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October 2, 2014 / 8 Tishri, 5775
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Posts Tagged ‘Jewish music’

A Famed Political Pundit’s Musical Side: An Interview with Charles Krauthammer

Wednesday, November 21st, 2012

Charles Krauthammer is widely regarded as one of the most influential political commentators in America today. A contributing editor to The Weekly Standard and The New Republic, Krauthammer is also a nightly commentator on Fox News’s Special Report with Bret Baier and a weekly panelist on PBS’s Inside Washington. Close to 250 newspapers carry his weekly column, which earned him a Pulitzer Prize in 1987.

In addition to his political prowess, Krauthammer maintains a love for Jewish music. Several years ago, he and his wife Robyn founded Pro Musica Hebraica, devoted to “bringing Jewish music to the concert hall.”

On December 2, the organization will hold a concert of cantorial masterpieces at the Eldridge Street Synagogue. The Jewish Press recently spoke with Krauthammer about the concert, among other topics.

The Jewish Press: What led you to found Pro Musica Hebraica?

Krauthammer: About eight years ago, my wife and I decided there was an area of Jewish culture that had been fairly widely neglected, and that was the presentation of great Jewish music in a classical setting. We wanted to do something to bring it out to the world.

Is the classical music Pro Musica Hebraica presents really Jewish music or just music that happens to have been composed by Jews?

The idea is to bring Jewish experience, feeling, and history – “Jewish soul,” if you like – as expressed through classical music.

So it doesn’t matter who the author is. One of our concerts a few years ago was baroque Jewish music from 17th- and 18th-century Italy and Holland. It included the famous Sephardic Jewish composer Salamone Rossi, but it also had a selection by a Jesuit priest who was a philo-Semite and who set Psalms to baroque music. He was so much of a Hebraist that he actually wrote the music from right to left when he was transcribing it.

So we don’t care about the origin of the composer although, of course, most of the music is by Jews self-consciously reflecting their own heritage, past, and memories.

Why has this music been neglected?

Well, I’ll give you one example. One of the major schools of this music was called the St. Petersburg school. Founded in 1908, this school consisted of students of Rimsky Korsakov. They were in the Russian conservatories, and their teacher basically said to them, “Why are you trying to compose Russian music? You’re Jews, compose the music of your own people.”

So they sent ethnographic expeditions into the shtetl, listened to the music, and transcribed it. That was their inspiration for composing classical music with Jewish themes – the same way that Bartok, for example, produced classical Hungarian music from Hungarian folk themes.

This school thrived for 10 years. They put on concerts all over Russia, but then the Russian revolution came in 1917, and they were all scattered to all corners of the world. Their music was largely forgotten, but we brought it back with Itzhak Perlman on the 100th anniversary of its founding to an amazing critical review in the Washington Post and tremendous public response.

This upcoming concert on December 2, though, will feature chazzanut.

Yes, it’s our first venture away from classical music towards more traditional liturgical music. It’s also our first time in New York; we’re usually in the Kennedy Center in Washington. Cantor Netanel Hershtik of The Hampton Synagogue, who is just exquisite, is performing, and the venue will be the Eldridge Street Synagogue, which is celebrating its 125th anniversary.

Cantor Netanel Hershtik

One theme that runs through this concert is redemption. It’s a theme that’s so prevalent in the liturgy that you can’t go three pages in the siddur without coming across it. I think it’s very important, particularly for those who may not be religious or aren’t even Jewish, to understand that the idea of return, restoration – the idea of Zion – is not a modern creation but a theme going back to “Im eshkacheich Yerushalayim,” which was written 2,500 years ago….

One of the reasons I wanted to do this was because when I was growing up we would spend our summer in Long Beach where, once a year, Moshe Koussevitzky would perform at one of the synagogues at the far end of Long Beach. My father would take my brother and me, and we would walk for about an hour to hear him. I have never forgotten that. It was the most moving music or religious presence.

My Interview with Marvin Hamlisch

Tuesday, August 14th, 2012

As the lights dimmed on Broadway for 60 seconds last night in memory of Oscar-winning composer Marvin Hamlisch, who died on Monday, I took a moment to reflect on the moment in 1976 when I interviewed Hamlisch – only 31 years old, but already famous – for The Jewish Press. At the time I was an 18-year-old Brooklyn College student unused to celebrity; Hamlisch, just 13 years my senior, had by then tucked away Oscars for his scores for The Sting and The Way We Were, not to mention a Golden Globe and a Tony for composing the songs in the Broadway musical A Chorus Line.

