My Path to Jewish Music

The collection of essays Mein Weg zur jüdischen Musik (My Path to Jewish Music), published in Vienna in 1935 by Jibneh-Musikverlag, stands as the intellectual manifesto of Joachim Stutschewsky, a musician whose prolific journalistic writing formed a direct extension of his musical career at a crucial moment in his life. These essays address subjects that lay at the very heart of Stutschewsky’s work and agenda as a composer in the face of the growing upheavals affecting Central European Jewry during the interwar period: Is there a distinct Jewish music? What defines Jewish music, and what is its historical trajectory? How should one respond to opposition to Jewish music—especially when it comes from Jewish musicians themselves? Above all, the volume serves as a call to action, urging Jewish composers to create an autochthonous repertoire in response to the growing appeal of Jewish nationalism. In addition, Stutschewsky included three biographical sketches of contemporary Jewish composers whom he regarded as exemplars in the creation of a new Jewish music: Joel Engel, Joseph Achron, and Alexander Krein.

Dedicated to Joel Engel—the “catalyst” whose early influence ignited Stutschewsky’s commitment to Jewish musical expression—the collection traces the author’s artistic evolution. He moved from a distinguished career in Western classical chamber music as a founding member of the Viennese String Quartet, which premiered seminal works by Arnold Schoenberg and Anton Webern, to become a passionate advocate of Jewish music and a vocal proponent of a distinctive Jewish musical style. At the center of his work stood a tireless effort to forge a concert repertoire that reflected what he perceived as the inner sonic essence of the Jewish people while expressing its historical continuity.

Stutschewsky used the press to bypass institutional indifference toward Jewish music and to reach audiences directly. During his lifetime he published more than three hundred articles, including several dozen during his European years. The essays assembled in this volume, written during the 1920s and 1930s, were prepared while he served as director and editor of the Jibneh Jewish music publishing house, an imprint affiliated with Universal Edition in Vienna. His principal platforms were a music column in the Viennese Zionist journal Die Stimme and later the Prague-based journal Selbstwehr. He also devoted considerable energy to organizing chamber and orchestral concerts of Jewish music through the Society for the Promotion of Jewish Music (Verein zur Förderung jüdischer Musik), an organization he founded in Vienna in 1927 and led until his emigration to Palestine on the eve of the Anschluss.

Central to these writings is Stutschewsky’s nuanced—and at times combative—understanding of Jewish nationalism. He articulates a profound dilemma: while passionately advocating the emergence of a Jewish “national” music, he carefully distinguished this form of cultural self-determination from the chauvinistic and exclusionary nationalism of the rising Nazi regime. For Stutschewsky, the pursuit of a Jewish “national character” was never an act of political aggression; rather, it was a vital and existential process of cultural renewal—a movement toward what he called “conscious togetherness,” intended to heal the fragmented soul of a people estranged from its own history. These writings also reveal his growing enthusiasm for the creative possibilities opened by territorial Jewish nationalism. Reflecting on Engel’s move to Palestine in 1925, he wrote:

“A significant portion of [Engel’s] works was written during his final years in Palestine, born of a fertile interaction with the local landscape, the new generation of people, and the liberating atmosphere of the ancestral soil. There—where people go to work singing and return dancing—drawing from the vital spirit of this completely transformed present, the lyrical strain in Engel’s nature was moved to create a series of exceptionally beautiful songs.”

In these pages, the reader encounters the voice of a distinguished European musician who, amid the darkening political horizon of 1930s Europe, chose to anchor his artistic vision in the shared, if at times vague and challenging, musical heritage of his people.

I am grateful to Dr. Meir Stern for his generous assistance in preparing this translation from German into English. Stutschewsky’s original emphases have been preserved throughout; whereas the original German edition used letter-spacing for emphasis, this English translation employs bold type. Full bibliographical references missing from the original German were completed and appear in square brackets. Hebrew readers can find translations of these essays, together with additional writings by Stutschewsky, in his collection Be-ma‘agalei ha-muzika ha-yehudit (On Jewish Music, Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hame’uhad, 1988). For a comprehensive biography of Stutschewsky, see here.

In the course of the movement to collect and create a distinct "Jewish" music, there has arisen—and continues to arise—a persistent need to combat deep-seated prejudices and to define the concept of Jewish music more precisely. Little trust is placed in the creative musical talents of the Jewish people; indeed, some deny the Jews any capacity for original artistic creation whatsoever. Others—including many Jews themselves—lean toward the view that Jewish music cannot exist. They argue that while there have been individual composers of Jewish descent, these figures produced little of significance and were so thoroughly assimilated into their host cultures that they were unable to create music of a truly independent character or substance. 
The following essays decisively oppose these views and advocate for a positive stance toward Jewish musical talent in general and Jewish music in particular. They seek understanding and recognition, not only from specialists but especially from the vast number of music lovers among the Jewish people. 

We must recognize that, for the time being, we lack the strictly scientific means to define and clarify the nuances of national expression in music with absolute certainty. There is currently no epistemological basis to explain the existence of these differences. In our evaluation of this complex of questions, we are ultimately more reliant on intuition than on empirical knowledge, though our views are informed by experience and ample opportunities for comparison. Nevertheless, these national differences do exist—from people to people, from North to South—and it is precisely in music that they determine expression, essence, and form. 

These writings were composed to assert the right of Jewish music to exist; to rouse wider Jewish circles from their indifference; to inform the public of the transformation taking place within a small group of Jewish musicians; and to highlight their achievements. Ultimately, they serve as a call to the Jewish musicians of today to return to themselves and remember their duty to their people. 
These essays were written over many years and published individually in various newspapers and journals. This collection was compiled at the request of many friends of Jewish music who believe that, in this period of Jewish awakening and renewal, these reflections will have a more profound impact when presented in a unified form. The original content remains almost entirely unchanged. I ask the reader’s indulgence for the unavoidable repetitions necessitated by the exclusivity of the subject and the singular focus of its treatment. 

The series begins with my response to a survey entitled "My Way to Jewish Music". To round out the overall picture and clarify the current situation, I have included three biographical articles on Engel, Achron, and Krein. If these reflections—which should be seen as the personal manifesto of a Jewish musician—contribute to clearing away old prejudices and paving the way for new insights, the author will consider his task fulfilled. 
Vienna, December 1935
 

"My way...?" Confronting this complex of questions remains, unfortunately, a problem for most Jewish musicians. For me, however, it is not. This is why answering the question is somewhat embarrassing for me; I lack the necessary prerequisites to describe a "way" in the conventional sense. I do not perceive a way toward, but rather a line within Jewish music. It is a line of development spanning from the unconscious to the conscious realization of those essential, creative musical forces anchored within the Jew.

My very first musical impressions were received through Jewish folk music: songs at home, the music and dancing at weddings, the Jewish theater, and—perhaps most enduringly—the liturgy of the synagogue. While I believe these external environmental factors were influential, they were not the deciding factor. The core and driving force of my commitment to Jewish music did not stem from this atmosphere alone. Rather, I am convinced that what works and shapes us from the unconscious is decisive—that the primordial is the source of all creativity. From the inside out, not the outside in!

Out of my own musical essence—passing through the interpretive-creative work of the pure "play-impulse" (Spieltrieb) and arriving at a recognition of the absolute necessity of the Jewish people’s own artistic expression—there finally emerged "the way...!" toward Jewish music. This is a music capable of expressing and shaping the character of life and the temperament of the Jewish people.

At the threshold of a new chapter in Jewish history, a new way of feeling and thinking triggers new associations. Fresh forces are pressing out of the darkness and into the light, beginning to reshape our artistic sensibilities. The Jewish artist—the Jewish musician foremost among them—perceives the manifestations of his own essence, rediscovers the "Jewish soul," and allows it to be resurrected in all its dynamism within his work. It was here that I began to forge connections with the new creations of an already distinct body of Jewish musical literature; here that my labor for Jewish music manifested, growing into an inner conviction and a passionate devotion.

In an in-depth examination of the works, a compelling conclusion emerges – notwithstanding the differing characters, the manifold musical expressions, and the individual style of each composer – one of a uniform physiognomy: a certain curve of soulful emotion, melodic structure, harmonic connection, and rhythmic design. This new Jewish music draws new borders that shall separate the Jewish people from the yesterday of the Diaspora and lead toward a new epoch.

(Response to a public survey by the "Jüdische Rundschau," Berlin, April 16, 1930.)

Russia, twenty-five years ago. Into the narrow, dark alleys of the ghetto falls the first ray of light of a nascent Renaissance. New forces are stirring. The will to unfold one’s own essence and culture, dormant for centuries, has awakened. A new literature, a new art is in the making. Jewish folk music, too, is to be rescued from oblivion and restored to its true purpose. Engel—at that time a well-known and respected music critic for the democratic Moscow newspaper Russkija Wjedomosti—began to occupy himself intensely with Jewish folk songs.

The melodies of the Jews, the ancient ones from the liturgy and the new ones from family, social, and folk life, wandered homelessly through the world; they found no echo and awakened no vibration within the Jewish musician. While at the same time Russian composers (Glinka, Rimsky-Korsakov, Mussorgsky) and certainly those of other nations found strong inspiration for their themes in Jewish folk and synagogal motifs, the vast majority of Jewish musicians bypassed their own material, showing no particular interest in the melodic wealth of their own people. A treasure accumulated over many centuries lay fallow and unexplored.

Engel recognized early on the great significance of folk music for higher "art music" as the direct expression of the Jewish people; he recognized simultaneously his own task and life’s work. For him, there was no doubt that for the further development of the Jewish people—for the striving toward independence and unification—the creation of a Jewish style in music was a natural necessity. Taking the emergence of Russian music from the essence of folk song and dance as his model, he gained the firm conviction that a similar fertilization must occur among the Jews through their own folk and synagogal chants. Through their gradual transformation and artistic utilization in melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic respects, the foundational basis for the development of an independent Jewish art music could be established.

