Coffee Cups. Views and Analysis by Seth Ward.

(Written August 15, 2012)

At the funeral of Marvin Hamlisch, there were, of course, performances of songs he wrote, and a eulogy by Bill Clinton. It was also reported that the funeral included this line of poetry:

“Oh, he had one more melody, and now that melody is lost forever, lost forever.”

This is from a poem by Hayyim Nachman Bialik, Aharei Moti “After my death,” written in 5664 according to the Jewish calendar, corresponding to 1903-4, and dedicated “to N.” The inclusion of this line in a funeral service is in fact suggested by the Rabbis’ Handbook of the CCAR (Central Conference of American Rabbis) – the professional organization of the Reform Rabbinate and appropriate of course for a service at Temple Emanu-El in Manhattan.

The poem is well known, and was written at about the same time as several of Bialik’s most famous poems—“On the Slaughter” and “In the City of Death” responding to the deadly pogroms in Kishinev.

Translations of “After my Death” are readily available on-line, for example, in a translation by T. Carmi  http://www.eilatgordinlevitan.com/volozhin/vol_pages/volstories_bialik.html (at the very end), and by David P. Stern http://www.phy6.org/outreach/poems/bialik2.htm .

Here is the beginning of Stern’s translation:

After my death, thus shall you mourn me
"There was a man --and see: he is no more!
Before his time did this man depart
And the song of his life in its midst was stilled
And alas! One more tune did he have
And now that tune is forever lost
Forever lost!

And great is the pity! For a harp had he
A living and singing soul
And this poet, whenever he voiced it
The inner secrets of his heart it expressed
All its strings his hand would make sing out.
Yet one hidden chord now is lost with him
Round and round it his fingers would dance
One string in his heart, mute has remained
Mute has remained -- to this very day!

And it is available in Hebrew http://benyehuda.org/bialik/bia064.html . Here is the line excerpted in the report of the funeral:

וְשִׁירַת חַיָּיו בְּאֶמְצַע נִפְסְקָה;

וְצַר! עוֹד מִזְמוֹר אֶחָד הָיָה-לּוֹ –

וְהִנֵּה אָבַד הַמִּזְמוֹר לָעַד,

אָבַד לָעַד!

 

Much of Bialik’s poetry has been set to music. Here is a recording of Chava Albershtein singing it, with a melody written by Tzippi Fleisher:

The musical imagery in Bialik’s poem could not be more appropriate for the late Marvin Hamlisch. I am not sure anyone knows who “N.” was, and Hamlisch’s career suggests that unlike the subject of Bialik’s poetry, Hamlisch found expression for all his “hidden chords” through his creativity and talent.

Seth Ward

Mandy Patinkin’s rendition of “White Christmas” is about as far from the Shopping-mall Muzak or Bing Crosby as you can imagine.

וײַס ניטל   איך חולם פֿון אַ וײַסן ניטל    נאָר אַזאַ ניטל איך פאַרשטיי   וווּ די ביימער גלאַנצן  ב׳עת קינדער טאַנצן  און הערן גליקלעך אין דעם שניי	Vays Nitl  Ikh khulem fun a vaysn Nitl,  Nor aza Nitl Ikh farshtey.  Vu di beymer glantsn,  B’eys kinder tantsn,  Un hern gliklekh in dem shney.
איך חולם פֿון אַ וײַסן ניטל  איך בענק נאָך יענער וינטער טעג   זײַט געבענטשט און גליקלעך און פֿײַן זאָלן אײַערע ניטל-טעג ווײַס זײַן.	Ikh khulem fun a vaysn Nitl, Ikh benk nokh yene vinter teg, Zayt gebensht un gliklekh un fayn, zoln ayere Nitl-teg vays zayn.

He sang it in Mamaloshen, inserted into his rendition of Der Alter Tzigayner “The Old Gypsy” (Music: Abe Ellstein and Lyrics: Jacob Jacobs). The song says “Listen to the strains of the old gypsy’s fiddle, its haunting melody will touch your soul,” and comes from a musical called “Bublitchki” featuring Molly Picon.

 

You can hear Patinkin’s rendition:

.

 

Words for Der Alter Tzigayner, as heard on the recording, are given with translation at http://www.mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=15879

 

The song refers to the gypsy melody that “fills you with lust and joyousness,” played by the old gypsy as only a gypsy can, “with his soul on fire.” In this rendition, the “gypsy melody” is (surprise!) an American standard with words and music by the Russian-Jewish immigrant to the United States originally known as Izzy Baline. Of course the Gypsy sings in Yiddish (Or at least Patinkin did—the song talks only about the gypsy fiddling).

