Levi Cooper is a rabbi in Tzur Hadassah and teaches Jewish Studies at Machon Pardes and other university level programs in Jerusalem.
One quintessential form of Jewish art is hazzanut, the cantorial performance of the leader of the prayer service. The office of the hazzan existed since Temple times, though the idea of a prayer leader serving as a professional and being remunerated for his services is not to be found in classic rabbinic literature. Indeed, over the ages the term hazzan has been used to describe a variety of functionaries.[i]
As far as the place in Jewish tradition of hazzanut as art form, the prominent musicologist and ethnologist Abraham Zevi Idelsohn (1882-1938) called it“a new creation and an addition to Synagogue song.” [ii] The period from the nineteenth century until the devastation of the Holocaust, is generally considered the Golden Age of hazzanut.[iii] Perhaps it is more appropriate to use the pronunciation and spelling that would be recognized by the practitioners of the art – chazzonus.
Alas, while many people enjoyed – and indeed continue to enjoy [iv] – the virtuoso of the great cantors, chazzonus has not been without its critics.[v] The critique of chazzonus has often focused on the performance aspect of art. We can broadly divide the critique into two categories:
- Criticism based on the perceived spiritual emptiness of the art form or of its practitioners. Thus, for instance, Hasidic lore recounts that Rabbi Pinhas of Koretz (1728-1790) offered the pithy statement: “In Heaven above the Palace of Melody is very close to the Palace of Repentance; it is so easy to jump from the melody to repentance. And there are those who add: Alas, how foolish the cantors are – by dint of their role they are anyway to found in the Palace of Melody. Why, therefore, are they so lazy that they don’t jump to the nearby palace, the Palace of Repentance?”[vi]
- Criticism based on the contravention of Jewish law by the practitioners when performing the art. Such critique was generally sounded by halakhic decisors who considered various common cantorial practices – such as repetition of words or incorrect parsing for the sake of the melody, and use of a tuning fork on Shabbat and Festivals – as being beyond the pale of halakhah.[vii]
As could be expected, most of the criticism came from writers who harbored no particular sympathy for the cantors or their art. On rare occasions, however, critique was heard from a surprising source: criticism from within the ranks of the cantors themselves.
In this article I will explore one of the criticisms of cantors, which also serves as a prime example of self-critique. In short, this critique states that there are certain times, places or settings where chazzonus is wholly inappropriate. I will present three versions of this critique.
The Tzaddik of Kaliv’s Unetaneh Tokef
Rabbi Yitzhak Eizik Taub of Kaliv (1751-1821) is probably the most famous Hungarian Tzaddik. He served as the rabbi of the Szabolcs district, residing in the north-eastern Hungarian town of Nagykálló. He was a popular leader, renowned for his miracle working capabilities and miraculous exploits.[viii] His legacy rests primarily on his music, as he is remembered for his wont to adapt Hungarian folk songs, adding Hebrew words or Jewish themes. He further explained that these tunes were, in truth, holy music from the Temple that had regrettably been lost from Jewish tradition and then adulterated in foreign hands. Hasidic lore relates the following tale of the Tzaddik’s cantorial dexterity:[ix]
There was once a wealthy person who would travel to Nagykálló every Rosh Hashana to hear the prayers of the Tzaddik of Kaliv. The prayers of the Tzaddik were pleasant and holy; in particular the Tzaddik’s rendition of the liturgical poem Unetaneh Tokef. Each year the wealthy man would return home and rave about the Unetaneh Tokef of the hasidic master, and he had a strong desire to take his wife to Nagykálló for Rosh Hashanah so that she too would hear the Tzaddik’s chilling rendition of Unetaneh Tokef. Alas, each year there was a different reason that prevented her from making the journey for Rosh Hashanah – one year she was pregnant, another time she had just given birth, and another time she was nursing.
Once, in the middle of a cold and snow-filled winter, the Tzaddik of Kaliv set out to raise funds for the mitzvah of marrying off a needy bride. He arrived in the town of the aforementioned wealthy man and came to his house.