Noteworthy is that day in 1900, when Engel gave his first lecture on Jewish folk music at the "Imperial Ethnographic Society" and presented a number of his arrangements to the public for the first time. The impression was overwhelming. From song to song, the enthusiasm mounted. The great melodic richness, the gripping intimacy, and the unique character of the songs captivated the listeners and awakened a powerful echo within them.

Engel was filled with faith in the creative talent of the Jewish musician and in the future of a "Jewish Music". He yearned for a new generation of Jewish musicians to bring about this transformation and create a new epoch of their own musical culture. He believed, with the full force of his glowing love for his own heritage, that Jews would find an original style in music stemming from their inner musical sensibility. His entire life was permeated by a tremendous devotion to this life’s task.

As a fervent apostle, he sought with all the strength of his mind and heart to push through the idea that filled his entire being. In all the major cities of Russia, he organized concerts and lectures on Jewish music. On his initiative, the Society for Jewish Folk Music was founded in 1908, uniting all young Jewish talents. Through Engel, the conscious emancipation of Jewish creation from the influences of European schooling and adaptation took place; through him, the Jewish musician was led back to his own sphere of experience. At first, Engel’s endeavors were met with more rejection than recognition. Very soon, however, he found himself at the center of a circle of highly gifted, enthusiastically devoted young musicians (Achron, Gnessin, Krein, Milner, Rosowsky, Saminsky) who fought and worked alongside him, paving the way for the blossoming of a "Young Jewish School" in music. It was from this circle that the initial impulses emerged and the possibilities were contemplated that ultimately led to a reshaping of Jewish art music.

Hand in hand with his success and the growing recognition of his endeavors, Engel’s own productivity expanded. Supported by comprehensive knowledge and a reliable instinct, Engel spent years in painstaking labor as one of the very first to collect, sift through, and arrange the hitherto scattered material of Jewish folk music. In doing so, he pointed the way forward and prepared the ground for all who followed him. His arrangements of Jewish folk songs, published in numerous volumes, demonstrate his talent and capacity for giving these melodies a compelling form, elevating purely folk material into artistic statements. Even if Engel himself was not an exceptionally great musical genius, he can certainly be described as a musician of strong talent and multifaceted ability, possessing an especially profound understanding of the specific elements of Jewish folk music.

At the heart of his original compositions stand numerous songs imbued with a refined lyrical sensibility, set to Yiddish and Hebrew texts by Peretz, Bialik, Tschernichowsky, and others. Furthermore, his incidental music for S. Ansky’s dramatic legend The Dybbuk, created in intense collaboration with the artists of the "Habimah" Theater, occupies a central position; guided by a secure sense of style, it underscores and gives expression to the mystical plot, the tender melancholy of the pious, and the wild merriment of the beggars' dances in an extraordinary manner that preserves every nuance of their unique character. Through the gripping performances of the “Habimah” troupe, Engel’s music became renowned across nearly all of Europe and in America.

A significant portion of his works was written during his final years in Palestine, born of a fertile interaction with the local landscape, the new generation of people, and the liberating atmosphere of the ancestral soil. There—where people go to work singing and return dancing—drawing from the vital spirit of this completely transformed present, the lyrical strain in Engel’s nature was moved to create a series of exceptionally beautiful songs. For it was in the unconstrained form of the song that his talent found its most potent impulses and achieved direct contact with the people. Engel is the composer whose songs have achieved the greatest popularity in Palestine to date, having already become part of the collective cultural heritage (Volksgut). In a short time, these chants will endure among the people as genuine "folk songs," without anyone giving a thought to the author’s name. For Engel, this represented the fulfillment of his ultimate dream: to have augmented and enriched Jewish folk music.

The final works published from his estate display the characteristic and familiar traits of Engel’s compositional style. The vocal line remains melodically dominant, while the piano assumes a subordinate role. Most impressive are those works in which he imposed no artificial shackles upon himself merely to appear more modern, and where the sonic expression never disrupts the folklike line.

Today – in view of the immense development that Jewish music has since undergone, it is no longer of primary importance to pass judgment on the artistic value of his individual compositions; his significance for Jewish music lies above all in the animating power of his ideas. Engel was not merely a musician, but also a Jew and a fighter—a man of grand stature. He stood by all the young Jewish musicians who rallied to his cause, supporting them with counsel and action. Today, more than ever, we recognize the true significance of his efficacy. His longing, his thoughts live on, turning into reality and fulfillment. In the history of Jewish music that will one day be written, Engel deserves the first place—he, the awakener and pioneer of a new, Jewish art music.

Joel Engel was born in 1868 in the Taurida Governorate (South Russia). He studied at the universities of Kiev and Kharkov, completing his legal studies there. As a master student of the leading Russian composer T a n e y e v, he graduated from the Moscow Conservatory. From 1897 to 1919, he served as the head of the music criticism department for Russkija Wjedomosti, the finest Russian newspaper of the era, and as a music writer, he campaigned vigorously on behalf of the new Russian music. (Many of his articles have been published in anthologies.) He published a musical dictionary and a history of music in the Russian language, organized the first historical concerts, and for twelve years directed the first Russian People's Conservatory.

Following the Revolution, Russia became completely isolated from other states and could no longer sufficiently foster Engel’s endeavors to create a national-Jewish music. After several of his friends and fellow combatants had gone abroad, he too relocated to Berlin in 1922. There he founded the publishing company for Jewish music, "Juwal," which printed all the compositions he brought with him as well as many newly acquired ones. In Berlin, he also organized several concerts and lectures, though without finding the hoped-for resonance among the broader layers of the Jewish population.

Thus, he accepted a call to serve as a teacher of composition and piano at the music school in Tel Aviv, traveling to Palestine in the autumn of 1924. There he intended to establish a center of Jewish musical life and Jewish musical creation—a higher academy for music. Sudden death tore him away from his constructive activity on February 13, 1927.

                And now this passionate Jew, within whom the suffering and joy of his people resonated, rests in the sacred earth, in the land of his longing.

Pure and clear are the outlines of this life, noble the purpose of his striving. His work was a turning point and a proclamation, a renewal and a lesson, a mission and an incentive.

To re-establish the reciprocal relationship between a people and its musical expression is of particular importance for every observer today. However, the scope of this article limits me to the essentials of presenting matters within this wide-ranging subject.

The human being is spiritually anchored deep within his people and lives in and through this community, however distant or alienated he may seem from it. The greater and deeper the life of a people, the more powerful and rich are the creative forces of its exponents—and thus, of its artists. Every people has its own "I," its intellect, its soul, its rhythm, its own melody, and thus also the art that belongs to it. Art is conditioned, sustained, and carried forward by the nature of this collective folk-entity. Therefore, if art is to be alive, it must always remain rooted in its national character (Volkstum); the rhythm of life and the soul of the people must resonate within the artist.

Since emotions readily find direct expression in music, music proves to be a faithful reflection of the collective or the individual. Whether in the life of the individual or that of a people, in joy and sorrow, in religious practice or daily life, music is always an indispensable factor. Music is felt reality; it is the deepest expression of a community, one of our highest cultural assets. Without folk songs and folk dances, we would possess no art music. For even musical works of art (symphonies, chamber music, art songs, opera) ultimately bear the marks of the composer's bond to his people. To prove this, one need only trace the line of musical evolution from its primitive beginnings to the present day. Thus, every people finds the musical expression that best suits them, just as every era does. The path of the artist is the pursuit of this natural aspiration.

What, then, is the true bond between folklore and music?

The origin of primitive music lay in rhythm—driven by the movements of individual limbs or the entire body. Later, certain sounds were added, followed by the articulation of the voice, which was further enriched by words. Thus, rhythm is the foundation of music, the ground from which it arises. Indeed, it is in rhythm that a person’s character and temperament find their strongest manifestation, and where the most characteristic feature of every nation lies. These unique traits existed from the very primitive beginnings of nations and have endured to this day, passed down through the centuries to the European nations that have since become cultivated. To complement this motoric element (rhythm), the sentiment peculiar to each nation appears within the melos. Thus, the primal rhythm and primal melos of every nation carry over and profoundly affect art music, whether consciously or unconsciously. Today, we distinguish not only between the music of primitive cultures, but also between German, French, Russian, and Italian music, among others. In fact, it is music that provides us with the most definitive evidence for determining national distinctions. The very existence of the "motif," the emotional content of melodies (the melodic leading line), rhythmic patterns, the dynamics of the material, and the imagination of the arrangements—all of these certainly cannot be separated from the composer’s nationality, nor from the artist's personal gifts, a privilege bestowed upon him to realize and shape his people’s art music.

Although in the course of recent decades the art music of different nations has become increasingly uniform regarding compositional techniques, it must be stated that this correlation does not erase their distinct differences—in harmony, motifs, or rhythm. There is still a profound difference between the music of Berlioz, Richard Strauss, Hindemith, and Stravinsky. Therefore, we consider the music of Bach, Haydn, Mozart, and Weber to be German; we find the works of Rameau, Lully, Gounod, and Debussy steeped in the French spirit; the music from Monteverdi to Rossini and Verdi^[1] possesses an Italian sensibility; that of Dvořák and Smetana is distinctly Czech; while Glinka, Mussorgsky, Borodin, and Rimsky-Korsakov are typical of Russian music. All these works are living testaments to the national boundaries within music. As for the developments of the most recent period, it is imperative to distinguish between the concepts of national art and "racial" ("nationalistic") art. We might also discuss this within Romanian, German, and Slavic music. However, it suffices to compare B. Smetana, Moniuszko, and Glinka—each typical of the Slavic race, yet fundamentally different from one another due to their specific national qualities: the music of the first is Czech, the second Polish, and the third Russian. The effect of these differences is so strong that they stand out even within a single nation. In this regard, one might point to the musical differences between South and North Germany, or between Austrian, Ukrainian, and Great Russian music.