Our interview, though, was less about music than about the Jewishness which was, he said, the cornerstone of his life. To my surprise, he spoke a good deal about his Jewish identity. And other things, too: his religious faith; his feelings about marriage (he was still single at the time); his juggling of a very busy schedule to be home for Passover; and his deep feelings about Jewish music.

“I can empathize with the sadness in Jewish music…the listlessness that is familiar to every European Jew,” he told me. “I’m a little more sentimental than Americans because I’ve grown up on the melancholy of European music.”

While not a shomer Shabbos, Hamlisch had an unflagging belief in G-d. “When I win my awards, my first response is thank G-d…I know that He is responsible for leading me down the path of success.” He added, “There is a higher being who controls the world and I try to express my beliefs by going to shul on Shabbos whenever possible.”

His open religious sensibility was matched by a proud Jewishness. “I have never hid it from anyone,” he said. “In fact, I’ve candidly announced it on nation-wide television. People…never discouraged me from proclaiming my Jewish identity to them.”

Committed to Zionism as well, Hamlisch once raised $120,000 for Israeli bonds in a single evening.

When he described his inspiration to compose, I sensed a connection – if perhaps an indirect one – to the dynamics of ancient Jewish tradition.

“A composer is a mirror of the society,” Hamlisch said, “because he tries to get a feeling of the times and relate [to] it musically….I prefer…to write when I’m with the masses and a part of them,” he said – for instance, on New York buses or subways during rush hours. “This is the only way to compose, for it enables me to relate to what’s in everyone else’s mind.” In response, I suggested that music emanating from a connection “with the masses” dated back to Moshe: after all, the words “az yashir Moshe u’bnai yisroel” imply that Moshe could sing only when he was one with his people. Hamlisch didn’t disagree.

At one point, I asked him what he wanted from a wife. He laughed. “If I were ever to get married under the wildest conditions, with a Towering Inferno,” he said, referring to a film popular at the time, “I would marry a girl in my mother’s image.” His mother, Lilly, had in fact come by during the interview, to – what else? – cook some food for her son. She heard his answer and chuckled.

Later, Hamlisch sat down at the piano and played some original variations on “Hava Nagilah,” which he described as “a little rock, a little Jewish.” It was a playful performance I don’t think he ever repeated publicly; that he tossed off these impromptu variations just for me, a teenaged interviewer, a fellow Jew, is something I’ll never forget.

Hamlisch was a virtuoso performer and a prize-winning composer. But at his death he left behind another gift: a proud Jew, he was a source of pride to all Jews, just as he was the pride of the music, theater and movie worlds for nearly five decades. I’m very glad I met him.

The Groggers: It Ain’t Your Uncle Moishy’s Rock N’ Roll

Sunday, March 18th, 2012

Modern-Orthodox Jewish comic Heshy Fried aka FrumSatire (last time I saw him was at the Stanton Street shul on the Lower East Side, and he emailed me a while back that he moved to LA) has been a fan of the Groggers for at least two years now, so I’m assigning him the honor of “discovering” them (as in, “Look at all the Groggers over there!”).

Fried wrote in Heeb Magazine that the Groggers were “possibly the first Orthodox Jewish band that doesn’t sound Jewish. (Expletive), even Matisyahu can’t go a few lines without throwing in some biblical verse. And don’t even get me started on the so-called Chabad hip hop movement. I was listening to the new album from The Groggers the other day and for the first time in my life I forgot I was listening to Jewish music. I thought for a second that I was listening to MXPX or New Found Glory. The Groggers are a Modern Orthodox Jewish punk rock band from Queens that sings about young Jewish angst.”

I agree with Heshy completely, and I’m only sorry that he got to them before I did, but that’s the way it is when you’re young and free and living on the West Coast. Yes, I share Heshy Fried’s enthusiasm for precisely the same reasons. So now you have to either go listen to all the Groggers YouTube tunes and then come back and read my conversation with Doug Staiman, the band leader, or read first and go later. Tell you what, I’ll throw in the clips and some lyrics as we proceed, because my mission here is to get you involved with this new phenomenon.