The wealthy man had an idea which he shared with his wife. Since he had merited that the Tzaddik had come to his home, it would be a good idea to suggest and request that the Tzaddik would now recite the passage Unetaneh Tokef – just as on Rosh Hashanah – and then his wife would be able to hear the prayer and satisfy her soul with pure holiness. Then she would see how his description had been always been accurate and that it was worthwhile and appropriate to travel such distances to hear the holy prayers of the Tzaddik in his powerful voice. Alas, how would he dare to set forth his request before the Tzaddik – that suddenly in the middle of winter he should say ‘And let us proclaim the mighty holiness of this day,’ as if it were Rosh Hashanah.[x] Surely, he would be considered a laughing stock for such a suggestion! Moreover, why would a mere mortal such as himself merit that the Tzaddik should do this for him?
The Tzaddik, however, was engaged in the mitzvah of raising money for a worthy cause, and he needed to travel for long periods until he had collected the necessary funds. The wealthy man thought that he would give the entire sum from his own pocket, so that the Tzaddik would no longer need to wander from place to place and he could return home with his mission accomplished. In exchange, the Tzaddik would fulfill his request.
The couple discussed the plan and the wealthy man immediately went to the Tzaddik and told him of the idea, explaining that this would be a case where both parties would benefit – the Tzaddik would raise the requisite funds and he, the wealthy man, would merit that his wife would hear the holy, fiery words of Unetaneh Tokef.
When the Tzaddik of Kaliv heard this suggestion, he did not reject it out of hand. He responded that he needed to consider the proposition overnight and tomorrow he would give the wealthy man his answer.
The host was overjoyed and happily reported to his wife, saying that there was hope that the Tzaddik would consider the matter favorably: “Let it be that he will acquiesce to our request, and she will hear words that her ears have never heard.”
In the morning the man’s heart was pounding with excitement, and he went to the Tzaddik to hear his decision to accept the proposal. When he came before the Tzaddik of Kaliv, the Tzaddik said to him: “Indeed, it would be a great thing for me to receive the entire sum of money at once right here; I would save much time as I would be able to return to my home immediately, avoiding the travails of the journey.”
“But I have decided that since when Eizik” – referring to himself – “says Unetaneh Tokef the Heavenly Court gathers together. And when I say the words ‘and the angels scurry’ – the angels really tremble, and that, indeed, is in the spirit of the season of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
“But now, when I will trouble the Heavenly Court on a regular weekday, and the angels will tremble when I say Unetaneh Tokef – they will ask one another: ‘What is this? What is this commotion and trembling now during the winter?’ And they will say: ‘Eizik needs money and for this he is saying Unetaneh Tokef as if it was Rosh Hashanah.’ And the angels will say: ‘O dear, for money he troubles us and causes us to tremble so!’ And I too will be embarrassed before them. So for three hundred coins will I trouble the entire Heavenly Host to tremble? Therefore I must stop myself from doing this. And Heaven forefend, that I should do such a thing.”
Rabbi Yitzhak Eizik Taub of Kaliv did not censure cantorial performances; rather, his mystical ability to perceive and affect Heavenly affairs led him to declare that the liturgy of the High Holy Days should be recited in situ only.
Unetaneh Tokef at festive meals
In an undated responsum, the Hasidic master and town rabbi, Rabbi Meir Horowitz of Dzików (1819-1877) was asked “about the custom of Israel to sing on Rosh Hodesh at the festive meal.”[xi] The questioner felt that singing songs that were not mandated by tradition was, in fact, a contravention of Jewish Law. He understood that since the destruction of the Temple and the suspension of the Jewish legal system, Jewish law forbade singing at meals as a public show of mourning. The only songs allowed at mealtimes were those that had been already accepted as normative, such as the songs traditionally sung at the Shabbat table.
R. Meir of Dzików’s response was definitive: there was no such prohibition and singing in praise of the Almighty was to be lauded. The questioner, however, had based himself on the words of earlier authorities who had written that “other poems” – that is, songs beside those that had been established from time immemorial – were not to be sung at festive meals.[xii] How did the respondent contend with the legal sources?
R. Meir of Dzików explained that these authorities were referring to singing songs out of context. The scenario depicted by R. Meir of Dzików as an example of this infringement, is indicative for our discussion: “As the cantors do, that they sing the words of Unetaneh Tokef and the like at various festive meals – that is forbidden.” R. Meir of Dzików explained that such cantorial performances were “merely for enjoyment and not in praise of the Omnipresent,” and as such they were proscribed. The responsum ends with R. Meir of Dzików chastising the questioner: “One should not cast doubts on custom, particularly a time-honored custom.”
