[Page 64]

The Maggid, Rabbi Yisrael of Kozienice, 1737–1815. Became preacher in Kozienice in 1765.

Rabbi Moshe Elyakim Beriah, 1757–1828. Presided in Kozienice for 33 years.

Rabbi Khaim Meir Yekhiel Shapiro, known as the Seraph of Mogielnica, 1789–1849. Presided in Kozienice for 21 years.

Rabbi Eliezer of Kozienice, died 1862. Presided in Kozienice for 13 years.

Rabbi Yekhiel–Yaakov, 1846–1863. Presided 4 years in Kozienice.

Rabbi Yerakhmiel Moshe, 1860–1909. Presided 25 years in Kozienice.

Rabbi Aharon–Yekhiel, 1889–1942. Presided in Kozienice, Otwock and Warsaw.

[Page 65]

The Music of the House of Kozienice

The Maggid of Kozienice was among the pioneers of Polish Hasidism. Having absorbed both Torah and khasides from his teachers, he became known and beloved among scholars and hasidim alike. While still in his youth, he received the “crown” of tzaddik from his followers, and rose to become one of the most important tzaddikim of his generation. His post of maggid, or preacher, preceded that of tzaddik as the Maggid.

The joy of the Sabbath played an important part in his birth, or so it is maintained by hasidic legend. As a reward for the dancing of his parents, Reb Shabsi the bookbinder and his wife, who rejoiced that the Lord had prepared a shabbes of prosperity for them after their poverty had already caused them to resign themselves to the necessity of a vokhediker shabbes, the Maggid was born. The Baal Shem Tov himself revealed to them that their dancing had caught the eye of heaven and had pleased the Lord, and that as a reward they were to be granted a son in their old age, a great son with a holy soul which he would glorify with music and joyous song.

A great difference is apparent between the melodies of Rebbe Yisroel of Kozienice and those of his friend the Seer of Lublin. Although they were members of the same school of Hasidism, both of them being students of Rebbe Shmuel–Shmelke of Nickolsburg and Rebbe Elimelekh of Lizensk, they nonetheless parted ways with respect to music.

The Maggid's diligence in the study of Torah, of the revealed and concealed teachings, did not cause him to neglect his feeling for music. He spread Torah among the multitudes, decided questions of ritual and jurisprudence, yet was not sapped by this. Rather, he tried to blend the feelings of his heart with his keen intelligence, a mixture difficult to attain outside the realm of music.

One chord prevailed, sounding in simplicity and frankness: Polish song. Kozienice lay by the Vistula, and Polish melodies were unable to pass by the Maggid without leaving an impression on his storehouse of tunes.

From its beginnings, hasidism sought to express itself in music, and, lacking indigenous resources in this area, did so through the adaptation of non–Jewish music. This tendency passed on as a legacy to many tzaddikim who served as the originators of different styles of hasidic music. The struggle against outside musical influence is not apparent in hasidism.

[Page 66]

Kozienice was an important channel of Polish influence on hasidic life. The Maggid established ties between hasidic and Polish music, just as he revealed a fondness and inclination for Polish expressions and proverbs. Another prominent channel was thus added to the field of hasidism; because of its strangeness it remained within narrow limits and, to a definite degree, was never digested, and the hasidim were less than happy to increase its boundaries.

The Poles, who were subject to Russia at the time, revealed an aptitude for music, and although they managed to make some contribution to it, nevertheless gained no renown in the musical world. Even up to the present, they have brought forth only a small number of people in this field.

Whether because of its lack of renown or on account of the prevailing political conditions, the Jews were not enthusiastic about Polish music at the time. On the other hand, Jewish musicians, who excelled as folk musicians, were accorded a respected place in Jewish life, and were often invited to the balls and parties of the Polish nobility.

The Poles boast distinguished musicians, experts in the art of counterpoint, as far back as the fifteenth century, among them Martin of Lemberg, Krist of Burek, Wilensky, and Gomulka, who was known as “the Polish Palestrina”. An abundance of theory and perfection of form bear witness to their superior musical ability. The stamp of popular music is apparent in the work of many of them.

The College of Choralists, an association of musicians working in a liturgical context, was founded in 1534 in association with the archiepiscopal see in Krakow, and is considered an essential factor in the development of Polish music. Upon it devolved the duty of singing matins and vespers services for the royal family.

In the following century Poland played host to important foreign composers, such as Marco Sacchi of the School of Rome, who was royal choirmaster in Poland and left three books of choral song for five voices, imitative in style, behind him. Lucca D'Arenzio also worked in Poland.

Both the intellectual classes, which had been educated in music, and the people who had shown such a liking for song and dance, were enthusiastic about the importation of opera by the Saxonian–Polish rulers at the end of the seventeenth century. In their trips between Dresden and Warsaw, they were accustomed to include theatrical troupes, singers, musicians, and dancers in their retinue. Among the members of these orchestras were such well–known Prussian musicians as Johann Joachim Quinz, the famous flautist, and Franz Benda, the principal violinist.

[Page 67]

In May, 1700, a Parisian opera troupe was invited to Warsaw. Ninety–three of its members traveled by coach from Strasburg to Ulm, then by boat to Krakow, and from Krakow to Warsaw by raft on the Vistula. August's successor put an end to the wanderings of the Polish orchestra by appointing it a permanent seat.

In the course of time, the Royal Orchestra in Warsaw gained a good reputation. With the foundation of the National Opera, Polish texts were composed for the Warsaw stage. Polish vocal art attained the fullness of its expression in Chopin. His student Mikoli (1821–1897) published Chopin's works. The Polish violinist Karl Lipinsky (1790–1861) competed against Paganini in Warsaw.

As Polish music developed, such Jews as Henry Winiawski and his brother, Josef, who founded an academy for pianists in Warsaw, began to make their voices heard. The connection between the Polish composer Moniuszkow and the Vilner Baale–bessel, the famous cantor Reb Yoel–Dovid Shtrashunsky, is still pointed to today, as are the relations of friendship and intimacy between eminent Polish and Jewish musicians.

In the days of the Maggid there was no scarcity of hasidic music. The preceding generations had endowed it with an abundance of melodies, and the courts of eastern and western Galicia, together with those of Hungary and Congress Poland, added to this abundance. Why the Maggid then fell back on Polish melodies is not known. Even so, he knew how to preserve the purity of the traditional melodies, lest they be too greatly influenced by foreign ones.

The Maggid was eminent not only in hidden and revealed teachings, but also as the emissary of the congregation who stands before the ark leading the prayers and is able to transform prayer and music into a song of unity with the Lord. Whoever had once heard the Maggid pray before the ark was so overpowered by the strength of his singing as to be moved to visit him always in order to be warmed in the light of his prayer. Even the most vehement opponents of hasidism found themselves reconciled to the Maggid when once they had heard him float upon his sea of choral effusion. Many eminent scholars thus became enthusiastic hasidim or at least supporters of the movement within the camp of the misnagdim.

The Maggid was in the habit of leading the prayers on shabbes, and especially of prolonging the Friday evening service in order to pray with ardor and devotion, joy and jubilation, until he had extinguished any consciousness of self. The reception of the Sabbath Queen was no trifle for him, and he went out to greet her with dancing and rejoicing.

[Page 68]

He uttered the hymns until Lekha Dodi with fluency, as if the pipes of abundance and plenty had been opened and were dropping life–giving dew upon the congregation. His ardor increased from hymn to hymn, his powers of communion grew stronger, his voice more powerful–sweet, pleasant, restoring the souls of the congregation. And when the Maggid reached Lekha Dodi he opened the sluices of the source of joy and dropped pipesful of jubilation on everyone in the hall, and all were immersed in an ocean of joy.

He sang Lekha Dodi as a freilakhs, and the congregation would join in until even the walls seemed to sing along. At first, he would choose familiar tunes, so that the entire congregation could accompany him. Hasidim say that it was accepted among the tzaddikim that the Maggid's song ascended to the Throne of Glory and kindled joy in the heavenly hosts, and many contemporary tzaddikim came from near and far to listen to his shabbes prayer.

