THE ART OF
JEWISH SONG

The largest group comprises songs that make specific references to Judaism or to various aspects of Jewish life and culture. References to the Hasidic culture, to the Sabbath, and to music in the context of weddings are common. 

Weiner’s Yosl klezmer (Little Joseph the Klezmer), to a poem by Naftali Gross (1896–1956), extols the virtues of the klezmer (musician), whose infectious playing whips the wedding party into a frenzy. Similar themes occur in Oif mayn khasene (At My Wedding) by Leonard Bernstein. This poem, by Yankev-Yitskhok Segal [Jacob-Isaac Segal] (1896–1954), takes pity on the klezmer’s impoverished lifestyle while marveling at the “young redhead’s” immense skill. “At my wedding this youngster played/So that people were lifted from their seats/Feet wanted to take off/Ears were sharpened like spears.” But in Der yid mitn fidl (The Jew with the Fiddle), Weiner’s setting of a poem by A. Lutzky [Aaron Tsuker] (1894–1957), the musician protagonist must justify his chosen path to his wife, who pleads with him to seek more gainful and practical employment as a tailor. The wedding jester is the central character in Henoch Kon’s Der badkhn (poem by Itzik Manger), though the text is more of a meditation on aging and the passage of time. 

Yidish, composed by Weiner in 1946, is one of four songs in this group that refer to Hasidism. Yankev-Yitskhok Segal’s poem names four well-known Hasidic rebbes and celebrates the Yiddish language as the “golden well” of both spiritual leaders and “plain, simple, poor Jews”; and A nign (A Melody), to a poem by L. Magister [Leibush Lehrer] (1887–1965), calls out the Hasidic practice of singing for spiritual elevation. Shtil likht (Quiet Candles) and Baym bentshn likht (When Lighting the Candles) are among the few songs whose poems reference mothers (or women more generally). Both do so in the context of lighting the Sabbath candles, highlighting the role Jewish mothers play in transmitting religious rituals and traditions. The former, to a poem by Mani Leib [Mani Leib Brahinski] (1883–1953), was originally composed for Weiner’s opera, The Golem, while the latter, to a poem by Joseph Rubinstein (1905–1978), was dedicated by Weiner to his mother and mother-in-law.

Two more songs by Weiner deal with the relationship between fathers and sons. Der sholem zokher (The Son-Welcoming) is about the formal “son-welcoming” ceremony held on the first Friday night following the birth of a male child. The poem by Itzik Manger references myriad customs associated with this ritual in different Jewish cultures. It comes from a larger cycle of poems called Khumesh lider (Songs of the Pentateuch; 1935), which recasts biblical events and figures in a nineteenth-century Eastern European context. ( See Neil W. Levin’s editorial note for more on Khumesh lider). A foter tzu zyn zun (A Father to His Son), to a poem by Jacob Glatstein (1896–1971), reflects ongoing concerns about assimilation. It is essentially a lament for a child that has been “pulled away” by the outside world and chosen not to lead a Judaically observant life, despite his father’s best efforts—a theme that surfaced several times throughout Weiner’s life.

A significant portion of the poems reflects themes of longing or yearning—for a far away lover, a distant place, or simply a vision of happiness. At first glance, they reflect aestheticism’s disengagement from the social realm. And yet, some contain political undertones that seem more than coincidental.

H. Leivick’s Ergets vayt (Somewhere Far) projects images of a faraway, snow-covered land where treasures await discovery. But the reference to a prisoner that lies alone alludes to the Siberian exile of political dissidents during the pre-Soviet era. Leivick wrote the poem on a cold wintry night, looking out from the comfort of his modest attic room. As he peered through the window he envisioned the cold Siberian landscape where he had very recently served several years of hard labor for his involvement with the Jewish Labor Bund. Di Yunge scholar Ruth Wisse has referred to the recurring image of the window in the group’s poetry as “Their most characteristic prop . . . separating the inner from the outer world, creating either a sheltering haven or a cell of isolation.” The setting here by Lazar Weiner came some twenty years after Leivick wrote the poem, reflecting what Weiner’s son has called his “deepening awareness of social and political crises as they affected the Jews of Europe and the Soviet Union.”

The topic of Leivick’s A shtikl papir (A Little Piece of Paper), set here by Mikhl Gelbart, is more benign, expressing the longing and despair of a jilted lover.