The Hasidic master Rabbi Meir Horowitz of Dzików did not censure cantors; rather, his analysis of the legal sources led him to rule against the performance of prayers in what he perceived to be inappropriate fora.
Yossele Rosenblatt’s Kol Nidrei
Of the three instances of the forum critique, the third case was the most resounding. One of the great cantors of all time, Yossele Rosenblatt (1882-1933), was given a lucrative offer of $100,000 from Warner Brothers to sing in The Jazz Singer (1927).[xiii] This episode became what one scholar recently called “the most famous cantorial narrative of the period – indeed, of the twentieth century”.[xiv]
The Jazz Singer was the first feature-length motion picture with synchronized dialogue, signaling the decline of the silent film and the arrival of the “talkies”. Harry Warner (born Hersh Moshe Wonsal or Wonskolaser, 1881-1958) famously scoffed at the suggestion of his brother Sam (born Shmuel, 1887-1927) to make talking movies: “Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?” Sam died on October 5, 1927 – a day before the premier of The Jazz Singer.[xv]
The hero of The Jazz Singer, Jakie Rabinowitz, was played by the Russian born Jewish entertainer, Al Jolson (born Asa Yoelson, 1886-1950). Yossele Rosenblatt was asked to play the part of the old cantor, father of the hero of the film. The plot involved Jakie Rabinowitz pursuing a career as a jazz singer and coming in conflict with his Jewish heritage. He runs away after being chastised by his father for choosing to “debase the voice God gave him.” That Yom Kippur, Cantor Rabinowitz says, “My son was to stand at my side and sing tonight – but now I have no son,” and then sings Kol Nidrei – the solemn prayer that opens the Yom Kippur service.[xvi] In classic showbiz style, the premiere of The Jazz Singer was set for 6th October 1927, immediately after the conclusion of Yom Kippur.
Yossele’s son, Rabbi Dr Samuel Rosenblatt (d. 1982), later recalled that his father politely declined the generous offer despite his financial woes, explaining to the Warners’ agents that he was against acting “whether it be on the screen or the stage,” noting that “in order that my face might be photographed well, I would have to use some make-up, and that is definitely out.” The agents tried a different tack: “We see that we can’t make even a bit of an actor out of you, Mr. Rosenblatt. But how about just letting us have the use of your voice, without your being seen, in selections like let us say, Kol Nidrei and Umipnei Chatoeinu?” Samuel recorded his father’s clear position: “Did you say Kol Nidrei,’ that hallowed prayer that is chanted by the cantor at the inauguration of the holiest day of the year? Under no circumstances would I permit that to pass my mouth anywhere except in the house of God.”
It should be noted that Yossele – like many cantors – had no qualms about sound recordings of prayers.[xvii] Nevertheless, Yossele refused to record himself singing Kol Nidrei in order to dub the Swedish-American non-Jewish actor who eventually played the part of the old cantor, Warner Oland (born Johan Verner Öhlund, 1879-1938).
The producers still wanted Yossele, and in the end he appeared in the film as himself, in a concert setting, singing the Yiddish song Yartzeit Licht [memorial candle] by Rhea Silberta (1900-1959).[xviii] In the film, Jakie Rabinowitz – now going by the name Jack Robin – hears Yossele singing and is reminded of his father.[xix]
It was not just the repertoire that concerned Yossele: there were also venues that Yossele deemed inappropriate for a synagogue cantor, even if the repertoire did not include prayers. A decade before The Jazz Singer, Yossele had refused another lucrative offer to sing the role of Eléazar in the opera La Juive [The Jewess] by the French composer Fromental Halévy (born Elias Levy, 1799-1862). Cleofonte Campanini (1860-1919), the Italian conductor who at the time was artistic director of the Chicago Opera, approached Yossele and offered him a contract that would not force him to compromise his Judaism. Yossele was tempted by the lucrative offer, but chose to decline.[xx] Not wanting to offend Campanini, Yossele claimed that his contractual obligations to the First Hungarian Congregation Ohab Zedek in New York – where Yossele served as cantor from 1911 until 1926 – prevented him from accepting the offer. Campanini quickly addressed a letter to Moritz Newman, the president of Ohab Zedek. At Yossele’s request, Newman responded to Campanini “that the Rev. Mr. Rosenblatt’s sacred position in the synagogue does not permit him to enter the operatic stage.” Yossele’s refusal was noted in the press, both national and Jewish.[xxi] Writing years later, Samuel Rosenblatt recounted the episode and added: “…And an inner voice said to him ‘Yossele, don’t do it. Do not give up the Amud [the lectern where the cantor stands] for the opera stage.’”[xxii]
A more lucrative offer from the Chicago Opera to Yossele in 1922 was similarly rebuffed.[xxiii] For Yossele, a cantor could not also be an opera singer. Indeed, as a young boy, Yossele had heard this from his father, Raphael, during a sojourn in Vienna: “He was born for the Amud, and at the Amud he will remain!” But Yossele did perform in other non-operatic settings: over the years, he appeared in concerts and in vaudeville performances at a variety of locations,[xxiv] and of course in the movies – The Jazz Singer (1927) and later The Dream of My People (1934).[xxv] The opera appears to be the only venue that Yossele deemed wholly inappropriate for his cantorial talents.