It happened that the Maggid changed his custom and sang Lekha Dodi to a new tune, a wedding tune used to welcome the bride and groom. No one was familiar with it, so the Maggid sang it alone. Still, the tune itself was a riddle difficult to solve. The Maggid sang the song's verses, moving his face from side to side, now towards the Sabbath Bride, now to somebody else, wonderful and invisible. When he reached the last verse, the Maggid turned toward the congregation, and signaled to the shammes to open the door for someone to whom he signaled with his finger, as if to invite him in. He then nodded his head, the shammes shut the door, and the Maggid finished the prayer in the festive tone with which he had begun.

As the tune was known to no one except the Maggid, it therefore dominated the conversation of the townspeople, who searched and burrowed and came up with no answer. Only after the Maggid' death did the shammes reveal the secret of the tune. Once, in the middle of the night, he, the shammes, heard the Maggid in conversation with the voice of one unknown who said that he had played the violin at the Maggid's wedding and lightened the hearts of the guests, and even awakened them to repent. The Maggid himself had enjoyed the tune so much that he asked the musician to play it again.

This melody was the fruit of the musician's production, and after his death he was informed that he had been one of the Levites, but that he had once defiled the song in the Temple and had therefore been sentenced to return to this world to make amends. And so he had come to the Maggid for help in rectifying the damage done by playing this tune to a group of nobles. At the Maggid's request, the deceased musician played the tune until the Maggid had absorbed it thoroughly. That night, the Maggid sang the melody. He had the power to remove any haughtiness, straighten crooked thoughts, to redeem it from the realm of the husks and raise it to the upper source. The raising of the melody to its root also rectified the musician's sin and brought rest to his lost soul.

[Page 69]

Songs of Angels from the Mouth of the Maggid

The melody was sung by many Kozienicer hasidim. Even in heaven the Maggid was considered an outstanding leader of prayer, as one “old and accustomed” who knew the job well. It is no wonder that the songs of angels, which he brought with him from time to time as gifts from heaven, were sung at his table. Some of the celestial beings saw him soaring through the upper worlds to act as a peerless master of prayer even there. Kozienicer hasidim tell many stories about these ascents.

Reb Shimon Deutsch (Ashkenazi) testified that he once fell gravely ill and was on the point of giving up the ghost. In the upper world he saw the Maggid welcoming the Sabbath. The next morning he davened shakhris, and at the shaleshides the Maggid said to him, “Descend to the lower world, for you are still a young man.” Deutsch was a has id from that time on (Sikhot Khaim).

The author of No–am Maggidim was originally an opponent of hasidism. Once, while gravely ill, he saw the Maggid in his yarmulke, praying fervently in the upper world and singing Lekha Dodi with the angels as his choir. Afterwards, he gave toyre. On his return to our world, the author of No'am Maggidim went to Kozienice and became the Maggid's disciple (Sefer Qhalei Shem).

The Maggid led the prayers during the Days of Awe every year, and did so with fervour and feeling despite his physical debility. His prayer made an impression upon the congregation and called forth an echo in the world of the tzaddikim, so that it was considered a great event. The Seer of Lublin testified that he shook all the worlds with his prayer, and perhaps this was the reason that multitudes of hasidim flocked to him for the Days of Awe, seeking assurance that their prayers be favourably received in heaven.

The Maggid reviewed all his hasidim in his memory during his prayers on the Days of Awe. Before he approached the ark, they mentioned all the members of the congregation to him. This was especially the case before Kol Nidre.

The hasidim went on at particular length about the Maggid's prayer during the last year of his life. The impression left by that year's prayers on the Days of Awe was as great in heaven as it was on earth. The hasidim would expatiate greatly on this topic in order to demonstrate the auspiciousness of the Maggid's prayer.

[Page 70]

During Kol Nidre he paused before “And the Lord said, I have forgiven according to your word,” and began to speak in tones supplication similar to those of Rebbe Levi–Yitzkhok of Berdichev. “Master of the Universe, who could utter or recount the greatness of your might? Your might is known to no one but you, only you know my real weakness. The proof? Every year I pray before the ark daily, but have not done so this year. It is known to you that this is due to my weakness, and yet I stood before the ark in prayer and supplication all through the month of Elul, not for myself, you know, but for the sake of your nation Israel. And therefore I ask one thing of you: Why was it so easy for me to take the yoke of your children upon myself despite my frailty, to wear myself out in prayer and holy exertion on their behalf, while for you–who has all the glory and might–for you it's hard to say two words: ‘Salakhti ki–d'varekha, for I have forgiven according to your word’? If you should say that you hold back from saying it because of the lack of tzaddikim in the world, take a look! You've got Rebbe Mendele of Rimanov, who is worth all the righteous men of a generation. Maybe you refuse to say those words because there are no urim and thummim? Take a look! In Lublin you've got the Seer, Rebbe Yaakov–Yitzkhok, who shines forth like the urim and thummim fixed on Aaron's breast. And should you say there is no one willing to do penance, take a look at me. Sick as I am, I am ready to do penance for the whole congregation of Israel, and I pray you to say ‘I have forgiven.𔄀”

At the conclusion of this speech, he cried in a loud voice, “And the Lord said, I have forgiven according to your word,” and then commanded the singers to sing sweetly, with happiness and joy.

This story is quite well–known in hasidic literature, and it received a supplement, a continuation, as it were, attributed to Rebbe Yisroel of Rizhin, who remarked upon hearing it, “I believe with perfect faith that the Maggid heard salakhti from the Lord himself, just as Moishe Rabbenu did, and that had he not heard it he would not have gone on with his prayer.”

The Seer of Lublin was also moved by this stormy prayer. After mayriv at the conclusion of Yom Kippur, he said, “Would that the sun set and the good news be announced from Kozienice, for the bedridden one there has shaken all the worlds” (Tiferet Khaim).

For this very reason, the Maggid found cause to complain about his success as a leader of prayer. “Perhaps because it is known in heaven that I have no pleasure or enjoyment aside from prayer,” he said, “they help my prayer to ascend, so that I might receive my reward in that.”

The Maggid instituted a great reform: that none among the congregation be ahead or behind in his prayers, but that they all pray together. Once when the prayer leader was going too quickly, the Maggid said, “He who speeds his prayer ahead of the congregation's is like a dog which runs before the cart” (Likutim Khadashim).

[Page 71]

Although the Maggid was chronically ill, short and weak, and had a soft voice, a mighty soul dwelt within his small frame. He served the Lord with ardor and joy, as if he were healthy. Sometimes, he was so weak as to have to be carried to the synagogue on a chair, but as soon as he arrived he was transformed, becoming powerful as a lion, his voice flashing forth flames of fire. He would leap out of his chair with ease and pray with the fervour of youth, with ardor and devotion, without feeling any traces of his infirmity.

The second Rebbe Aharon of Karl in once said to his wife, Sarah, “On account of his physical weakness, your grandfather, the Maggid, had to be carried to the synagogue; when he reached “Sing a new song to the Lord,” he would gird his loins and dance like a young girl.”

Music was a means of divine service for him, and he found it a suitable means of helping a man with his worship. Songs from other courts which suited the Maggid's way were sung at Kozienice, but the Maggid himself composed tunes for songs for the Sabbath and Festivals and for various prayers, just as he wrote songs whose content was a crown of praise for the Lord and for Israel.

The Admor of Radzimin, who claimed to have been present at eighteen of the Maggid's seders, testifies to the power of the music at these. During the first half of the seder it was possible to grasp and understand some of what the Maggid was saying, even though he would utter profound teachings. When he reached the second half of the seder, however, he would say things which could not be grasped, besides adding many statements in Polish. When he started Ekhad Mi Yoydea, he added in Polish, “Co wiem to powiem” (What I know I will tell).

