




Wherein you'll find my calendar of upcoming events, musings on Jewish music, spirituality and humor, and wistful memories of days gone by.





Ok, folks, we're in the home stretch and I've saved the best for last. To get us in the mood for Mike Hammerman's extraordinary Dayeinu (see below), here are a couple of my favorite Dayeinu instrumentals:



We're halfway through Chag Ha-Pesach, and our over-consumption of white flour is beginning to have an effect on the internal organs. (They do sell whole wheat matzah, which isn't bad, but we never seem to be able to stock enough of it to last through the week.) So, to help get you through the next few days with a smile, here are a few 'Songs you never learned in shul' relating to - what else? - the Bread of Affliction:

As long as we're globetrotting, here is another version of Echad Mi Yode'a, this time in Italian, "Uno Chi Sa?", from the Roman tradition. My trip to Rome in 1989 (visiting my wife, Deeana, who was doing a fellowship in history at the American Academy) had a profound effect on me. I found the Roman liturgical music - which has been carefully preserved for generations - to be meaningful in a very personal way. For myself, who grew up without a distinct Jewish musical tradition of my own and thus had to create one (I'm speaking of the so-called "American nusach" folk style of liturgical song), having the opportunity to experience and absorb the Roman tradition for nearly six weeks felt very comforting. So much so, that when we were both back home, we decided to adopt their melody for the Shabbat evening Kiddush as our family tradition, which has continued to the present. I'll get back to all this in a future post, but for now here is a sweet little macaroon of a seder song. Recorded in 1985, the two wonderful soloists (hazzanim) are Rav Haim Vittorio Della Rocca and Rav Avraham Alberto Funaro. The Italian lyrics may be found here (just scroll down a bit).
Every Pesach I try to convince my wife that I am actually Sephardic, and thus we should be able to eat rice and kitniyot on Pesach. (I was spoiled by the one year we went to Jerusalem during Pesach and realized I could just walk into Supersol, pretend I was Mizrahi and buy a container of the best hummos I've ever had. Now, that was heaven - on matzah.) Well, each year she doesn't buy it. With the first seder on motzei Shabbat this year, the kitchen is about to be turned upside down so she can start cooking. I may have to keep my bagels in the basement freezer this week, thaw them with a hairdryer and eat them in the car. I do try to incorporate as many Sephardic melodies into the seder as I can, along with songs from Israel, Russia, Germany, Italy and the USA. This amazing version of Echad Mi Yode'a from Syria has an incredible back story that you can read about on my web site, here. The printed lyrics in Hebrew/Judeo-Arabic are here (page 1; page 2) and in transliteration (slightly different wording) here. No other melody gets me into the mood for the seders like this one. It has a beat that may as well be trance music - it's hard to explain but it really moves me. Singing it after four cups of wine, I don't hold back. (Hint: it's a good way to clear out the last few lingering guests.) The wonderful old gentleman who recorded this, Avraham Malki, z"l, taught me how to say "Hazak U'varuch" (the Sephardic equivalent of "Baruch Tih'ye") and it stuck. That's what I say all the time in response to the ubiquitous "Yashar Koach" in shul. So, maybe I do have Sephardic blood in me after all.
That is how my grandfather, Bernard "Barney" Klepper, z"l, introduces the Pesach melody taught to him by his Romanian grandfather 100 years ago, on a scratchy old record that floated around my extended family for years until I found out about it and got a taped copy. (I'm told the original disc no longer exists.) Every time I hear NPR's 'Lost and Found Sound' I think this recording would be perfect for it. The story: in 1942 my grandfather and his three siblings sat around a microphone and recorded their favorite seder songs, including the gypsy-klezmer inflected Adir Hu and the equally infectious Chad Gadya. No one's quite sure how the recording session came about, and that generation is gone, but there is something both spooky and comforting about hearing the voices of your ancestors from beyond the grave. The complete 12 minute recording can be found here.