Chillul Tefila Bifarhesia, as well as halachicly challenged verbiage and dress, are external manifestations of a critical lack of personal yiras shomayim which has lethal consequences.
If the hills are alive with the sound of Julie Andrews’ music, then Cantor Jacob “Jackie” Mendelson would have viewers believe that Brooklyn is once again to be alive with the sound of Chazzanut. Mendelson – championing the unlikely banner “Chazzanut is in the air” – sings duets with butchers, bakers and just about anyone else (albeit no candlestick makers) who, if not willing, is at least receptive to being bullied into a take of the High Holiday “Hineni” or “Sheyibaneh Beis Hamikdash.” But watching “A Cantor’s Tale” at the Washington Jewish Film Festival at the DC JCC, I was immediately struck by the uncanny feeling that my brave companion and I were just about the only two audience members under the age of 50. I am not about to say how much under 50, but suffice to say that this Brooklyn, in which the documentary tried to map Chazzanut, is not one I recognize. Sure, I’ve been known to down my Dr. Brown’s Cel Rey soda as quickly as the next guy, but vinyl records, punch ball and talking of the Brooklyn Dodgers over blintzes at Ratner’s, all the while looking classy in hats and humming “Moshe Koussevitzky,” is hardly the Park Slope hippie, Chassidic reggae scene that I have come to know. The documentary is like the rules of baseball to the uninitiated. I am by no means a student of Chazzanut, but I saw Neil Shicoff perform his Chazzanut-inspired Eleazar in the Metropolitan Opera’s revival of “La Juive,” and I heard Jackie Mason’s little Chazzanut rendition in his recent “Jackie Mason: Freshly Squeezed” (both previously reviewed in this column). I am sure this makes me atypical of my generation in my exposure to Chazzanut, which begs the question: Is Chazzanut here to stay? Mendelson’s answer is decidedly positive, if he has any say in it. To an old gentleman behind a Brooklyn bakery counter, with thick plastic glasses on his nose, coffee urns over his left shoulder and challah in front of him on the counter, Mendelson says, “Prove my point, baby,” as the man sings “Hineni.” In the Shem Tov Bakery, Mendelson gets a man in beard and Yankees cap, with a counter full of danish and other pastries, to render in freygish, “Shir hamaalot mimaamakim.” At Schick’s Gourmet Bakery, Mendelson orders a world famous black-bottom chocolate chip cheese cake, as he listens to a man with a beard and a black hat sing “Sheyibaneh Beis Hamikdash” from behind the counter.
Mendelson – championing the unlikely banner “Chazzanut is in the air” – sings duets with butchers, bakers and just about anyone else (albeit no candlestick makers) who, if not willing, is at least receptive to being bullied into a take of the High Holiday “Hineni” or “Sheyibaneh Beis Hamikdash.”
But watching “A Cantor’s Tale” at the Washington Jewish Film Festival at the DC JCC, I was immediately struck by the uncanny feeling that my brave companion and I were just about the only two audience members under the age of 50. I am not about to say how much under 50, but suffice to say that this Brooklyn, in which the documentary tried to map Chazzanut, is not one I recognize. Sure, I’ve been known to down my Dr. Brown’s Cel Rey soda as quickly as the next guy, but vinyl records, punch ball and talking of the Brooklyn Dodgers over blintzes at Ratner’s, all the while looking classy in hats and humming “Moshe Koussevitzky,” is hardly the Park Slope hippie, Chassidic reggae scene that I have come to know.
The documentary is like the rules of baseball to the uninitiated. I am by no means a student of Chazzanut, but I saw Neil Shicoff perform his Chazzanut-inspired Eleazar in the Metropolitan Opera’s revival of “La Juive,” and I heard Jackie Mason’s little Chazzanut rendition in his recent “Jackie Mason: Freshly Squeezed” (both previously reviewed in this column). I am sure this makes me atypical of my generation in my exposure to Chazzanut, which begs the question: Is Chazzanut here to stay?
