robert Schumann, Sobolewski
published critiques under a pseudonym, J . Fiske. Weintraub's book at-
tracted much interest among certain musical circles, for example Carl
Eugil, The Music of the Most Ancient Nations pg. 343-346, London
1864 (reprint 1929).

15. He received this title in 1873. In 1862, he was given a small honorary
coin made of gold. Since the writer does not mention the coin, we may
assume that he wrote that request after 1859 but before 1862. As a
result he received the coin instead of the title. It seems that Weintraub
made his request after the establishment of the kingdom of Germany
in 1871 and it was granted two years later. He died in 1881.

HAZZANIM AND HAZZANUT

PlNCHOS J ASSINOWSKY

Pinches J assinowsky, cantor, composer, author and poet, was
born in the Ukraine in 1886, son of a hasidic family of considerable
prestige. He attended cheder to the age of fourteen and began to
display musical talents at an even earlier age. He had a fine voice
and sang in a number of synagogue choirs, including that of Pinchos
Minkowsky. At twenty, he entered the Royal Conservatory in St.
Petersburg and became the assistant choir director of that city's
great Central Synagogue.

He graduated in 1915 and visited Europe's principal cities lec-
turing on J ewish music. He came to America in 1916 where he was
called to be the cantor of a St. Louis synagogue. In 1920, he came
to New York's Sixty-Eighth Street Jewish Center which he served
with distinction until he retired.

During the course of a long career he published a large variety
of synagogue compositions, J ewish Art Songs set to the texts of the
leading Yiddish folk songs for chorus and published several col-
lections of his own poetry.

Prior to World War II, he established a music publishing
company called "Renanah Music" which finally ceased operations
shortly before his death in 1954. S. R.

The art of hazzanut, the chants of the hazzanim, is a unique
manifestation among our people. It began its development shortly
after destruction of the first Temple. The J ews carried to Babylon
by Nebuchadnezzar formed themselves into communities and insti-
tuted yeshivot of learning and houses of prayer. The many Levites
among the exiles, remembering the chants they had employed in the
Temple service, applied the same music to the prayers offered in the
alien land.

Scores of synagogues arose in Babylonia. In these precincts the
exiles poured out their hearts, and offered up hopeful prayers for
return to their Holy Land. The saddened orisons for the devastated
land and Temple brought relief to their hearts, and provided both
solace and trust in a better future. When, seventy years after be-
ginning of the exilic period, they returned to Palestine, they brought
back with them the entire repertory of liturgical music developed
during their sojourn in Babylonia.

A similar process accompanied the era of the second destruc-
tion. The descendants of the early exiles, now exiled in Rome, car-
ried with them the Temple singers and the Temple songs temporarily

silenced by all -conquering Titus. It must be said that these melodies
exercised a profound influence not alone upon thej ewish population,
but also upon the pagan people of ancient Rome, who learnt much
from the Hebrew forms of worship.

The chants thus remembered and practiced by Israel were
known as community prayers. However, the Jewish liturgy long
antedated the exilic hymns. In the olden days, when Abraham,
the first Hebrew, on God's behest crossed the Euphrates to spread
the divine word among the inhabitants of the land, there were indi-
vidual prayers rising from the inner needs and cravings of the
individual. The first Patriarch had despatched Eliezer, his steward,
to find a bride for his son, Isaac. With gifts of great worth he
traversed the lands on his quest, ultimately reaching Aram-Naharaim
to bestow his master's possessions upon Abraham's distant relatives.

The shades of night were spreading over the land as Eliezer
came near the city of Near. He brought his camels to rest at the
well, and prepared to utter prayer to his God. "0 Lord, the God
of my master Abraham ... show kindness unto my master. ...
Behold, I stand by the foundations of water; and the daughters of
the men of the city come out to draw water. So let it come to pass,
that the damsel to whom I shall say: Drink, and I shall give thy
camels drink also; let the same be she that Thou hast appointed
for Isaac; and thereby shall I know that Thou hast shown kindness
unto my master."

Had Eliezer not seen and heard the conduct of prayer in the
tents of his master, he would never have thought to offer his own
supplication. It is evident from Scripture that Abraham was a
most worshipful man. It was he who prayed to the Creator of the
universe to show mercy toward Sodom. "Wilt Thou indeed sweep
away the righteous with the wicked? ... That be far from Thee;
shall not the J udge of all the earth do justly?" It was he who
prayed for the health and security of Abimelech. It was through
his supplications for the just and the righteous that Abraham at-
tained the admiration and devotion of all God-fearing men.

The first communal prayer of Israel was heard in Egypt, when
the people as a whole, in their deep trial and bondage, pleaded for
surcease of their cruel enslavement. "And the children of Israel
sighed by reason of their bondage, and they cried, and their cry
came up to God." From these and other incidents we first learned
that, just as a prayer can well up from the heart of an individual in
distress, it can also rise simultaneously from the hearts of a
multitude.

J ewish prayer is not solely the product of the Men of the Great
Assembly, who formulated and coordinated the modes of public
worship. The aim was not merely to replace the Temple service
with words spoken by the lips. According to Maimonides, prayer
is a positive commandment direct from the Torah, which declares
in the Shema, "And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all
thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might," and in
the ensuing paragraph, employing the plural form, "I command you
this day, to love the Lord your God, and to serve Him with all your
heart and with all your soul." By "serve" is meant pray, says
Maimonides, service of the heart. From the days of Moses to those
of Ezra the Scribe, it was the duty of every Israelite to offer up
daily prayers to the Lord.

But exposition of biblical verses is not the task of this essay.
Its aim is to demonstrate the gradual development of Israel's
liturgy, and attainment of the present high literary and religious
level. One of our most prized creations as a people is the musically
elevated recitative that marks modern hazzanut. Both through
its content and form it has thrilled not alone the regular attendant
at synagogue services, whose spirit is already permeated with long-
ing and prayerful remembrance of olden glories, but it has given the
highest esthetic pleasure to everyone with an appreciation of emo-
tion in music. It may well be said that the majestic chants of the
synagogue service have been of more powerful effect upon the souls
of the listeners than the prayers themselves. For when Israel was
in exile, prayer chanted was the deepest expression of folk emotion,
awakening every national and religious feeling calculated to keep
alive the spirit of the people, and mitigating the sorrowful experi-
ences engendered by a hapless life in an alien environment. The
prayers that are sung are part of the cantor ial art of earlier days,
and now our regular liturgical expression.

The full humanity of any person never so surely reflects the
image of God as when he is engaged in prayer. No great art, no
skilled artist, can so affect the heart of man as does a simple silent
prayer wafting from a heart fully attuned to the divinity in every
human soul. There is no fire to melt steel so powerful as the warm-
hearted prayer that bends the iron will of man and brings him
closer to those virtues which heaven would instill within him.

The first exponents of prayer, the hazzanim shelichei-tzibbur,
popular representatives — came from the people. The precentor
was the man considered outstanding in the community, He was

expected to possess the virtues of good appearance, character, learn-
ing, and an acceptable voice. To hold this place among the people
was a matter of honor, for which many householders strove. So
great was the desire to attain that post, that often prominent men
were given bribes to further the candidacy of various aspirants. In
ancient days men actually sought to buy their way into the honorific
high priesthood; against such ambitious men did the prophets and
later leaders powerfully fulminate. It was a J ewish precept, in fact,
that any prayer representative who ascended the platform against
the actual will of the congregation was not entitled to hear the
Amen after the conclusion of blessings recited by him. As time
went on, the art of synagogue singing developed; a skilled profes-
sional class of cantors arose; and the right to recite the prayers
aloft was taken from communal wrangling; and assigned to desig-
nated and able chanters of the Hebrew melodies. First called baalei
tefillah — masters of prayer — they were later designated hazzanim,
and then, in modern times, cantors.

The earliest hazzanim were not singers alone, but also poets,
liturgists, who composed new hymns and prayers. Eliezer Kalir,
who in the tenth century served as cantor in a small Italian town,
was the writer of many liturgical forms — laments, selichot, yotzerot
~~ in acrostic form. A later cantor and poet of note was Meir of
Worms, who authored the famed Akdamut — sung on Shavuoth.
The great commentator Rashi, his contemporary, wrote of Meir as
"my colleague, my master, and prayerful representative of the peo-
ple, faithful and venerable." To this day that unique festival prayer
is sung according to a special and impressive chant, out of which
many additional hymns have been derived.

In various parts of Europe were to be found similarly gifted
cantors and poets. There were R. J oseph Alkalay, cantor of Sicily;
the composer and writer, Isaac Sahud, who flourished in Spain;
R. Moses the Elder of London — none of whom was possessed of
great technical musical knowledge, since the music of that day was
still in developmental form. But they were highly talented and
pious men, marked by that religious fire and fervor which impelled
them, while singing, to pour their very hearts out to the Lord.
Their chants were actually improvised from the emotions that welled
from their souls in prayer; their musical expression was dictated by
inner feeling. This tendency toward improvisation in conduct of
religious service is not to be found in the history of any other
religious group. For this reason our melodies have to this day

remained thoroughly flexible, attuned to the emotions of those
chanting them befre a congregation of worshippers. These were
never mere hymns or prayer songs; they have always been actual
expressions of the spirit of the singer in his moment of devotional
ecstasy.

However, hazzanut itself, in its history, has been marked by
many alterations and developments, both toward betterment and
toward decline. These changes can be traced to the actual vicissi-
tudes of Jewish exilic life, with its long story of persecution and
martyrdom. Not always have J ewish leaders looked with approval
upon the current progress of the cantorial art. Often the learned
men, cold reasoners and researchers in the law, did not hold sway
over the minds of the people. They stood above the run of J ewry
and looked down upon them. But the masses were not interested
in the teaching and convoluted philosophic reasoning of the more
enlightened savants; instead of the problems of Jewish law, they
sought spiritual nourishment for their starved souls. Far from the
pilpul and involved thinking of the learned classes, they sought only
serenity and forgetfulness in their religious ardor. Rather than be
instructed concerning the nature and fearsomeness of God, they
preferred to yield their souls to their Maker with the trust and
faith of innocent children. Life was so difficult that they were
perpetually seeking some haven of refuge; let the intellectuals feed
their minds — they wanted only to soothe their innermost emotions.
The common man was not concerned over the arduous theological
and scientific searchings of the learned; to sing the wonders and
gifts of the Lord was all they required. Love, reverence, wonder-
ment, and thankfulness were their metiers.