To dismiss the emotional and creative capacities born of a musician's individuality—capacities drawn from his national heritage and his surroundings—would mean failing to understand the basic elements, the very nucleus of all musical expressions, which always stems from this innate sensitivity. Every great work demands, first and foremost, the fully integrated, harmonious personality of the composer, and the primary marker of this is his national connection. There is no such thing as abstract "universal" or "international" music; there is only "national" music, and within it, works by geniuses who transcend the boundaries of their environment, the spirit of their time, and national borders. These works exert a universal influence on all nations and endure with eternal value. Only music that is deeply rooted in a specific national identity can ultimately bear international significance.

Vis-à-vis all the above, we must draw decisive conclusions regarding the existence of Jewish music. We must clearly recognize that the path for Jewish music is paved by the very existence of its cultural identity, whose spiritual forces reveal themselves in song, in sacred music, and in folk tunes. 

At the quarter centennial of the first stage of Jewish music, we frequently encountered the claim that it would be unreasonable today to produce a “national” creation since art moves in a “universal” direction. Apart from the popular confusion of art with politics, and nationalism with chauvinism, the word “nationality” the way it is frequently used — a misfortune — is completely misleading in the realm of art.

Art in its deepest sense is national. Art is the soul of a nation in its fullest expression. The national traits of art, especially music, have nothing to do with the “national” aspect of politics. Chauvinistic politics divides; national music unites. It unites the different elements and temperaments of the people itself, and its immense power can build bridges between nations and bring them closer to each other. Music (art) can be national and international. (A mediocre talent is limited to a narrow-minded “national” outlook, but a genius talent can create in a way that is both national and international). The crucial point in every experience that becomes a work of art is rooted in the profound national spirit of the creative mind. The nationality of any artist is the basis for the organic characteristics of his oeuvre. The true artist creates from a deep feeling, from the soul of his people. His works are conceived and born of his spirit and imagination, animated by his heartbeat. The “national” element in art—always in the folk sense, never in a “nationalistic” sense—should not become a value in itself or the final goal, but rather the ancient element that flows within the artist and propels him toward his artistic creativity. In this sense, the artist is always the faithful representative of his nation, and as an individual, he can think and create in an international manner. This is also true for the Jewish artist and for Jewish art.

For hundreds of years, the vital impulses of Judaism shrank and lay buried under the concepts of “wisdom” and “tradition.” It lacked the invigorating forces of a liberating experience to open up beyond the Shul [synagogue] and beyond the narrow alley. We became creatures of the letter and not of living nature. But the recent period of Jewish history created something new within us. A new sentiment for life, a new reality. The awareness of the living person of his very self and his basic potential. Once the barrier was broken, the Jewish person was revived with a new sense for the immediate that brought him back to nature, and he returned to learn, to listen to the innermost life within him and within his surroundings.

This was also the birth hour of Jewish art, of Jewish music. Within the general process of change, a new artistic feeling is permeating—a new feeling for music that inspires a new generation of Jewish musical talents. They discover their emotional-spiritual connection to the people, and learn to perceive its fundamental oscillations, its living purposefulness—impulses and intuition—as propelling forces in music. Out of an intuitively conscious activity, they search for and find immediate self-expression through this newly rediscovered feeling.

We have no interest in slogans, nor in superiority over other people, but rather—while self-knowledge was a fundamental necessity well achieved—in the preservation of our unique Jewish existence through artistic creation. By virtue of reshaping our Jewish essence and honoring the natural desire for our own creation: Not music by Jews, but rather Jewish music.

For several generations, art and especially music have owed a great deal to Judaism in various respects. Many Jews—whether baptized or not—were and are considered first-rate instrumentalists and composers throughout the course of musical development: as preservers of ancient traditions, as teachers, as intermediaries, as leaders, and as innovators. In every country, music was enhanced, enriched, and advanced by the Jewish capacity to understand and reshape the human soul. However, assimilation within foreign nations and alien environments prevented the Jew from nurturing his own creations into a rich harvest. Consequently, a mistaken opinion arose that the Jew is fundamentally uncreative in the field of music. And the reason for this?

For two thousand years, Jews have lived in foreign lands, split into as many parts as there are languages, nations, countries, cities, and alliances. Always being a minority, they needed to adapt their lifestyle, thoughts, and language to the alien majority for the sake of survival. Consequently, the Jewish musician—as was the case with Jewish artists in general (counting a century of known works by Jews)—lived on the European continent as a fractured entity. Half Russian, half German, half French, he was nowhere a complete whole, nor a complete self. His life and work were based on deception. Deceiving himself and others. Eventually, he became estranged from himself, an enigma to himself. Despite the prestige and recognition that were inevitably accorded to the outstanding Jewish musician, opposition from both inner and outer sources was unavoidable. Everywhere he remained a stranger; his works remained alien to other nations and unknown among his own people. Throughout his entire path ran the destructive force of a dualism in his personality: in spirit and matter, in soul and intellect, in form and content. There was a vast gulf between these Jewish musicians and the Jewish people; no bridge existed. As “wanderers between two worlds,” these musicians lacked the inner freedom that could have brought the soul to its fullest resonance.

A common claim against “Jewish music” is that it lacks tradition. Is this truly so? Musicology is still a young science. There is a lack of exhaustive research that could give us an authentic picture of the musical culture of antiquity, especially regarding Oriental peoples. Musical historiography is currently fragmentary. There are many theories, each with its own emphasis, but none are comprehensive. The research of Jewish music is also still in its infancy. There is still a lack of a well-defined methodology. There is no lack, however, of voices that dismiss the very question of the existence of “Jewish music.” These come first and foremost from circles that are unaware of the great role music and song played among Jews in ancient times, as well as the intense cultivation of music throughout Jewish history in religious, public, and social life. Jews in the ancient world possessed an extensive literature, numerous musical instruments, and a musical creativity that was remarkable for its time. The practice of music was essentially folk art. Every celebration, every event, whether happy or sad, was accompanied by music. “The tunes of which are indeed very ancient, as are the folk songs, as is evident from the fact that all old Jewish centers sing the same melodies, even though thousands of years separate them. Therefore, it is highly probable that these folk songs already existed before the destruction of the Second Temple.” (A. Z. Idelsohn).

The Jewish people during the ancient period were rich in musical experience and achievements. In the study of ancient Jewish culture during biblical times, we frequently encounter references to music. Among the three types of human occupations described in the opening chapters of the Bible, the musician appears alongside the livestock shepherd and the blacksmith. “Jubal,” the father of all who play the harp and flute.^[2] When Joseph’s brothers needed to convey the message to their father that his son, who was thought dead, was alive in Egypt, they asked Serah, Asher’s daughter, to prepare [her] grandfather Jacob for the good news with a song accompanied by the “lute.” Following the Exodus from Egypt, Moses himself burst into extensive song, accompanied by Miriam with the “harp.” King David, who ordained that four thousand Levites out of thirty-eight thousand should serve through music, sought to exorcise Saul’s evil spirit through music. The prophets were also, to some extent, musicians; music was in one way or another a part of their ritual duties. When the Prophet Elisha was about to prophesy to King Jehoshaphat, he first called for a harpist. The Bible refers to this: “And it came to pass, when the minstrel played, that the hand of the Lord came upon him, and he began his prophecy.” During the period of Samuel, music education was rigorously fostered. Josephus Flavius recounts in detail the sacred music performed in the Temple in Jerusalem. Thousands of singers, hundreds of harp and horn players, and one hundred and twenty trumpeters assisted in the inauguration of the Temple. The entire populace took part in playing; singing, performing, and dancing were shared by all.^[3] Just how dominant a place music occupied in the people's life can be gleaned from the fact that the coins of that period did not bear symbols of authority and power like a crown, an eagle, or a sword—but musical instruments,^[4] in addition to the biblical tropes [Neginoth] that are used to this day for chanting the Torah and the Books of the Prophets! These tropes, which are ancient, are a sophisticated system to fix the melodic line (milel and milra), the emphasis, and the rhythmic phrasing during the reading of the sacred texts through set signs, passing it down to future generations. It is a pity that musical notation did not exist back then. Therefore, many musical treasures disappeared over the years, and serious research is now required to search for and discover remnants across many places for us to decipher. According to recent research, the footprints of many ancient chants can be found in Gregorian chant. “It seems it would not be wrong to conclude that in Gregorian chant, especially in the Hallelujah melodies, fragments of ancient Jewish music are certainly embedded” (Hugo Riemann). Idelsohn has proven that the traditional songs of the Babylonian and Yemenite Jewish communities correlate with those of today’s Catholic Church.

As an offshoot from the depths of the ancient Jew’s emotions, this musical heritage continues to vibrate within us as a sacred tradition of undiminished power and vitality. Throughout the entire period of the Diaspora, wherever Jews lived, ancient chanting, songs, and dances resonated, continuously repeated, living on forever without losing a single grain of their high spirit and passion. These ancient tunes are so deeply felt in their simplicity that non-Jews are also touched by them.

In a later period, we find in Italy a lineage of important and highly respected musicians, the most famous being Salomone Rossi, arguably the only one who composed songs for the synagogue at that time. Many Jewish musicians could also be found in Prague, Poland, and Russia.

Despite all this, is there still no Jewish music?

With the loss of political independence and the beginning of wandering in the Diaspora, the appreciation for music did not vanish, but artistic practice itself lay dormant due to restrictive conditions and uncertain fate. Confined to the deep-rooted dogmas of tradition, and living in a reality full of anxiety and fear, devoid of light and space, the Jew gradually lost his kinship with nature and his ear for his inner feelings. Far removed from access to musical training, the Jew had neither the time nor the desire to dedicate himself to the muses. Only the movement for the reawakening of the Jewish people prompted the Jew toward original creation. The hopeful sign of this inner transformation within Judaism over recent decades became apparent when—while the older composers' adaptation to Western music and its concepts drew them away from Jewish traits, ultimately leading them to completely abandon their Jewish self-identity—the younger generation of musicians found their way back to their people. If one wishes to pass judgment on the Jew in music, he should listen to and study the works created by self-aware Jewish composers.