Is it still cool to say “phenomenon”?

Is it still cool to ask if things are “cool”?

The Groggers are a Jewish pop-punk band with a comic twist, based out of NYC, formed in early 2010 by singer/songwriter L.E. Staiman, and musicians Ari Friedman and Chemy Soibelman.

I called Doug Staiman, band leader of The Groggers, in early March, on a day when Israel’s southern towns were under heavy rocket fire. He sounded concerned and asked how I was doing.

The 4 Groggers

The 4 Groggers

Yanover: I’m okay, considering there are rockets flying in the air and alarms sounding… Otherwise things are cool, how are you?

Staiman: Good… What better time for a Groggers interview than during a missile attack…

Yanover: How are you feeling over there about the minor war we’ve been having?

Staiman: I support Israel and everything it does, especially its right to defend itself.

Yanover: Are you anxious?

Staiman: I have a lot of family in Israel. I have a cousin in the army and I have friends in the army. I’m always nervous…

Yanover: I heard about you from the publicist of the plastic surgeon you did that video commercial for. I have to say, I’ve watched three or four of your videos, I just finished watching the “Get” video, you’re definitely with it. I’m saying this even though I’m 57, so as far as I’m concerned, music ended in 1972 when the Beatles broke up…

Staiman: I’ve heard that before…

Yanover: Boomers are not easy to take, I realize that.

Staiman: So I’ve heard…

Yanover: We’re very self centered, so I apologize in advance. But you have social involvement in your art, you have political awareness, you’re frum in a very straight forward, unabashed and at the same time not compulsory way, you’re just you, I really liked it.

Staiman: Thank you, I really appreciate that.

Yanover: How did the whole thing begin?

Staiman: The band started when I moved to New York about four years ago—I’m 24—and I knew another friend’s band that was into the modern Jewish music theme, and I started exploring Jewish music a little bit and I had to do it my own way. So I wrote a couple of these slightly controversial, very honest Jewish satirical songs, and I would send out demos to friends. People appreciated them, but I also caught a lot of flack for it and people said it would never go anywhere because it’s too much of a niche and people who don’t understand might be offended by it. So, as a joke I made a video of the song “Get.”

 

You gotta get get get get Give her a get You gotta get get get get Give her a get You gotta get get get get Give her a get Cause she don’t love you no mo’

I think Its time to cut your losses And maybe cut the cord Its time to let her go Cause she seems miserable and bored And your friends think you’re a hero But your kids think you’re a joke And your lawyer won’t return your calls Because he knows you’re broke

You gotta get get get get Give her a get…

‘Unity For Justice’ Premiere

Wednesday, October 13th, 2010

An unparalleled musical production featuring 39 Jewish music superstars made its worldwide debut Thursday at the Jewish Children’s Museum in Crown Heights. “Unity for Justice” is a unique display of solidarity for the family of incarcerated Sholom Mordechai Rubashkin, whose sentencing of 27 years in federal prison last year has led to a thunderous outcry by the Jewish community and a number of government officials. The project serves as an innovative campaign for financial support of the Rubashkin Defense Fund, drawing mounting online interest by the hour.

 

From knitted kippot to lange peyos, and beards of all lengths, popular artists all across the religious Jewish spectrum converged in Brooklyn over the summer to record the heart-warming song entitled “Unity” by Mordechai Ben David, which topped Jewish music charts in 1987.

 

Leah Rubashkin, wife of the former vice president of Agriprocessors, calls the project “a very important extension of the theme of togetherness,” a theme evident in the Jewish community of Postville, Iowa, surrounding the meat-processing plant. “We have been very involved in trying to create togetherness in our small town,” she added.

 

Singers Mordechai Ben David, Avraham Fried, Lipa Schmeltzer, and Yaakov Shwekey are among the artists, from Gerer Chassid to Sephardic Israeli, whose voices are recorded on the soundtrack. In addition to clips of the vocalists recording in the studio, there is also footage of Rubashkin’s wedding and of Sholom Mordechai smiling with his special needs son.

 

The video, Leah said, left her speechless. “I am overcome with the warmth and love shown for another Jew, whom most of these people don’t even know,” she commented.

 

            An in-depth documentary showcasing those affected by the Rubashkin family will be released before the start of 2011 and will feature a rare peek inside the personal lives of the Jewish music stars who contributed to the “Unity for Justice” project.

