What is Jewish music, anyway?
Avi Finegold scales the sounds of Niggun MiSinai
M ost people have some idea of what Jewish food is—or, at least, they think they do. They probably even have some opinions about it: which versions of certain recipes they prefer, which are more authentic. But the truth is there is hardly any food that is natively, inherently Jewish. Whether you think of Ashkenazi classics like matzah balls, smoked meat, or bagels, or staples of Israeli cuisine like falafel and hummus, the foods we think of as Jewish have all come from the lived environments Jews found themselves in. These foods be- came incorporated into Jewish culture sim- ply by being there at the right moments in
We still, typically, hear artists grafting Jewish lyrics onto existing musical genres. Thus we have Matisyahu performing middling reggae with lyrics pulled from Hasidic teachings, or Nefesh Mountain, an ace bluegrass band with Jewish summer-camp vibes. Does it matter that a casual listener of the music might not even be aware that it is Jewish? The very fact that we can ask the question highlights the reality that lyrics and intent aren’t enough to make music Jewish. Zale Newman, a Toronto hedge fund manager with deep roots as a Jewish music performer and producer, argues that the way music is used—the context in which it
time and hanging around for long enough. The same argument can be made for Jewish music. When we tend to think of klezmer or the Middle Eastern modes that typify Jewish music, it is not a far leap to point to existing sounds in the folk or art music of whatever milieu that music was made in. The inherently Jewish aspects of “Jewish” music are generally related to the lyrics rather than the music itself, that are borrowed from prayer or psalms. But the rest of it—what the music actually sounds like—is influenced by our surroundings. Much of what is described as Jewish music today is a continuation of this trend.
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