The Goal of the Forum Critique – a concluding thought
I have recounted three versions of the forum critique – a mystical understanding as related in Hasidic lore, a legal analysis and finally an episode driven by a sense of propriety. The three versions of the forum critique originate from three lands – Nagykálló in Hungary, Dzików in Galicia and Hollywood in America.
While the goal of most cantorial critique was to delegitimize or denigrate the art form, the goal of the forum critique was the opposite. By declaring that chazzonus could only be performed in a particular setting, the practitioners were effectively raising its status. Much like an opera should be performed in an Opera House, chazzonus should be performed on the stage for which it was designed – the synagogue service. The critique was anything but an attempt to invalidate chazzonus; on the contrary, it granted an air of exclusivity to the art, declaring wanton practitioners mere vaudeville.
[i]It is beyond the scope of this paper to explore the various meanings of the term hazzan over the ages; see the sources cited in A.Z. Idelsohn, Jewish Music in its Historical Development, New York 1929, 1975: n14 at 501 (herein: Idelsohn 1929). For one example, far removed from the discussion of this paper, see Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah about a bailiff – the hazzan – whose parent is found guilty:
(עבר אביו ואמו על עבירה שלוקין עליה והיה הוא חזן לפני הדיינים לא יכה אותם וכן אם נתחייב נידוי לא יהיה שליח לנדותם ולא ידחוף אותם ולא יבזה אותם בשליחות בית דין אע”פ שהן ראויין לכך ולא עשו תשובה (הלכות ממרים, פרק ה, הלכה יג
In this article I have limited myself to discussing hazzanut as a performance art. I refer to hazzanut as it developed in Europe beginning in the 16th century, and in particular during the 19th and early 20th century. Sephardi hazzanut is entirely different than its Ashkenazi counterpart, and deserves to be dealt with separately. This paper explores one particular critique of hazzanut as a performance art and is part of a larger study on this topic.
[ii]Idelsohn 1929: 312.
[iii]For an overview of hazzanut, see Cyrus Adler, et al, “Ḥazzan”, The Jewish Encyclopedia, New York 1901-1906, available at www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp?artid=458&letter=H; Idelsohn 1929, in particular Chapter XIV. Writing in the inter-war period, Idelsohn critiqued the state of chazzonus after the Great War, writing this obituary for the art form: “At the end of the nineteenth century, the spirit of Russian revolutionary endeavors with its concomitant breakdown of the religious traditions and life in the Jewish Ghetto, resulting from the Russian pseudo-European education, robbed chazzanuth of the soil from which it had drawn its nourishment, and reduced it to a virtuosity consisting of powerful voices without any depth of feeling or purpose. The chazzanim of the last generation in Eastern Europe were mostly without any Jewish training, without religious spirit and sentiment. They conducted themselves as professional artists, as religious actors on the stage of the Synagogue whose only purpose was to captivate the mob. They used cheap means, especially dazzling tricks of coloratura combined with powerful tones, and sought to appeal to the sentiment of the Jew through motives which drew tears. It would seem that East European chazzanuth has already reached its end, and belongs to history.” Indeed, Idelsohn gave scant recognition to the great cantors of his day; Yossele Rosenblatt (1882-1933) – to whom I will return below, Mordechai Hershman (1888-1940) and Zevulun (Zavel) Kwartin (1874-1952) are barely acknowledged and Idelsohn claimed that “none have thus far created music of any originality” (Idelsohn 1929: 296, 312-315, 334-335; regarding chazzonus in the Conservative movement, see pp. 335-336). With the benefit of hindsight we can say that the golden age of chazzonus continued through the inter-war period.