In the song of the hazzan the people found what they had so
long been seeking. New congregations in farflung communities were
built about the art of the cantor. And as that art developed, how-
ever, spiritual leaders began to look askance at the cantor; on many
occasions had spiritual leaders in Israel found fault with similar
expressions of Jewish spirituality through the instrumentality of
the human voice. This attitude was existent even in the days of the
first Temple, when the priests developed a feeling of jealousy toward
the great popular chants of the Levites. It was quite natural, there-
fore, that in the exile a like attitude should repeat itself. It was
much aggravated when cantors began to strike out for themselves
musically and employ new hymns and musical forms, different from
traditional modes. The cantors must not be blamed for creating

such differences; it was a truth even in the days of Moses that,
while the folk were seeking interest in alien cultures, their repre-
sentatives in song tended to adopt musical and devotional forms
taken from their environment. The new songs were strange to the
ears of the masses, who showed their displeasure. Two opposing
streams in J ewish life — the centripetal and centrifugal — are evi-
denced in the whole story of the development of synagogue song.

The quarrel did not long endure, however. In ensuing years
there arose numbers of religious hazzanim or high musical talent,
who were completely devoted to employing their capabilities in the
interest of their people. The voices of some of these later cantors
were of the highest calibre; the power of their prayers was aptly
names shaagat Ha-ari — "the roar of the lion." The people were
overwhelmed by the strength and melodic beauty of their singing.
Yet there were also chazzanim who had no voices at all, but were
thoroughly capable in the art of liturgic music. Unable to express
themselves with their own vocal chords, they turned to choir sing-
ing and emotional vocal expression to attract the mitpallelim of the
congregation. Chief representative of this class of wailers and weep-
ers was Nissi Belzer.

The synagogues in which these men served were as a rule with-
out large means, unable to maintain both cantor and singers. For
this reason the cantors would regularly appear in adjacent com-
munities on Sabbaths, so that with the fees thus amassed they might
cover the deficits created in their own communities. As a result the
wandering singers were able to spread knowledge of J ewish liturgical
music in towns that would otherwise never have learnt to under-
stand and appreciate it. The success of these tours was out of the
ordinary; the worshippers listened enthralled to the prayerful song.
The cantors were pursued by the populace everywhere, and often
they were carried aloft on the hands of their admirers.

The tremendous influence of the wandering cantor on the peo-
ple can be indicated from a single example. Once Nissi Belzer and
his choir conducted a Sabbath service in a small town, with vast
success. The company was scheduled to depart for another town,
but the inhabitants pleaded that they remain with them for another
Sabbath service. This was obviously impossible. The people, seeing
that neither pleas nor offers of more money were of any avail,
stationed themselves on the outskirts of the city, and when the
coaches bearing the singers approached they demolished the wheels

and compelled them to stay over. This shows the power of Belzer's
art; though he lacked a musical voice, his form of prayer was suffi-
cient to bring more than ordinary satisfaction to the ear of the
ordinary listener. All were fascinated by his melodies and his
artistry. His excellent large choir aided in creating this impression
among the worshippers. The choir singers, many of them, also be-
came distinguished cantors under his tutelage. It was a mark of
high distinction to say that any hazzan had once sung for the famed
Nissi Belzer. His pious and heartfelt synagogue songs became
musical canon, and many later composers have built their music
upon his foundation.

In later days both rabbis and householders opposed the exten-
sion of the new synagogue music, because of the added time required
to present it. This, together, with the too lengthy discourses of
rabbis and itinerant preachers, created many difficulties in the
service of the synagogue. As the difficulties multiplied, many a
thoughtful congregant began to contemplate the emergence of a
more controlled form of cantor ial artistry. There was also the effort
to reduce the rambling discourses of the chance preacher to the
limited confines of the modern sermon.

In East Europe, in Russia and adjacent lands, there arose the
modern type of synagogue, great edifices boasting trained cantors
and choirs. In the West came the temples of the Kultus-Gemeinde;
and in America the Reform temples, centers, and other contemporary
developments of the synagogue. The spirit of emancipation wafting
through all progressive countries was largely responsible for the new
movement. As the ghetto walls fell, and revolutionary movements
gained power in European lands, all this was reflected in the life
of the synagogue. Hazzanut derived from the traditional European
forms was developed under such auspices.

Solomon Sulzer pioneered in introducing the new movement.
His work, Shir Zion, became the basis for synagogue and choir sing-
ing throughout the world. In the ordered chanting developed by
Sulzer and other moderns, worshippers found both joy and spiritual
comfort. Always despairing over their condition, suppressed by
their enemies, oppressed by blood accusations and other false
charges, they achieved a measure of solace and serenity in the
elevating tones of synagogue melody. If men wonder how Jewry
was enabled to live through hardship and persecution, let them
comprehend the extraordinary power of our many minor sanctuaries
in providing new strength and substance for the J ewish soul. Our
sacred song also raised our repute among our neighbors. Men who

came to harm us were softened by the strains that swept from our
places of worship into the heart of the world. Frequently repre-
sentatives of the government attended the synagogue, eager to hear
the chants that brought delight to them as well as to the regular
worshippers. They marveled that, after they had written off the
existence of Israel, that people was still in position to erect such
splendid synagogues and indulge in such magnificent songs of prayer.
Thereafter it was easier for our professional intercessors to obtain
remission of harsh decrees and to gain the good will of the rulers.

The song of the synagogue raised worshippers to the highest
human realms. They felt again that their strivings were not directed
to mere personal and selfish aims, but toward preservation of people,
of faith, of love of God, and all things worthwhile in the existence
of humankind. It was brought home to them that above the ma-
terial efforts of life, their true duty was to provide for family and
community in such a manner that children and all others might
grow to honor the Lord and His highest ethical teachings. And as
God spoke to Israel through the Torah, they in turn spoke to the
Master of the universe in their formal supplications. The cardinal
attributes of J ewish striving have been Repentance, Prayer, and
Charity. All that Israel does must be carried on in the name of
God. The J ewish concept of God's unity was spread among the
nations, among the Christian churches and Mohammedan mosques,
adding their own substance to the power of our ideals.

Tremendous are the emotions engendered by the voice of the
cantor. It carries the episodes of Israel's long sad history back into
the recollection of every worshipper. From generation to generation
our song has accompanied us; it has lightened every burden. It has
given us the perennial hope that our redemption is still to come, and
that life will yet be beautiful. Raptly do we plead, as we stand
in prayer, "Grant peace, welfare, blessing, grace, lovingkindness,
and mercy unto us and unto all Israel Thy people." In the days
when brigands were granted carte blanche to rob and oppress and
murder the citizenry, the J ews in their ghettoes chanted this prayer:
"Open my heart to Thy law, and let my soul pursue Thy command-
ments. ... If any design evil against me, speedily make their
counsel of no effect. Do it for the sake of Thy name." J ubilantly
do we ply the people with peace. In such words and chants is con-
cealed our racial strength; these are our armies, our government, our
power. One can sense the true might of Israel in the exclamation.
"And the Lord shall be King over all the earth: in that day shall
the Lord be one, and His name one!"

MUSIC AND MUSICIANS IN THE WORKS OF

SHOLOM ALEICHEM

MAX WOHLBERG

Of our three Yiddish classicists, Mendele Moicher Seforim
only rarely touched on the subject of music and when he did so it
was in a pedestrian manner. Yitzchok Leib Peretz dealt with the
subject more frequently and he treated it in a highly poetic and
idealistic fashion, often assigning it to ethereal realms.

To Sholom Aleichem (Sholom Rabinowitz 1859-1916), music
was an inescapable fact, a concomitant of life, a constant com-
panion, a subject endowed with qualities angelic and mundane,
capable to soar into heavenly spheres while its roots are firmly
secured in earth, adaptable to both pathos and humor.

Sholom Aleichem loved music and was infatuated with J ewish
music. He was attracted to musicians and fascinated by hazzanim.
The hero of his first novel was a J ewish musician and one of his
most poignant characters was the son of a hazzan. While "Stem-
penyu" did not acquire the scope of "J ean-Christophe," it is safe
to say that Romaine Rolland could neither penetrate the milieu of
"Stempenyu" nor fathom the depths of "Motel," the son of Paisyeh
the Hazzan.

A study of his works reveals the presence of an inordinate num-
ber of musicians and hazzanim in either primary or secondary roles.
Of instrumentalists we have Yehoshua Heshel, Avrom and Ben
Zion in "Funem Yarid;" Tchetchek and Naftole Bezborodke in
"Oifen Fiedel;" Shaye Dovid and Peretz Dirizhorim "Me'Hulyet"
and, of course, "Stempenyu."

Of hazzanim, approximately fifteen are mentioned by name and
an equal number appear with apt adjectives. "Yosele Solovey",
Sholom AleicherrTs second novel, is in fact, the first Yiddish novel
in which the hero is a hazzan.

Since the element of music is so integral in the works of Sholom
Aleichem — and since the sixtieth anniversary of his death is ap-
proaching — this essay will attempt to delineate and to analyze
(long overdue) the aspects of music so abundantly represented in
his works.

In an article: 'Tzu Mein Biographie" (1903) the author re-
calls (all quotes in this essay are free translations by this writer) :
"I was always drawn to the realms of the spirit, the world of
dreams, the source of song (see 'Yosele Solovey") and music (see

Dr. Max Wohlberg is professor of Nusah at the Cantors Institute of the
J ewish Theological Seminary.

"Stempenyu"). After my Bar Mitzvah I stealthily began to study
the violin and promptly received from my father a terse reprimand
(see "Oifen Fiddle") ."

Sholom Aleichem, as facile in fusing fact with fantasy as he
was in mixing tragedy with travesty, was quite revealing — in the
frankly autobiographical "Funem Yarid" ("From the Fair") — re-
garding his initiation into the world of music. Speaking of himself
in the third person he writes:

"Sholom became a constant visitor at the home of Yehos-
hua Heshel the Klezmer. He did not miss rehearsals which
took place at frequent intervals. He thus got to know inti-
mately the group of musicians, their life style, their habits and
peculiarities, their gypsy-bohemian outlook including their
music-lingo of which he made good use in "Oifen Fiddle",
"Stempenyu", "Blonzhende Shtern" and others.

. . . That takes care of our infatuation with song. As
for instrumental music, the opportunities of our hero to hear
bands of musicians were even more numerous than those to
hear hazzanim because both Yehoshua Heshel, with the thick
side-locks and Ben Zion, with the flattened nose, lived quite
close to my cheder. To tell the truth, it would have been easy
to avoid them and, as a matter of fact, by avoiding them the
distance between house and cheder would have been shorter.
Sholom, however, preferred the digression which enabled him
to pass by their homes and, incidentally, stop under their win-
dows in order to better hear as Ben Zion gives his students
violin lessons, and to listen to Yehoshua Heshel rehease with
his sons who played all sorts of instruments. At such times
it was practically impossible to chase Sholom away from his
advantages listening post (ibid).