Mendelson’s answer is decidedly positive, if he has any say in it. To an old gentleman behind a Brooklyn bakery counter, with thick plastic glasses on his nose, coffee urns over his left shoulder and challah in front of him on the counter, Mendelson says, “Prove my point, baby,” as the man sings “Hineni.” In the Shem Tov Bakery, Mendelson gets a man in beard and Yankees cap, with a counter full of danish and other pastries, to render in freygish, “Shir hamaalot mimaamakim.” At Schick’s Gourmet Bakery, Mendelson orders a world famous black-bottom chocolate chip cheese cake, as he listens to a man with a beard and a black hat sing “Sheyibaneh Beis Hamikdash” from behind the counter.
Other “victims” of Mendelson’s efforts to take Chazzanut back to the streets are an IDF soldier with an M16 slung over his shoulder, a group of Israeli yeshiva bochurim, and even his own director of the documentary, whom Mendelson calls “schmendrick” when he fails to correctly render a song. “It’s a good thing it’s 2003, `cause in ’57 you’d be smacked in the face,” Mendelson assures him.
Although he sounds, the prophet of doom, you may see him with a tattered signboard outside the ballpark crying, “Because Chazzanut is not in the air today, I have to put it in the air” and “Then, the lay people had style; today, the cantors don’t have style”. Mendelson is not entirely playing the part of Henny Youngman’s “good old day routines”, mourning a past that can never return. He is, however, haunted by memories of a time when Chazzanut emanated from cabs and when waiters sang it in the delis. “The waiter in my father’s delicatessen sang Chazzanut idiomatically correct; he was good,” Mendelson says. “He didn’t have much of a voice but he could sing Chazzanut. He would be waiting on tables, `Eylu devarim sheayn lahem shiur,’ [in singsong] would you like some ketchup; `hapeyah vihabikurim,’ sorry I spilled it on you.”
In an interview on the film, Alan Dershowitz echoes, “Borough Park was the `mecca’ for Chazzanut; everybody had their favorite chazzan and the one I wouldn’t go to hear, if he was the last chazzan on the face of the earth.”
Mendelson would later convince Dershowitz to sing “Kadmaniot” and “Chaverim Kol Yisrael” and would get an affirmative, backhanded compliment from Jackie Mason. One thing is certain; this man is not about to give up and sing Kaddish at the grave of American Chazzanut, which he considers alive, well and certainly kicking.
The kicking might signify a new life and redefinition, or a musical form, choking on its last breath. Jackie Mason calls Chazzanut “Part of the soul of the character of the Jew,” and many of the interviewed personalities on the documentary arrive at a consensus that their favorite cantorial music – the music that they heard blared over WEVD – has a lot to do with the Holocaust. The music sounds like wailing (Mendelson compares it to a person in the desert reaching out thirstily for water) and it has a Blues, “bad-things-happening-to-good-people” feel to it.
It comes as no shock that the very cantors who now are mostly quarantined in their influence, to circles of the initiated, used to find themselves immortalized. They walked about, flanked by “groupies,” all the while wearing capes and patent leather, shiny shoes, hats and canes. “The public – we call them the olam – became fans, and it was like ballplayers”; Mendelson explains, “there would be fights in bars over who was a better chazzan… `what do you mean Rosenblatt? It’s Hershman!’”
Dershowitz spoke of the two great debates: Duke Snider versus Mickey Mantle and Moshe Koussevitzky versus his brother David Koussevitzky. Dershowitz and his pals once even tricked their cantor into blessing Jackie Robinson in the hopes that he would get a hit, utilizing the Hebrew name Yakov for Jackie, and capitalizing on the “ben” part of Robinson to designate “the son of.”
But baseball no longer accommodates cantorial music. Instead, it resides somewhere between “Yo ya” booming over loudspeakers, and the kosher hotdog stand at Baltimore’s Camden Yards, with talk of the three Jewish players on the field – at once – for the Boston Red Sox this past year: Kevin Youkilis, Adam Stern and Gabe Kapler.