There is a widespread belief among hasidim that a singer or player of a stringed instrument tells his listeners everything he has done in his life, and the ability to “read” music in this fashion is also attributed to the Maggid. Once, they say, one of the greatest violinists of the day, a man who had played for Czar Alexander I, was playing before the Maggid. When he finished, the Maggid reminded him of something he had forgotten to play. The hasidim were astounded to hear the Maggid criticize the famous musician, and were unable to understand the matter. After the Musician had left, the Maggid explained it to them. “Know, my children, that every singer or musician recounts all his sins and all his deeds one by one whenever he plays. So with this musician, except that he forgot one deed…”

[Page 72]

Reb Shmuel's Melody

At his Sabbath tables, the Maggid would occasionally sing new melodies which, hasidic tradition claims, came to him from the Palace of Music in heaven. To this day, the hasidim calls them “holy melodies”, and they are sung with a fervour and devotion befitting their great sanctity. The originals of some of these melodies are connected with legends, the finest of which is that concerning Reb Shmuel's Melody.

Reb Shmuel Zwitkower of Praga–Warsaw, a distinguished rich man who had gained a reputation for his generosity, sanctified the Holy Name during the terrible persecution of the Jews of Praga, who were sitting ducks for the Cossacks who had just defeated the Polish army. Reb Shmuel issued a proclamation to the bloodthirsty soldiers, saying that whosoever brought him a Jew, living or dead, would receive a reward: three rubles per live Jew, and one per corpse. He was thus able to save those who had survived, and give the dead a Jewish burial. Reb Shmuel spent almost his entire fortune in this cause, and his work was extolled in expressions of thanks from the Jews of Poland.

The Khidushei Ha–Rim, Rebbe Yitzkhok–Meyer Alter of Ger, told that when he was a young boy in Kozienice the Maggid used to lead the Sabbath prayers. When he reached the hymn El Adon, his closest disciples, who stood beside him, would take up the melody, while the Maggid himself uttered only the words. One shabbes the Maggid began to sing this hymn to a beautiful and pleasant tune which his intimates had never heard. They were therefore unable to sing along. After the service, the Maggid noticed that they were still perplexed, and said, “Three years have now passed since the death of Reb Shmuel Zwitkower. Some of the angels of destruction went out to meet him, to prosecute him for his sins. Against them came an angel for the defense who had been created from his great mitzve of saving lives: ‘How can it be that his great deed does not outweigh his sins? He, who has saved many Jewish lives, is worthy to go at once to the Garden of Eden.’ The heavenly court ruled that he was indeed deserving of a prominent place in the Garden of Eden on account of his great labours in the rescue of Jewish lives, but that he had also to be purified of the stains of his sins before he could be admitted. This took three years, and the angels have just now escorted him to the Garden of Eden with joy and with song. And this is the song which you just heard me sing” (Me'ir Einei ha–Gola).

The Kozienice dynasty was born under the sign of music, and the spirit of the hasidim longed for melody and song. Music floated down to its founder, Rebbe Yisroel, and it occupied a respected place in prayers, songs, and festive meals. The air of Kozienice absorbed countless melodies and tunes. Some would burst forth in a still, small voice; others would flow in stormy melodies, flashing fire. No throat was sealed, no ear closed. The Maggid believed that the power of music could do great things, and in most cases he was not disappointed.

[Page 73]

The Maggid–A Fiddler

While still in his youth, the Maggid was among those who helped to establish the mood at festivities. Badkhanus, the art of the wedding jester, inclined to this function, and was therefore widespread among the tzaddikim. Rebbe Naphtali of Ropschitz, the Seer of Lublin, and Rebbe Ber of Radoschitz were all active as badkhonim, expressing marvellous ideas about the service of the Lord in their verses.

The Maggid knew how to play the violin, and there are connections between the Maggid's ability to play and the ability to play various instruments in the dynasties of Karlin and Stolin. While still a student of Rebbe Elimelekh of Lizensk, the Maggid was outstanding in his violin playing, and his teacher knew how to take advantage of this ability on various occasion.

During a cholera epidemic in Lizensk, Rebbe Elimelekh married an aging virgin to a water carrier. The Maggid played the violin at the wedding, and the Seer of Lublin acted as badkhan. At the close of the Sabbath, they went to gladden the bride and groom. Rabbi Shmuel of Korev, who was then staying with Rebbe Elimelekh, said to him, “Let us go to gladden the bride and groom.”

They stood outside, and heard the Seer making rhymes. Everyone was dancing, and Rebbe Elimelekh himself danced with them for over an hour. Afterwards he said, “Lord of the Universe, as a reward for the mitzve–dance we have danced, let us merit to extinguish at least one of the coals glowing in hell (Ohel Elimelekh).”

Indeed, the Maggid understood the point of such music, without which there would be no hasidic life. Music removes inner obstacles and brings one to feelings of brotherhood. It is within its power to be raised from level to level. With its help, it is easy to banish idle thoughts, to dispel worries and sadness and to bring light to the depths of one's being.

The Maggid was more than once delivered from danger to his life by the power of music. Hasidim tell that when the Holy Jew of Pshiskhe heard that the Maggid was gravely ill, he immediately sent two of his disciples, Reb Shmuel Jadlinsker and Reb Shmuel Skashiner, to Kozienice, with orders to welcome the Sabbath for him if he were still alive. They were both accomplished musicians, and had the power to return him to this world and keep him alive through their singing.

They arrived in Kozienice, told the Maggid whence they had come, and proceeded to welcome the Sabbath. The melodies, well–sung with ardour and a festive spirit, improved the Maggid's condition; his symptoms were lightened, and he realized that the melodies were a proven remedy for his illness. He said to them, “The Jew saw in a prophetic vision that I had passed through all the worlds except the world of music, and sent me these two men, so that their song might bring me back to this world” (Nifla'ot ha–Yehudi).

[Page 74]

The Maggid also used the same tunes with which he learned and prayed in his day–to–day speech. He used to sing in Polish, and Kozienicer hasidim still sing Jaki Purim, Taki Lel–Shimurim, which he would sing on Purim, and follow with a discourse on the same topic. After the meal, he said that the basis of the Purim festivities lay in the negation of the body, and he explained this with a Polish proverb, “Hulei bez kuszoli,” “enjoy yourself without a shirt on your body”. He also used other Polish sayings, such as “Kto rano vstaie, temu pan bog pachwali daie”, “upon him who awakens early in the morning does the Lord bestow his gifts”, and he intoned them all tunefully (Ohalei Shem).

He adopted acronyms even for Polish proverbs. It was said in his name that honey (dvash in Hebrew) is eaten during the month of Tishrei because dvash is an acronym for “dai boze szczenszcie,” “may God send good luck.” The Maggid raised the Polish sayings toward redemption by singing them, an activity resembling that of Rebbe Yitzkhok–Eisik of Kalev in Hungarian.

The Maggid employed Slavic words to erect lovely monuments to the longing for Zion. Even while reading the haggada, he did not hesitate to change a Hebrew for a Slavic word, and derive a “zionist” use from it.

Once a guest came to the Maggid on the eve of the seder, and was invited to stay over for the entire holiday. This guest spoke a bastard language, half–Russian, half–Jewish. The Maggid conducted the seder, made a tuneful and vigorous kiddush, and recited the haggada to a special tune. The guests repeated both the words and the tune, all except the one, who sat as if mute, never opening his mouth. After he had had a few cups of wine, though, he began to act with presumptuous freedom, singing various songs, some of them in Russian.

After the meal, the reading of the haggada continued. When they reached khasal siddur pesakh (the end of the prescribed portion of the seder), the guest asked the Maggid if he, the guest, might sing these lines to a tune he had learned from his father. The Maggid agreed, and the guest began to sing khasal siddur pesakh ke–hilkhasov in a pleasing voice. He continued in this fashion until he reached the verse p'duyim le–tzion be–rina (redeemed unto Zion with joy), when he began to approach the door, loudly singing “Paidyom le–tzion be–rina” (“Let's go to Zion joyously”), going back and crying, “Paidyom”.

When the Maggid heard these words he hurried from the table, put on his shoes, took his staff in his hand and exclaimed with great joy, “O.K., we're ready to go to Zion, we and all of Israel, young and old–so let's go.” As soon as he finished speaking, the door opened of its own accord, and the guest, who had been walking behind him, singing and dancing, went outside. The Maggid hurried after him, but when he got outside he could no longer see him, and could hear only the sound of the tune, growing faint in the distance until it had disappeared altogether (Keter ha–Yehudi).