Two main difficulties affect and complicate the creativity of the Jewish composer: material and form, content and technique. He studied in Europe, acquiring certain harmonies and compositional rules, but very quickly realized that his feelings, his own melody, did not harmonize with what he had learned, and that he could not shape his original material using the techniques he had acquired. However, when there is no harmony between form and material, between inner experience and technical skill, a true work of art cannot come into being.

Therefore, there was a need to overcome this stage, to break through to the true nature of his own personality, and from there, through inner listening and feeling, to rebuild, search for, and find new constructive material. We had become too stagnant, accustomed to receiving everything second-hand, so that each of us had to undergo an inner transformation before he could dedicate himself completely to the mission ahead, and from that inner wholeness, achieve true artistic creation.

There is no reason to blame young composers for falling under various influences. Every artistic development—whether personal or general—and every new style is preceded by a period of foreign influence. Every artist must first pass through a period of apprenticeship until he surpasses it and reaches free, independent artistry. This is no detour, but a direct passage. There is also the claim that our composers—and I mean those who consciously create in a Jewish manner—rely on formal blueprints crystallized by other nations. We must oppose this view. Certain form-principles willingly adopted by Jewish composers (such as the sonata, fugue, symphony, or concerto) cannot serve as proof of this. Rather, it simply shows that the Jewish composer is connected to the historical roots of musical form, just like the composers of other nations. Is a Dvořák string quartet any less Slavic? Is a Bartók piano sonata not Hungarian, or a sonata by Debussy not French? Are these not merely abstract names for types of form? Young composers, following predictable patterns of musical development, frequently adopt existing forms in order to reshape them differently and anew later on, once they achieve maturity that corresponds to their individuality. We can find this in ancient evolutionary processes just as we do today. The piano sonata by Alexander Krein is just as Jewish as Bartók’s sonata is Hungarian. A composition's value depends not solely on its external form or on how its material is treated, but also on the essential melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic characteristics of its musical content. Genuine art does not tolerate discord between the creator and his creation. They must be inextricably bound to one another without a hint of separation. This unity is achieved only through a tight connection between the creator and his national identity. The creative musician is the one who synthesizes within himself the elements and forces of his time, his national heritage, and his personal talent, culminating all of this into a perfect composition—a complete harmony. Today’s impulse produces the art of tomorrow.

Time and again, Judaism has been considered a thing of the past, but not of the present. A typical result of the short-sighted perception of the assimilated person. In fact, the last fifty years of Jewish history have persistently documented the capacity of Jews for active creative expression in all fields, including music. To anyone who doubts this, we would point out that the “New Jewish Music,” by engaging with all musical forms, is developing unstoppably, breaking away from the stage of mere searching and experimentation. We can discern among these different composers a common spirituality, a personal closeness, and an awakening of consciousness toward what was previously unconscious. The discrepancy between content and form is now scarcely felt.

Regarding the question of a “Jewish character” in music, there is much discussion. A definitive answer can be provided only by the creative artists themselves or through their works. And these works will convince us from the very first listening of the existence of a Jewish element, a Jewish character in music, proving that the creative force of the young Jewish school cannot be held back in its natural growth. If folklore research succeeds in finding a baseline that allows us to recognize national characteristics within the melodic curve, rhythm, and structure of the folk song, then it will also be possible to define the unique traits and wealth of the Jewish folk song, and its degree of influence on the development of Jewish art music. Only future generations will be able to map out the combinations between common elements and the contours of various currents within their stylistic hub, as well as the connections between the Jewish music of their own past and the foreign present, understanding and explaining them fully. In our approach to “Jewish Music,” the boundaries should be drawn broadly so as not to create artificial limitations. Without destroying the bridges to the music of other nations built by Jewish musicians of the twentieth century, we wish, while expanding our forces, to achieve an independent artistic perspective. If in times to come, drawing upon the beauty of the “Homeland” and the intimate Hebrew idiom displaces the Diaspora mentality, and a new sonority resonates, this will yield a rich and chosen harvest. Fostered by the socio-spiritual strengthening of Palestine, this will lead to our cherished goal: not, as hitherto, fragmented Jewish musicians, but a unified, distinctive Jewish art music.

For anyone who has actively and faithfully followed the development of Jewish music over the last quarter of a century along with its consequences, it is an extraordinary and undeniable fact that Jewish music has aroused very little interest among the Jewish public. While it is a shame that non-Jewish circles purposefully ignore the existence of "Jewish music," it is far more saddening, unfathomable even, that Jews themselves pay so little attention to the existence of their own art music.

The Jewish people are separated from their musicians and their own music by a deep chasm. The only points of contact that exist are found in the most primitive manifestations of folk music; however, on the path toward art music, many are drawn away. Therefore, we must repeatedly champion Jewish music, proving to skeptics and opponents alike something that shouldn't even require proof: that the Jewish people, who are fundamentally so deeply gifted in the field of music and have been bound to it since ancient times, possess their own distinct musical heritage —  Temple music, folk music, and art music.^[5]

The creative forces of Judaism regarding the development of an independent art music actually lay dormant for hundreds of years. In the songs of the Temple and in folk music, Judaism does indeed possess distinct musical expressions of its creative genius, however, for a long time, this musical practice lacked the aspiration for artistic form—the drive to master the raw material and bring it into a structured, elevated composition. In the last century, composers of Jewish origin did create significant works within Classical, Romantic, and especially contemporary styles, but up to now, only a few of them were present within a Jewish cultural milieu; most felt no inner or even peripheral connection to Judaism. Consequently, the works of Mendelssohn, Meyerbeer, Halévy, Rubinstein, Mahler, and Schoenberg were recognized and perceived as German, Russian, and French music. Living within foreign cultures and focusing their efforts on adapting to and promoting the trends and tastes of other nations, these musicians stood, and still stand, outside the development of their own people. They became so alienated from their own distinct character that they can no longer be considered its representatives, nor can their works be viewed as a direct expression of the essence of the Jewish nation. The unconscious influence of the heritage and spirit of many generations upon them and their works must not be ignored. However, what we have sought, requested, and still aspire to is not European music with a Jewish spirit, nor Jewish music with a European spirit, but genuine Jewish music that expresses and shapes the Jewish emotion, soul, lifestyle, and spirit of the Jewish people.

Only the Renaissance period, which established a new ideal within Judaism to draw the Jew out of his ambivalence and bring him into a new reality, could release these creative forces from their constraints and foreign influences, paving the way for an independent musical expression. A look at the evolution since then reveals how surprisingly quickly Jewish music carved out its own path in both form and content. We can already discern three distinct phases: the collection of folk music, its systematization, and finally, its sublimation into free, independent creation. The next step was the collection and arrangement of folk and synagogal melodies, which provided new material to awaken the consciousness of the Jewish musician, revive his imagination, and provide a vital, powerful impulse for Jewish music and its characteristics. A small circle of talented Jewish musicians, filled with a passionate belief in the future of Jewish music, gathered at that time in Russia. Their shared devotion to the Jewish heritage gave them a profound sense of unity. Driven from within toward an independent, original, and vital creativity, Jewish music truly developed from the focused actions of these musicians. Many works were composed, pieces deeply rooted in the Jewish spirit and emotion, carried by a distinctive Jewish melos and rhythm.

This is not the first time in music history that an independent art music has developed from humble beginnings rooted in centuries of folk tradition. This same evolutionary pattern has manifested in "Jewish music" as well. Yet the fact that Jewish musicians so quickly left the folklore phase behind, coupled with the reality that we already possess so many works of independent creative power and the highest musical quality—bearing in mind that the music of every nation required the fruitful influence of foreign works in its early stages—sufficiently proves the viability of a distinct Jewish style. It is hard to believe that Jewish music, with only a quarter-century of development behind it, already presents such a coherent and defined landscape today—one that can readily be compared to the musical traditions of other eminent nations. Let us not be mistaken: whereas their developments unfolded over several centuries, ours has taken only a few decades. We are fully justified in classifying the recent works of our great living composers as products of pure artistic maturity. What Jewish composers have achieved within a mere three decades has surpassed all of our initial expectations.

That the full realization of Jewish music can occur only in Palestine is beyond doubt. Amidst the Palestinian landscape, within the culture of a renewed life and the Hebrew language, the musician will find the inner anchor needed to inspire his emotional world and imagination, which will then reflect itself in his work. Above all, a true musical atmosphere will be created there; the audience will be drawn to music, and music will be more tightly bound to daily life. However, there is no reason in the current situation to deny the existence of Jewish composers outside of Palestine, to strip their works of their originality, or to doubt their influence on the Jewish people as a whole. We are at the very beginning of a development. So far, Jewish music has no long-standing tradition, no established authority, and no historical homeland to provide a natural justification for its name and essence. Yet, in this regard too, the Jewish people are uniquely exceptional. Relying on himself alone, the Jewish musician searches and finds within his inner world his own homeland soil and his connection to his people!