. . . Summer — Municipal Park — sheer heaven! A
military band with its handsome leader — a black-bearded J ew
with cherry black eyes and full lips. All the girls were in love
with his baton (ibid).

"Hazzanim and choristers were never absent from his home
because Nochum Rabinowitz was a Ba-al Tefiloh on his own
and appreciated good singing. Besides, their boarding house
was, one may as well admit it, the only available place in town
for transient hazzanim (ibid).

. . . The wondering actors were quartered on one side
of our hostelry while opposite them stayed a Lithuanian haz-
zan with twelve choristers. They came for the Sabbath and

their reputation preceded them. So, from one side, we hear
the rehearsal of the Lithuanian hazzan who, incidentally, ges-
ticulates and goes through odd contortions:

"Yismechu B-
malchuscho Shom-
rei Shabos V-
Korei Oneg."

'The choir is evenly divided. One half sings: 'Turaril!
Turaril!" The other half contributes: Tim-Porn! Pirn Porn!"
While from the roof of the actors we hear: "Fiselech! Un
Fiselech! Un Fiselech! Un lebedige! Fiselech! Of mir aza
yohr!" (Little legs — of coquettes. Lively legs of coquettes.
Who could wish for more?) (Alt-nei Kasrilevke — Hoteln).

"As a result, the Rabinowitz children accumulated an in-
exhaustible fund of musical knowledge. They, for example,
promptly recognized the composer of this Kedusho and the
arranger of that Tikanto Shabos. Whether it was Pitze, Mitze,
Kashtan, the hazzan of Shedlitz or Kalvarie or, perchance,
Nisi Belzer. These were days of spiritual exaltation: the body
as if floating in air, the mind spinning endless ideas and a little
tune relentlessly pursuing one through the sleepless night
("Funem Yarid") ."

Children wish for many things. Some develop a strong desire
for an object or a talent. With the passing years the object of their
desires changes. The young Sholom persisted with remarkable con-
stancy in his overwhelming desire to play the violin.

"He only knows that ever since his infancy he yearned
for a fiddle and would gladly sacrifice all he has to be able to
play it. And, as if fate would wish to tease him, he always
found himself in a world of song and music, among hazzanim
and musicians (ibid).

"Most young boys of well-to-do families studied the violin
but my father remained adamant. "What sort of vocation is
that t for a Jewish boy?!" ('Tzu Mein Biographie").

. . . Thus, as you see, the study of the violin did not
prove a disadvantage. The opportunity to hear music — he
had. Talent — if you believed Ben Zion the Klezmer — he also
had. So what did he miss? A fiddle ("Funem Yarid").

"It seems to me, there is nothing more attractive or ad-
mirable than the ability to play the violin. Ever since I became

conscious of things I've yearned for a fiddle and loved musicians
as life itself. If a wedding took place in town I was the first
to run to welcome the band of musicians. I quickly hid behind
the bass-fiddle pulled on the thick string: Boom! And ran
away. Boom! And ran ("Oifen Fiddle". See also: "Mesushe-

lach" and "Meisiyos Far Yiddishe Kinder").

. . . The fiddle, you understand, says to me Naftole
Bezboradke, is the oldest of all instruments. The first fiddler
in the world was Tubal-Cain or Methuselah. I don't rightly
remember but surely you as a cheder student must know. The
second one was King David. The third, a J ew of course, was
Paganini. As a matter of fact all the best violinists were J ews.
Take Stempenyu, Pedohtzur; of myself I wont speak though,
they say, I play a mean fiddle but how can I be compared to
Paganini? He, they say, sold his soul to the devil for the fiddle
("Oifen Fiddle") ."

One may debate whether Tevye was Sholom Aleichem's favor-
ite adult character but there can be no doubt that no child was
treated with greater deference, with more sympathy, warmth and
compassion than was Motel, the son of Paisyeh the Hazzan.

"Mazel Tov! I've memorized both the orphan's and the
rabbinic Kaddish. In the synagogue I stand on a bench and
rattle off the Kaddish like a glib huckster. My voice, inherited
from my father, is a true soprano. All the boys stand about
me gaping, full of envy. Women wail, men push coins in my
hands ("Motel").

. . . The Rebbe, his thumb against his windpipe, in the
manner of an ancient hazzan, calls on me with the festive
melody reserved for a groom: "Ya-amod He-chosen Sholem
Be-reb Nochum Maf-tir!" ("Dos Meserel").

, . , Oh, if only my mother would permit me to become
a musician. But I know she won't, not because she is mean
but because "what would the world say if Paisyeh the haz-
zan's son would become a musician or a tradesman?"
("Motel") ."

No truer view of the Shtetel and its attachment to music —
can be found than in the stories of Sholom Aleichem. In the syna-
gogue, in the market-place, in joy as in sadness for the rich and for
the poor, for both men and women. At every possible occasion —
the author instinctively turns to music for both description and
characterization.

What connection do a melamed and a hazzan have with
a county fair? Nevertheless the melamed releases his pupils
a little earlier and the hazzan dismisses the choristers in the
middle of the "Melech Elyon". ("Yosele Solovey")

Once, it was on Hoshanoh Raboh, the new hazzan and the
new choir sang the "Kol Mevaseir, Mevaseir Ve-omeii' most
impressively whereupon the worshippers began to beat rhythm-
ically the leaves off their Hoshanoh's. ("Opgeshlogene

Hoshanohs")
//

... In the monastery garden, the nocturnal, solitary
nightingale — as happens after every spring — lost its sweet
voice and — forgive the comparison — like a hazzan after the
High Holy Days — had only a screech left. ("Stempenyu")

. . The rooster, the screamer, hearing the band play
thought a new day had arrived. He alighted from his perch,
flapped his wings, crowed his assigned verse and concluded his
"KuKuriKu"with a "Munach Esnachto". (Sender Blank)

"Since Stristch is in existence, no one can recall a case of
a woman who either owned a dog or played the piano. A
J ewish woman should be a musician?! ("Perele")

... In one breath, as a good hazzan enumerates — the
ten sons of Haman, this one talks of wheat, the other discusses
doctors, a third, hazzanim. A J ew that loves singing — say
what you will — wants to know everything, even how to play
a fiddle. ("Funem Yarid")

"Reb Nachman Kahana was a venerable and venerated
gentleman who also happened to be rich. Such a one, as a rule,
occupies in the synagogue a prominent position. The hazzan
will not dare to chant the Amidah until Reb Nachman con-
cludes his silent devotion — even if this lasts an eternity
(ibid).

"While the assembled dry their tears, he, the father re-
mains untouched. Even when the hazzan and the choir appear
and begin the tedious rendition of the tearful nusach for the
"EM Molei", he shows no emotion. The synagogue becomes
filled with moaning, children cry, adults wail, women faint and
the father — nothing. Only when the hazzan utters the words:
"Es nishmas habesuloh Miriam Gitel bas Reb Lipe" the un-
fortunate father feels a painful stab in his heart, something
blocking his windpipe, a ferocious bang in his brain and an
inhuman, frightful sob escapes from his heart while neither the

choir ceases its singing nor the hazzan to show what he can
do . . . ("In Shturm").

So, be a prophet and foretell that the hazzan 's daughter
will become infatuated with an army officer and announce that
she is ready to convert and marry him. The city was abuzz.
Wherever one went: 'The hazzan's daughter ... The
tragedy of these two — I mean the hazzan and the hazzente"
— was, as you can well imagine, unbearable. Our poor hazzan
delivered a Selichos that was sou I -shattering. His "Haneshomo
loch vehaguf sheloch" could have moved a stone (Eisenbahn
Geshichtes — Keiver Ovos) ."

If the Shtetel suffered no dearth of tragedies it also provided
occasional joys. Such were the rapturous, fun filled "HaKofoh"
services on Simchas Torah and the mirthful — on occasion marred
— wedding celebrations.

We are just reaching "Ato Horeiso" and the first verses
are assigned to the "Ba-alei Batim" sitting at the eastern wall
who recite them standing at their places each with his peculiar
voice and in varying manner. Although the nusach is, after
all, the same throughout the world. Nevertheless, due to the
differences in the vocal quality and timbre, and, no doubt, be-
cause of the shock in hearing their own voices, the resulting
renditions seem to carry no semblance to what was intended.
The musical ornamentation planned for the concluding syl-
lables invariably vanishes altogether ("HaKofos").

. . . So E I ik, to pi ease him, executes in his grave basso
the extended festival Kiddush and manipulates adroitly, as a
hazzan would. The band of convivial friends respond, as would
professional choristers: "0-o-mein!" Although Kopel (a shoe-
maker) has the voice — if you deign to call it that — of a
folding-bed, he, nonetheless, attempts to assist Elik and as
Elik sings Kopel frequently intervenes with a loud "Born"!
When Elik concludes the Kiddush with a flourished "MeKa-
deish Yisroeil" and a dramatically embellished "Ve-haz-ma-nim"
and is about to place the cup to his lips Kopel grabs the cup
out of his hand ("Me'Hulyet").

"Elchonon, the sexton, twists his sidelocks behind his ears,
inflates his cheeks and with blazing eyes and mincing gate
commences a Russian tune adapted to "Hayom Te'am-tzeinu".
Zalmen Bar dons — as if it were a talis — a white scarf and
stationed at the wall intones loudly with the sad "Ne-ilah"

melody : 'You old one, you cold one, malodorous one — your
ugly croaking screeches are surely no fun!" And Shmulik,
Shimshon Yankel, Reb Kalmen and Elchonon supply, with
wildly undulating arms, frightful sounds, still in the "Meilah"
melody, the necessary obligato: "Oy, oy, oy, ay, ay-oy, oy,
oy, ay, ay"! ("YoseleSolovey")

'The cup of wine in one hand, the other, in the manner
of old-fashioned hazzanim, pressing on his throat, his face —
with eyes closed —turned upward, Shmulik cleared his throat
and sounded his old, decrepit voice. As he tearfully concluded
"Mesameiach Choson im HaKaloh" sadness permeated all
those present ("Bitere Sheva Broches") .

"As Reb Yehoshua Heshel, their leader, an old J ew with
a wadded coat, thick side-locks, and a long fringed talis-koton
strikes the fiddle with the bow, winkes to his companions and
the Kasrilevke band shows its mettle. They briskly play a
"Freilechs", work on all cylinders, pluck on the strings, strum
on the bass, blow on the trumpets, pi peon the flutes and crash
the cymbals. The guests clap their hands, spread out, forming
an ever wider circle. The in-laws, men and women clasp each
other's hands and off they go in a merry round ("A Farshterte
Chasene").