 

The real treat in the recording is the violin, by Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg—truly amazing. Whatever you think of Patinkin’s rendition, Salerno-Sonnenberg lives up to Jacobs' lyric about the gypsy’s fiddling:

 

The sounds from his fiddle 
awaken the yearnings of your soul. 
Your blood cooks and boils. 
He draws his fiddle's bow, 
and the skies begin to move. 
Your passion is to live.  
Life becomes so good.

 

The Yiddish lyrics written especially for Mamloshen are credited to Moishe Rosenfeld.

 

The Yiddish word Nitl reflect the Latin Dies Natalis “birthday” and is similar to, e.g., the Portuguese Natal as in the region of South Africa, so named because Vasco Da Gama sailed past it on Christmas. (Irving Berlin's verse describes being in Beverly Hills on December the 24th, where he was “dreaming of being up North.” Was Da Gama also dreaming of being “Up North”?).

 

Other explanations are unconvincing. Some have speculated that Nitl also reflects nit “no” or “little night” or the Hebrew nitleh “hanged” (although this seems farfetched, as the pronunciation in Yiddish  would be nisleh, although perhaps Nitl-nacht is a variation on Taluy-nacht “night of the hanged one” --from the same root. Hanging here refers to the mode of execution. Nevertheless, I do not think there is a Hebrew source for this term).

 

In any case, some Hasidic communities had the tradition of playing cards on Nitlnacht (so as not to honor the birthday-boy by studying Torah and performing commandments). Most curious, there are discussions as to whether the proper practice is to observe Nitlnacht on the Gregorian or Julian calendar, in other words, Jews would observe the "ritually correct" evening; the practice of their Christian neighbors being irrelevant.

 

Listen to the recording for a rendition that is not at all like any other version you’ve ever heard.

 

זײַט געבענשט און גליקלעך און פֿײַן

May you be blessed and happy and fine!

Seth Ward

Religious Studies Program, University of Wyoming

http://uwyo.edu/sward

http://uwyo.edu/sward/blog 

Essential Music of the Holocaust: Ani Maamin

How can music be essential to the Holocaust? Eliyana Adler (article referenced below) writes that singing should be considered an important element of resistance, and laments that it is not often so considered, for example, citing Prof. Yehudah Bauer’s omission of music in his discussion of Resistance. Whether or not it was effective—music and songs did not often ultimately save lives, the production and performance of works of music was a significant act of defiance, and a cultural record that played and continues to play an important role in ensuring that the Holocaust does not erase the memory of what happened. Perhaps for this reason, songs of the Holocaust were and remain part of nearly every memorial to the Holocaust.

The most well-known of these is no doubt the anthem Ani  Ma’amin. The words come from a liturgical summary of the 13 principles of Maimonides (from his commentary on Chapter 10 of the Mishnah tractate Sanhedrin), worded as a Credo for synagogue recitation, “I believe in perfect faith…” This is the twelfth principle: “I believe in perfect faith in the coming of the Messiah, and even though he tarries, I await him, every day, to come.”  It is difficult to reconstruct the history of the song Ani Ma’amin, and even the exact melody. The two examples above were copied from websites about Modzhitz Hasidic melodies. Those looking carefully at the music may note that one of the versions has more of the accidentals and modality of traditional Jewish music (e.g. lowered second note and raised third of the scale, rather than the standard minor key). As for the history of the song’s composition, the general outline of the story readily emerges from reviewing material easily available on the internet in Hebrew, English and to a certain extent in Yiddish.

http://www.modzitz.co.il/%D7%90%D7%A8%D7%9B%D7%99%D7%95%D7%9F/%D7%A1%D7%99%D7%A4%D7%95%D7%A8%D7%95%20%D7%A9%D7%9C%20%D7%A0%D7%99%D7%92%D7%95%D7%9F/235/%D7%94%D7%97%D7%A1%D7%99%D7%93%20%D7%A8%D7%91%D7%99%20%D7%A2%D7%96%D7%A8%D7%99%D7%90%D7%9C%20%D7%93%D7%95%D7%93%20%D7%A4%D7%A1%D7%98%D7%92%20%D7%9E%D7%95%D7%95%D7%A8%D7%A9%D7%94  
http://modzitz.org/story001.htm
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/107189/jewish/Ani-Maamin.htm  
(see other links available from these sites).

