The day after Pesach, my husband and I flew back from Atlanta, and my oldest grandson, visiting from Israel, surprised us. In the den, he walked over to my keyboard and said, “Bubby, you must have had this for 30 years.” He was right. I remembered how he and his cousin enjoyed playing their own “music” when they could hardly reach the keys. Even though I would love to hear him play the keyboard again, we know that it’s sefira. During this time, it’s a challenge for me not to pop in a CD of Avraham Fried or listen to the works of Mozart, Beethoven, or Bach, which I learned to like from a shaila I asked my rabbi.
About
35 years ago, the year after my beloved father passed away, I called Rabbi
Emanuel Feldman (now Rabbi Emeritus of Congregation Beth Jacob) and asked, “When
can I listen to music again?” After answering, he shared that when his year of aveilus
was over, he turned on his radio and heard his favorite piece of classical
music.
Then
he asked, “What kind of music do you like?”
“Soft
rock,” I almost whispered. Afterwards, I thought, my Rav likes classical music,
and I like soft rock? That’s probably okay (especially when I was younger), but
wanted to learn to like classical music, too. So, in the car and at home, I
would turn on Atlanta’s classical music station and listen as much as I could.
In the beginning, most of the pieces sounded dark and somber. Often, I wanted
to change the station or pop in a Jewish CD, but most of the time, I didn’t.
After several months of listening to the strains of these great classical
composers, I felt something stir within me.
As
a child in the 50’s, I was first introduced to classical music by my Great Aunt
Cele Block, a”h, who played Peter and the Wolf on her
record player in the living room when my brother Julian and I visited her in
her home on Cylburn Avenue. Sitting (or squirming) on her gray velvet
davenport, I remember thinking, this music is strange. But that strange music
has stayed with me all these years: “Bam, bam ba ba ba bam ba ba bam, ba bam
bam....” Whenever I find myself “bam bamming,” I’m back in Great Aunt Cele’s
living room, where all the instruments in Peter and the Wolf played
while I pictured Peter walking through the forest to find the wolf. When I told
my husband that I remember listening to Peter and the Wolf as a
child, he said that he remembered it too. Not only that
but he said that he has the record in the basement if we want to listen to it
again. All we have to do is find it.
Great
Aunt Cele’s gesture to encourage my brother and me to listen to Peter
and the Wolf may have had a part in my beginning to like classical
music, but it was really because I was embarrassed that I didn’t appreciate the
works of the great composers as my rabbi did.
In
the past decades, it was discovered that classical music can improve brain
power and creativity. This sparked the interest of parents of young children.
Now, many musical toys play classical tunes. Recently, I bought a CD on sale
with music by Mozart for pregnant women and their babies. For a dollar, a
person doesn’t have to be in the state of life advertised on the cover of this
CD to enjoy it. There’s something so relaxing about these compositions that I
truly miss not listening to them during sefirah.
* * *
As
we mourn the tragic loss of Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 students – who, although they
were on such a high level, made the mistake of disrespecting each other – it makes
sense not to listen to instrumentals. Still without the sound of pianos,
violins, drums, and other instruments, music lives on around us. The songs of
nature, orchestrated by Hashem, are everywhere: leaves rustling in the wind,
birds chirping, dogs barking, children laughing.
Also,
our liturgy, including Az Yashir, Perek Shira, Shir
Hashirim, and of course Tehillim, are songs, although we
recite most of them. And some tefillos, such as Hallel, Adon
Olam, and Yigdal are actually sung in shul as
well as at home.
Last
summer, during the three weeks, I was surprised that the theme of Mesorah’s
program of Torah learning for women, was “song” including songs of Shabbos, songs
of the soul, Chana’s Song, Shiras Haba’er, songs of Mashiach,
and songs for spiritual survival in galus. But after attending one
of these programs, “Shiras Haba’er,” presented by Mrs. Shira Hochheimer,
and hearing her uplifting message of thanking Hashem for everything He gives
us, I was no longer surprised that Mesorah chose “song” as their summer theme.
It’s
not surprising that the Jews in the midbar sang songs at krias
Yam Suf and other times when Hashem miraculously saved us. Mrs.
Hochheimer mentioned that maybe a song should be written thanking Hashem for
the miracles and end of the Twelve Day War with Iran. Sady, some people died,
but there were so many miracles. Today, maybe we should sing a song of thanks
to Hashem for the miracles in this present war with Iran.
So,
as we abstain from listening to music during sefira, whether classical
or other types that bring us joy, may we unite with each other in love and
respect and hear the music all around us.