It should be noted that wedding music in the shtetel consisted
of multicolored elements and combined music of many moods. It
included lively music welcoming the guests; stately music accom-
panying the in-laws and distinguished officiants; subdued music
following the entourage of the bride to the ritual bath; joyous music
at the headquarters of the groom; somber and melancholy music at
the veiling ("Bazetzen" and "Badeken") of the bride; merry music
at the "Mitzvah Tantz" and the boisterous "Freilachs" for public
dancing. While the task of the Badchan (or Marshelik) was to en-
tertain, his melodic recitations bore a moralistic, nay, pietistic
coloration. Scriptural quotations abounded throughout his sermonic
renditions. A brief musical interlude was often interposed between
specific subject matters. The latter delineated the moral requisites
and ritual obligations of a modest and pious J ewish wife. He ex-
tolled the virtues of Torah and Mitzvos and extended the good
wishes of the wedding guests. When, by good fortune, a good vio-
linist was available he improvised a musical sermon such as de-
scribed, in his inimitable manner, by Sholom Aleichem.

'The band played, the violin wept, the trumpet blasted,

the flute piped, the drum boomed: "Bam-bam-bam"! And my
heart - tik-tak! .. . ("Mem Ershter Roman").

"J ews everywhere considered it a great merit to have
heard Nisi Belzer sing. Godik, the Badchen entertain and
Stempenyu play ("Stempenyu").

With us, if a Cantor comes to concertize we run to buy
tickets for the event. And to hear the wedding musicians play
we consider a clear moral obligation. To hear the band play a
"selection" during the ceremony of the "Golden Soup" (first
food shared by the bridal couple) customarily something sad,
the merry tunes will come later —we will gladly give in ex-
change a sack of borsht. The audience sits reverently and the
band plays a melancholy and heart-rending tune. The fiddle
cries, the bow slides to the thick string and the other instru-
ments offer him sympathetic support. A strangely elegiac
mood hovers over the audience and this blend the mournful
sounds of the instruments with the morose thoughts of the
listeners. Every sob of the violin: "tioch-tioch-tioch" pene-
trates directly into the hearts of the wedding guests and finds
an echo there (ibid).

"... For, after all, the heart in general and particularly
the J ewish heart is no more than a fiddle; one plucks on the
strings and draws forth all sorts, but especially doleful and
gloomy songs. One only needs a real artist, a master, a musi-
cian such as Stempenyu was (ibid) ."

Surely, no more reliable measure of the author's affinity to
music need be cited than his descriptions of its effect on him.

"In short, with the help of God, Stempenyu was ready to
serenade the bride (bazetzen di Kaleh). I truly feel that my
pen is powerless to describe his serenading the bride. That was
no mere playing and thrumming; it was akin to a religious ser-
vice, a loftly worship of God in the highest and purest form.
Stempenyu stationed himself facing the bride and delivered a
beautiful, extended sermon on the fiddle. And Stempenyu sub-
merging his very being became totally absorbed in the playing
of such sad and gloomy tunes that those present remained
simply breathless, dead-a-dead audience! One's heart literally
melted, eyes were filled with tears. J ews sighed, and whined,
and cried. And Stempenyu? Who? What ? Where? You don't
see him. You see no fiddle. You only hear sweet, heavenly
sounds encompassing all space (ibid).

"I ceased noticing anything. I only heard some singing,
a sob, a cry, a moan, an almost-spoken word, a murmur, un-
earthly sounds such as I've never heard before! Echoes sweet
as honey and smooth as oil flowed ceaslessly into my heart.
And my soul-wafted aloft, far-far into another world, into a
Paradise of pure sound and total song.

"From their swaying and floating there emanated delicate
and rare voices, song after song, in perfect beauty and sweet-
ness, as the sounds of the Priests and Levites and the organ
in the Temple in days of yore, as described in our holy books
(ibid)."

Sholom Aleichem evinces — if not admiration, at least —
empathy and appreciation and, perhaps, attraction for the peri-
patetic life of a musician. For the artist he had undiluted adulation.

"Most band-musicians, they say, are less than devout.
Such is their profession, having to do with girls and women.
And on what occasions? At weddings, engagements. Far from
piety. Away from religious practices. And the garish attire
they adopt! ("Me'Hulyet")

"Avrom, the musician, is an artist, a real maestro. Music
he could not read. Yet he had his own compositions and played
so exquisitely that one could literally melt under the magic
of his hands. He was a kind of Stempenyu and perhaps even
a bit superior ("Funem Yarid").

"I saw a roundish fiddle with an odd belly. And fingers
that danced over the strings with such speed that a human
mind cant comprehend. Where does one get so many fingers?

"Forte — you scoundrel! Forte — Fortissimo! Time!
Beat . . . you Mamzer. Time! One, two, three! One, two,
three!" ('Tehatchek")

Musicianship was inbred in his family for generations.
His father, Berel-Bass played the bass-fiddle. Berel's father,
RebShmulik — the trumpet; his grandfather was Reb Feivish
Zimbalist and his great-grandfather — Reb Ephraim, a flutist.
In other words: Stempenyu is a descendant often generations
of musicians — and is not at all ashamed of it, as among us
— need we deny it? — many a laborer is embarassed with his
trade; and it is no wonder. Such a reputation as Stempenyu
had in Mazepevke, such fame as he acquired, almost, in the
whole world is no mean achievement. To merely pronounce the
name Stempenyu! ... ("Stempenyu")"

An even warmer, almost paternal, kinship did the author ex-
press toward the young choir singers, the wandering minstrels who,
deprived of parental supervision, exposed to severe taskmasters,
served as the exponents of the musical art of the synagogue.

'The choristers are by nature, good fellows — mostly
lively uninhibited youths but recently liberated from the nar-
row, dark cheider, from the melamed's biting cane or from a
repressive apprenticeship. Frankly, they were wild mustangs.
No matter what their origin they soon form a tight relationship,
think alike, eat from one pot and, piety discarded, they live
as in Paradise. To eat aplenty is the great desideratum: As
hungry locusts they devour the meals purchased at the local
taverns. Between rehearsals, smoking cigarettes, they leisurely
stroll through town. J oking and working they live to the hilt
("Yosele Solovey").

"No Sabbath of Blessing the New Moon passed without
the prior arrival of a wagon load of an odd assortment of lively,
famished group of people. Though clad like ragamuffins their
throats were protected by warm, woolen scarves. Like locusts
they attacked the kitchen, devouring everything that was
edible. It was a generally accepted axiom that if the group is
starved they are the choristers of some renowned hazzan.

Tor days the well-known hazzan "worked" on his throat,
vocalized, practiced his coloratura and swallowed raw eggs. And
the little singers were involved in all sorts of mischief. While
their voices may have been weak their appetites were strong.

'Their hunger sated, their thirst quenched, their singing

— at times — less than perfect but their bills were invariably
left unpaid ("Funem Yarid") ."

Marie W. Goldberg, the author's daughter describes the care
with which her father dressed before leaving for Yom Kippur ser-
vices. By all accounts Sholom Aleichem was not a daily — or
weekly — synagogue attendant but, without doubt, prayer held a
strong attraction for him. No more convincing evidence need be
cited than the following (autobiographical) passage.

"It was long since the young hero prayed so heartily and
with such fervor as he did that morning. He was already far
from piety. This, after all, was the age of enlightenment, when
being pious was a disgrace, when being a fanatic was worse
than being a debaucher or — according to current standards

— an apostate. But his strong emotions assumed a quality of

religious ecstasy and he sang aloud with complete abandon.
At the Amidah he broke into sobs and wept bitterly and with-
out restraint. After this tearful experience he felt lighter as
if a heavy burden were removed from his heart ("Funem
Yarid') ."

For many years, concurrent with his literary career, Sholom
Aleichem was involved in commerce, the stock market and assorted
business ventures. For a brief period he served as a (government-
appointed) Crown-Rabbi. These activities necessitated extended
travels — domestic and foreign. Whenever opportunities arose he
visited local synagogues and — in his stories — recorded his im-
pressions. In a pithy phrase or subtle nuance he tells us his re-
actions to the service, to the hazzan.

An analysis of his comments reveals (1) the standards he set
for hazzanim and (2) his fondness for the old-fashioned hazzanim
and ba-alei tefiloh. The economic difficulties of the latter were a
serious concern to him.

"A hazzan is not an actor. Of course, the worshipper likes
to hear fine singing, masterful interpretation, perhaps even
some novel artistry, etc. The hazzan, however, must not forget
that he is a Sheliach Tzibur, a congregational representative,
a defense attorney, a deputy and is therefore expected to be
a man of noble habits, a fine J ew and not a shiftless, irre-
sponsible lout (hefker-yung) because a Beis Hamidrash is not
a theater ("Yosele Solovey").

"When Yosele Solovey lived a pious and modest Jewish
life has davenen had a quality of utmost sweetness and incom-
parable charm. Later, when he abandoned the former style of
his life the congregants lost their taste for his singing. A fine
Ba-al Tefiloh is he, they said with sarcasm, playing cards, eat-
ing tereifos, strolling with maidens. Some Ba-al Tefiloh! (ibid)

"Where have you acquired such poses? Esther once asked
him. I learned them from Pitze's tenor, he replied, who assured
me this is the way they sing in the theater; body stiffly drawn
up, hands outstretched and every limb in motion (ibid).

Reb Melech, the hazzan, died at Neil ah like a saint. Reb
Melech was a handsome Jew with a long beard. Since early
morning he stood at the pulpit with hands uplifted in prayer
before the master of the universe, humbly appealing and earn-
estly pleading for mercy in behalf of those who appointed him

as their spokesman; for forgiveness of their many sins and for
the blessings of a new year.

On such an advocate as was Reb Melech the worshippers
of the old Beis Hamidrash could safely rely. To being with —
his voice. The older ba-alei batim recalled that as a youth Reb
Melech had a phenomenal voice, the roar of a lion; when he
opened his mouth the walls shook and the windows rattled.
Furthermore, he was easily moved to tears and when he cried
his tears flowed as from a faucet. Seeing him cry was infectious
and soon the whole congregation was weeping.

Reb Melech lifted his arms as if in a debate with the
Almighty employing that doleful meilah melody: "Oy veh,
Tate! Oy veh, Foter! Oy veh ..." He rested a bit, caught
his breath and again raised his voice in an old-fashioned
tremolo: "Atunem, nem, nem, de-e-ei, e-e-ei" and concluded
the passage with an entreating: "Oy veh! Oy veh!" And
suddenly there was silence ... Reb Yozefel proved with
incontrovertible evidence based on numerous biblical verses and
Midrashic exegesis that thus only a saint dies. Such a death
should be the envy of everyone ("Ihm meg men mekane
zeyn").