R. Azriel-David Fastag (1890-1942) was one of the two most prominent developers of the songs for which the court of the Modzhitzer rebbe was famous. Fastag was noted as a composer and singer in Warsaw; 1500 people were said to have paid for tickets to come to services he led, with a capella (choir).

Fastag was among those deported from Warsaw to their deaths at Treblinka in 1942. The story goes that the words of Ani ma’min appeared to him and he began singing this song on the cattle-car—and gradually everyone joined in. He challenged those in the car to volunteer to try to bring this song to the Modzhitzer Rebbe, reportedly offering “half his portion in the world-to come” to anyone who would do so. Two young men volunteered and were able to jump from the car. Only one survived and he was able to get to safety and to deliver the music to the Modhzitzer Rebbe.

Up to the escape from the cattle car, most of the reports are pretty much the same. Often the accounts note that the singing could be heard outside the cattle-car. While most retellings refer to Fastag, Simon Zucker—who, like most others, ascribes the melody to the Modzhitzers—says it was the Rebbe of Grodzisk Mazowiecki, R. Israel Shapiro, who led his followers in singing this song.

Reports about how and where Fastag’s melody came to the Modzhitzer rebbe’s attention differ in details. Some appear to have the young man come to the Rebbe in Israel or in New York; others have him send a messenger to hand-deliver the melody. In some, it is the boy himself who wrote the notes, others recount that Fastag annotated the music and gave it to the young men. Still others say the young man sang the melody to someone who was able to write it down once he had escaped to safety.

Some of the websites I surveyed have a full account of the story, but ass a postscript saying the story should be considered a literary creation, and not necessarily an accurate presentation of the facts of the matter. The Modzitz.org website says the account of R. Azriel David Fastag is “based on HaRakeves HaMisnaggenes, “The Singing Train," a story by P. Flexer in M.S. Geshuri's Negina v'Chassidus b'Veis Kuzmir u'Bnoseha  and a story in Sichas HaShavua # 654”—so perhaps we should assume that the story, as it is usually told, is derived from Flexer’s account (as of this writing, I have not been able to examine Geshuri’s volume or the Sichat hashavua).   

To my mind, the most detailed and believable version of the story of how the melody arrived at the Modzhitzer’s court is that the surviving young man reached Switzerland, put the melody into writing, and eventually had someone deliver it to the court of the “Imrei Shaul” (Rabbi Saul Yedidya Elazar Taub 1886-1947) in Brooklyn, New York. It reached the Modzhitzer Rebbe on the day he was celebrating the Brit Milah of a grandson. The Rebbe opened the message and asked R. Ben-Tzion Shenkar to sing the song. R. Yitzhak Huttner was there as well. R. Huttner had known R. Azriel-David Fastag in Warsaw, and had eaten in his home. Obviously, the message and one last niggun from R. Fastag made an outstanding impression.

Ben-Tzion Shenkar was a young man who had sung with Cantor Joshua Pilderwasser, had studied music and composition, and became a disciple of the Imrei Shaul about 1940. Thus if this version of the story of Ani Maamin is true, it is an early example of Shenker’s immense significance in Jewish music. The melody quickly gained recognition, and was described as the “Song of the Ghetto” or “Melody (nigun) of the Ghetto” and was sung in America and Palestine in remembrance ceremonies.

If in fact the melody was known only because it was sung the Modhzitzer’s court in April 1945 in New York, it was not sung in the ghettos or at Auschwitz, achieving its fame only after the war as the quintessential song of Holocaust remembrance.

(Citations in Eliyana Adler, “No Raisins, no Almonds” Shofar, 24:4 2006, 55:  Kazcerginski, Lider, xxxiv, Mlotek and Gottlieb, We are Here, p. 76, Rubin, Voices of A People, 425, Simon Zucker, The Unconquerable Spirit 27. Adler writes about Ani Ma’amin pre-existing the Holocaust; she writes in such a way that I am not sure whether she considers the words only to have pre-existed, as obviously they did, or setting the words to this melody as well).  

Whether or not it was sung during the Holocaust itself more widely than in a single cattle car, Ani Maamin was incorporated early on into memorial ceremonies for Yom Ha-Shoah, into liturgies for Israel Independence Day, and memorial programs on, e.g. Israel Radio.

 (Dalia Ofer, The Strength of Remembrance: Commemorating the Holocaust During the First Decade in Israel JSS 6:2 2000, p. 36).

Seth Ward