The evaporation of baseball from the cantorial blend is hardly its greatest crisis. Chazzanut is simply not an Orthodox gig anymore, with few noted exceptions. Cantor Benzion Miller of Congregation Young Israel Beth El in Borough Park and Jackie Mason have a few critiques of contemporary Chazzanut. To Mason, much of the contemporary cantors’ music “doesn’t sound personal (`poysenal‘), doesn’t sound like the tragic story of the Jew”; instead, more closely mimicking the “sounds like an opera singer who is interpreting a song that he doesn’t understand.”
Miller sees a dilution of the potency of the Chazzanut, pure cocktail in “women cantors”. “A woman cantor has her place”, Miller acknowledges, but he locates that place in an all-women minyan, “but not singing our repertoire.” To Miller, the many female cantorial musicians (more than half the cantorial student population) never succeed in capturing the proper sound. The endeavor resembles “giving a tenor aria to a soprano at the Met; it just wouldn’t sit right [for] even if sung in the proper key, the character of the piece is missing.”
But as long as we have Mendelson to speak of Oysher and of the acoustics of Congregation Young Israel Beth El that bring the sounds of the sea with bumble bees, and as long as Cantor Alberto Mizrachi asks, “How do you dare train someone today; how do you dare not train someone today?” there is still hope for some form of cantorial music.
Mendelson is, in part, so successful because he is such a great teacher. Though he talks of his difficult childhood, from getting beaten up by the Erasmus Hall High students on his way home from Brooklyn Talmudic Academy to his enrollment and premature departure from New Utrecht High School; and from his job in a handbag factory, to his family problems that led him to launch a failed horseracing venture, Mendelson used Chazzanut to order his life. The film shows Mendelson in the classroom, instructing his students to learn the detailed “ethnicities” of the cantorial music.
It is precisely Mendelson’s past – his old-hat component, in a way – that allows him to connect to his students. Cantorial music can be modern and relevant, as Yossele Rosenblatt demonstrated in his singing “El Mole Rachamim fur Titanik” for the “anshei titanic shenivu bayam” (“the passengers on the Titanic that drowned in the sea”). The satirical Jay Berkson presentation of Louis (Leibele) Waldman in “A Cantor on Trial” (the film clip is copyrighted MCMXXI), which depicts a round table of angry gentlemen debating whom to hire for the High Holidays (a Litvak or a Galitzianer) finally shows the group agreeing on a modern cantor who sings “Kol Nidre” with two step melody and “Hallel” and “Yismach Moshe” in ragtime.
Clearly Chazzanut won’t evolve that much; it couldn’t, while still remaining Chazzanut. But just as it used to present an escape from the bustle of the weekly work environment in a new world that was a distinctly Jewish space, it can once again fulfill that need. Mendelson doesn’t have Carlebach’s payos and beard, but his mission to keep “Chazzanut alive in some way” might not be too ambitious after all.
Menachem Wecker welcomes comments at firstname.lastname@example.org. He is a painter and writer, residing in Washington, DC.
About the Author: Menachem Wecker, who blogs on faith and art for the Houston Chronicle at http://blogs.chron.com/iconia, welcomes comments at email@example.com.
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Florida is famous for sparkling water. We have the beautiful Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico surrounding our coast. We have bays, lakes, canals and, of course, an incredible abundance of swimming pools in homes, resorts, apartment complexes and city parks.
The buzz is back as Camp Gan Israel Florida Overnight gears up for another fantastic summer, CGI Florida style. What makes CGI Florida so different from all the other overnight camps? It’s all in the details.
Leah Katz, a TeenZone camper at Oorah’s TheZone summer camp and an 11th grader at Midwood High School, read her winning essay about how TheZone changed her views on Judaism at the Jewish Heritage Awards Ceremony held at Brooklyn District Attorney Charles Hynes’s office in April. The purpose of the Jewish Heritage Essay Contest is to acquaint public school students with Jewish history and customs and to help foster a deeper understanding of Jewish culture. The contest is open to students of all ethnic and religious backgrounds. Leah’s essay is reproduced in full below.
Moshe Sharett, the head of the Jewish Agency’s Political Department, visited Egypt in 1945. In Cairo he met a most remarkable young woman, a beautiful journalist who was the darling of Egyptian high society – from high-ranking military brass, to culture icons and Muslim sheikhs, to the court of King Faruk.