"So it has to happen to no less a person than a hazzan,
a spokesmen of religion! Who will permit him to officiate at
the pulpit? Well you may ask: how will he earn a living?
Not to mention the shame of it all for the members of the
Cold Synagogue; why did it have to happen to the hazzan of
their synagogue? ("Funem Yarid")

"How do you account for such a learned J ew to be a fool?
If only, in addition to his scholarship, he would be more pushy,
don't you think he could have been chosen to be our rabbi?
But, you say, what will we do with the old rabbi? By the same
logic you could ask: what will we do with the old hazzan?
Was it really necessary to engage a new hazzan in order to have
the old hazzan, who, by the way, was no mean pauper even
previously, starve? The reason is being given that our local
man of wealth suddenly acquired a taste for singing! Let him
go to the treayter and he'll hear singing till he bursts at the
seams ("Monologen-Genz").

"Shmulik listened to her with closed lips and left with his
singers to compose a new "Od Yizkor Lonu" for Rosh Has-
honoh. When Zlate returned from the market he was engaged

in a rehearsal of a "Mechalkeil Chayim," a "Veye-esoyu" or
simply in vocalizing ( "Y osele Solovey" ) .

"Yoselewas his entire support at the pulpit. While Yosele
used to indulge in all his vocal tricks and trills Shmulik en-
joyed a welcome opportunity to rest and to recoup his strength
for the remainder of the service (ibid).

"So I, thank God, found my first position. I became the
guide of an old hazzan who, once upon a time, was famous,
somewhere. I n his old age he became totally blind and had to
go from house to house begging alms. My position would not
have been bad were it not for his unpredictable, capricious
habits which were unbearable. He was never, but never, satis-
fied. He pinched and poked, and pushed and pulled, and
turned and twisted, and scratched and screamed. I did not
lead him — he argued — to the proper places. Where the
proper places were, I have as yet not learned ("A Mensh Fun
Buenos Aires") ."

Reading the works of Sholom Aleichem we are transported
back a century into the drab but aspiring life of theshtetel. While
one still praises a hazzan because "one always knows where in the
prayers he is up to and what text he is chanting" ("Motel") ex-
pectations rise and greater demands are made in the area of syna-
gogue music. Of particular interest are the numerous instances of
self-taught musicians in the field. A proliferation of autodidacts
took place. Experiments — musical and vocal — were common-
place. We encounter the old-style Ba-alei Tefiloh who are eager to
improve their calling by crumbs of "modernism". We meet the
"voiceless" hazzanim who, having mastered the rudiments of music,
delight audiences with "novel" choral selections, topped with solos
and duets. And we observe — sometimes with admiration and oc-
casionally with good humored derision — the attempts of "modem"
cantors to ape customs and practices foreign to the traditional
synagogue.

"Such a Ba-al Tefiloh was Shmulik Yampoler. His voice
was "a roar of a lion" augmented by a falsetto, a sort of a
highly focused echo-like sound which he artfully manipulated.
With his "Mimkomcho" — "borrowed" from the Krutianer —
he enthralled us. His voice was mellow and he was a Hebrew
scholar blessed with clear enunciation. His chanting was pure
gold and silver. If our Shmulik — it was often said — had
only studied notes he would be superior to the greatest haz-
zanim.

"He, surely, outshone Pitze, Mitze and Yeruchom as well
as other, so called, modern cantors. Our Shmulik! If he only
wants to he can still produce a neat little Keser with a first
class "volechel" better than those maestros together with their
choirs.

"On the Holy Days, Shmulik was assisted by his own son,
Yosele, the possessor of a penetrating little voice and accom-
panied by a choir consisting of a bass and a screamer — and
that's all. The rest was attended to by his own "blessed"
throat. The "pieces" that he "premiered" for each festival were
afterwards sung by the populace throughout the year — sung
during meals or hummed while walking.

"Of such things as notes Shmulik had no knowledge. That
is, he had heard that there are Cantors who sing from written
notes but to actually seeing it done he did only once in his
life. That was when Pitze visited Mazepevke with his eighteen
choristers. Shmulik heard many cantors during his lifetime
but they all sang in the old style: that is either a "prepared"
selection or an "improvisation" — straight from the head. You
need no better example than the great Cantor of Paretz whom
Shmulik heard daven a Musaf at the Rebbe's court, entirely
without notes. The taste of that event will stay with him as
long as he'll live. But when Pitze arrived with his eighteen
assistants in Mazepevke Shmulik heard for the first time how
one davens with notes. He was so enthused by Pitze's davenen
that he was practically glued to his seat. 'That was Notes!
Notes!!" The whole Sabbath he walked around like a dead
man, unable to find a place for himself. 'That was Notes!"

. . . Having observed Shmulik's modest mannerisms and
having listened to his voice there arose in Pitze an irrepressible
urge to show his visitor some of the art of hazzanut and ac-
companied by his eighteen choristers he sang a few Sulzerian
compositions. Shmulik was completely overcome by emotion.
His eyes filled with tears. "Is anything wrong?" "It is only
now, Reb Pitze, that I realize the enormity of my incompe-
tence." sighed Reb Shmulik naively. "But here is my son
Yosele. Let him but grow up a bit, begin donning his Tefillin
and, God willing, I will apprentice him to a hazzan of renown;
to Pitze or Mitze or even to Yeruchom."

Yosele perceived all sorts of sweet sounds: low, deep-way-
down ones, middle ones, then ones and high, piercing ones
which together fused and merged harmoniously. And they, a

clear, sweet, pure solo which progressively diminished in volume

and in range until it vanished altogether.
//

. . . Yosele sang without effort; he didn't force, shout or
strain his voice. As if of themselves there flowed from his
throat — and from his heart and soul — such pleasant, soft
and sweet sounds that entered deep — deep into one's very
being. With all these attributes such natural artistry was evi-
dent in his voice, gliding smoothly up and down the scale and
executing intricate coloratura passages that all were dumb-
founded ('Yosele Solovey") .

"I listened to the sadly beautiful old nusach of the ancient
"Kol Nidrei" — a melody sung throughout the world. Later,
when the hazzan arrived at the verses of the tearful "Ya-a-leh"
which he sang tearfully with a tearful tune the tears of the
women increased considerably (Budapest).

In a light spirit I attended the services and heard a fine
hazzan who, although a bit artificial and indulged in peculiar
vocal gymnastics, warbled the "Lecho Dodi" like a nightingale,
ended the "Mizmor Shir" for the Sabbath as would a performer
at the theater, he sang the "Kegavno" so melodiously and with
such sweetness that one wished to hear it over and over again.
I have for years not heard such a hazzan, such a Kiddush and
such Zemiros as in Chabne ("Monologen-Chabne").

'The hazzan, Hersh Ber, is a real musician (menagen).
That is, as far as he is considered, he cannot sing; he, poor
fellow — my father says — has no voice. But he understands
the art. Of choristers he has fifteen and his bad temper is
legendary. He grants me an audience. I sing an intricate
"Mogein Ovos" He pats my head and tells my brother that
my voice is a soprano. He has an enormous tuning-fork which
he places first to his teeth then to his ear ("Motel").

"In the manner done by all large synagogue choirs the
choir attacked the "Mah Tovu" with full force ("Yosele
Solovey").

'The handsome hazzan, with the shaven countenance,
steps forward and launches into a "Mi Shebeirach" in the tra-
ditional Jewish manner — as our own Reb Hersh Ber would
do — and when he gets to the phrase "Ufas lo-orchim, utzdoko
lo-aniyim" (food for the wayfarer and charity for the poor)
he dedaimes with maudlin affectation — the devil take him
— (er nemt eyn a mise meshune) . The "Yayin leKidush

ulhavdoloh" he hurriedly dismisses but of the "Ufas lo-orchim"
etc. he makes a whole tzimes. He chops into it a "volechel"
(popular Roumanian tunes in the Ukranian-Dorian scale), re-
peats the "Ufas lo-orchim" at least thirty times, and again
"lo-orchim" and once more "lo-orchim". Then "Utzdokoh"
and, for good measure, reiterates endlessly "Utzdokoh lo-
aniyim". Finally, at long last, at "lo-aniyim" he gradually
descends, with a diminuendo, lower and lower and almost in-
audibly, in a falsetto, he whispers "lo-a-ni-yim". Then, of a
sudden, without warning he thunders forth: "Vechol . . . be-
emunoh!" And with a simulated pious expression he squeezes
the "be-e-mu-noh" as if Satan were after him. Reaching
"Veyishlach berocho" ... he reverts to their insane nusach
joined by the chorus and accompanied by the organ. This was
followed by a well-turned out Musaf.

"I should make mention of the Shemonoh Esrei. The
orderly stance of the congregation (may mine enemies so live! )
was admirable. Of actual praying — nothing need be said; no
one prayed — not a word. The prayers of the hazzan and the
sounds of the organ sufficed. But, you should have seen their
effect, motionless position! Like manikins they stood! No mo-
tion — no movement. Still — Sha! ("Meshugoim").

Some subjects — notably music and synagogue — seemed to
have exerted great attraction for Sholom Aleichem as a result of
which he returned to them frequently. An examination of these —
seemingly redundant — versions confirms our belief that although
the author was by instinct a traditionalist and reserved his most
favorable and sympathetic treatment for the old-fashioned "reli-
gion" and its functionaries the contemporary advancements made
in the music of the synagogue filled him with admiration and re-
ceived his approval. A comparison of the old with the new seems
worthwhile.

'The evening service is now in progress. Tzale, the haz-
zan of the Cold-Synagogue is at the pulpit with his two as-
sistants. One — a dark young man with fleshy, thick lips — a
bass. The other — an emaciated youth with a pale face — a
soprano. As for Tzale himself, a tall yellowish Jew, with a
golden voice, his nose bent like a shofar, his sidelocks as well
as his beard — yellow, thin and curled — appeared as if glued
on ("Hakofes").

'The noise and the excitement were so great that one can

hear neither the hazzan nor the choir. Futile were the con-
gregants' shouting- "Sha!" ... Of no effect — the shames'
Banging on the tattle t ^ t ("Funem Yarid").

"Such spendthrifts as the Ba-alei Batim of the Cold-
Synagogue in Mazepevke, search as you may, you wont find
in any part of the world. The sum they spend on hazzanim
in one year — according to local gossip — is the envy of all
and sundry. This is due to the fact that the congregants of
the Cold-Synagogue are — as is universally acknowledged —
exceptional connoisseurs of music. Such lovers of singing one
wont find no matter how widely one travels. When the re-
nowned Pitze comes to Mazepevke where does he daven? In
the Cold-Synagogue. Where can you hear Yeruchom? Or Nisi?
Or Mitze? In the Cold-Synagogue.