The position of the Jewish musician is therefore exceptionally complicated, making his existence difficult since all his life conditions, both external and internal, are highly abnormal. He must fight fiercely for clarity of mind and for a harmony between idea, intuition, and design, so as not to surrender to the surrounding culture and other influences that are often closer to the pragmatic demands of daily life. Much of what happens around him is a negation of his Judaism. Therefore, he must construct an inner world for himself that allows him to follow his own feelings and imagination. Yet every work of art naturally seeks an echo, a reception among the people. If this resonance is missing, there is a danger that the world built by the Jewish artist will collapse. This unity with the people—which every productive person aspires to and every artist requires—is, for the Jewish musician, the very backbone of his creativity and his existence. Since he was considered an alien entity among other nations, largely or totally misunderstood, the Jewish musician now has every right to expect special consideration and recognition from his own people. We need a listening audience, our attentive audience. Our goals have expanded far beyond those of twenty-five years ago; we want Jewish music to be at the very center of our cultural life. Not only in Palestine, but everywhere. In Palestine, where a foundational, organic culture is currently being established, musical education will develop naturally. In the Diaspora, however, it must be organized and guided in a systematic manner. This cannot be achieved through lectures and articles about music; talks fade and the written word is soon forgotten. The works themselves must speak—soul to soul. The impressions left by performed music are direct, effective, and long-lasting, far more so than the most profound theoretical thoughts about these works. It is an urgent mission for our cultural leaders to train the public to listen to music. We must illuminate what is most essential in music, showing that life is incomplete without it, and explaining its organic connection to the human soul, all in order to elevate and deepen our musical standards. We must finally realize the immense value of serious music education for the spiritual and cultural level of our people, and pursue it with renewed momentum. We must think first and foremost of our youth, the youth of today. The number one enemy of a healthy, in-depth musical education is sports, which currently monopolizes the full interest of the younger generation. Of course, we do not oppose a moderate amount of athletic activity. However, the disproportionate place it occupies today, the overestimation of athletic achievements, and the accompanying mindset that pushes aside all other dimensions of life force us to exert all our strength in favor of a different kind of education. We must lead our youth toward a higher, more idealistic conception of humanity, and a serious musical education can contribute immensely to this end. Through essential and consistent musical cultivation, we can and should draw the masses out of their ignorance, advance their musical appreciation, and—what is truly closest to our hearts—pave the way for Jewish art music so that, by achieving a vital artistic existence, it will find its way into the consciousness of the people.

Jewish music is not a confessional formula, but an organic part of the Jewish essence. The demand to integrate Jewish music, and music in general, into Jewish life is by no means artificial. Indeed, in the struggle for inner catharsis, music can and will fulfill a crucial function. In forging our people into a new society, music will bring them into a tight, informal unity. True unity is forged through emotion. Since emotion reigns supreme in music, we must recognize it as a powerful social cement. At the heart of our demand to educate the people and our youth in music lies the desire to strengthen this unity. In demanding an education oriented toward Jewish music, we express our ultimate aspiration to awaken Jewish awareness to this vital, existential need. 

The following accounts, an attempt to provide a brief overview of Jewish music, cannot, of course, encompass all related problems and personalities, but will treat only a select few. The goal is to trace the thread of evolution and briefly recognize the artistic significance of several key figures. One clarification must be made at the outset: I am referring solely to the realm of genuine Jewish music, without including composers who happen to be of Jewish origin.

Among most nations, the departure point for art music is original folk music; indeed, in some traditions, one finds an unbreakable bond between a composer's artistic forms and their native folklore. In examining modern works by Czech, Hungarian, Spanish, and Italian composers, a vast spectrum of folk songs and folk dances can be recognized—for the folk melody remains the finest model for melodic construction—whether manifested in the contours of the melodic movement or in the underlying rhythmic structure. A few composers even attempt to construct their harmonic language based on the findings of their ethnomusicological research. Thus, the inexhaustible source of liturgical and folk music permeates the music of all nations, styles, and movements, cultivating them anew from one generation to the next. Why should it be any different for the Jewish people? Why could the Jewish people not create their own art music? Was it simply because for centuries, under oppressive living conditions and struggling with the hardships of existence, they lacked the opportunity to realize the impulses hidden within their music, or because they could not transform this musical treasure into a new, vital reality? The answer to this question is being given today. The revival of Jewish music, initiated by a small circle of Jewish musicians in Russia, stands today as a distinct value in its own right, gradually establishing itself as an independent factor within the general art music of Europe.

In a spontaneous gathering, a few Jewish musicians coalesced around Joel Engel in the year 1909. This momentum enabled the singer Solomon Tomares, the pianist Ephraim Abilea, and the composer Solomon Rosowsky to found the Society for Jewish Folk Music (Gesellschaft für jüdische Volksmusik) in St. Petersburg, which united all young Jewish talents. Later, branches were established in Moscow, Kiev, and Kharkiv. It is thanks to this Society that we now possess a solid, if not yet abundant, repertoire of authentic folk music arranged for voices and instruments. These musicians embraced the new initiative with eager, inner impulse, making highly successful efforts to reshape the traditional "Jewish melody" into a flawless artistic structure. The numerous publications of the Society compellingly prove this success and stamped the path ahead with a mark of serious artistic intent.

This early stage naturally relied almost entirely on folklore. This was the primary source for artistic possibilities, which had to be seized from their very foundations. We will forever honor Engel's monumental merit for anchoring the concept of Jewish music in the public consciousness through his pioneering work. Solomon Rosowsky, the son of the famous Riga cantor Baruch Leib Rosowsky, likewise dedicated himself with exceptional energy to the promotion and development of Jewish music, serving as a driving force behind the Society in St. Petersburg. Later, he founded the first conservatory in Riga, and today he resides in Jerusalem. His early works (songs, pieces for violin and piano, and the Phantastische Tanz for piano trio, which was frequently performed and later orchestrated and arranged for various ensembles) were strongly influenced by his Russian academic teachers and by his desire to uncover the essence of folk music. Even greater originality can be found in his incidental music for various theatrical productions (such as The Sinner, Uriel Acosta, Shabbetai Tzvi, The Messiah, Son of Joseph, and Jacob and Rachel). During his residence in Palestine, he has advanced a comprehensive research project on biblical cantillations (tropes), which, upon its publication, promises to guide music education toward new horizons.^[6] Lazar Saminsky, who in the past championed an approach that viewed liturgical music as the most elemental and richest resource, granting it superiority over secular folk music and claiming it should be placed at the center of the movement, remains to this day a composer working primarily within the sphere of general cosmopolitan music. In his output, a distinct Jewish sentiment breaks through only in specific cases, and few of his songs are set to Hebrew texts. Nonetheless, due to his early efforts to propagate Jewish music and his merit in the renewal of liturgical composition, he cannot be overlooked here. Meanwhile, Juliusz Wolfsohn in Vienna, working independently of his Russian colleagues, has performed consistent and pioneering work in enriching the piano literature. He has composed numerous paraphrases on Jewish folk songs and dances (including 12 Paraphrases, Jewish Rhapsody, and the Hebrew Suite, the latter also with orchestral accompaniment), creating miniature musical portraits of the Ghetto equipped with a virtuosic piano technique. In addition, he has published two works (Two Idylls) for violin and piano.

To remain strictly within the realm of collecting and arranging folk motives, however, would mean renouncing the natural growth of an art form and becoming lost in unproductive repetition. A few musicians of the younger generation quickly realized this. They dug deeper into traditional music, researching the ornamental configurations of ancient synagogue songs and biblical tropes, among other elements. They sought a new technique, a distinct formal design, and a harmonic language that would accommodate their unique expressive needs. The musicians Achron, Milner, Gnessin, and Krein had the courage to give these realizations full expression in their works. Through them, a new and independent music was born, finding its own authentic voice. Naturally, errors, experiments, groping in the dark, and stylistic exaggerations were unavoidable. Not all works from that transitional period were destined to be stamped with the seal of a lasting masterpiece. However, the most exceptional forces among them continue to stand out firmly.

The greatest talent within this group is undoubtedly M[ikhail, “Moses”] Milner. An independent musician possessing a fierce Jewish temperament tightly interwoven with folklore, from which he draws to create entirely new forms. Beside a large number of songs—where an affinity to Mussorgsky is hard to miss—and various piano pieces, he has written orchestral works, an opera, and a monumental setting for the synagogue, U’Netaneh Tokef. Regarding Achron and Alexander Krein, separate essays are dedicated to them in this collection. Mikhail Gnessin, who embodies a grand, revered sense of unity with his people, is filled with a deep longing for his cultural heritage. Following a transformative journey to Palestine, he gradually overcame the stylistic influences of the Russian academic school to focus entirely on Jewish music. In his music, Jewish themes receive absolute priority, the way back to the ancient melodic cell has been found, and his style has developed toward complete independence. Among his works are the Variations on a Jewish Theme for string quartet, The Song of a Wandering Knight for cello and piano, Orah for piano four-hands, Roite Motele (Red Motele) for voice, numerous art songs, a violin sonata, and the orchestral piece A Jewish Orchestra at the Mayor's Ball. Alexander Veprik, another prominent voice among the younger generation, has composed two sonatas, three folk dances for piano, various songs, Kaddish for violin and piano, and Dances and Songs of the Ghetto. His use of Jewish thematic material has lent his works a profound conceptual unity. To this group we may also add the works of Stutschewsky himself: Four Dances, Dance, Palestinian Sketches, and Bagatelles for piano, as well as Ancient Dance, Lament, Chassidic Meditation, and Freilachs (Dance Paraphrase) for cello and piano. In addition, mention must be made of Israel Brandmann, composer of the Variations on a Palestinian Dance-Song for string quartet, a large-scale symphonic work He'Chalutz (The Pioneer), variations for clarinet and piano, various songs, Three Palestinian Shepherd Melodies, and a Palestinian Song-Dance for mixed choir and piano. Brandmann is a highly gifted young musician whose artistic development must be followed with special interest.

Beyond the Russian borderlands, Ernest Bloch stands as one of the most renowned composers possessing a distinctly Jewish stamp. Born in Lengnau, Switzerland—not far from a synagogue—he went on to achieve immense acclaim in the United States. His personal testament regarding his creative activity is highly illuminating:

“It is the Jewish soul that interests me, this multifaceted, passionate, anxious, and complex soul that I feel vibrating through the Bible; the freshness and innocence of the Patriarchs, the fierce passion of the Prophets; the burning love for justice; the heavy, sorrowful disappointment of the Preacher of Jerusalem, the intense pain of Job, the profound sensuality of the Song of Songs. All this is within us, all this is within me, and it is the best part of my being. This is what I seek to discover within myself and strive to translate into my music: the sacred, ancient emotion of the race that still slumbers deep within our souls.” (Quoted from an article by G. M. Gatti in the journal Musikblätter des Anbruch, May 1922 issue).^[7] His major works include Schelomo, a rhapsody for cello and orchestra, Psalms for voice and orchestra, the Israel Symphony, Baal Shem, four pieces for violin, pieces for cello, and more.

