In class last week, we discussed Jewish culture, foods, and music, and what makes something Jewish. Having grown up non-Jewish and with a very limited idea about what is actually Jewish, I had the stereotypical idea of what made something Jewish. In my mind, bagels were (somewhat) Jewish, Latkes were definitely Jewish, and Yamakas were Jewish, but much outside of that, I was clueless.

The real question isn’t what objects, are Jewish, but rather what determines their “Jewishness”? Is it the creator of the object that makes it Jewish? Is it who owns it? Is it the object’s purpose? Along those lines, what determines whether or not a food is Jewish? When I think of Jewish foods, I think of latkes, bagels, challah, gefilte fish, and matzah ball soup, which are all delicious, but who determined they were Jewish? I realized during class that bagels actually aren’t Jewish at all. Bagels are not known in all parts of the world, yet somehow wound up with a Jewish connotation. How did that happen? When thinking about Jewish music, I think of a voice that sings in an entirely different style from that of American and European singers. It has a more earthy and religious feel to it than other types of music. Every thing that is Jewish has a very distinct flavor. Jewish objects, such as the amulets are all completely unique. Jewish foods have distinct tastes, and traditional Jewish music has an interesting and intricate melodies.

Judaism is a unique religion in and of itself. As I discussed in my previous blog, Judaism does not require a belief in God. It solely requires that one follow Jewish practices. There is not one other religion which does not mandate the belief in God. In Islam and Christianity, one has to believe in God as well as celebrate certain holidays during the year (Christmas and Ramadan) and pray during certain times in the day or go to church. Judaism also appears to be the most accepting of religions in terms of differences among individuals. These aspects of Judaism always intrigued me and drew me in to learn more.

Since I grew up a Jewish household, over the years I have attended countless services at our synagogue, Beth Judah. As I have sat in the same seats my family has sat in for as long as I can remember, I participate in the service. I know the majority of the words to most of the prayers (and when I don’t I refer to the English transliteration), the melodies, and the cues indicating when to sit or stand, etc. As I partake in the services, I never really thought much about the music, or where it came from. I always assumed that these were traditional songs, prayers, and melodies that Jews had always sung.
After reading the chapter on music in The Jewish Cultural Tapestry by Steven Lowenstein, I realized two things that I did not know before. First, I learned that I was not alone in my belief that these songs originated in “great antiquity” and that other Jews mistakenly believed that their ancestors traditionally sung these same songs. Who would have thought the ever popular melody for “Sholom Aleichem” was written in New York City less than 100 years ago? In addition, I also discovered that throughout history Jews had borrowed musical elements from other cultures and religions. In turn, this really begs the question, as mentioned by Lowenstein, of what is Jewish music. As a “cultural insider”, I found this question very interesting and also much more difficult to answer after this chapter brought my inaccurate beliefs to light. This question of what is Jewish music parallels the large question of what does it mean to be Jewish, and the answer to both of these questions seems unclear.
Within this practice of borrowing religious musical elements from non-Jewish cultures, I found two instances of this, referred to by Lowenstein, particularly interesting. The first of these cases deals with the song “Eli Zion”, which in the Ashkenazic tradition concludes the dirges sung on Tisha B’av. “Eli Zion” has a similar melody to two Christian hymns, one a Latin Christmas carol, and the other sung by the pilgrims to the shrine of St. James of Compostella in Spain. I find it very interesting that a song associated with the saddest day in the Jewish calendar, is also associated with joyous occasions in the Christian tradition. Furthermore, Lowenstein’s hypothesis that perhaps Jews deliberately choose melodies of Christian hymns associated with happy occasions for such a solemn Jewish holiday reveals a possible implicit tension between the two religions.
In addition to the example mentioned prior, the fact that the opening bars of the Ashkenazic melody for the Hanukkah hymn “Ma’oz Zur” are identical to the opening bars of Martin Luther’s “Nun freut euch lieben Chisteng’mein” surprises me quite a bit. It would appear that either Martin Luther borrowed his opening bars from the opening bars of “Ma’oz Zur”, or vice versa. This is rather perplexing considering that Martin Luther was openly anti-Semitic, writing the book entitled The Jews and Their Lies. It seems strange that any Jew would want to borrow anything from anyone so anti-Semitic, nor does it seem plausible that anyone so overtly anti-Semitic would want to borrow something from a people that he so deeply despises. A coincidence maybe? Possibly, but that does not seem to be the most likely explanation.
After reading Lowenstein’s chapter about Jewish music, I feel that I have learned much more about it than I had previously known. It is somewhat ironic that in my five years of Hebrew School no one ever taught me that most “traditional” Jewish practices and customs, including Jewish religious music, are not really dated back to ancient times, as I had always imagined.