It could be argued that subsequent generations always bemoaned the loss of the cantorial greats of yesteryear. In a book first published in Odessa in 1889, the great Yiddish writer, Sholem Aleichem (1859-1916) wrote: “But the cantors of old are not to be found nowadays. Where, for example, can you find a cantor like Arke Fiedele, the Vitebsker? … Or, for instance, someone like the Vilner Balabeysl, as he was called? Where can you find his equal today? What is there to say?” (Sholem Aleichem, The Nightingale; or, The Saga of Yosele Solovey the Cantor, trans. Aliza Shevrin, New York 1985: 31-32). On chazzonus and media in America, see: Jeffrey Shandler, Jews, God, and Videotape: Religion and Media in America, New York & London 2009, chapter 1 (herein: Shandler 2009). On the state of chazzonus in the early 1980s, see: Elie Delibe, “Is Chazanuth in Decline: An Interview with Akiva Zimmerman”, Cantors’ Review, September 1982, available at http://geoffreyshisler.com/Decline.html.
[iv]While the era of great cantors appears to have passed, there continues to be an eager interest in chazzonus. Perhaps one indication of this interest is the 2010 release of an album entitled אמאליגע אידישע לידער [Jewish Songs of Yesteryear]. The album with three discs containing 60 songs and received much attention in the Yiddish internet, including a Yiddish Wikipedia (װיקיפּעדיע) article that lists the songs. Yossele’s recordings have been electronically restored from the original shellac or celluloid 78 rpm records by Mendel Werdyger (son of Cantor David Werdyger and brother of popular singer Mordechai Ben David) and released under the title עוד יוסף חי, Joseph is still alive – a biblical reference that suggests Yossele still lives (see: Genesis 45:28). The first of three discs sold 15,000 copies (See: Joseph Berger, “Bit by Electronic Bit, a Cantor’s Voice Is Restored”, New York Times, 21 July 2010, p. A23, available at www.nytimes.com/2010/07/21/nyregion/21cantor.html).
[v]Regarding an earlier period than the one discussed herein: “[N]o other communal official of the Middle Ages occasioned so much and so frequent complaint as the ḥazzan” (The Jewish Encyclopedia, loc. cit.). On the specific issue of the chastity of cantors in Middle Ages, see the words of British historian Israel Abrahams (1858-1925) first published in 1896: “There was one class only against which suspicion pointed its finger – the Chazan or Precentor, an official who was more musician than minister, and who shared some of the frailties apparently associated with the artistic disposition. Yet the comparative frequency with which the chazan was suspected of unchastity must not lead us to the supposition that the whole order was tainted with the same vice. … [P]ublic opinion was occasionally a little lax in condoning the offences of the chazan” (Israel Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, Philadelphia 1896, new edition London 1932: 107). See also: “Criticism Against the Office of the Chazan Throughout the Ages”, available at http://geoffreyshisler.com/Criticism.html and including two amusing cartoons that originally appeared in Cantors’ Review. For an overview of the critique of cantors, see: Shandler 2009: 13-14.
[vi]Quoted in: יונדב קפלון (עורך), ממך אליך: מחזור תפילה, הגות וחוויה ליום הכיפורים, תל-אביב וירושלים 2004, עמ’ 154, עיינו עוד עמ’ 41; translation mine – LC). See also: Abraham Rosenfeld, “How do we listen to a Chazan?”, Cantors’ Review, December 1971, available at http://geoffreyshisler.com/Listen.html.
[vii]On the problem of repetition of words by cantors, for example, see: Charles Lowy, “Chazanim ‘On Trial’ in Pressburg”, Cantors’ Review, September 1980, available at http://geoffreyshisler.com/Pressberg.html.