Other settings by Weiner in this group include Toybnshtile (Hushed Doves) by Mani Leib, Shtile tener (Hushed Tones) by Nahum Baruch Minkoff, and Ikh hob dikh shoyn lang (Long Haven’t I) by Rajzel Zychlinska.

With the titles like “The Unrest” and “The Night Watchman,” one might justifiably assume the two songs by Paul Lamkoff pertain also to the political climate of their time. But Der nakht vekhter, by Avraham Reisen, is a poem about a tired watchman who envies the residents of houses over which he watches. Though it is possible to also read it as a commentary on inequality, the longing expressed is for a better life. And the “unrest” expressed in Di umru is emotional rather than social, even though Lamkoff—a child of Eastern Europe—certainly could have related to any political connotations suggested in the poems.

Two settings by Solomon Golub close this group of songs. Baym taykh (By the River), by Mani Leib, is a poignant description of a young woman’s search for happiness and reciprocal love. Toybn (Doves), by Zishe Weinper, explores the moods of loneliness and gloom mediated by the cooing of two white doves.

Five of the songs in Volume 9 are lullabies, four of which are standalone and one of which appears in Helen Greenberg’s four-song cycle, Froyen Shtime (“Women’s Voices). The texts are mostly written from a mother’s perspective and—with some exceptions—follow typical lullaby conventions, including images of animals, parental protection, and a calm, peaceful world. Exceptions include Greenberg’s setting of Dremlin feygl by Leah Rudniztky, in the which the child appears to have been somehow abandoned by the parents; and the Peretz Markish Viglid, set by Weiner, in which the child has absconded and the mother rocks an empty cradle.

Neil W. Levin’s editorial note to Peretz Markish’s Viglid offers an insightful discussion of common lullaby themes and symbols:

The little goat under a baby’s cradle, as found in this Viglid—which, in some cases simultaneously goes off to “trade in” the symbolic confection of raisins and almonds, presumably for the child’s benefit—is a ubiquitous motif in European Yiddish folklore, and specifically in lullabies. More than sixty variants of Yiddish lullabies with this theme have been identified, as well as a good number in Hebrew. On the surface, the goat image has been perceived either as a companion or as a symbol of protection for the baby. Among various other more probing constructions, the goat has been interpreted as representing the father, who, on one level, is necessarily away earning a livelihood, but, on another, metaphoric plane, seeks to ensure not only a sweet future for his child but also a better world in the form of national or spiritual redemption, or both—all of which, in that scenario, may be symbolized by the acquisition of raisins and almonds. The goat itself may have been derived from earlier Jewish sources (predating Yiddish folklore), in which the kid symbolizes the Jewish people and its determination for, as well as faith in, redemption and survival. In the Aramaic-Hebrew seder song ḥad gadya (A Single Kid), for example, the story of the goat has been viewed as an allegory for Divine retribution for the persecutions of the Jewish people—although some literary critics insist that it is simply children’s verse based on a popular French ballad. Its refrain about the goat has also been interpreted as a metaphor for God’s having taken the people Israel as “His own” through the Decalogue of the Sinaitic covenant. The song was appended to the Passover Haggada, or fixed narrative, by the late 16th century.

Along with a part of the tune archetype for many of the Yiddish folksong variants—among which the best known ones are probably Unter yankeles vigele (Under Little Jacob’s Cradle), Unter soreles vigele, and Unter dem kinds vigele—this motif found expression in the theatrical song Rozhenkes mit mandlen (Raisins and Almonds), which Abraham Goldfaden (1840–1908) apparently stitched together from mulitple folk sources for his famous 1904 operetta Shulamis. That song became one of the most widely known Yiddish songs in America as well. In most variants of the actual folksong, however, the mother remains at home to sing the lullaby to the child. She goes on to express the prototypical hope that he grow up to be Judaically learned—even a scholar of renown—and pious, reflecting the emphasis of traditional Jewish values of that environment. In this later original poem, Peretz Markish has provided a fresh twist to the image and to the situation, which invites further interpretive exploration. Here, the mother sings to an empty cradle.

This group includes four pieces titled Viglid (Yiddish, lit: lullaby), so distinguishing among them can be difficult. In addition to the two already mentioned are an additional setting by Weiner to a poem by Esther Schumiatcher-Hirshbein, one by Maurice Rauch to a poem by Wolf Younin, and one by Samuel Bugatch to a poem by Avraham Cahan.