A Traditional First S'liḥot Service (Part 2/2)

 

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Liner Notes

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The notes below pertain to the individual liturgical settings contained within this recording of a traditional s'liḥot service. For more on the liturgical and aesthetic parameters of the traditional s’liḥot service, see here. This recording is also available on the CD The First S’liḥot.

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The entire rendition of the poem b’motza’ei m’nuḥa is a typical composite of various compositions for individual strophes, interspersed with cantorial improvisations for others and even with alternative refrain melodies. This pizmon has traditionally provided a musical centerpiece for the midnight First S’liḥot service. A few composers have set the entire pizmon as a purportedly cohesive composition, but most have set only one or perhaps a few of the strophes. The general practice that evolved in American synagogues has therefore been to plan a selection of strophes from various sources—ideally, of course, with an overall balance of contrasting styles. Even in the very few European sources that contain choral music for this text, such as the collection published in 1874 in Odessa by Joshua [Osias] Abrass (1820–84), only a few of the stanzas are included; and these are free compositions that do not allow rhythmically for the substitution of other strophes.

The aggregate rendition of b’motza’ei m’nuḥa recorded here is a microcosm of many of the clichés and idioms typical of orthodox and traditional choral style in synagogues where the eastern European brand of cantorial art prevails. Among these are intensely melodic solo passages for boy altos and sopranos; duets with the cantor; sustained bass solos; cantorial improvisations with choral responses and pedal point underpinnings; and fully composed sections that feature cantorial solo lines in harmony with choral expositions.

The setting of the poem’s initial strophe is a pastiche of traditional motives that was pieced together and arranged by Arnold Miller (1922–97) for the many choral services he conducted at synagogues in the greater Chicago area. Miller was a leading personality for many decades in the Jewish musical life of Chicago—as a composer, conductor, arranger, bandmaster, and pianist. The melody for the second line of the strophe, hat ozn’kha, was adapted from a tune he attributed to the esteemed cantor-composer and teacher of hazzanut, Joshua Samuel Weisser [Pilderwasser; 1888–1952].

The authorship of this setting of the sixth strophe, marom im atzmu, is uncertain. Cantor Joseph Malovany transcribed it from a live recording of a s’liḥot service sung by Cantor David Kusevitsky with a choir conducted by Morris Barash. An educated guess is that it was composed by Herman Zalis (1885–1969), who conducted, composed, and arranged for Kusevitsky for many years.

The penultimate strophe, p’ne na, was composed expressly for the Milken Archive by Cantor Ira Bigeleisen. His bass solo part reflects an idiomatic stylistic fixture of eastern European–oriented repertoire.

Meyer Machtenberg’s famous setting of the final strophe, r’tze atiratam, gained wide currency in American synagogues from its early recording by the world-renowned and preeminent cantor Yossele [Joseph] Rosenblatt (to whom it has sometimes been erroneously attributed, since his initial recording failed to credit Machtenberg). This piece has acquired numerous subsequent expansions and extended arrangements, with multiple recurrences of the signature melody for the refrain, lishmo’a. The one here, however, retains the simplicity of the original.

T’vi’enu [havi’enu in some variant readings] incorporates a verse from Isaiah 56:7 and contains a messianic message that is interpreted dramatically and vividly in this setting by Joshua Lind. This is an unabashedly theatrical treatment of the type that found great acceptance in traditional eastern European–oriented American synagogues. One is tempted to ascribe its kitsch to American Jewish popular influence, but its flavor is not so far afield from other traditional approaches to this text. Some of its most familiar settings by other composers—e.g., Kalechnik and even Eliezer Gerovisch (1844–1914), whose stylistic orientation is probably the most classically westernized and dignified among all eastern European synagogue composers—also betray a marchlike, almost triumphal military character. It has even been suggested that such lively dramatizations provide an aesthetic moment of emotional relief just prior to the following sober supplication, sh’ma kolenu, which is a fervent, heartrending plea.

The first part of sh’ma kolenu is taken from the daily service (from the section known as the sh’mone esrei, or the Eighteen Benedictions). The remainder of the text as it appears in the s’liḥot liturgy (generally considered part of the same s’liḥa prayer) is derived from Lamentations (5:21) and Psalms. Its cantorial rendition generally constitutes one of the emotional peaks of the First S’liḥot service. Joseph Rumshinsky (1881–1956), whose setting is sung here for most of the text, was primarily a Second Avenue Yiddish theater composer, songwriter, and conductor, and he is remembered as one of the giants of that popular genre. But like many of his most successful fellow Second Avenue songwriters, such as Sholom Secunda, Abraham Ellstein, and Alexander Olshanetsky, he also wrote (and sometimes conducted) for the synagogue. This is one of his best- known liturgical pieces. In this rendition, free cantorial improvisation has been substituted for the last section, a typical option in such traditional services.

Ashamnu is the short form of the communal confession. It consists of twenty-four alphabetically arranged expressions and manifestations of sin and transgression. The rendition here follows what has become the basic melodic pattern in American synagogues, based on some European traditions. But the solo vocal line in this arrangement mirrors the refined variant sung by Moshe Koussevitzky. In the synagogue, the choral responses would be joined by the congregation each time, and the recurring wordless tune that interrupts the recitation of collective transgressions is a ubiquitous congregational melody reserved for this occasion in nearly all traditional American services. At one time, there were many extant alternative melodies, but this particular tune has emerged as virtually exclusive.