[viii]For example: The tale is told that the Tzaddik of Kaliv would magically travel to Safed every Friday afternoon together with his attendant, so that he could immerse himself in the mikveh of the famed kabbalist Rabbi Isaac Luria (1534-1572). One time the Tzaddik of Kaliv returned to Hungary leaving his attendant behind. When the attendant emerged from the mikveh he was startled to find himself so far from home.
[ix]The version presented herein was retold by Rabbi Hayim Elazar Shapiro of Munkács (1871-1937) and printed in: יצחק אדלר, סדר שנה האחרונה, מונקאטש תרצ”ז-ת”ש; מהדורה חדשה ברוקלין תשנ”ח, הערה בעמ’ רטו-רטז, available at www.hebrewbooks.org/4761. To preserve the original flavor of the tale I have freely translated from the original Hebrew and Yiddish.
[x]That is, the opening words of the Unetaneh Tokef prayer: ונתנה תוקף קדושת היום.
[xi]The responsum was printed posthumously – as with all of R. Meir’s writings – by the author’s son and successor, Rabbi Yehoshua Horowitz of Dzików (1848-1912), as an appendix to a compilation of R. Meir’s Hasidic sermons on the festivals; see: ר’ מאיר הורוויץ מדזיקוב, אמרי נועם על מועדים וחדשי השנה, חלק שני, קראקא תרמ”ו, תשובה א, בעמ’ פז-פח, available at www.hebrewbooks.org/35578. On Rabbi Meir Horowitz of Dzików, see: יעקב פליישר (עורך), קהילת טרנובז’ג-דזיקוב: ספר זכרון ועדות, תל-אביב תשל”ג, עמ’ 74-80, 112-115; יצחק אלפסי, אנציקלופדיה לחסידות: אישים, ירושלים תשמ”ו-תשס”ה, כרך ג, עמ’ 36; יצחק אלפסי, ממלכת החכמה: תולדות בית ראפשיץ-דז’יקוב, ירושלים תשנ”ד, שער ג; פנקס הקהילות, ירושלים תש”ל-תשס”ז, פולין, כרך ג, עמ’ 191.
[xii]A full discussion of the halakhic underpinnings of the question is beyond the scope of this paper; a brief word is nevertheless in order. On account of the abolition of the Sanhedrin and consequent suspension of the Jewish legal system as it operated at the time, the Sages forbade singing at feasts:
(“משבטלה סנהדרין בטל השיר מבית המשתאות שנאמר בַּשִּׁיר לֹא יִשְׁתּוּ יָיִן וגו’ (ישעיה כד, ט)” (משנה סוטה ט, יא
Following this, the great Medieval codifier of the customs of German Jewry, Rabbi Yaakov Levi Moelin (Maharil, ca.1365-1427) wrote:
שלא כדין הוא ששוררים במשתאות אוֹדְךָ כִּי עֲנִיתָנִי (תהלים קיח, כא) וכה”ג כמה פיוטים לשמחת מריעות כי אז התורה חוגרת שק ומתאוננת לפני הקב”ה לומר – בני עשאוני כמין זמר. אך בבתי כנסיות לרגלים ולמועדים מצוה לשיר ולנגן שירות ותושבחות לכבוד המלך גדול ונורא יתברך (ר’ יעקב מולין, מהרי”ל: מנהגים, ירושלים תשמ”ט, ליקוטים, אות יא בעמ’ תריב
This position is recorded in the gloss of Rabbi Avraham Abele Gombiner (Magen Avraham, ca.1633-ca.1683) to the Shulhan Arukh:
(דלא שרי אלא אותם השירים שנתקנו על הסעודה כגון בשבת, אבל פיוטים אחרים אסור (מגן אברהם תקס, סק”י
[xiii]Unless stated otherwise, I have relied upon the following sources: Samuel Rosenblatt, Yossele Rosenblatt: The story of his life as told by his son, New York 1954, in particular pp. 19-22, 140-151, 287-290 (herein: Rosenblatt 1954); Joseph Greenberger (retired New York policeman), “Cantor Josef Rosenblatt”, Cantor’s Review 1976, available at www.geoffreyshisler.com/Rosenblatt.html, from the content of the article it is apparent that it was written in 1972, and includes excerpts from a 1918 interview where Yossele told his life story; Geoffrey Shisler, “Yosef (Yossele) Rosenblatt”, available at www.chazzanut.com/articles/rosenblatt-1.html; David Olivestone, “Standing Room Only: The Remarkable Career of Cantor Rosenblatt”, Jewish Action 64:1 (fall 2003/5764), available (without pictures) at www.chazzanut.com/articles/rosenblatt-2.html; Shandler 2009: 25-34. Besides critically recounting the episode, Shandler’s significant contribution is depicting the context and highlighting counter-narratives; topics not dealt with in this paper. See also: Alex Halberstadt, “The Man with the $50,000 Beard: How a cantor became an American music legend”, Tablet, 11 June 2007, available atwww.tabletmag.com/arts-and-culture/music/1134/the-man-with-the-50000-beard.