 

 

The assembled crowd at the “Unity for Justice” debut in the

Jewish Children’s Museum in Crown Heights

 

 

“The Rubashkin name has always been synonymous with charity as the Rubashkins gave of themselves, both financially and otherwise, to help those in need,” recalled Yaakov Shwekey. “In fact,” he added, “Sholom Mordechai is so widely known for his acts of kindness that literally anyone who was approached to contribute to this project jumped at the chance to return the favor and do whatever he could to help the man who has helped so many.”

 

“Unity for Justice” was born when producer and director, Danny Finkelman, heard MBD’s song while in his car one day. “I had seen and was impressed with the ‘We Are The World’ video,” he said, referencing the viral YouTube video created to raise funds for Haitian earthquake relief. The remake of the original that was created to bring relief to Ethiopian famine victims showcased 80 of music’s greatest stars.

 

Sitting there in his car, Finkelman said, he thought to himself, “I wish the we had something like that – a gathering of Jewish artists for a worthy cause.”

 

“Rubashkin has united such a diverse community,” he continued; formerly, by creating an atmosphere in Postville where representatives of many Jewish lifestyles live and certify Kosher meat for their respective communities; and presently, with the surge of united support across religious communities worldwide. “There is no greater cause than this,” Finkelman stated.

Matisyahu: The Man, His Music, His Following

Wednesday, September 30th, 2009

   In late August, Jewish music sensation and Shlomo Carlebach/Bob Marley hybrid Matisyahu released “Light,” his third album. Having enjoyed his first two albums immensely, and already humming some of Matisyahu’s new tracks, I began to wax philosophical while listening to his newest compilation. I asked myself: Can we define ourselves by what we think of Matisyahu and his music?

 

   I think so. First the music part. When I first heard him several years ago, I thought Matisyahu was unique and interesting, and cool! The more I listened, the more I began to appreciate him. Matisyahu takes the music that was a part of my past and sanctifies it to some extent. And in his cover versions of songs by Bob Marley and Sting, Matisyahu seems to channel the voices of these music icons with his authentic renditions. In a recent interview, Matisyahu said: “Shlomo’s music was not for the masses. It was beautiful, soulful, and deep but it was mainly in Hebrew and was born out of Jewish experience. My music is coming out of the non-Jewish world and therefore it resonates in the world at large.”

 

   For me, Matisyahu’s comments ring true. Shlomo’s music is beautiful and deep, and I have always loved it. I was honored to have my first Sheva Brachot at Shlomo’s shul on the Upper West Side, and my mother is one of Shlomo’s original devotees. Every type of Jewish person loved Shlomo’s music. Observant, non-observant. very Orthodox, very modern. And people, for the most part, were able to separate Shlomo the person from Shlomo the musician. Even if haredim rejected some of his methods in reaching out to other Jews, they would never reject his music. His music was, using Shlomo’s words, “the holy of holies.”

 

   Matisyahu is markedly different. As he says about himself, his background is secular and he grew up experiencing music in its most non-Jewish form. Maybe that’s what draws me to him. I love that his music is informed by the secular influences that shaped me, because no matter how religious I become I will still enjoy that type of music. I may not listen to it as often now; I may listen to Shwekey instead of the Doors if I put music on in the car, but it’s not because I like the Doors any less. I just feel more comfortable at this stage of my life with “Ben Bag Bag” on my CD player than “Hello I love you,” especially when I do carpool to yeshiva for my kids.

 

   I was proud to hear Matisyahu singing “King Without a Crown” on Z-100 in New York a couple of years back. I was happy when my brother, who is not Orthodox, wanted to find out more about Matisyahu and asked me questions about him and his brand of Judaism. I like seeing Matisyahu on TV, on talk shows, even the Tonight Show last week. It’s exciting.

 

   I didn’t go to too many rock concerts in my classic rock heyday, and I haven’t been to a Matisyahu concert yet. But I am impressed that he goes out, as an Orthodox Jew, and has become an expert at his profession, making great music and energizing concerts. He tries to inspire everyone. Not just Jews, but everyone whose soul he can touch. He tries to be a “light unto the nations.”