[Page 75]

Helped by the Sanctity of Rabbi Yohai

The Maggid's way was based upon a higher clinging and occult yearnings. Ardor was a lamp unto his feet. He would arrange the hakofes on Simkhes Toyre with great ardor. Once he did so even more than usual, saying that Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai had stood by him during the hakofes, and his sanctity helped the Maggid to organize them more joyously than was usual.

Neither singing nor repentance can be taught, and the man of talent becomes a musician all by himself. The Maggid expressed this opinion in his explanation of the verse, “play skilfully with loud shouts” (Ps.33:3): “‘Skilfully–by this you shall improve your ways and walk upon the good and upright path. ‘Play’–you will be able to play, even though you have no musical talent. The Lord will help you on account of your righteousness, so that you will be able to honour him with your voices. It has been told me that there are righteous men among you who do not know how to ‘play’, despite the fact that their voices in prayer are sweeter than honeycombs. This is no simple problem, but I say to you, ‘play skilfully.’ What is skilful playing? ‘With loud shouts,’ with that which you cry out in humility, with a broken and downtrodden heart.’”

Several of the Maggid's tunes, from which some idea of the nature of his songs can be formed, have been preserved. Some are saturated with a Jewish spirit, and based on popular motifs. Another class must be connected with prayers: Tal Ten le–Ratzoys Artzekha, be–Rosh ha–Shana Yikasevun, Adam Yesoydoy me–Afar, slowly flowing melodies, expressing supplication and conciliation. As opposed to these, there are merry tunes, redolent, for the most part, of Polish motifs. Some, indeed, are Polish through and through. A pointed dissonance is apparent between these two types, with no tendency toward integration or amalgamation.

Undoubtedly, there were others besides the Maggid who enriched the court with their melodies, without calling attention to themselves. These are the anonymous composers, of whom there was a considerable number.

Rabbi Khaim Meir Yekhiel Shapira, the tzaddik of Mogielnica, was an extraordinary figure among the tzaddikim of his day. He was the song of the Maggid's only daughter, Perele, and her husband, Rabbi Ezra–Zelig, the rav of Grinic. He grew up at the Maggid's, and was his grandfather's pet. The Maggid played with him, and devoted a good deal of thought to his welfare; they learned and prayed together, and the Maggid revealed supernal mysteries to the child. The atmosphere was saturated with music, and the boy absorbed a love for it.

[Page 76]

His feel for music was deepened during sojourns with other tzaddikim. While still a child, he spent time with the Seer of Lublin and Rebbe Avraham–Yehoshua Heschel of Apta, who both prophesied that he would be a tzaddik, the Light of the Exile. He married the daughter of Rabbi Eliezer of Chmielnik, the son of Rebbe Elimelekh of Lizensk, the great Galician tzaddik who was noted for his love of Sabbath tunes.

Rebbe Khaim's biographers point out that “he was a great and famous scholar, adept in concealed and revealed teachings, holy and pious, a righteous man–the foundation of the world–the wonder and adornment of his generation– Thousands of hasidim, thirsting to lap up his holy words, flocked to learn the ways of worship from him” (Shem ha–G'dolim he–Khadash, by R. Aaron Walden, Warsaw, 1882; M'litzei eish, by R. Abraham Stern, Novozamki, 1934–). They have nonetheless omitted a salient point of his way, viz., music and dance, the melodies he composed, few though they be, and those which he revised.

He was first chosen as rav in Mogielnica, and only later received the title of tzaddik. He quickly became a force of attraction and the creator of an atmosphere suffused with tunes of joy and devotion which exalted and purified the soul. Undoubtedly, his influence must be ascribed to his personal stature, yet there were other tzaddikim at the time who did not fall below him in this respect, yet still did not attain to his level.

[Page 77]

Ardour: His Way of Worship

His way of worship was that of powerful ardour and great clinging to the Lord, and because of this he was called the Seraph by hasidim. Contemporary tzaddikim said that there had been no worship of such ardour and clinging since the time of Rebbe Levi–Yitzkhok of Berdichev.

The principle of ardour was fundamental to all his activity. He would pass before the ark on shabbas and holidays and sweeten the prayer with his strong and pleasant voice. His ardour was the medium of expression for his musical ideas and his interpretations of prayers and piyuttim.

His prayer served as a model for others and they in turn found encouragement in his example. The grandsons of Rav Moishe Stinitzer, an eminent disciple of the Seer of Lublin, told that one Rosh Ha–Shana, their grandfather was leading the musaf prayer as he usually did when his strength failed him (he was already very advanced in age) and he decided to appoint someone to take his place. But at the moment at which he wished to leave the amud, the prayer of the Seraph of Mogielnica, who was praying before the ark with great ardour, came suddenly to his ear. At once, his spirit returned, his powers revived, and he went on to complete the prayer before the amud just as he was wont to do every year.

His love of music knew no bounds. He was particularly fond of melodies which were Jewish in their spirit and in their qualities in the amplification of the major–key foundation. His keen ear sought out the faults and defects of hasidic melodies, and prompted suggestions for their revision. He revitalized old melodies. Frequent use had not made them passe for him; instead, they were as well–aged wine which increases in excellence the longer it is drunk.

In the dispute concerning the older melodies, the Seraph took the side of the old, but without denigrating the value of the new. Hasidism has room for old and new alike, without any encroachment of the one upon the other. Moreover, the Seraph himself broke free of the old melodies in order to compose his own. His melodies pulsate with the freedom of spirit characteristic of Polish hasidic music of the first epoch, in which joyousness occupies the first place.

The Seraph himself was inclined to optimism. He disliked sadness and distraction; joy and ardour were his portion. His shabbes and holiday celebrations were arranged with ardour, with the participation of the great tzaddikim of Poland, including Rebbe Yisroel–Yitzkhok of Radoshitz, Rav Shloime Rabinowitz of Radomsk, Rav Nossen–Dovid of Szidlowca, Rav Sinni of Radom, and others who were among his intimates, his disciples and his hasidim.

[Page 78]

The Tzaddik's Salutary Slap

On shabbes the Seraph would sing Tikanta Shabbas and Yismekhu be–Malkhusekho and enjoy his singing, believing that it produced pleasure in heaven. He once told the rav of Tschihow that when Leibele, his accompanist, did not confuse him during the singing of Tikanta Shabbas, the Levites in the Garden of Eden sang along with him.

While singing, he would overhear a supernal accompaniment, as it were an echo to his own singing, and feel the flutter of seraphs' wings.

It seems, however, that Leibele had a special reason to confuse the tzaddik while he was singing. During the Days of Awe and festivals, the Seraph used to pray before the ark, accompanied by a choir of hasidim under Leibele's direction. Whenever the choir hit a wrong note, Leibele would receive a resounding slap in the face from the tzaddik. Now, Leibele suffered from tuberculosis, but his illness did not interfere with his choral duties. He was positive that so long as the tzaddik lived, his illness would not be especially oppressive, and that each slap he received from the Seraph improved his health. There were those who mocked him because he would occasionally miss the right note on purpose, in order to receive a slap … With the Seraph's passing, Leibele was left defenseless, and he too, died.

At the shaleshides, the Seraph never spoke words of Torah, as he did at the Sabbath evening and afternoon meals, but instead sang with great ardour. He used to say that with the shaleshides' zmiros, the heavenly palaces were opened to him, but he was afraid to enter them late when there was no one to let him out.

The joy and festivity reached its height on Purim, on which song and dance occupy the premier position. The tzaddik would be very merry at the Purim evening meal, dancing after his fashion. His custom on Purim was to make himself a turban, which he called a pidke, from one of the sleeves of his coat, its top pointed in a knot. While it was being knotted he would cry, “Jews! Pray to the Lord that the turban be built up nicely.”