[xiv]Shandler 2009: 25.
[xv]Technically, The Jazz Singer was not a “talkie” as actors only had sound when they sang and there are inter-titles for the dialogue, as in silent movies. It was, however, the first full-length feature with lip-synchronisation. In 2007 an 80th anniversary special edition DVD of The Jazz Singer was released. The teachwithmovies website has a (purchasable) lesson plan for The Jazz Singer, available at: www.teachwithmovies.org/guides/jazz-singer.html.
[xvi] Many have noted that the significance of Kol Nidrei is largely tied to its musical rendition (see: Theodor Reik, Ritual: Psycho-analytic Studies, translated from the second German edition by Douglas Bryan, London 1931, reprinted New York 1946: 167-215). A similar sentiment was recently expressed by Alexander Gelfand: “Fasting, repentance, getting inscribed in the book of life: these are all important aspects of Yom Kippur. But for me, it’s all about the music. I stopped doing most of the things that Jews are supposed to do …Yom Kippur still rings my chimes, mostly because of Kol Nidre. The melody alone has an almost Pavlovian effect on me: all it takes is a bar or two, and I swing into full-blown contemplation mode, complete with a detailed review of my personal failings over the past year” (Alexander Gelfand, “Melancholy Melody: Kol Nidre gets me every time”, Tablet, 24 September 2009, available at www.tabletmag.com/arts-and-culture/music/16858/melancholy-melody-2/). Regarding the source of the melody J.D. Eisenstein (1854-1956) suggested that the melody may be attributed to the Marranos of Spain (see: יהודה דוד אייזענשטיין, אנציקלופדיה אוצר ישראל, ניו יורק תרס”ו-תרע”ג, כרך ה, עמ’ 275-276).
For an entirely different perspective on Kol Nidrei, see: Eddy Portnoy, “The Festive Meal: When Yom Kippur was a time to eat, drink, and be merry”, Tablet, 24 September 2009, available at www.tabletmag.com/life-and-religion/16771/the-festive-meal/. As Portnoy noted, in 1927 the Warsaw Yiddish daily Haynt reported a Kol Nidrei evening organized by Independent Socialists in which various cantors and cantorettes performed; despite the antinomian nature of this event, the cantor’s place was not to be denied!
[xvii]For a discography of phonograph recordings by Yossele held by his children, see: Rosenblatt 1954: 369-371; indicatively, the list contains numerous liturgical selections. A 1912 recording of Yossele’s Kol Nidrei can be accessed at www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMgiPSyX9YA&feature=fvwrel. The flip side of this record was ‘El mole rachmin’ (für Titanik) – a recording of this classic memorial prayer for the victims of the Titanic, available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEpadnRY4CU&feature=related. On early sound recordings of chazzonus and their subsequent effects, see: Shandler 2009: 16-25.
[xviii]Samuel Rosenblatt’s account is slightly flawed: he describes his father’s position against being photographed (because of the make-up) and concludes his recollection by noting that after negotiations “[m]y father agreed, provided he was not photographed, to sing Rachem and several other such non-liturgical Jewish melodies for the Vitaphone production”. As noted, Yossele did appear in the film. On this basis, David Olivestone concluded that Samuel “had not actually seen the film when he wrote these words.” Recently, Shandler pointed to various contradictory accounts and questioned the veracity of Samuel Rosenblatt’s narrative (Shandler 2009: 30-31). Samuel Rosenblatt’s account certainly reflects collective memory of the episode and is part of cantorial lore.