 

   In my informal research, I have found that Matisyahu cuts across levels of religious observance, and even across families. Maybe it’s because his personality is so unique. I love his music because it resonates with me. But I think I admire him personally because I feel that I am like him in some important ways. I originally described Matisyahu as a Shlomo Carlebach/Bob Marley hybrid, and perhaps as a religious Jew he is a hybrid, as well: Just like a hybrid car engine can power a car as effectively as a standard gas engine, it’s just powered differently at times, so too Matisyahu is a religious Jew, powered by both his non-religious musical past, and his present Torah true life.


 


  


   By Jonathan Jarashow is the publisher of Diabetes Digest, the nation’s largest circulation diabetes magazine.

Late Bloomer Composes In Three Styles

Wednesday, July 15th, 2009

Not widely appreciated during his lifetime, composer Gustav Mahler famously predicted, “My time will yet come.” And it did. Aaron Blumenfeld, a 77-year-old composer from the San Francisco Bay Area, hopes a similar future is in store for him – and the sooner, the better.

Blumenfeld – who may be the only man in the world who can compose a traditional piano concerto one moment, a ragtime rhythm the next, and a chassidic niggun the moment after that – is, as he calls himself, “a late bloomer.” The son of a Newark, New Jersey rabbi who authored nearly 20 halachic works, Blumenfeld didn’t even know he had musical talent until he scored exceptionally well on a music ability test that a counselor administered to him when he was 16.

In the test’s wake, Blumenfeld began devouring such works as Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, Debussy’s Clair de Lune, and Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld. Soon he found himself in New York University’s School of Music Education, and by age 20 he was accepted to the Juilliard School of Music.

Soon thereafter, however, Blumenfeld got married and, like many practical-minded young men, thought to himself, “Who the heck needs this?” And so Blumenfeld left Julliard. Twenty years would pass, during which time he raised three children and earned a living as a Hebrew school and public school teacher, before finally returning to school to complete his studies. And as of this year, in addition to 301 chassidic niggunim, two Yiddish operas, and two Holocaust memorial symphonies, Blumenfeld has composed over 200 sonatas, sonatinas, concertos, and other works. He has also authored two books, The Blues, Boogie and Barrelhouse Piano Workbook and The Art of Blues and Barrelhouse Piano Improvisation.

Leaving Juilliard, however, wasn’t the only significant decision Blumenfeld made in his younger years. Although brought up in an Orthodox home, Blumenfeld drifted away from Orthodox Judaism as he grew older, searching for a more mystical life. In 1958 he joined “The Work,” a group based on the teachings of George Ivanovich Gurdjieff a Greek-Armenian mystic and spiritual teacher. “I considered it to be continuation of Judaism,” Blumenfeld told The Jewish Press, “and that’s what the founder of this movement claimed himself, so I didn’t feel altogether out of place.

 

It took Blumenfeld 10 years and the “tremendous miracle” of the Six-Day War, which “extremely moved” him, for him to finally leave the group.

 

“I told my father at that time that if he bought me a pair of tefillin I would put them on for the rest of my life. He bought them for me and I’ve been putting on that same pair for 40 years now. I undertook to become strictly Orthodox and today I keep kosher, wear a tallis katan, put on my tefillin, go to shul, and meditate every morning and night,” Blumenfeld said.

 

Despite his eclectic background and despite working with three distinct styles of music, Blumenfeld said he is careful not to let the different musical styles spill over into one another. “Nowadays in Jewish music,” he said, “you have many composers of chassidic music highly influenced by rock ‘n’ roll and blues. I keep it totally separate. My chassidic music is truly chassidic from the old tradition. There is no blues influence there at all, and it works the other way too. I do not mix in chassidic themes or even klezmer with blues. I’m very careful about that.”

 

And yet Blumenfeld said, “The feeling of Jewishness in my music permeates everything. It’s the way I turn my melodies. They have a certain sound to them which is typically Hebraic, either coming from various chants, nusach or Yiddish melodies which have a certain kind of nostalgic sound to them.”

Perhaps Blumenfeld’s greatest pride is his orchestral arrangement and elaboration of the legendary Modzitzer niggun, Ezkera. The niggun, which contains 36 sections and takes about 25 minutes to sing, was mostly composed by the first Modzitzer Rebbe, Rabbi Yisrael Taub, when he was forced to have his leg amputated without anesthesia in 1913.