The hasidim used to claim that the turban was a wonderful piece of work. The Seraph would put it on his head and stand in the middle of the bes–medresh where the bima was. The hasidim would form a circle around him, dancing hand in hand until daybreak. In the middle of this dancing, the tzaddik would grab the turban and throw it into the crowd. Whoever was smited on by fortune and was struck by the turban was assured of the fulfillment of all of his wishes, of prosperity and of deliverance.

The doings with the turban circulated among Polish hasidim and many came to the Seraph to be helped by it. The term Pidke is perhaps based on the word pidyen, ransom (Sikhot Khaim by Rabbi Khaim–Meir–Yekhiel of Mogielnica, Piotrokow).

[Page 79]

The Seraph Gains Renown as a Wonder–Worker

The Seraph became renowned as a wonder–worker, a worker of salvation, an exorcist of evil spirits, and the like. Rebbe Nossen–Dovid of Szidlowca was once called to a youth in Pshiskhe. After the tzaddik had absolved the youth of an oath made to a third party who had died in the meantime, the youth proceeded to tell him of this third party, a respected and religious man, well versed in music and a fine baal–t'filla, who had approached him with an indecent proposal. The youth refused, but swore never to reveal the disgrace in public. Nevertheless, for the past week or so the spirit of the deceased baal–t'filla had been following the youth, urging him to do him a “favour”.

As soon as the secret had been revealed to the tzaddik, the spirit at once entered into the youth who began singing a fine tune despite the fact that the youth had absolutely no knowledge of music. The spirit spoke rapidly in Hebrew, confessing that he had prayed before the amud. His singing was motivated by impure fantasies, and the floor where he had stood while singing had to be washed afterwards.

The tzaddik ordered the boy to go to Mogielnica, and told his father not to leave him alone. When the father went to pray in the inn the next day, the boy went outside and was possessed by the evil spirit. The spirit began to sing and speak Hebrew, and those musicians who had known the man and were familiar with his voice said that the voice of the spirit was the very voice of the man. The seraph finally drove the spirit from the boy (Toldot Nifla'ot, and see Divrei Elimelekh).

A centre of hasidism and hasidic music whose influence spread far and wide was established in Mogielnica. Song and dance were held in such esteem that they became as rituals in their worship.

The tzaddik was not graced with length of days. He died while still in his prime of the fifteenth of Iyar, 1869, in Warsaw, and was brought to rest there. He left neither manuscripts nor published books behind him, although he often gave toyre before his hasidim. Nevertheless, he is cited in many books, and his hasidim devoted several books to his personality and teachings.

Among his students were Rav Yaakov–Yitzkhok of Blandow, Rav Elimelekh, son–in–law of the tzaddik Rebbe Yerakhmiel of Pshiskha, who established a new dynasty in Grodzisk; Rav Ezra–Zelig, father of the tzaddik Reb Khaim–Meir Shapira of Drohowitz, who went to Jerusalem, where he is buried.

Kozienice hasidism brought forth a group of men who performed important work in shaping the character of this school of hasidism, but who did not fulfill their obligations in the field of music. Neglect of this area is quite marked in several cases, and an unambiguous correction of this state of affairs was to come only later.

[Page 80]

The Maggid's successors were Rav Moishe–Elyakim Beriah, Rav Elazar, Rav Yekhiel–Yaakov, and Rav Yerakhmiel–Moishe.

In their desire to express their gratitude to the great Maggid, the dews of Kozienice, concerned for the livelihood of his son, Rav Moishe–Elyakim Beriah, offered to take him on as the city's cantor.

Khazanus had always been a good opportunity for khasidus, and it often happened that khazanus was the first step in the making of a tzaddik. The first act of an enterprising hasid who aspired to lead a hasidic community was to daven before the ark; only if he passed this test would he have a chance of being promoted to tzaddik.

Rav Moishe–Elyakim Beriah was known to the townspeople as “The Master of Psalms” because he used to pour out his soul in their recitation, singing them in a sweet voice which inadvertently drew the attention of those who heard him.

The townspeople did not figure him for a learned man, for he knew how to conceal himself. Even his sister Perele doubted his fittingness to take over his father's position, but it was decided that he would be acceptable as khazan from all points of view. Decided, that is, until the congregation's board–members, with Moishe–Elyakim in tow, went to the Seer of Lublin in order to obtain his endorsement of Rav Moishe's appointment as khazan. Much to their amazement, the Seer proclaimed him worthy in every respect of taking his father's place as tzaddik, and instead of serving as khazan be entered the orchard of khasidus (Nifla'ot ha–Rabbi, by Rebbe Yaakov–Yitzkhok of Lublin).

He used to visit Rav Avraham–Yehoshua Heschel (The Rav from Apta) in Medzibozh. Rav Heschel respected him, and said to his hasidim: “Know that he is the son of the Kozienicer Maggid. The Maggid was comparable to King David, and the son is as the father.” It is difficult to suppose that the Rav from Apta, who had no particular love of music, saw him as comparable to David by virtue of his musical ability; but perhaps, as a sensitive man, he did intend to refer to precisely this quality.

Once on Rosh Ha–Shana, the Rav from Apta, already late in starting his prayers, said that he would not begin until Rav Moishe started to pray. From this, we learn how far his regard for Rav Moishe reached.

Rav Moishe wrote many books, some of which have become classics. The best known are: Be'er Moshe, on the Torah; Va–Yakhel Moshe, on the Psalms; T'Filla le–Moshe, about Sukkos; Mateh Moshe on the Passover Haggada; Pirkei Moshe, on Pirkei Avot, and many other books which remained unpublished. In his writing, Rav Moishe is unconcerned with questions of brevity, and he tends to rhetorical elaboration. Although he loved music, he could not express the fact; despite the multiplicity of his writings, he never rose to the height of the tzaddikim of the first two generations of hasidism. Almost every thought and utterance of these latter touching upon music is as a dwarf bearing up a giant, and every statement about music teaches a great deal.

[Page 81]

On the other hand, there is no ignoring the little that Rav Moishe did write about music, and even this little proves him a man of ardour and inspiration.

He said: “The words of him who learns Torah for its own sake are as sweet to heaven as the voice of song with lute and harp, with timbrel, with strings and pipe.” He brings proof of this from the verse “Awake, O harp and lyre!” (Ps. 57:8). By purity of heart and study of Torah, by the words of his mouth, the supernal mouth is awakened in a voice of praise and a sweet song, as the voice of song with lute and harp (Be'er Moshe, Va–Yekhi).

His ardour was clothed in musical raiment. The Book of Psalms was dear to him from his youth, and from time to time he would delve into it more deeply than into other books. He once revealed the idea expressed in the verse, “My heart is stricken (Khalal) within me” (Ps. 109:22), according to the saying of our sages, “He struck the Flute (Khalil) before them from an excess of joy.” “As my own heart,” added Rav Moishe, “sings ever within me just as that flute, to worship you with great joy; and there is no sluggishness or sadness in my heart” (Va–Yakhel Moshe, 109).

His townspeople discovered his pleasant voice and musical talent, but he remained unimpressed by this. He found that many must act modestly, believing that of himself he has neither the intelligence nor the ability to do anything at all–all is given by heaven, whence man derives the strength and intelligence to raise his prayer up with devotion.

Similarly for all man's advantages. Should a man have a fine voice “and know how to play on all manner of instruments”, let him fulfill the verse “Honour the Lord with your substance” (mi–honkha) (Prov: 3.9), as interpreted by our sages: “Do not read mi–honkha but mi 'g 'ronkha (with your throat).” Let him believe with perfect faith that he has been favoured by heaven with a gift of grace insofar as he possesses some quality, advantage or talent beyond his fellows.

Rav Moishe bore himself up with his father's remarks on the verse, “for it is he who gives you strength to perform mighty deeds”. The power to excel in a particular quality, be it in learning or be it in music, has been given you from above. It is therefore incumbent upon anybody so graced to raise the holy spark back up to its source, to the upper root from which it was taken, rather than act as “those distinguished scholars, outstanding kabbalists or musicians who sing their own praises and lift themselves above others, as if they and they alone in their time were distinguished among musicians.”