[xix]Despite the relatively minor role, Yossele still received star billing after Al Jolson, May McAvoy and Warner Oland. The clip of Yossele singing Yartzeit Licht in The Jazz Singer (1927) is available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=y1HURXWH9FA.
[xx]According to Samuel Rosenblatt, Campanini offered Yossele $1,000 for each performance plus travel expenses and was prepared to sign a contract for 17 performances; in the letter Campanini sent to Newman on 21st March 1918, he mentioned 5 performances (see: Rosenblatt 1954: 142, 144). Either way, in addition to any desire for the fame of opera, the contract would have been financially tempting compared to the $10,000 annual salary that Yossele received from his congregation at the time.
[xxi]For general press noting Yossele’s refusal see, inter alia: “Rabbi Rejects $1,000 Fee to Sing Opera,” New York Times, 15 April 1918: 13; “Cantor’s First Concert: Josef Rosenblatt Pleases Audience at Carnegie Hall,” New York Times, 20 May 1918. For the Jewish press see, inter alia: י’ קירשענבוים, “דער עמוד איז אים טייערער ווי 1000$ א נאכט אין דער אפערא”, דער מארגען זשורנאל, 18 אפריל 1918, ז’ 4. See also the cartoon that appeared in דער גרויסער קונדס – the Yiddish satirical weekly published in New York between 1909 and 1927. In one cartoon by Lola (Leon Israel), Yossele with a mahzor under his arm flees a scantily clad woman labeled “Grand Opera”. The caption has the woman beckoning: “Come, Yossele, a thousand dollars a night!’ and Yossele replying with the declaration of faith: “Shema Yisrael [Hear, O Israel]!!!” (“יאסעלע כאפט דעם מחזר און לויפט אין שול אריין”, דער גרויסער קונדס, 3 מייַ 1918, ז’ 7, reproduced without the original caption, in Rosenblatt 1954, between p.182 and p.183). Samuel Rosenblatt quoted the reaction of the Jewish Monitor of Fort Worth, Texas: “If what we read is true, this man is a true Maccabean. We have heard of … cantors who have given up their profession because of financial strain; this is the first time that we have heard of a refusal of such an offer on the ground that it would interfere with religious duties” (quoted in Rosenblatt 1954: 145; see also pp. 146ff for other similar reactions).
[xxii]Rosenblatt 1954: 141.
[xxiii]See: Rosenblatt 1954: 215-216. While this offer was more lucrative and Yossele’s refusal was also noted by the press, it appears that the episode did not generate the same uproar.
[xxiv]Samuel Rosenblatt cast this foray in terms of an opportunity for his father: “[H]is very conduct on the variety stage and the demands he made from the managers to satisfy his religious scruples were an ideal medium for teaching the non-Jewish masses of America something of the tenets of the Jewish faith while acquainting them with Jewish music. The announcements on the billboards that Josef Rosenblatt would not be heard on Friday evening or Saturday matinee, because he was observing his Sabbath, constituted a real Kiddush Hashem, a glorification of the Jewish religion. They evoked the profoundest respect and reverence in everybody.” Shandler noted that Yossele was driven to concerts and vaudeville in order to repay debt he had accrued after an ill-advised investment; not out of religious zeal (Rosenblatt 1954: 261-262; Shandler 2009: 28-29).
[xxv]The Dream of My People (1934) was directed by A.J. Bloome for the Palestine-American Film Company and narrated by Zvee Scooler (1899-1985), a well-known American-Jewish radio commentator and actor. In the film, Yossele sung his own compositions at biblical sites in the Land of Israel that were relevant to the words of the songs. The aim of the movie was to show the Holy Land, its sacred sites, newly built cities and settlements to Jews of America. After filming a scene at the Dead Sea, Yossele suffered a heart attack and died shortly afterwards, aged 51. Yossele was eulogized by the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of the Land of Israel, Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak HaKohen Kook (1865-1935) and then interned on the Mount of Olives. His funeral was well-attended. A few days later a memorial service attended by some 2,500 people was conducted for him in Carnegie Hall, where 200 cantors assembled on the stage to sing Yossele’s compositions (see the announcement in the Hebrew daily Davar – “החזן יוסף רוזנבלט”, דבר, 20 יוני 1933, עמ’ 1 – and the subsequent articles in the American press – New York Times, 21 and 28 June 1933).