The two proceeded to talk about everyday things and surprisingly her mother-in-law did not find anything else to criticize. This occurred a few more times, with my client changing the topic every time by complimenting her mother-in-law or mentioning something positive about her.
There is always a lot of confusion surrounding sensory processing disorder – mainly because there are many different diagnoses that fall under the catch-all phrase sensory processing disorder (SPD). Among them are three specific subcategories:
The doctor had warned us that even if we did everything right and followed the protocol after the follicle was of the right size, there was no guarantee of success. Fertilization still had to occur, and just like couples do not necessarily become pregnant every month, we had no way to know if we were actually expecting for two full weeks.
The next chapter of the award-winning novel.
Jewish Press columnist Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis, founder and president of Hineni, the international Torah outreach organization, recently addressed an overflowing audience at the Beth Jacob Congregation of Irvine in southern California. Rebbetzin Jungreis’s address theme, “Making a Good Relationship Magical,” was apropos for the evening’s main mission: raising funds for the Irvine community’s mikveh.
You have probably been planning your marriage since you were about three. Let’s fast-forward to a big milestone– your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. (Don’t worry, you don’t look a day over twenty one!) Now, would you appreciate your husband buying you a dozen roses that some florist recommended?
As I mentioned in my earlier articles about our family trip to Israel, our night flight went pretty smooth, thanks to my children’s willingness to sleep throughout the flight. I, on the other hand, didn’t sleep a wink and I wasn’t feeling too great by the time we landed. But we were finally in Israel, and just being in the beautifully renovated Ben Gurion airport and hearing all the Hebrew around us was exciting enough.
It all started at an art and education conference at the Yeshiva University Museum. When one of the speakers misidentified a Goya painting at the Frick Collection, both the gentleman sitting next to me and I turned to each other and corrected the error simultaneously.
One of my favorite places when I was growing up in Boston was the used bookstore on Beacon and St. Mary’s streets. Boston Book Annex could play a used bookshop on television; it was dimly lit and cavernous, crawling with cats, and packed with a dizzying array of books, many of which sold three for a dollar. But used bookstores of this sort, however picturesque and inviting, are a relatively modern phenomena. In the Middle Ages, for example, I would never have been able to afford even a single used book unless I had been born into an aristocratic family. (Full disclosure, I was not.)
Jewish medals, several with Hebrew inscriptions and provocative imagery, were among the gems at The European Art Fair (TEFAF) in Maastricht, Netherlands, as I wrote in these pages two weeks ago. Another mini-trend at the fair, which will interest Jewish art aficionados, was an abundance of works by Marc Chagall.
It’s virtually impossible to ignore the financial aspects of TEFAF Maastricht, the annual arts and antiques fair in the historic city about two hours south of Amsterdam. More than 250 dealers from nearly 20 countries sell their wares—which span from Greek and Roman antiquities to contemporary sculptures—in the halls of the Maastricht Exhibition and Congress Centre, whose corridors are adorned by nearly 65,000 tulips.
Max Ferguson’s 1993 painting Katz’s may be the second most iconic representation of the kosher-style delicatessen after the 1989 Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan film, When Harry Met Sally. Ferguson’s photorealistic painting depicts the deli from an interesting perspective, which is simultaneously inviting and hostile—in short, the dichotomy of deli culture.
The whole idea of an artful pushka (tzeddakah or charity box) is almost a tease, if not an outright mockery. Isn’t there something pretty backward about investing time and money in an ornate container to hold alms for the poor?
Located about nine miles north of Madrid, the Palacio Real de El Pardo (Pardo Palace) dates back to the early 15th century. Devastated by a March 13, 1604 fire that claimed many works from its priceless art collection, the Pardo Palace and its vast gardens were used as a hunting ground by the Spanish monarchs.
Red By John Logan; directed by Robert Falls; starring Edward Gero and Patrick Andrews Jan. 20 – March 11, 2012 Arena Stage, 1101 6th Street, SW, Washington, D.C. http://www.arenastage.org One morning, Ken, Mark Rothko’s studio assistant, comes into the studio to fulfill his daily duties of stretching and priming his employer’s canvases. When he [...]
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