"It is not easy for them to select a Ba-al Tefiloh whose
chants they can enjoy while he wont embarass them before
visitors. Much water flows under the bridge until they find
the right hazzan who should be able to please everyone and
to satisfy their particular preferences. But, once having found
the right one, they will hold on to him permanently and he
will find all his needs catered to ("Yosele Solovey").

"He conducts a tuneless service. Amen! Concludes the
Rabbi his wonderful sermon and spontaneously there comes
the response of the entire chorus: "A-a-men!" I could have
sworn that I heard the sounds of a violin, a flute, a trumpet
and a contrabass. 'You have an orchestra playing here on the
Sabbath?" I ask quietly the sexton. "It's not an orchestra —
it's an organ". "What sort of an instrument is that?" "An
organ, haven't you heard, is what the Levites played in the
Holy Temple." "Oh! An Organ!" I reply. "Why didn't you
say so in the first place?" (Meshugoim-Di Roite Yidelech)

'The synagogue in Odessa is well worth a visit. To begin
with — they call it the Choir-Synagogue because it is topped
with a cupola and it has no "eastern" wall as all sit facing it.
And the hazzan (Pinye is his name and is he some hazzan?!)
though clean-shaven is a Hebrew scholar not in the same class
as your old dunce Moshe Dovid. Then you should hear what
he does with the "Berich Shemay" — it's out of this world,
the devil take him. To hear his "Mizmor Shir" for the Sabbath
is worth buying tickets for to see. His choristers, supplied with
narrow prayer-shawls surround him — is a pleasure! If
Sabbath were twice a week I'd attend services twice a week.

I really cant understand the local J ews who do not gotodaven
there. Though, truth to tell, even those who attend do not
daven. They sit under top-hats, like manikins, with well-fed
faces, wearing small prayer-shawls and — "Sha!" Should a
visitor wish to raise his voice a bit in prayer, he is immediately
approached by the Shames in a buttoned uniform and is
promptly silenced. Peculiar J ews, these in Odessa ("Menachem
Mendel")."

Since, notwithstanding a few lessons on the violin and a slight
acquaintance with the piano, Sholom Aleichem was no musician, it
is surprising to read both his penetrating analysis and incisive com-
ments on the subject of improvisation.

"When he came under the spell of melancholy he took his
fiddle, put the chain-lock on his door and, for three hours or
so, he improvised on his fiddle. Whatever motif came to his
mind he instantly played it. First it was something mournful
and desperate slowly becoming subdued and relaxed. Now, all of
a sudden, sounds of anger, increasing in volume reaching a
climax that was surprisingly interrupted by what sounded like
a deep sigh. The flames were now controlled, the storm abated
and somber, sweet melodies followed one another until again
the tunes assumed a livelier and merrier quality.

'True, this did not happen often. The desire for such
experiences were not frequent. However, when it surfaced, it
could not be repressed. Stempenyu's fantasies emerged bub-
bling, bursting forth as from a well with ever greater creativity
("Stempenyu").

"One with "soul" and sensitivity could hardly contain him-
self during a recital of this "free" music that was surely in-
capable of being notated. One, it seemed, heard the plea of
a broken heart to the Master of the Universe; a sort of prayer
for pity and grace; a prayer destined to find acceptance before
the Heavenly throne. It is related that the Rebbe of Rizhin
had his private orchestra that used to play while he sang the
praises of the Eternal. This is a concept worthy of a great
man possessing a highly poetic soul (ibid).

"Suddenly, a new motif appears in his mind, a new type
of nusach for "Ve-al Hamdinos". And Yosele slowly ascends
the scale and gradually increases the volume. And his voice
floats with ease throughout the vocal range encountering no
limits even in the highest register. His ideas flow freely and

he sings with abandon and with a coloratura so effortless that
it surprises him, weaving a melodic pattern, not quite knowing
where it will lead him and how it will all end ... ("Yosele
Solovey").

'Yosele sang utilizing no text — what hazzanim refer to
as "embellishing a motif" (nehmen a shtell). It was related
of the Vilner Balebeisel that when, on a Saturday night at the
first Selichos, he thus improvised, without a text, J ews were
bathed in tears due to the enchanting sounds. Thus did Yosele
begin to improvise. Novel motifs simply followed one another,
sweet tunes emanated from his throat and filled the hall. Then
he modulated to a sad, heartbreaking melody expressing plead-
ing and compassion. Meanwhile his voice maneuvered with
dexterity as if diving into and rising from deep waters; now it
assumed a color of such anger that the windowpanes quavered,
and now it modulated softly and sweetly, lower and lower as
if departing altogether; then sending, as from a distance,
smooth melodies interwoven with tricky trills reminiscent of
little peas rolling and descending, chasing each other with sur-
prising rapidity ... And now, as if suddenly reawakened he
combined in his passionate singing the qualities of both plea
and desperation (ibid) ."

Motel, the son of Paisy the hazzan (thej ewish Oliver Twist?)
presents us with the author's most precious characterizations. It
also depicts the laity in its relation to the song of the synagogue.
Finally, due to the hero's peregrinations, we are introduced to the
raucous sounds of the new world's teeming tenements. With subtle
sarcasm and inflated hyperbole Sholom Aleichem describes the crass
commercialism rampant among the uprooted masses. Motel, ever
conscious of his honored heritage, ("If the son of Paisyeh the haz-
zan should be seen smoking on the Sabbath — he deserves capital
punishment") is fated to utilize his inherited talent on the ship
bringing him and his dear ones to the Blessed Land.

"And who will lead the service? Sing "Kol Nidrei"? My
brother Eliyohu, of course. So what if he never was a cantor?
His father was one, and a famous one. A fine voice he has,
Hebrew he knows. What else does one need? Of immeasurable
help in getting an official invitation for my brother, were the
efforts of my friend Pinye. He helped circulate throughout the
ship the "secret" that this young man with the yellow beard
is a fantastic musician. His davenen — tremendous and, con-

fidentially, if his little brother (meaning me) should assist him
with his superlative soprano well have a Yom Kippur that will
be the envy of God and man. And we served up a "Kol Nidrei"
the passengers will remember for generations to come. And as
my brother Eliyohu was engrossed in his singing and I'm help-
ing him — in a distant corner. Among the women, stands my
mother in her silken festival-shawl, the prayer book in her
hands and is bathed in tears ("Motel").

"One doesn't expect a bearded young man, the son of
Paisyeh the hazzan to become a servant! However if Washing-
ton and Lincoln could perform manual labor it is no indignity
for the son of Paisyeh the hazzan to peddle sausages (ibid).

With the arrival of the month of Elul, the newspapers
were filled with advertisements for hazzanim, synagogues and
minyanim ("Monologen"),

What position should I seek? Apply for one as a hazzan?
I was never a shoemaker ... A ritual slaughterer? My father
never drove a horse and wagon ... A Reverend I surely
wont become because my knowledge of Hebrew is too good
. . . Perhaps a strictly Kosher butcher? But, in the old coun-
try, I never dealt in stolen horses (Monologen — Mr. Green
Hot a Job).

"Who's Sholom Aleichem of Sabbath eve may be compared
to his father's? Who's "Eishes Chayil" sounded as beautiful
as his father's? And the Kiddush? Every J ew makes Kiddush
but not on everyone rests the Divine Presence ("Funem
Yarid").

"Whenever he arrives at an inn or a hostelry and there
is a Minyan he wraps a red kerchief around his soiled Kaftan,
stations himself facing the eastern wall and recites the Mi ncha
prayers in a voice both hoarse and nasal, yet incorporating the
customary hazzanic frills ("Reb Moshe Velvel-Bal Agoleh").

"I don't know about you, but as for me, I confess to love
a weekday Mi ncha. I prefer one weekday "Shemonoh Esrei"
to ten hazzanic artistic selections, Sabbath —coloraturas and
festival modes. The "Shemonoh Esrei" of the yohrzeit on the
train was so full of heart and soul that it simply enervated us.
And it seemed to me that even the tenth one, the whistler, was
similarly affected. To hear a father say Kaddish after a son
is no small thing. Add to this the yohrzeit's warm, sweet voice
that poured as oil into our beings and, above all, the Kaddish.

Only a stone could remain untouched. In brief — that was a
Mincha to remember ("Eisenbahn Geshichtes-Der Tzenter") ."

It may have been said with tongue in cheek, but the characters
of Sholom Aleichem were in need of no confirmation of the fact that
they — above all others — are the true savants (Meivinim) when
music is considered. For the genuine Meivin, no study, no scholar-
ship, no professionalism is required. It is an innate, inalienable,
undoubted talent that every J ew can — and does — claim. Singing,
after all, is a "free" art in which everyone may — and, alas, does —
indulge. For let's not kid ourselves, there are some voices that are
better still ... In those exceptional cases, the author is entitled
to treat the matter in his merciful manner.

'That J ews love music and understand the art of musician-
ship will not be denied even by our enemies. Although, arguing
the reverse, we, but seldom get to hear it. Because due to
what great joy should we, of a sudden, indulge in song and
in dance? Nevertheless, say what you will, we are still the
great connoiseurs of singing and, likewise, of playing as well as
of other matters ("Stempenyu").

Wine — that is one of the three things on which we are
the greatest specialists in the world (the other two are: music
and diamonds). But then it is no wonder, for what J ew dis-
likes music? Which Jew hasn't heard such world-renowned
hazzanim as Yeruchom, Pitze, Benny, Bezalel, Nisi Belzer,
Boruch Karliner, Blumenthal, Bachman, Pinye Minkowsky and
such other famous world- Hazzanim? And, in case he himself
hasn't heard them, others did. What's the difference? We have
an instinctive understanding of the musical art ("Arba
Koises").

"When they call him to the Torah and he chants the
Maftir like a bell, sings the benedictions like a nightingale;
then — "Aha!" From above, in the women's gallery, there ap-
pear female noses and feminine eyes. On the noses is clearly
evident — envy. ("Shmuel Schmelke Un Zein Yubileum").

"Until she reached the age of fifteen or sixteen, Rochele
used to sing free as a bird; no matter whether a "Nakdishcho",
a "Kevakoras", a chasidic melody or an orchestral tune. What-
ever she sang with her pleasant voice and modest mieu was a
delight to hear ("Stempenyu").

"Master of the World! What sort of ingredient is there

in J ewish singing and playing that produces such a mood of
melancholy?! ("Bittere Sheva Broches").

'Traveling thus through the forest I raise my voice and
sing a tune. A festive joy fills my heart and I launch into
"Veye-esoyu, Vechol Ma-ami nim" and into passages from
"Hal I el" ('Tevye-Heintige Kinder").

"In the morning we hastened to arise a little earlier and
commence the "Adon Olam" with the old, well-known nusach
("Motel").