Rav Moishe saw his sweet voice and musical talent as a heavenly gift bestowed upon him even though he was unworthy. The reason that he did not refuse to pray before the ark in his father's bes–medresh while still in his youth, or refuse to do so elsewhere, pleasing God and man with his voice, was to prove that by using his talent for the good of heaven, he was not ungrateful for the favour shown him, (Be'er Moshe for Yom Kippur).

[Page 82]

The Fable of the Clapper and the Bell

To what may this be likened? To the body of a bell and the clapper. The bell cannot strike without the help of the clapper inside it, and it is nothing but a vessel able to produce a sound with the clapper's help.

So it is with man: he is unable to utter songs of praise without the help of a strength rained down from heaven, for he is but a vessel for the reception of the soul. Only when heavenly light flows onto a man will the mute tongue rejoice and continually sing songs and praises to heaven (Be'er Moshe, Naso). Rav Moishe was very fond of this exemplum, and he cites it on a number of occasions in various of his books.

He cannot be considered as a creative force in the field of music, but he did continue with his father's melodies, which had become traditional in the family. They attributed especially great power to “The Angels' Melody”, which was sung on special occasions and at events of the utmost gravity. A garland of legends has been wreathed about this tune, and there were those who attempted to understand the secret of its composition by the angels.

Among these was the tzaddik of Porisow, who refrained from saying that the Maggid had heard the song from angels who were singing to the Lord. In his opinion, the angels heard the song from the Maggid, and then sang it. These singing angels had been created from the Maggid's mitzvas, from his teaching and worship, all of which were performed with wonderful vitality; for the basic point of a mitzva performed with such vitality is that it leads to the creation of angels (Imrei Yehoshua by Rabbi Uri Yehoshua Asher Elkhanon, the Rabbi of Porisow, Warsaw, 1929).

Joy is a concept which has no limit. Proof of this is to be found in a wedding feast. Even though all present are joyous and happy, the arrival of the badkhan (wedding jester) with his jests and tricks makes them even happier still (Be'er Moshe, Shmini).

Rav Moishe passed away on the twelfth of Elul, 1828.

Rav Elazar of Kozienice, the son of Rebbe Moishe–Elyakim Beriah, was one of the leading lights of his time, great in Torah and fear of God, a modest and pious man in whose light many walked.

His way was to demand that the young people lead the prayers. This was a quasi–innovation among hasidim, and a signal of approach to the young. He explained this custom by saying that in their prayers the young men told him all their deeds, but the custom itself made an impression and the young endeavoured to do their duty properly, to pray pleasantly and with lovely melodies. This custom afterwards passed to Rebbe Ben–Zion Halberstam of Bobov, who gave it even greater authority, so that the young began to feel that they had equal rights in hasidism.

[Page 83]

Rebbe Elazar's own musical inclinations were but average. He took care to preserve the traditional melodies of the house of Kozienice, and did not allow undue prominence to outside melodies. He looked respectfully upon the melodies of the Seer of Lublin and the traditional melodies of other tzaddikim. In his day there was a dearth of original compositions in Kozienice.

His cantor, Abish Friedman, was known as Abish [the] Singer because of his musical talent. He composed many songs, most of the Kozienice tunes being his compositions.

Rebbe Elazar expressed his joy at the birth of his grandson, Reb Yerakhmiel–Moishe, in a conversation with Rav Raphael of Garvolin. He told him that he dreamt he saw Rav Yerakhmiel of Pshiskhe, who told him to sing Yoyn Le–Yabasha. When Rebbe Elazar told him that he could not sing it, the latter replied, “Sing, and I will help you.” Rebbe Elazar then beheld his daughter–in–law, Sarah–Dvoire, giving birth, and understood what all this was hinting at. The infant was thus named Yerakhmiel.

Rebbe Elazar died on the twenty–sixth of Kislev, 1862 and left behind a small book entitled Likutei Ma–Ha–Ra, which appeared in two editions after his death.

Rebbe Elazar passed when his only son, Yekhiel–Yaakov was sixteen years of age. Yekhiel–Yaakov hesitated a long time as to whether to assume the mantle of rebbe, but finally bowed to the pressure of the hasidim and became their leader. Nevertheless, he asked that he might follow his own path of service, rather than that which lay paved before him.

He lacked the power to make any contribution in the field of music, and was forced to satisfy himself with the traditional melodies of the court of Kozienice. He established a friendship with Rav Yoisef–Barukh Epstein, the tzaddik of Neustadt, who was known as Per Guter Yid; yet his modesty forbade him from accepting written requests for help and donation–money from his followers. His teacher, Rebbe Khaim of Sanz, rebuked him often and to his face for this refusal, saying that as the scion of great and holy men he was capable of accepting such things. Rebbe Yekhiel–Yaakov answered him with the Mishnaic statement (Megilla, 2:1), “He who reads out of order has not fulfilled his obligation,” and stood firm in his refusal.

Torah and prayer were the foundation of his service, and he engaged in them with great devotion and self–abnegation. He complained of the growing rapport between Jews and gentiles and of the assimilation to be expected from it. He therefore held “modern” melodies, in which there was a good deal of the spirit of the age and the music of other nations, in slight regard.

[Page 84]

Rav Yekhiel–Yaakov was not long for this world, drowning in the springtime of his years when he was dragged under the waves of the local river. He was young, not yet twenty years old. He passed away on the first day of rosh–khoydesh Tammuz, 1866. On his tombstone is inscribed “A man unique in his generation – carried off by the water; holy and merciful in serving his heavenly father.” He left an only son, aged six.

Rebbe Yerakhmiel–Moishe was born in the house of his maternal grandfather, Rebbe Elimelekh of Grodzisk. At his father's premature death, he went to Kozienice to take his place. He spent many years with Rebbe Asher Perlov of Stolin and his father, Rebbe Aaron, author of Beit Aharon, whose court had become renowned in the hasidic world as a musical centre.

Rebbe Yerakhmiel–Moishe was among the most exalted of the Polish tzaddikim, a figure of glory and grandeur, a noble personality, a man pure of heart and sharp of mind. No note of music went by him without leaving an impression. For the second time in its history, the House of Kozienice experienced a turbulent and fruitful epoch.

After the Maggid, Rebbe Yerakhmiel–Moishe was the second architect of the House of Kozienice. In particular, he was not disappointing as far as music goes. He diverged from established paths and went off into the open, an act which was considered greatly daring but which ultimately won a positive appreciation.

A new and unique musical event took place with Yerakhmiel–Moishe's accession to the office of rebbe. Until his time, the history of hasidic music from the first generation on was one of development, of the emergence of styles. The Besht pioneered hasidic music, and was followed by Rebbe Duber of Mezritch, who continued with his master's tunes even while adding to them. The development of idioms and styles began with the third generation: Habad melodies attained something new in their style, while the Beshtian tendency continued its hymnal, lyrical character. Rebbe Levi–Yitzkhok of Berdichev chose an ancient style, one more suited to his spiritual aspirations. We thus see the development by generations and countries, but there is no Galician melody like the melodies of Poland, Podolia or Hungary.

The founders of the dynasties of Karlin and Kozienice were not of one mind with their successors. The music of Rebbe Aharon the Great of Karlin resembled that of Habad in style, melody and dramatic tension. Although his soul was sick with love for heaven, and resounded like a flute from the abundance of musical feeling stored up in his heart, his nature and the circumstances of his life prevented him from playing any musical instrument (at the time, hasidim regarded musical instruments as tantamount to a profanation of the sacred), whereas his grandson Rebbe Aharon the Second (author of Beit Aharon), amplified musical “worship” by admitting the playing of violin and flute.

[Page 85]

The melodies of Lithuanian Karlin were distant in their character and qualities from those of Kozienice, which had a Polish flavour. Apart from this, it must be noted that Karlin itself – Karlin the abundant in melodies – was always alive and awake in its melodies, old or new, while music's stock declined in Kozienice from one generation to the next, until it seemed that in a short while it was liable to be absorbed by the depths of oblivion.