It is from a deep identification with their people's destiny that this small group of Jewish musicians draws the virtue of their melos, the pulse of their rhythm, and the torrent of their imagination. They are now confronting the profound problem of structure and design, seeking to shape their own essence and emotional world so that they may remain free and vital forces within the creative spirit of the Jewish people, expressed through the medium of music. 

Amid the ranks of Jewish musicians for whom the problem of Jewish music was the focal point of their artistic endeavors, one figure stands out who combined a formidable musical gift with exceptional skills, developing into an important and widely renowned composer of the present day, and a supreme representative of Jewish music: Joseph Achron.

Achron was born on May 1, 1886, in the village of Lazdijai in the Suwałki Governorate (formerly part of the Russian Empire, now Lithuania). His talent, discovered at an early age, naturally drew him to music. By the time he was two years old, he already possessed such a refined ear that he could instantly discern whether a violin was properly tuned. His first instrument was built by his father, a self-taught violinist who imparted the foundational basics of playing to his son. Fortunately, the family relocated to Warsaw, where the young boy was able to receive systematic instruction from Professor Michalowicz. At just eight years old, he made his debut in a major public concert, and in 1897, he embarked on his first major concert tour of Russia. After completing further studies with the celebrated Professor Isidor Lotto in Warsaw, he entered the St. Petersburg Conservatory at the age of thirteen (violin under Auer, harmony under Lyadov), graduating in 1904 with a gold medal and the prestigious Tsarist court scholarship. Following his graduation, Achron launched an extensive concertizing career both domestically and abroad. Personally, however, the relentless routine of a touring artist felt foreign to his nature, and the prospect of a conventional virtuoso career offered little inner satisfaction. Driven by an innate creative impulse, Achron turned his serious attention to composition studies (1910 and 1917), where he independently engaged in rigorous studies of counterpoint, fugue, and musical form, culminating in formal orchestration lessons with M. Steinberg. From that point forward, his career advanced along two parallel tracks: that of the violin virtuoso and that of the composer. His subsequent milestones as a traveling musician included a tenure from 1913–1916 in Kharkiv as a teacher, soloist, and chamber musician. Between 1916–1918, he served as a soldier in the Russian army. Following this unavoidable interruption, he resumed concert touring from 1918–1922, and lived in Berlin from 1922 until the end of 1924. From Berlin, he undertook a transformative journey to Palestine, where he remained for two and a half months and gave fifteen concerts. On January 1, 1925, he arrived in America. Settling first in Chicago and later in New York, he established his own private teaching studio for violin, while continuously dedicating his finest energies to composition.

Achron’s first foray into Jewish music occurred in the year 1904, when he composed his Jewish Variations on the famous Russian folk song Kamarinskaya. Later, when the Society for Jewish Folk Music was established in St. Petersburg, he eagerly joined as a member. It was for this circle that he composed his celebrated Hebrew Melody (1911), a work that has since achieved worldwide renown. The composition’s haunting central theme was one he had personally heard sung by a Hasid in a Warsaw synagogue.

From this moment on, he adopted a completely dedicated approach to the cultivation of Jewish music, his creative output driven by a profound inner urge to shape a distinct national idiom. Indeed, within the total oeuvre of this musician, one can witness the natural evolutionary trajectory of modern Jewish music itself. It is a process that began with the earnest collection of folk music and the systematic purging of the foreign elements that had infiltrated it, progressing through free arrangement and the artistic transformation of folk motifs into sophisticated concert works (as exemplified by Achron’s Hebrew Dance, Lullaby Op. 35, Dance Improvisation Op. 37, and Sher Op. 42). This phase quickly blossomed into entirely original creation, born of an independent power of imagination and formal construction. His brilliant mastery of small musical forms elevated his early violin arrangements far above those of his contemporaries. His artistic aspirations deliberately broke away from that popular brand of "Jewish" music which mindlessly exploited folklore, both authentic and spurious, and relied on predictable, step-wise melodic patterns that lacked structural integrity and kept the style stagnant. We see how Achron, much faster than his colleagues, recovered from these stylistic "childhood maladies." He turned away from early “experiments” in order to unearth the profound musical wealth that had hitherto remained concealed within him. Among other works, he composed the Symphonic Variations on a Palestinian Song "El Yivneh Ha'Galil" (1915) for piano, the Suite Bizarre Op. 41, and the Second Sonata for Violin Op. 45. However, it was already in his Op. 40 (To the Jewish Lady, a recitation with orchestral accompaniment), Op. 46 (Legend for violin and piano), Op. 49 (incidental music for Fartog [Dawn]), Op. 50 (incidental music for Vos in fidele shtekt? [What is Hidden in the Fiddle?]) by Perez that he laid the structural cornerstone for his groundbreaking stylistic orientation, which reached its fruition in the art songs of Opp. 52 to 55, the piano pieces of Op. 56, the Children's Suite Op. 57, his incidental music for the theatrical productions of Belshazzar and Stempenyu, and his monumental Violin Concerto No. 1 Op. 60 (composed in 1925). In these mature works, we encounter a fortified Achron, operating in perfect harmony between masterly technical skill and profound inner conviction. The full force of his emotional world and the consistent evolution of his artistic path led to a singular, inevitable outcome: his deep Jewish sensitivity and an imagination steeped in Jewish heritage found their ultimate expression in his music. Through his absolute identification with the destiny of his people, and his inner connection to the traditional synagogue Nusach and the ancient cantillations of the biblical “trope”, he found the courage to forge his own distinct path, uncovering a vital impulse for his unique melos and musical content.

For all his compositional mastery, characterized by organic structural forms, rich contrapuntal textures, and the rhythmic diversity that defines most of his works, his most salient and striking trait remains a fundamentally intelligible, accessible melody. Achron’s exceptional Jewish impulse is felt most poignantly in the organic development of his themes. The deeply expressive intervals, the immense variety of his expressional means, and the broad, sweeping architecture of his melodic arches—reveal his true, authentic self. Here, one finds neither a derivative Slavic spirit nor Oriental, but rather a purely authentic Jewish spirit and Jewish emotion. While melody serves as the bedrock of his compositions, his harmonic tissue functions to amplify the depth of the sonority and the intensity of expression. Without entirely severing his ties to traditional tonality during certain creative periods, his later works display an increasingly free use of harmonies, and deviations from tonality, all deployed to achieve a richer, more evocative sonic canvas.

Krein is the name of many Jewish Russian families of exceptional musical talent and versatility. The father of the destiny was Abraham Krein, himself a fine violinist and composer. He died in 1921 at the age of 83. Of his nine children, seven became musicians, among them renowned instrumentalists and composers, whose children became musicians as well, such as the young, talented composer Julian, the son of Grigori. The children’s musical talent was nurtured in their father’s home. Alexander (born October 20, 1883, in Nizhny Novgorod), whose musical talent—we may truly say—was given at the cradle, received his early education under his father’s supervision. At 13, as a student at the Moscow Conservatory, he first studied the cello with Professor von Glehn; during this period, he became increasingly interested in composition. While still at the conservatory, he took private lessons in composition with Nikolaiev and Javorsky. He wrote his first creation, two pieces for violin and piano (which later appeared as Opus 1), in 1901. Music of different styles influenced the young man: the atmosphere filled with music at his father’s home, the musical life in Moscow at that time, and the works of composers from home and abroad. In his maturing period, he was under the influence of Grieg, Debussy, and Ravel, and among the Russian composers, first Rebikov, and later, and much more intensely, Scriabin. In spite of the great success the young composer enjoyed everywhere he turned, he felt increasingly unsatisfied and doubtful about his activity. The storm within his soul, his sentiment of life, and his own impulses were not adequately expressed in his work. Any real artist aspires to reach an inner balance, a harmony between himself and the reality around him. Joel Engel, the enthusiastic precursor of Jewish music who showed many musicians the true path of generations, became for Alexander Krein “an external push” for change, for beginning his creative growth as a “Jewish musician.” Engel suggested that he write a suite on Jewish motives. This “commission,” coming from outside, awakened the growing Jewish cells to new life. The incentive fell on fertile soil and launched a significant change of the entire person.

Krein heard traditional Jewish music as a child from his father, who played at many weddings and wrote down a collection of folk and liturgical melodies. Familiar with the Jewish melos, he could use melodies from his father’s collection in the pieces that Engel requested from him (“Jewish Sketches” for string quartet and clarinet, Op. 12 and Op. 13). The arrangements themselves are not of great value, as the melodies are partly of primitive quality, but this was a beginning. From now on, the Jewish character began to consistently influence his musical development. A battle to escape the influence of Western music was launched. He seriously studied the ancient melodies of the synagogue, their style, and their characteristics. He absorbed these melodies, melismas, rhythms, and harmonies; they became familiar, permeating his soul, a part of his own personality. Destined by origin, approach, and orientation—which were deepened through self-education—along with the esprit of the period, Krein thus became an assertive and shaping figure in Jewish music.

The motivational material [the Jewish material] did not transition smoothly to a final oeuvre. We may notice how European and Jewish pieces chase each other, and how the latter push away the former. On this account, we may state that Salome (1913), the symphonic poem for large orchestra, was a crucial turning point.

Krein arrived at his “Jewish” period with established expertise and experience in harmony, and along with his firm instinct and vast knowledge, he was able to create tonal combinations to suit the Jewish melos, reaching a fine balance between the new melody and its harmony.