"Shimon Elye-Shema Koleinu, so called because at ser-
vices his habit was to sing with enthusiasm, holler with excite-
ment, effervesce in the highest vocal register and effuse a spirit
of frenzy. In addition he possessed a fairly good voice though
a bit shrill and throaty. But he memorized all the proper
nuschaot and melodies for practically the whole liturgy and he
loved the pulpit with a life-consuming love. He was also the
Gabai in the synagogue of the tailors and received, as expected,
thunderious slaps on SimchasTorah at assigning the verses of
"Atoh Horeiso" ("Der Farkishefter Shneider").

"I can see why the glass-cutter wants to daven in the
synagogue of the glazers, why the meat-cutters prefer the
Butchers' Synagogue and the Melamed prays with the Luba-
vitcher. Every bird to his flock — everyone to his profession.
But you widower, why do you insist on crowding into the old
synagogue to hear Si rota? Are you really such a meivin of
music? You should hear this bird's "Zemiros" on the Sabbath.
A misfortune on him! The voice of a slaughtered rooster with
the ambitions of a songbird! He so stupefies you with his
off-key "Boruch She-ochalnu" that you cannot get rid of the
sound all day Sunday ("Der Yomtovdiger Tzimes").

The year 1899 was a crucial one in the history of the Yiddish
folksong. In that year Peretz published (in the German J ournal:
"Urquell") the first collection of Yiddish folksongs (he had col-
lected about fifty). In the same year Ginsburgand Marek launched
their collection — a major effort resulting in the gathering of ap-
proximately four hundred songs — by inserting announcements in
various periodicals requesting readers to write down, have notated
and send in all the folksongs known to them.

It was also in 1899 that Sholom Aleichem learned of an obscure,
semi -assimilated lawyer in Kiev (where the author then resided)
who dabbled in composing Yiddish songs which he sang to the

delight of all at intimate gatherings. "Bring the bird to me" re-
quested Sholom Aleichem. Thus he met and formed a warm friend-
ship with Mark Markewitch Warshawsky. The latter was a shy
and retiring person and it took considerable persuasion to have
Warshawsky write down and collect the songs he composed "in his
mind'. While the composer was able to accompany himself on the
piano he had difficulty in writing down the melodies.

Sholom Aleichem cajoled, urged, helped, saw to the publication
(in 1901) of the book of songs and wrote the foreward for the first
edition as well as for the second edition (in 1914).

'Three-four years ago, a number of his acquaintances — I
among them — chanced to hear him play and sing his Yiddish
songs and we all became enthused. We heard a new type of
song and we felt a novel flavor, a particular sweetness both in
the text as well as in the melodies. And we implored him to
write them down. We finally persuaded him to dictate the text
to me and the melodies to a musician to notate them.

"In the early days, at Zionist gatherings, the dessert con-
sisted of stories by Sholom Aleichem. Later, the songs of War-
shawsky were added. They were acclaimed by throngs till the
walls perspired. Virtually every evening they dragged us from
Kretchatchik to Podol and from Podol to Kretchatchik. Since
then one may hear these songs sung in many J ewish homes
here in Kiev as well as in other cities. In these songs are re-
flected, as in clear waters, the gamut of Jewish life; its joys
and its grief, its travails, its poverty and its tears."

A year and a half after their publication Sholom Aleicham
arranged, in his own house, a celebration of the event. These, inci-
dentally, were the happiest days in Warshawsky's life. At that time
he received a position as an agent, representing a Belgian Hardware
Company but shortly thereafter, following a brief illness, he died.

Not the least of Sholom Aleichem's accomplishments was his
help in the publishing and popularizing the songs of Warshawsky
many of which: "Teiere Malke"; "Hecher-Beser"; "Kinder mir
hoben Simchas Toire" "Di Mechutonim Geien; Kinder"; "Dos Lied
Fun Broit"; "Di Bobe and Oifen Pripetchok" have achieved the
status of folksongs.

Neither before nor after Sholom Aleichem has there been a
writer who so understood and loved J ewish music and musicians.

TODROS THE CANTOR

Interviewed by MlCHAEL MlNER

Todros Greenberg, at 83, looks back on his life and shares his
memories with our readers. We glean more than one cantor's per-
sonal history, but the history of a remarkable generation of Jews,
now almost gone, that served as the bridge between two great Jewish
communities — Eastern Europe and America. Zf there is still a
vibrant and recognizable Jewish life in America today, it is in no
small measure owing to Todros Greenberg and his contemporaries
who armed with nothing more than their faith, their people's history
and their determination to see these both survive, built a life and
a community on this continent which, despite its imperfections,
bears still the unmistakable stamp of the seed of Abraham.

We have all too few such bits of oral history about cantors of
the immigrant generation. It is our hope that Greenberg' s moving
biographical account will inspire others to record their own life
stories for us and for posterity.

In addition to almost four decades of service as a hazzan,
Greenberg is well known as a teacher, composer and scholar.

My life? Oh, there is nothing sensational. Between 38 and 40
I lost my eyesight. I got up in the morning, Saturday morning, and
everything was black. So I thought — maybe the window shade.
I put my hands out and I saw that the window shade isn't there.
So I went to a doctor — I still remember him, Dr. Emil Braun, an
old eye specialist — and he kept me for six hours in his office. And
then he told me "Cantor Greenberg, you're an intelligent man. You
had a hemorrhage in both eyes. We can't take out the eyes and
take out the hemorrhage."

I had these shivers. So he told me the blood is still warm. He
told me that might take a day or two, it'll cool off and it won't bother
you, but that you won't be able to use it. But one thing he told me
— "I want that you should promise me not to go to no doctors. Be-
cause you'll ruin yourself. You'll ruin your family. That is it for
you. It's a case that happens very seldom. Sometimes it happens in
one eye. But this time it happened in both eyes." And really, that
is what I went through. . . .

I was raised in a very poor house. I forgot who wrote it —
"Hunger, Hunger." Somebody wrote a book about how life was
miserable. No comparison to my life. I had eight sisters. My father

Reprinted from Chicago Sun-Times, August 25, 1974.

was a very poor man. He was a scholar, an intelligent man. For
breakfast, or even lunch, a piece of herring. A little piece of herring.

We used to buy the head from the herring. Everybody had a
piece, a glass of tea and a piece of bread. What else? Grapes and
watermelons was very cheap. A piece of bread and a piece of
watermelon was breakfast some times. Watermelons were three
kopeks. A kopek was like a penny. They had marvelous grapes,
the best. The Ukraine — they used to call it the mother earth.

But the government was very bad. Very bad. Not only to the
J ew but especially to the J ew. My mother or my father would take
me to the store and buy me a pair of new shoes. They used to buy
them for five or ten or twenty kopeks. Twenty cents per shoe.
So you can imagine what kind of shoes they were. Life was very,
very miserable.

We lived most of the time in Odessa. I had an uncle that was
a cantor, too. He found out that I had an exceptional alto voice
with a high range. My uncle was in the reserves. He had to go to
the J apanese War (1904). Most of the J ews didn't care to stay and
help Russia. So he went to Austria and he took me with him. I
could get out but he could not, so he paid I imagine about 20 . . .
35 rubles. All over the border you could find a certain person that
takes you over. They took you on their shoulders and they took
you over to the other side. The other side was Austria. This was
Russia. Legally you couldn't go.

You see, he (the uncle) needed me. He used to make money on
me because I was a child prodigy. I used to sing arias and folk
songs and Jewish and Hebrew prayers. He traveled with me all
over Austria, Hungary, Budapest, Bucharest. I love very much
Hungary. It's the most beautiful I've ever seen. I was in Berlin,
too, but it doesn't compare to Budapest. The cleanliness! The
people! Very honest people, and most of them lived very good.
We traveled to all the big cities and small towns until I lost my
voice. You know the change. And then I started thinking. What
am I going to do? I have no other profession. I have nothing. I
was at that time about 17 years old.

So I came back to Russia and I came to the town where my
father was. Zivotow, in the state of Kiev. It's a little town, about
400 population. And my father tried to praise his son so he said
my son is a cantor already, and I wasn't. But they put me out to
the pulpit and I did perform. And they liked it! You know a
J ewish cantor at that time — and I'm not talking about now, don't
forget it must have been 1909 or 1908 — and at that time they will

not accept a cantor without a wife. He must be married. He
shouldn't have to go around to look for women. They want him to
be pure.

So it happened that there was a J ew that was the president
of the congregation, and he had a lot of girls in his house — boys
and girls. I used to go in there. A cousin of mine lived next door,
so he told me, What's the difference, as long as you have a wife.
The president has so many girls. Let him pick out a girl and get
married." So I said to myself, 'That's not a bad idea. I'll have a
wife and I'll have a job." And I decided to.

I got acquainted to one of the girls, by the name Raysel, then
I got married. The story of my marriage could be an episode. You
see, when I was in the little town I was a choirleader before my
(adult) voice came. She wanted to study, she loved music and she
wanted to study Hebrew. And she had a beautiful library of books,
music. She loved Russian folk music. And I loved it very much.
I used to take a walk in the fields and I heard them sing. I adopted
certain melodies and put them in our prayers.

I went to a J ewish cheder. That was a school just for J ews.
Hebrew and prayers and the Torah, the Bible. Otherwise you could
not go to school. You see we had a per cent. If in the neighbor-
hood where you live there's a hundred non-J ewish that go to school,
they'll accept one Jew. One per cent. So it was pretty hard to
study there in Russia for a Jew. The life of the Jew was very
miserable there.

It's not so much the people that were in Russia. Fact is, the
muzik, what we call him, the plain farmer, was a goodhearted fel-
low. But the government was as rotten as the rest. The czar Nick-
olai and Alexandrovich, the second and the third and the last one,
they were murderers. They need something to blame. Go hate the
J ew! Rob the J ew! And they didn't care what.

I remember a picture I will never forget. I was in the street
and I had my grandfather, and suddenly I looked up and some-
body hit him with a stone and he dropped dead. Dead on the street.
And mind you, on the corner there was a policeman because in
Odessa on almost every corner there was a policeman. He didn't
even turn. He was still alive a little bit. I remember him, he told
me, 'Todros, run home. Run home." And he went down and died.
So that's one more picture.

My wife's parents were well-to-do but not rich. When I got
married they promised me 500 rubles. I didn't take it because, at
that time, I told them our mind is settled that we are going to

America. It was 1913, a year before the first World War. I wasn't
afraid they would take me, because my eyes were never good. So
we decided to go to America. I told them they'd have to pay my
expenses to America, so they gave me, I don't remember, 300
rubles, 400 rubles. It was about 200 dollars. The dollar was two
rubles. I went in the boat for 24 days. It was terrible. It was
with cattle. I landed in Galveston, Texas. It was the first time
people landed in Galveston. Most of them landed in New York.