Blumenfeld spent 10 years on the project, which partly helped him complete his Masters degree in music composition at Rutgers University. However, despite positive reviews by several Modzitzer chassidim who heard it (including, Blumenfeld says, Modzitzer niggun expert Ben Zion Shenker), Blumenfeld’s orchestral arrangement of Ezkera has only been performed once. Modzitzer chassidim consider Ezkera to be a holy song, and this belief, combined with internal Modzitzer politics, has kept his arrangement from the public, Blumenfeld said.

Ezkera is not alone in its obscurity, though. While some of Blumenfeld’s music is available for listening on his website, and while various local orchestra and musical groups in California’s Bay Area have performed many of his works, Blumenfeld’s music is by and large not available to the public. “I’m not very good at the commercial aspect of being a composer,” Blumenfeld confesses.

Regarding marketing his Jewish music, Blumenfeld says, “Listen, it’s not as if I haven’t tried. The Jewish music world is one balagan. Velvel Pasternak [an expert on Jewish music] likes my music very much. But when I’ve written to Jewish publishers or people involved in the Jewish world, they’ve replied that the Jewish music world is so superficial – is so unaccepting of anything but the most superficial kind of foot-tapping music – that anyone who likes serious things like I do is not going to get accepted.”

Blumenfeld’s greatest wish, however, is simply to make a difference. “I want very much to get the Jewish music that I wrote into the culture to influence the upcoming generation. I feel that would be observing the mitzvah of v’shinantam l’vanecha.”

The Niggun In Jewish Music

Wednesday, January 4th, 2006

In honor of Chanukah, a time of joy, I have been delving into the realm of Jewish music. Of the three types of Jewish music, klezmer (instrumental), chazzanut (cantorial) and the niggun (wordless tunes), it is the niggun that has evolved and is the most popular today.


There is no way to trace the exact origins of the niggun, a wordless tune that has become an integral part of Jewish culture. In my research I have read that one plausible origin is that at first musical instruments were not used in Jewish music, as an expression of mourning for the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. It was also deemed not proper to use words from the Torah or from the prayers when one was not either learning praying, so the wordless tune was created.


In more modern times the niggun was adopted by the chasidic movement as a way to achieve dveikut, the goal of every chasid of being in the presence of Hashem and serving Him with complete and utter joy.


The pure niggun was used whenever musical instruments were not available such as on Shabbat and Chagim. The Rebbe’s tish, where the Chasidic leaders would entertain their followers on Friday nights was a prime example of when niggunim were sung. The niggun was also used at the slightest provocation and can still be heard whenever the spirit overtakes a person. It is not unusual in a beit medrash to hear someone break out in song out of pure pleasure of being in the service of Hashem.


The chazzanim of pre-war Europe and even those dating back to the mid-18th century, when Chasidism first began to spread, performed in the great synagogues, often receiving large amounts of money for their services. The chasidim rarely used chazzanim from outside their group, and often the Rebbe would be the one leading the prayers. Chazzanim were also notorious for stretching the prayers and even repeating words to showcase their own talents. The chasidim were more concerned with the participation of every Jew in the prayers, and believe that there should be no repetition of words. Instead of the formal tunes of the chazzan, prayers were often sung to niggunim unique to either the Chasidic group, and sometimes to a region.


In chasidic thought, music brings a soul closer to Hashem. They believe that words constrain the melody, whereas the wordless tune repeated over and over can produce a sort of hypnotic state bringing the singer to ever-higher levels of oneness with the creator.


Many chasidic groups were famous for their singing ability. The Modzitzer chasidim who settled in Demblin, Poland, were renowned for their compositions, many of which are still sung today. In recent years there is hardly a chasidic group that does not have a record of their songs, and every record includes a few niggunim.


The chasidim incorporated niggunim into the prayers. These wordless tunes were then brought home and taught to family members at the Shabbat table and used during the singing of zmirot, the songs sung during the Shabbat meals.


Today the niggun has evolved words often are added and when permissible there – is instrumental accompaniment. The boundaries between the three types of Jewish music have blurred. Chasidic music is often today defined as any song whose words originate from a religious source, either the Torah, prayers or rabbinic writings. Most of today’s popular Jewish music is a combination of the three but can be traced to the niggun more readily than to klezmer or chazzanut.

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/indepth/columns/the-niggun-in-jewish-music/2006/01/04/

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