Naturally, the new style drove him toward lyricism. This transformation appeared in his vocal music in an immediate and total way; in the song, his ability to craft an atmosphere and evoke strong impressions reached its purest expression. Not only the forming of a melody, but also the distinct harmony and the intense musical structure demonstrate Krein’s skill at its fullest. In every song, we are profoundly captivated by the dense vitality through which he succeeds in capturing the text. Indeed, the song is not the main thing, but the stimulation to which the composer reacts with emotion. The music does not renounce its essence; it is not a mere description of the text. Text and music blend together. It is quite typical that Krein would compose several songs without words, as it is characteristic of the Jewish essence to express itself with enthusiasm through pure music, without words, which excites the soul. Among the songs to texts by Jewish poets are: Bialik, Three Songs of the Ghetto (Opus 23); Efrat: Fragments from “The Song of Songs” (Opus 28); Jaffe: Two Hebrew Songs (Opus 29); and of particular note are the “Ghazals and Songs” (Opus 31), a group of five to texts by Efrat. In this respect, three songs without words, “Ornamente” (Opus 42), should also be noted, although written a few years later. There is no loss in the absence of words; to the contrary! The song is better felt in the tensions and relaxations of the melodic movements—their absolute musical expression in its most direct form. These songs reveal the vast soulful scope of this Jewish musician. Next to the songs is the symphonic cantata “Kaddish” for solo tenor, choir, and large orchestra (Opus 33).

While for a long time he required the short form (songs, piano, and violin pieces), following the “Kaddish”, he turned to larger-scale works. The piano sonata (Opus 34), written in a passionate fascination, reveals Krein’s design ability at its best. His professionalism lies in his expertise, his musical freedom, his remarkable sense for voice movement, and the combination of singular motives into one whole. There is perhaps an overly strong control of the soundscape; in other cases, too, Krein employs his generous ideas in an uneconomical way, and in the flight of his imagination, in his overblown sonority, he fills the singular motives with chordal elements and thematic development that sometimes detracts from the clarity. This is true also for his Symphony (Opus 35), which thematically circles around the well-known melody of the “Song of Songs,” diversely treated according to the variation principle in the three movements. Out of the wish to employ this melody to its fullest, the thematic material is too much stuck in the motivic, which creates a privation of distinct internal contrasts (both in the general structure and in the movements). While force and grandeur are well provided, the general structure lacks the essential symphonic stamp.

A significant part of his work is music for the theater, which until not long ago was mostly written for the Jewish theater. (Just a few years ago, he was asked by the “Grand Opera” to compose for the new opera Sagmuk, which premiered in that theater). He turned to this branch with the fullest dedication of his enthusiastic musical temperament, and his music was strung together in a soaring lineup. He wrote the music to “The Eternal” (1923, for Ha’Bimah), “Shabbetai Tzvi” (1924, for the Ukrainian-Jewish State Theater), “Ghett” [Divorce] (1924), “Night at the Old Market” (1924), and “Doctor” (1925) for the Moscow Jewish State Theater, and “People” (1912) and “At the Busskette” (1925–1926) for the Jewish State Theater in White Russia.

The musicality of Krein is not only brain and spirit. His music, as if taken from a dream, is rich in its sensitive, soulful depth, illuminated by gentle transparency, and rooted in his creative, multi-faceted fantasy. In his compositions, sensuality and passion, softness and bitterness, inspiration and experience are shaped and arranged with the most skillful control of a talented musician. In time, he moved from his beginnings in Jewish folk music to independent creativity; today, he is a mature musician, a powerful creative artist of outstanding invention, whose skill brought an original melos to Jewish music. While he did not create brand-new forms, he deepened and expanded the expressive means. Already today, his works represent a new segment in the development of Jewish music and deserve much closer attention from outside of Russia.

In recent years, this subject has been discussed in depth and treated extensively in writing by both Jews and non-Jews, musicians and non-musicians alike. Examining all of this media—and I have collected quite comprehensive material—it becomes clear, first and foremost, that non-Jews often take an affirmative stance toward the existence of Jewish music, while a rather negative opinion is frequently raised by Jews, including Jewish musicians and musicologists. At the very start of the discussion on “Jewish music,” they shrug their shoulders: “It does not exist!” And why? Why should Jews not be allowed to continue and preserve their artistic particularity in their musical works? We speak of German, Russian, and French music—why not of Jewish music?

Now, with many critical commentaries on this topic before me, I realize the task of exploring the full complexity of these questions in writing. Is there any necessity at all to prove something that essentially exists, i.e. that Jews compose Jewish music? Unfortunately, in this subject as in others, the peculiar history of the Jewish people calls for different prior considerations, different conclusions, and therefore also for positive proof.

Beginning with the fundamental questions: “What is Jewish music?” “Does Jewish music exist, can it even exist?” “Is this related to religion, to the artist’s nationality, his relation to his homeland, or to his people?” It seems these questions raise unsolvable difficulties for the inexperienced and for those with only a superficial level of interest. We are well familiar with works by non-Jewish artists (Rimsky-Korsakov, Musorgsky, Prokofiev, Ravel) where Jewish motives were employed and where Jewish folk and liturgical melodies were at the center of the compositional idea; such works were proof of the composers’ understanding of the soul of the Jewish melos. Furthermore, we are familiar with works by Jewish composers (whose names are quite well-known) that cannot be perceived or defined as Jewish, neither in their thematic material nor in their structure, i.e. in their spirit. The ambivalence of the personalities of these musicians—between their original nationality and the specific national character to which they feel they belong—appears here in its clearest, most tragic form. Their works express the mélange between these two elements and the resulting ambivalence. In most cases, the national characteristics of the host nation tip the scales to a degree where one cannot, or can only barely, feel anything of the Jewish essence. Such composers did not compose as Jews, but according to the musical culture in which they grew up and for whose development they continue their creative work. Even Goldmark and Offenbach, both sons of cantors, did not use these Jewish motives in their compositions. Only Halévy, in the aria of Elazar (La Juive, fourth act), employs a Jewish motive, and Rubinstein, in accordance with contextual needs, may at times include Jewish motives. Comparing a musical composition by a German Jew to one by a French Jew, the distinction is clearly apparent. However, the distinction relies solely on what is French versus what is German, since the common Jewish foundation based on Jewish sensitivity and particularity completely disappeared among these musicians. In spirit, they are more distant than in blood ties.

Not once have there been attempts to identify characteristics of the Jew in works by composers of Jewish origin. Perhaps profound research of individual works or segments may discover elements that—channeled into the work from generations of muted forces and impulses amassed within them from an inner, unconscious kingdom of sensitivity and passion—may affirm a Jewish entity. However, covered with a foreign garment and appearing against their own will, Jewish characteristics will hardly be identifiable. Assimilation drew harsh consequences for Judaism. It brought about a state of repression, close to a state of self-denial and further self-contempt. The result of the Emancipation! Since the Jewish musician tried, and still tries, to repress the Jew within and to deny it, his belonging to Judaism—not being integral to his inner truth—cannot be expressed in a convincing way in his works. This fact exempts us from searching for the “Jewish” element there.

Vis-à-vis these musicians, totally assimilated and appertaining to the musical culture of Western Europe, stands a group of Jewish musicians who are deeply connected with the destiny of their people, and the wish to relate to Judaism lies at the bottom of their core, allowing them to realize their aspiration to write Jewish music. Such music, looking back to a recent, young development, can be definitely considered as “Jewish music.”

However, even in front of these musicians and their works, there are still those who manifest their denial of Jewish music. As an argument, they mention that Jewish music and Jewish art are dependent on the existence of an independent national life. Thus, since for centuries the Jews have not had a state of their own, although there are many artists of Jewish origin, they do not adhere to uniform characteristics of a Jewish society. This perception is indeed suitable for assimilated Jewish artists, as I mentioned above, but in no way for the entire Jewish experience, and particularly not for the Jewish musicians. Rather, the Jews do have—in spite of the wandering and spreading among peoples—an independent “national life,” a unique tradition, customs, and a common culture. The Jews of the Ghetto were able to create particular life structures and characteristics, building an independent national life: whether it was manifested in their overjoyed devotion or in their national-spiritual desire for the Holy Land and the eventual political independence—an aspiration that never left Judaism for two thousand years of Diaspora. By the term "national life," we mean, of course, the bond by blood, language (Hebrew and Yiddish), customs, holidays, religious practices, and daily life. The tragedy of our fate determined it, and indeed we are organized and, as citizens, comply with other nations; however, we have guarded ourselves as a people in spite of all the hindrances and the currents of time. We are not just of the “Mosaic denomination,” but a Jewish people; a nation that—and here lies the phenomenon!—is not bound by land and language, but rather solely through the connection to its common history, destiny, tradition, and customs; the consistent aspiration for a unified society; and the common motivation for an independent existence—i.e., a hope for a new independent future. Our homeland, the ground that nurtures us Jews and on which we grow, is our history, our national bond, our faith, and our being!

At any rate, if until recently we had no Jewish music or Jewish art, today this reasoning is irrelevant. In other places, I have already discussed this question. Here, it is enough to state again that when Jewish artists, at the beginning of the 19th century, started to become an important, at times crucial factor in the musical life of nations, they first aimed to belong to Europe, to assimilate among the nations, so as to become totally alienated from their own nationality. However, the moment the Jewish artist and musician returned and regained the connection to his own people—and the process of contemporary change created the necessary conditions—his works became more “Jewish.” Jewish art will evolve even beyond its own territory, emerging from the unification of our 'national life' and our social consciousness. Our aspiration for Jewish art music signifies nothing other than our own self-awareness—placing ourselves in a reciprocal relationship of conscious togetherness.