I came to Kansas City, Missouri, because my wife had a
brother who came to America the year before. They told me that
there was a position open and I performed in an audition, and
they seemed to like it, otherwise they wouldn't accept me, and I
stayed thereuntil 1919.

My wife came in 1914 from Russia at the beginning of the war.
She was on the last boat. If I had waited another month, two
months, I could not have brought her back. At the same time I
received a telegram to meet my wife at the station, I received a
telegram from Odessa that my father passed away. The same day.
My father died young. He was 54 years old. My mother was always
the sick person but my father died young. My mother lived till
about 72, 73. I didn't know even that he was sick. And he wasn't
sick. But he was neglected. I'm sure that he would be sick here but,
I don't know, they watch more than they did there.

In 1919 there was a synagogue here — maybe you pass by it,
Ashland and Polk — considered the top Orthodox congregation here.
And they needed a cantor. I had a friend from Kansas City and
he knew the president of the shul (synagogue) so he says, What's
going on at the Shul?' So he says, 'We have a problem. Our
cantor left us." So my friend told him, 'There is a young fellow,
I don't know if he's married or not. I think he's married, yeah. He
lives in Kansas City." And I suppose he gave a good recommenda-
tion.

They wired me I should come for an audition and I came and I
accepted the position. But I stayed only one year and then this
congregation took me — K.J . ... Kehilath Jacob — and I stayed
there about 35 years. It's a strict Orthodox synagogue.

I try to write music, songs, but my main language that I
possess is Yiddish, J ewish or Russian. English — I'm not so up-to-
date. When I was 20 years old I published 37 songs. I was real
much interested in music. I organized a school here. At that time
we were connected with the College of J ewish Studies and I hap-
pened to be the dean of the music department — in the cantor ial
school, And I had lots of students. I have published about four,

five, six publications. My students, especially two of them, are
working on a big publication. This will have almost everything I
have composed.

You know we have prayers for the high holidays. The fact
is the Conservative movement changed a lot of prayers. They made
them beautiful, there's no question about it. But the strict Ortho-
dox does not agree with them. I was raised under strict Orthodox
but now when the prayers are changed we have to change the words
too. Everybody agrees the prayer books are beautiful, but it's a
little hard for me, especially when I have problems with my eyes.
At least it gave me something to work.

And that was my life in short. But six years ago my wife got
sick and I got sick. There was a doctor Horowitz, he was an eye
doctor but now he became only nose, throat and ears. So when he
looked at my throat he said, "I 'm sorry Cantor Greenberg, your
vocal chords are paralyzed. You should be glad at least you'll be
abletotalk. Because sometimes when the vocal chords are getting
paralyzed . . ."

My wife died about three years ago in this place. I lived with
her for 60 years. She was a very lovely woman. I ntelligent and also
a musician. She loved music. So it was all right with me. I had
two children with her. One, my older daughter, a musician, married
a rabbi. A Conservative rabbi. And she passed away about 30
years ago. So now I've got one daughter, and her husband is also
a rabbi in Gary, Indiana. So that's almost everything in a nutshell.

And now I 'm doing very little. As far as life is concerned . . .
You get used to some things. If ten years ago somebody would tell
me that I 'II come in a home, to stay in a home . . . Please, I must
tell you the home is marvelous. The home is very good, outstand-
ing. They take so much care. The food is the best and they have
good doctors. The room is OK. The only thing is, I don't know
what to do with myself! I am blind. And I have problems with my
feet. So what's the use, today, when you cannot produce, when
you can't do what you did? Does it pay to live all day for three
cups of coffee? I don't think it does. But that's it, take it or leave
it.

I 'II tell you, I 'm a coward by nature. You see I have no luck.
Maze/. I told myself, when I would go to the building of the twentieth
floor and jump I wouldn't get killed. I would just break my feet.
So that's why I don't want to take chances. If I would know that
I would get killed — but luck is not with me. So — break my head,
my nose, my ears. But listen, the fact is I 'm a cowardly person.

(Greenberg puts a record on his portable phonograph and listens

to himself sing. The keening voice is strong and graceful and Green-
berg mouths the words of the prayers his old voice is singing.)

I tell you, about three years ago I decided ... the fact is
this is not a commercial record ... I come to the conclusion to
myself, well, I may be too old ...so I decided what could I leave
for my grandchildren ... my great-grandchildren ... for my family
... my nieces ... my nephews? Money I have not got, so I decided
it would cost me a few hundred dollars and I'll leave them with this.
So once in a while, ten years from now, twenty years from now . . .
"Let's hear it again, papa." "Let's hear father." You see I have
here — tapes. So from the tapes I made the records . _ .

I used to sing beautiful. Especially in Hungarian and Russian.
That was my pride . . . You see, a J ew is a businessman. You know
the J ew, the type of J ew. And if a J ew keeps a rabbi or a cantor for
35 years he must have been good. Otherwise they wouldn't keep
me on hand 35 days.

You see a congregation is built — I would say, 40-50 per cent
is the members that they have, but that wouldn't cover the ex-
penses. So they figure 50 per cent will come from outside. You
see, the public who come in each shul, they depend upon the cantor,
or the rabbi. It's competition all over. Even the religious life.

Years ago a congregation kept a cantor three years, four years,
two years, a year. They used to change around. Now they stay
for years and years. So I have no kick coming. I mean as far as
my profession is concerned. I made a nice living and I raised two
fine children, one of whom passed away. So I have no kick coming
against America. I was happy. Especially when a J ew comes from
Russia ... he has to struggle for a livelihood — he still is happy.

At first I lived on Ashland Boulevard when I was a cantor
there for a year. At Ashland and Polk there's a big synagogue and
now the Greeks bought it I think. And then I lived on Douglas
Boulevard for 29 years, in one flat, and then I moved here, I think,
for about six years. You see, time with me is something — I remem-
ber things that happened 50, 60, 70 years. What happened yester-
day I don't know.

I did get up once in the morning and I think "Is it morning?
Is it noon?" I knew I had to go to eat but I didn't ... I think,
"Is it morning?" But then I look at myself! I was dressed! It
couldn't be morning. I wouldn't sleep with my suit! So now the
question is, is it noon or is it supper? Somebody pass by and came
in and said hi, tells me "How do you feel?" So I ask him — I was
ashamed — I ask him "Do we have to go to eat?' "Oh no, you
still got time. You know supper'll be at five o'clock." So then I

found out it was three and then some. I suppose I came from lunch
and took a nap.

But the home I'm telling you is worth a million dollars. Such
a good home! We have a synagogue here. We pray every day. We
have the moon prayer at the beginning of the month, give us life,
happiness, and everything that is good. We also pray every day
the same thing. No, if prayers would help I would pray day in and
day out . . . You see religion, when you start, either believe or
don't believe. Don't start to making this out, this in, this out. You
start to rationalize, nothing will be left. You know, you are a J ew
or you're not . . .

Sometimes I envy a strict religious man. I myself am not so
strict. Because if something happens with him, well this is the way
that God has most wanted him, I am then blind, well God wanted
you should be blind. So in other words I have nothing to do with it.
It's God's deed. He has to lean upon somebody. So the nearest to
his heart is God.

To be honest with you . . . there are between three, four billion
people on this world. It happens there are rare cases such as mine.
I don't believe that it's God's doing. If he did it, why? why? why?
You see it was about two weeks ago I was lying down listening to
the radio, so then I start to cry. I 'm a very easy crier. I can cry
for any little thing. So I start to cry and I feel . . . "God, why did
you do it?" I had about seven, eight boys, they came for my help,
and I have God and I want to give it to them but I can't. So I
start to cry and then I ask," God why did you do it God? Why did
you? At least take one eye and leave me one eye." But then I told
myself, 'Todros, what kind of fool are you? Aren't you glad at least
God didn't takeaway your mind? You still have your mind. You
should be happy with your mind alone." And that is it. If I'm
right or wrong, it makes no difference. Why? Why? Why? Who can
give an answer? Nobody can answer. Nobody can, no. It's foolish. . ,

The Talmud says that a person shall not praise himself. Some-
body else shall praise you. But if nobody knows you, how can you
expect they should praise you? They don't know you. King Solomon
says ... he came into this town and he said, "I am Solomon." No-
body believed him. So he says, "If you come in a strange town and
nobody knows you and you want to be known, you're allowed to
praise yourself. Don't be afraid. But don't overdo it."

You see, I tried to live a nice life and I had a nice life. Please
God, my children, my grandchildren, not to be ashamed of their
grandfather!

MUSIC SECTION

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Vinaver. They were commissioned by Hazzan Saul Meisels for the
Temple on the Heights, Cleveland, Ohio.

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RECORD REVIEW

Morton Shames

MUSIC FROM ANSHE EMET SYNAGOGUE OF CHICAGO
Featuring Cantor Moses J . Silverman with
Burton H. Seal in at the Organ

Cantor Moses J . Silverman has been the Hazzan of Anshe Emet
Synagogue for over thirty years, and it is indeed an honor to him
that in recognition of the congregation's centennial year they have
issued this album.

There is no doubt that Hazzan Silverman is a most gifted man
with a very beautiful voice and a great talent as an exponent of the
music and liturgy of our people. It is a voice of great range and
flexibility, and encompasses many moods. He is a gifted interpreter
of the texts. There are moments of great beauty, as in the compo-
sition "Hineni" which he sings with understatement and deep fervor.
On the other hand there are times when the intonation is not good,
especially in some of the exclamatory attacks in the upper register.
It is difficult, however, to tell whether this is, in fact, a fault of
the recording which was made from tapes recorded on different oc-
casions in the synagogue. Hazzan Silverman's falsetto is uncanny
in its purity and beauty, and he uses it with great effect.

The compositions are mostly those composed by the Hazzan
himself in traditional style. They include, in addition to the
"Hineni" which is inventive and interesting, "Sim Shalom", "Elohai
N'tzor,", and "Modim"; but there is a sameness about the other
compositions. The balance between the organ (played beautifully
by Burton H. Scalin) is often uneven, and, in many instances, al-
though you hear the organ, does not give the feeling of presence.
This is true also of the choir in "Kol Nidre" where it is difficult
to hear them. There is also a short cello obligatto in that composition
which unfortunately is almost inaudible.

Hazzan Silverman is indeed a sheliach tzibbur in the finest sense
and his talents in this field are on the highest level possible. It is
unfortunate that these technical shortcomings take away from the
beauty and artistry of the artist and the music. Yet, I am delighted
to own the album and I would urge every lover of synagogue music
to place it in his record library. (The record may be obtained from
the Anshe Emet Synagogue.)

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