The curious habit of attaching a lighthearted, homey tune to one of the most awe-inspiring and solemn moments in the liturgy has Hassidic origins in Europe, and even some humorous justifications in Hassidic folklore. S. Y. Agnon, in his Sippurei habesht (Stories of the Baal Shem Tov), relates a story in which the juxtaposition of joyful tunes against the text of the confessional is likened to the gladness felt by a devoted servant upon clearing rubbish from his king’s court. Yet the classical European published synagogue music collections contain no such tuneful adjuncts to the confessional. This custom, now standard in most traditional Ashkenazi services, may be but one further example of the lasting Hassidic imprint on the development of eastern European hazzanut during the 19th and early 20th centuries.

Joshua Lind's version of raḥamana, an Aramaic text written in Babylonia, is another case of humble supplication accompanied by mirthful song—in this case even akin to a quasi-Hassidic dance tune. Although other, more classically oriented settings of raḥamana—such as an extended composition by Zilberts—treat the opening lines with deep reverence and humility, most composers (including Zilberts) have nonetheless also set the final phrase with spirited optimism: “Now, soon, in our own time!”

Maran d’vishmayya is also in Aramaic. The composer of this setting, Dan (David) Frohman (1903–77), was the music director of a major Conservative synagogue in the Detroit area for many years. He frequently adapted folklike phrases in his pieces.

Celebrated as a legend both during his lifetime and after his death more than any other cantor in the pantheon of the great virtuosi, Yossele [Joseph] Rosenblatt was one of the supreme cantorial artists of all time. And especially to the lay public, non-Jewish as well as Jewish, he remains probably the most famous cantor of any generation. His shomer yisra’el is one of his most classically constructed and best-known compositions. It is sung here in a contemporary arrangement by the gifted South African–Israeli composer and arranger Raymond Goldstein, who has retained the full spirit and flavor of Rosenblatt’s style.

Avinu malkenu was improvised, according to the pertinent talmudic reference (b. Taanit 25b), by Rabbi Akiva in the 1st or 2nd century and was originally a nucleus of only five lines, with the preceding refrain on those two initial words of address (Our Father, Our King). It was subsequently increased to 29 lines in the Sephardi rite, 38 in the German Ashkenazi rite, and 44 in the Polish, or eastern European Ashkenazi rite. Only the last line, however, is customarily sung toward the conclusion of the s’lihot service. This melody is universal among American synagogues, but its origin is undetermined. It is not found in any notated European sources.

The full kaddish (kaddish shalem) (track 12, CD 2) concludes the s’liḥot service, just as it was begun with the half kaddish. Although there is no prescribed traditional version for this concluding kaddish, which can be simply and syllabically chanted, the engaging rendition here—which has become increasingly popular in recent decades—is based on a setting composed in Europe by Jacob Gottlieb (1852–1900), better known as Yankl der Heizeriker (Yankl the hoarse one, or husky-voiced one). It is now commonly labeled “Hassidic kaddish,” since Gottlieb apparently claimed that he had heard Hassidim singing the concluding kaddish of the Rosh Hashana musaf service “cheerfully” (though not necessarily to this specific tune). Neither its principal melody nor its secondary motives are found in the repertoire of any authentic Hassidic traditions; and Gottlieb referred to his creation simply as “yitgaddal”—the initial word of the text incipit. According to Gottlieb’s son Berl, he even substituted the Yiddish words a heym for the last pronouncement of v’al (and all [Israel] ), which he said gave it the meaning, “and all can now go home [since your prayers have been accepted].” This basic composite tune was sung and recorded by both Yossele Rosenblatt and Moshe Koussevitzky, in modified arrangements. It has therefore often been attributed erroneously to one or the other—including in supposedly reliable published sources. The original manuscript, however, formerly in the possession of Gottlieb’s grandson until his own death, together with the family oral history as passed down by Gottlieb’s son—also a cantor in various European cities and then in Newcastle upon Tyne, in England—leaves no doubt concerning authorship.

The basic version that has emerged through oral transmission to establish its present identity, however, departs in some significant respects from that original manuscript. This includes even differences in tonality, especially in the opening section. Moreover, numerous arrangers have tinkered with the piece, leaving a stream of variant renderings, adaptations, and altered choral elements—though none appear to have consulted the Gottlieb manuscript. The arrangement created for this recording also follows the melodic contours of the more commonly recognizable variants. Even though the Rosenblatt and Koussevitzky recordings introduced this kaddish many decades ago, its popularity increased remarkably over the course of the last quarter of the 20th century. So widespread had its use become by the end of the century that it is now frequently sung on Sabbaths and Festivals, even though Gottlieb intended it more narrowly for the High Holy Days.

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Lyrics

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Credits

Composer: Various

Performers: Ira Biegeleisen, Bass Solo;  Neil Levin, Conductor;  Benzion Miller, Cantor;  Schola Hebraeica

Additional Credits:

Publishers:

zohalim (Track 4) - Dale Lind

Sh'ma kolenu (Track 11) - Music Sales Corp