When I was in high school there used to be a guy who used to stride down Agripas Street into the vegetable market in a blue robe and staff, a silver breastplate hung across his chest, as if he was practicing to be the high priest for the Third Temple. Also, there was a restaurant you could eat at in the Jewish Quarter that recreated life in Roman Times. They served you roasted meat and figs, whilst dressing you up in a white sheet. My parents got married at the Holy Land Hotel, famous for its historically accurate model of the Second Temple. Tourists can go see it, and then go see the Western Wall and see what's missing.
The latest musical trend in return and recreation of Psalms and Medieval liturgy seems to merit an entire posting, especially the work of the Avichai foundation, (="my father is alive") which hosts concerts and study groups, lectures and art exhibits to do with Jewish culture -- all with an agenda I haven't fully sniffed out yet -- but more on that in a later posting.
When I was invited to the "The Voices of the Levites: Tracing the lost musical instruments of the Temple," I expected a sophisticated version of these recreation activities. Some good new compositions of the Psalms, musicians in blue and white clothes with touches of silver with yearning, earnest looks on their faces. I suspect that this is what the kugel-fed crowd looking for a good Passover activity was also expecting. With the first deep and weird tones of the female vocalist (full disclaimer: my wonderful sister!) three men in large white kippot escaped the hall lest they be drawn into temptation hearing the nakedness of a woman's voice, and when she sang the explicit name of God another young couple left quietly, a guitar swinging from his back.
The Levites had to draw lots to serve in the Temple -- disembodied text flashed across the wall behind the musicians -- lest they push and shove each other. These Levites came through in fragments. Nobody was trying to actually be a Levite. (What a relief!) The recreation of the Levites voices in the temple, as well as a the imaginary instruments described in the Psalms was both a labor of love and a spectacular purposeful failure.
Though Ilan Green, formerly of the "the Tractor's Revenge," and the visioner of the project, built a a drum shaped like a star of David, shakers in the shapes of the seven species and an otherworldly tree hung with bells called Ayelet Hashachar (="the Doe of Dawn"?) the band did not actually play any psalms on the instruments. The texts were fragments: a few opening superscriptions (the "choir instructions" for the psalms that were probably added much later) a prayer from Qumran, something from the song of Songs, a meditation on King David as a man who lived his life in tents, always running.
At one point we heard that that the singing of the Psalms in the Temple were so loud they could hear it all the way to Jericho. Jericho is a city extra-sensitive to music, because Jericho's walls were brought down by music. These Psalms are ghosts, and we are not Jerusalem, though we are sitting in this opulent concert hall in the New Jerusalem. As moderns, we are Jericho, we are what has been destroyed by the violence of the ram's horns. What we recreate is our ability to listen.
After the concert a starry eyed bearded boy asks me if the instruments are historically accurate.
He says, "I think these musicians would have a lot to contribute when the Third Temple is rebuilt."
I say, "Well, not the woman. She couldn't sing at the temple." He nods his head regretfully, agreeing.
I say, "I think they would all have to move to Germany if they built a Third Temple."
"Really?"
"Yes, I would probably also move to Germany."
He says, "Are you Jewish?" I turn in profile to show him my nose.
"What do you think?"
The latest musical trend in return and recreation of Psalms and Medieval liturgy seems to merit an entire posting, especially the work of the Avichai foundation, (="my father is alive") which hosts concerts and study groups, lectures and art exhibits to do with Jewish culture -- all with an agenda I haven't fully sniffed out yet -- but more on that in a later posting.
When I was invited to the "The Voices of the Levites: Tracing the lost musical instruments of the Temple," I expected a sophisticated version of these recreation activities. Some good new compositions of the Psalms, musicians in blue and white clothes with touches of silver with yearning, earnest looks on their faces. I suspect that this is what the kugel-fed crowd looking for a good Passover activity was also expecting. With the first deep and weird tones of the female vocalist (full disclaimer: my wonderful sister!) three men in large white kippot escaped the hall lest they be drawn into temptation hearing the nakedness of a woman's voice, and when she sang the explicit name of God another young couple left quietly, a guitar swinging from his back.
The Levites had to draw lots to serve in the Temple -- disembodied text flashed across the wall behind the musicians -- lest they push and shove each other. These Levites came through in fragments. Nobody was trying to actually be a Levite. (What a relief!) The recreation of the Levites voices in the temple, as well as a the imaginary instruments described in the Psalms was both a labor of love and a spectacular purposeful failure.
Though Ilan Green, formerly of the "the Tractor's Revenge," and the visioner of the project, built a a drum shaped like a star of David, shakers in the shapes of the seven species and an otherworldly tree hung with bells called Ayelet Hashachar (="the Doe of Dawn"?) the band did not actually play any psalms on the instruments. The texts were fragments: a few opening superscriptions (the "choir instructions" for the psalms that were probably added much later) a prayer from Qumran, something from the song of Songs, a meditation on King David as a man who lived his life in tents, always running.
At one point we heard that that the singing of the Psalms in the Temple were so loud they could hear it all the way to Jericho. Jericho is a city extra-sensitive to music, because Jericho's walls were brought down by music. These Psalms are ghosts, and we are not Jerusalem, though we are sitting in this opulent concert hall in the New Jerusalem. As moderns, we are Jericho, we are what has been destroyed by the violence of the ram's horns. What we recreate is our ability to listen.
After the concert a starry eyed bearded boy asks me if the instruments are historically accurate.
He says, "I think these musicians would have a lot to contribute when the Third Temple is rebuilt."
I say, "Well, not the woman. She couldn't sing at the temple." He nods his head regretfully, agreeing.
I say, "I think they would all have to move to Germany if they built a Third Temple."
"Really?"
"Yes, I would probably also move to Germany."
He says, "Are you Jewish?" I turn in profile to show him my nose.
"What do you think?"
Beautiful posting! I loved what you said after the concert -- that we did not hear the psalms themselves, only the frames around them, hints or shadows. (I don't remember your exact words). I was also haunted by the image of Jericho -- the sound of the Levites carried that far, and set up a kind of echo of fallen walls at the trumpets' blast. But then you take it farther: "These Psalms are ghosts, and we are not Jerusalem, though we are sitting in this opulent concert hall in the New Jerusalem. As moderns, we are Jericho, we are what has been destroyed by the violence of the ram's horns. What we recreate is our ability to listen."
ReplyDeleteGorgeous!
Thanks for your comments Ariel :) Do we know each other in r/t? Were you at the concert?
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