The explanation of this lay in the fact that from the beginning the melodies of Kozienice had no solid, natural and independent foundation – in the opinion of many they gave off a scent of obsolescence. Every new style of hasidic music intensified the creative power and the substance of the music. The Maggid of Kozienice did indeed create a new musical style, but after his death, there was no discernible development of his work. His successors were not sufficiently musical to continue what had been started, and a weakness in the field of music which grew from generation to generation came about, as it were, automatically.

Changes in the music of Kozienice began with Rebbe Yerakhmiel–Moishe's accession to the dynastic throne. These were the result of his education under the tzaddikim of Stolin, with whom he spent seventeen years from the ages of seven to twenty–four. In Stolin he learned to play the violin and the reed–flute. The reed–flute was a gift from his step–grandfather, the Beit Aharon of Stolin–Karlin.

Every Saturday night after havdole he was in the habit of going into the Maggid's room with a group of hasidim and playing Eliyahu Ha–Navi on his fiddle. When he reached the words, “As it is written, Behold I send you Elijah the prophet before the advent of the great and terrible day,” he would put down the fiddle and take up his flute.

These Saturday night “recitals” would be drawn out for some time and the hasidim called this melody “The Melody of the Revelation of Elijah”. Rebbe Yerakhmiel–Moishe had received this melody from the Beit–Aharon, and he used to play it on special occasions, on Saturday nights during kheder vacations.

It is told that he was in the habit of playing his fiddle every Saturday night, yet in the days following Sukkos, when Jewish boys were drafted into the Czarist army, he refrained from playing out of sympathy with their suffering.

His residence in Stolin influenced him to introduce changes in the music of Kozienice, by fusing the styles of Kozienice and Stolin. Or, to put it more correctly, under his influence, the music of Kozienice became subject to that of Karlin.

[Page 86]

He constantly recalled his time in Stolin, where he grew up and studied under the supervision of the Beit Aharon, and together with his step–brother, Rav Yisroel, “The Yanuka”, he suckled and absorbed the khasidus and melodies of Karlin.

He took care of the flute which Rebbe Aharon had given him as if it were a precious stone, for he – Rebbe Aharon had ushered in a now musical era in Stolin.

The musical practices of Karlin–Stolin took root in Kozienice and were a positive influence on the revival of the dynasty.

Hasidism gradually prepared the ground for the return of hardened hearts from sorrow and trouble to music and song – one of the cultural principles of the ancient Hebrews. With the passage of time, hasidism also prepared these same hearts for playing on instruments. The most popular instrument among the Jews was the fiddle, to which the hasidim remained faithful, and the number of famous Jewish fiddlers, among them Yossel Klezmer of Lublin, Pedahzur of Berdichev and Stempenyu of Zhitomir, was sufficiently large.

In Karlin and Stolin music was also played on the flute, which had occupied an important place in pilgrimages at the time of the Second Temple. The playing of flute and fiddle was, of course, permitted only for the sake of heaven at solemn gatherings, Saturday nights, and the like. To play solely for pleasure was considered a sin.

In the days of the Maggid of Kozienice fiddle playing at weddings and similar occasions was not disparaged. One of his longest–standing and most respected hasidim, Rav Itamar of Konskovola, author of Mishmeret Itamar, was a particularly distinguished fiddler.

Playing on the fiddle was as a balm to the sick for the Maggid. Once, when one of the strings broke in the middle of a tune and Rav Itamar wanted to tie it up and go on with his playing, the Maggid was prepared to teach him “the secret of the knotting of the tefillin” as a reward. Nevertheless, it had occurred to no one that the tzaddik himself might humble himself to play the fiddle. The hearts of the hasidim had not yet been prepared for that.

Behold now how times had changed. Four generations passed in the dynasty of Kozienice, and Rebbe Yerakhmiel–Moishe was playing the fiddle and flute. This made his court a relatively progressive one, and it exercised some influence on the surrounding courts, which now saw the necessity of transmitting the requisite musical knowledge to the children of tzaddikim. From childhood, they were taught all manner of musical instruments and how their feelings were to be expressed on them.

[Page 87]

Rebbe Yerakhmiel–Moishe endeavoured to preserve the music of Kozienice hasidism. In his opinion, the traditional was not to be changed except in cases where it would be strengthened. On the other hand, he tried to fill in the empty spaces which were to be found here and there. He injected some of the ardour of Karlin into prayer, and when he felt that the music of Kozienice had run into a dry spell, he–feeling an inspiration to compose new melodies–went and wrote them in a style similar to that of Stolin. Constraints of time allowed him to compose only fifteen melodies, among them a lengthy one for Ya Ekhsoyf, a shaleshides song, in a moderate tempo, as opposed to the slow tempo of the Karlin melodies. He put new life into the Kozienice dynasty, and granted it an increase of strength and power.

A few of his customs on shabbes and festivals are described in one of the books, from which it emerges that the spiritual fusion of Stolin and Kozienice was a fact and a positive phenomenon in Kozienice.

After mayrev on Friday night, the rebbe would recite Shalom Aleikhem verse by verse, as well as Riboyn Ha–Qylamim, having prefaced these with Askinu Sudasa up until Azamer Bi–Shvakhin.

Before Kiddush he would say Eshes Khayil, and one of his table–fellows would sing the biblical refrain, so as not to diverge from established custom.

After the fish, the rebbe and his guests would recite Kol Mekadesh and Menukha Ve–Simkha responsively.

After the soup they would sing Ma Yedidus, and after the meat, Rebbe Aharon of Karlin's well–known Ya Ekhsoyf Noyam Shabbas. On occasion, they would sing this latter after finishing the turnip tzimmis which was attributed to the Besht.

At the close of the meal the Rebbe would hum Eshes Khayil and Azamer Bi–Shvakhin verse by verse and with appropriate feeling, together with his guests. After the grace after meals, they would dance in a circle to the accompaniment of singing, and the tzaddik would dance with them.

On Friday nights from Pesakh to Sahvuos, they would accompany the dancing with the song A1 Achas Kama Ve–khama from the haggada, and afterwards the tzaddik would go to his room.

The typical song of Karlin, Ya Ekhsoyf, was the basic one of Kozienice. It was sung not only at Sabbath and festival meals, but also outside of such gatherings. The tzaddik used to recite it after the blessings for the Torah on shabbes mornings.

[Page 88]

At the second shabbes meal the tzaddik and those at the table would recite Asader Li–Sudasa responsively, and then begin to eat. After the soup they would sing Barukh Ha–Shem Yoym Yoym responsively, and after that Barukh Kel Elyon until the verse Khemdas Ha–Yamim.

Due to its content, this last verse was considered as a song in itself in Stolin, and it served as a competition piece for hasidic composers. There are therefore a great number of tunes for it. This custom also passed to Kozienice. They would sing Yoym–La–Y abas ha during the week, and on Shabbas Zakhor and Shabbas Shekalim they would sing the liturgical poems at the meal.

Their zmiros at the shaleshides were not the same as those of the congregation. In place of these, the tzaddik and those at the table with him would say Shir Ha–Ma'aloys Esa and Ein Kelokenu in a loud voice. After Ata Hu Elokenu Ba–Shamyim U–Va–Aretz they would light the havdole candle and sing Dror Yikra to a Wallachian tune, and also Shabbas Ha–Yoym.

On Shabbas Mevarkhim they sang Yekhadshehu with the other zmiros, and of course Ya Ekhsoyf was not missing. The rebbe would draw the meal out by telling stories in order to prolong the blessing of the Sabbath. Most of his stories were taken from the lives of the giants of hasidism in the first generations. The tzaddik revealed himself to be a storyteller, and his stories always drew a great crowd until the time of the darkness at the Sabbath's end.

On Saturday nights they sang Ha–Mavdil, and after the rebbe went into the Maggid's room they would sing Eliyahu Ha–Navi. The tzaddik would play his fiddle, and sometimes even his flute. At the song's end the tzaddik would recline at the melave–malka, and in the middle of the meal would play Amar Ha–Shem Le–Ya'akov. He adorned the close of the Sabbath with music.