We are of the opinion that the Jews carry an art equally valued to that of other nations, and that its spiritual and emotional uniqueness, also in music, deserves nurturing and attention, just like that of the Czech, Italian, Russian, and so forth. Through tight harmony with itself and with his nation, through his desire to merge with historical events and with his own nature as well as his nation’s acute demands, the Jewish artist, too, found the way to release himself from outside influences and to allow his works a unique content. When the change happens within the Jewish artist, he will cease to be a "mediator" of foreign cultures and will rather become a “creator in effect” within the culture of his own nation. The creative “genius” of the Jews, reigning in the realm of spirit for thousands of years, may rise in the realm of art as well, exploring the Jewish soul—which would remain sound and solid in its very essence. Spiritual skills are the ones that would firmly dictate to the genius its artistic essence, its music. From this racial spirit would eventually become the means of expression. The temperament of the race and of the human being will create for itself its rhythm, the melodic progress, and its significant colors.^[8] If such were the presentation of the basic conditions for a true creative process—and such it is!—it is true and legitimate for all people, and so it is for the Jews as well.

The fact that the roots of Jewish music (Jewish art) were first identified among artists originating from Eastern Europe is based on the fact that, there, Jewish society and Jewish life were distinguished and particular. We owe to the Jews of Eastern Europe the non-disappearance of Jewish culture and the rise of Zionism as a most important factor, having made Palestine a reality. From this, we can understand another phenomenon: that Jewish music in the Diaspora evolved from the halo of the thousand-year-old music of the Temple, the music of the holidays, and songs of joy and sorrow, which still develop continuously, while in the Palestine of today, original, natural Palestine-Jewish music has not yet developed as an independent fruit of life. Palestine, in all fields, is yet in its initial formation. A defined lifestyle could not yet develop there, and a particular “entity” has yet to be formed. Therefore, it lacks the basic, prerequisite condition for a particular music. In music, for now, a bridge reigns from the Diaspora to Eretz-Israel. Hopefully, in the future, this situation will be the opposite. If we have decided to live, to think, and to feel again as Jews, we channel ourselves toward a revival of Judaism, where Jewish art and music will take a predominant role. The renewing of Jewish musicians outside of Palestine, or at least of a particular group, has started with such enthusiasm and such quick development that we have no previous example in music history to compare it to. Herein lies the sublime: that the Jewish musician, in a state of evolving consciousness—yet without a land or homeland—could, from a strong disposition that became his inspiration, bring the heritage of generations out of himself and pour it into an artistic form. There is no longer doubt that Jewish music exists. It documents, since the beginning of the century, the forward-pushing development that bears a profound significance for the Jewish people and their music. Indeed, we must admit that within this development, different talents and forces are in play, which on the one hand testify to its versatility and multi-faceted character, but on the other hand, at this stage, the various patterns of Jewish music, its relationships, and forms are not yet leading to a distinct and definite common basis—albeit the fact that it is now impossible to deny its existence.

It is of no importance if it moves in free or constant rhythm, if it is related to chords of fourths or to another harmony, or if it is based on music of the synagogue or folk music, written for string instruments, winds, or piano. We feel this music as Jewish even when played on modern instruments in the tonal system of today, as it consciously reflects the inner experience of the Jewish person, his melodic expression, his rhythm, dynamics, his personal concept, and his own particular temperament. Jewish music is an enthusiastic and informal admittance of the people unto itself.

Within young Jewish music, there has yet to be composed a work that would cause the start of a new era or point to a certain direction. We will wait patiently. We are just at the beginning of the road. The future of art music is, of course, dependent by nature on the image and talent of the individual composer who, by merit of his constructive and inspirational creative talent, introduces a new style and direction to the music of his people. The Jewish musician of today, who still adheres to a double lifestyle—one dictated by birth and by relation to his nationality, and the other conditioned by the various influences of his surroundings and upbringing—could definitely not create the ultimate “eternal” work that is not related to time and that will nurture the struggle of Jewish music for its own individual expression. The creator must first arrive at a lifestyle that completely correlates to his original entity; only then, being free from within, could he create the work that would lead to Jewish music that bears an international significance. And so it shall be. In the meantime, we should support Jewish musicians and their works and promote them as much as we can.

As for the argument that is raised against the reality of the existence of Jewish music: with special satisfaction, some argue that the Jews have yet to have a genius composer. They count the great European genius composers and note that among them there is no Jew. Creators of secondary degree are numerous, they admit—even if with inner resistance—but a "creative talent"...?! Another conception to mention, related to this one, is that the Jews have no talent for musical innovation and that everything they composed was but an imitation. There is no need to even argue about this, as it is obvious that these arguments were raised with the clear intention of denying the Jews their right of creation. Of course, vis-à-vis the truth, they are in total, ridiculous contrast. Musical practice has a very long history among the Jews. Long ago, way before the commencement of Western music and, of course, before the existence of European art music, Jewish music existed: from the times of the Temple in Jerusalem, through the Babylonian-Yemenite tradition, the music of the golden period in Spain, and the Hassidic tunes and dances, the constant line of musical development threads to these days.

The influences of ancient Jewish melodies on Christian liturgy by way of copying the antiphony in the Gregorian choral—whereas the footprints clearly lead to the genuine singing of the Temple—all this we would not recount in this context. During the development of music in the 19th century, Jewish composers and musicians played an important, even crucial role. If one does not consider the contribution of such figures as Mendelssohn, Meyerbeer, Halévy, Rubinstein, Goldmark, Brüll, and Offenbach (whose genius is undeniable these days) and others as equal in value to the heroes of the musical repertoire, then this opinion completely shatters at the end of the century with the appearance of two composers of superb creative talent, whose genius and creativity are known around the entire music world: Mahler and Schoenberg. If next to them we add and count the great talents of Korngold, Weill, Toch, Rathaus, Milhaud, Castelnuovo-Tedesco, A. Jemnitz, and others who gained recognition in Europe, it would definitely suffice to testify to the creative Jewish talent. Indeed, they are not considered part of Judaism or of the Jewish people whose culture they are to express. There lies our tragedy! But they are Jewish. And so they would remain; their musical powers and their belief in their own particular musical talent will not be denied.

I have thus laid out all the existing arguments and stated my opinion against them. This intent—to lay the cornerstone for the question "does Jewish music exist?" and to examine this subject anew—presented enough powerful answers to provide an affirmative response. We are certain of the existence of a creative talent among the Jewish people and see the necessity and prospect for Jewish art music as a fact. It is music that will not, however, part us from the great works of other peoples, but, on the contrary, one that by its independent character and shape would arouse an echo within other peoples and find its proper place within universal musical literature.

Amidst the profound revolution sweeping contemporary Jewry, some among them refuse to recognize the signs of change, wishing to remain completely unaffected: the Jewish composers. For a time—how much time has already slipped away?—a "flight from Judaism" was considered the only viable answer to the Jewish Question, and for the most part, even our most prominent musicians thoughtlessly chose this path. An entire lineage of Jewish composers, from Mendelssohn to Mahler and Schoenberg (the latter having only recently returned to Judaism), turned their backs on their heritage. They completely lost all Jewish cultural substance. Their entire body of work was created in relation to their respective host countries and foreign cultural spheres; consequently, their compositions cannot be considered defining cultural treasures of the Jewish people. Our greatest musical talents, of invaluable artistic significance, have been lost to us irretrievably. Should we accept this tragic fact without a response?

The Jewish people can no longer surrender their creative forces for the benefit of other nations. We demand—and this is entirely justified—that the works of Jewish composers be born of our blood and our spirit, serving as a direct expression of Jewish life and experience. We can no longer renounce our own musicians. We demand that their creations benefit the Jewish people and be valued and recognized as distinctively Jewish works. And this will indeed happen once the Jewish musician becomes aware that his nationality is the direct propelling force for all his creative activity, and when he learns to express his feelings and artistic imagination through pure, authentic Jewish means. He must search for and find the path toward the fulfillment of his own self-identity: to be a Jew, to live as a Jew, and to feel humanly and creatively as an organic part of his people. Within the framework of national character, we must discover an essential self-identity for the development of music, both in its underlying musical idea and its structural form. Only when the Jewish musician is fully conscious of his Jewishness, and when he finds inner balance, security, and serenity by anchoring himself in the Jewish way of life and tradition, can his musical works be revitalized and sustained by this new vitality of being Jewish.

This brings to mind the words of Romain Rolland, who is, of course, a well-known "enemy of all nationalism":

"I have always found that the prominent intellectual Jews of our time (as well as those of the last century)—thinkers, writers, artists, musicians—possess something incomplete, not in form but in essence; it feels like the lack of an inner seed. One might say that the ground beneath their feet is unstable, or that the rich currents of their passions and ideas have been diverted from their natural flow for centuries, constantly searching for their ancient riverbed—the path that nature carved out for them. I, too, view this [Zionism] for you as a faithful return to yourselves, an acceptance of who you are, marked by an inner, complete, and absolute truth."^[9]

If Jewish musicians—who are by no means few today—wish to regain the love of their people and return to history and Jewish culture, we will soon possess a Jewish art music on par with that of all other nations. It all depends on us, on the Jewish musician, and, of course, on the cultural significance that the Jewish public is willing to bestow upon musical expression.

A vast heritage flows within the blood and spirit of the Jewish artist—a heritage waiting to be realized in the field of artistic creation.

Jewish musician: your destiny is to live and create as a Jew. Learn to feel, to appreciate, and to love Judaism; fulfill your sacred mission toward your people. Your people call you; they demand your very being! Accept, at long last, full responsibility toward the genius of your people, and create a new world from its deepest depths—in your own true interest. For up until now, your works have wandered the world without a homeland, or, at best, have reached only a small circle of friends. The reality of our inevitable fate has knocked on your door as well: you have been pushed away everywhere, denied performances of your pieces, and stripped of your most modest existence and means of development.

You now stand between two worlds: one foreign, which neither needs nor tolerates you, and into which your attempts to assimilate are in vain, for it rejects you—indeed, it must reject you because it does not understand you—and the other, which is your own, awaiting you, welcoming you, feeling with and for you, understanding and embracing you. There you are a recipient, here you are a giver; there is mistrust, here is trust; there you are an intrusive "alien to the folk," here you are welcomed with joy, in your own home. Turn back, and secure the impact and the future of your future works.

Clear the Path for Jewish Music!