After the blessing of the new moon, the hasidim would dance in a circle, the tzaddik often joining them. His way home was accompanied by the songs of the hasidim, and with this the melave–malka came to an end.

His playing on Saturday nights was inspired by this time of grace, and added to the natural joy whose source is the Sabbath.

During the counting of the Omer he did not play his fiddle even on Saturday night, and he likewise did not play among those who were grieving. The absence of his playing was felt, and the days of trouble stood out all the more.

A festive spirit would hover about the court on the first night of Khanuka during the lighting of the first candle. After the kindling, the tzaddik would say Va–Yehi Noyam seven times, and an hour later they would bring the menora into the shul, where the tzaddik would sing selected hymns.

[Page 89]

At the close of the hymn–singing they would sing a merry march. On occasion, the tzaddik would accompany the song on his fiddle. After the singing, they began to dance, singing joyously as they did so. The tzaddik was strict about attendance at the hymn–singing, as well as about their being sung in a loud voice. The first night of Khanuka passed with great festivity.

Great arrangements were made for the last day of the holiday. The morning meal lasted until night–time, and was considered a great event in the lives of the hasidim. It abounded in music and song. They would sing Aroymimkha Ha–Shem ki Dilisanu to its usual time, and then the tzaddik and the congregation would say Min Ha–Oylam Ve–Ad Ha–Oylam from Nishmas verse by verse until the end, continuing with Kol Bruei Mala to the usual tune.

There was a special order of hymns for each of the eight days of Khanuka. Each hymn was appropriate to the day in question, awakening joy at the memory of the miracle.

Joy and song adorned the Purim meal. During the meal they sang Aroymimkha Ha–Shem Ki Dilisanu to its standard melody. The rebbe rejoiced an exulted all night with songs and dances about the purity of divine service, and he also sang Kol Bruei Mala at the celebration.

His natural state was one of joy, and the spirit of his joy had its effects on his companions. His interpretation of the statement that “all Israel are responsible (arovim) for one another”, is characteristic: “Sweet to one another,” he said, “from the expression ve–o'rva la–ha–shem (and may it be sweet unto the Lord).”

After the singing of Aroymimkha, which was sung on Khanuka and Purim alike, they would proceed to the punch, a mixture of hot water, brandy and sugar. The tzaddik would drink first, and then distribute it to the crowd.

It is a fact worthy of note that in Kozienice Shoshanas Ya'akov was always sung to a melody known as Ha–Ikar, (the Farmer). This melody marked a complete change in its character and style, in its nature and salient features from other sorts of hasidic music. This melody was not of the pretentious type which prevailed for the rest of the year. It was in a major key, gay and merry, and in a rapid three–four tempo – in every facet and detail a complete imitation of the drinking songs of the Polish peasants.

[Page 90]

How did this melody find its way into the synagogue of the tzaddikim of Kozienice? Perhaps because it bore a definite connection with the obligation to get drunk on Purim. In any event, Ha–Ikar found its “repair” in Shoshanas Ya'akov. Many legends and stories were woven about this tune according to the imagination of the tellers; on a more mundane level, the Ha–Ikar, together with the Purim rav's jesting sermon, fulfilled the program of “ad dlo yada”, that a man should be so drunk on Purim as to be unable to distinguish between “blessed be Mordechai” and “cursed be Ham an”.

The haggada was recited only in the presence of the family and their closest friends. The hasidim were not permitted to take part in the seder. The haggada was sung in a mixed Kozienice – Stolin style. Aside from the traditional ones, no melodies were sung during the first half of the seder. In the second half, Kel B'nai was sung in the Kozienice style. Oymetz G'vurasekhah was sung to its usual tune at all the Passover meals, while Ya–Ekhsoyf was sung only on the intermediate Sabbath.

The prayers for the Days of Awe were conducted in vigorously musical fashion. Apart from the traditional melodies, new ones were sung every year. The tzaddik had two distinguished leaders of prayer who had great power to draw the hearts of their hearers: Reb Mordekhai Notte, the chief shoikhet of Kozienice, led the shakhris service, and Reb Elimelekh Reb

Pinkhas's did musaf. The latter had made the singing of zmiros on Friday and Saturday nights his own. Although his voice was somewhat hoarse, he was very musical, and he organized a choir to sweeten the prayers. It was he who provided new melodies, while the tzaddik filled in the gaps in the choir. Hayoym Haras Qylam was not sung by the choir, it being the possession, so to speak, of the sons and sons–in–law of the tzaddik, who sung it as a choir themselves. After the service on Yom Kippur night, it was customary to sing Shir Ha–Yikhud to a new tune, either as a polonaise or an exit–song; Reb Elimelekh the khazan would become anxious over having to supply such new tunes every year, and at times of need the tzaddik himself would furnish one of his own. Reb Moishe Rutman of Stozk, a respected hasid of Rebbe Elimelekh of Lizensk, always davened ne'ila.

The Maggid's tunes were not missing from the order of worship. Ha–Mamlikh Melokhim was sung to his tune. Before the Kedusha, Asei le–Ma'an Shmekha was sung to the Maggid's tune, the same tune with which the angels escorted the soul of Reb Shmuel Zwitkower to paradise, Ke–Vakaros was likewise sung to the Maggid's tune. On Yom Kippur morning, Onim Zmiros was sung to the Maggid's tune, while He'yei Im Pifiyoys was sung to the “sacred melody” of Karl in, the oldest of all Karlin melodies, which was written for Ya Ekhsoyf.

Rebbe Yerakhmiel–Moishe did not live long. Before his death he visited the baths at Krinica in Galicia. When this produced no improvement in the state of his health, he went to Kashanow, singing Aroymimkha Ha–Shem Ki Dilisani to its Khanuka tune on the way, in order to ease his physical pain.

[Page 91]

On the evening before his death he blessed the new moon and ordered the congregation to sing and dance as they used to. He himself clapped out the rhythm of the song, sitting on a bench.

He died in Kashanow at the age of forty–nine on the thirteenth of Elul, 1909. His death left an emptiness in the dynasty, for he had been a man of energy and activity, overflowing with vigour, who had scattered light all about him with the tones of his flute and his fiddle.

His three sons kept to the path of their father. The eldest, Rav Aharon–Yekhiel (1889–1942) took over the dynastic seat in Kozienice in 1909. From there, he moved to Lodz and Warsaw, spending his last years in Otwock. From there, he was deported by the Nazis to the Warsaw ghetto, where he died.

Thousands of hasidim flocked to him, for he was wonderful in his way of life and renowned for the unique ways of working with which he influenced hasidic youth and brought it close to Torah and mitzvos. He was a wonderful fiddler, causing the hearts of his listeners to exult with the magic of his playing.

The second son, Rav Asher–Elimelekh, settled in Lublin, where he died shortly before the outbreak of the war.

The youngest son, Rav Yisroel–Elazar, went to Israel and founded the moshav for Kozienicer hasidim who had decided to turn their backs on the diaspora and settle in Israel as agricultural workers living off the labour of their hands.

The three ravs continued the musical tradition, playing the flute and fiddle from time to time in both their public and private lives.

A fiddle hung on the wall of the hut in the workers' camp at Avodat Yisroel, and the sounds of Rav Yisroel–Elazar's playing sweetened the hard work of these pioneers. They called him ha–nasi (the president). The music heard in this desolate spot bore witness that a settlement which would serve as an emblem for hasidim who would later settle in the promised land was being built there. With the passage of time the moshav Avodat Yisroel became Kfar Hasidim, which is situated in the vicinity of the ancient brook, Kidron.

With the foundation of this settlement of Kozienicer hasidim, and their settlement in cities and villages, the melodies of Kozienice took hold in Israel, too. Kozienicer shtibelekh in which the Maggid's “angelic melodies” as well as marches appropriate to the rhythm of life in the new surroundings are sung, have recently been established in Tel–Aviv, Jerusalem and Haifa.

  Kozienice, Poland     Yizkor Book Project     JewishGen Home Page

Copyright © 1999-2024 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 25 May 2014 by JH