While his concerts attract capacity crowds from the entire spectrum of Israeli society and his albums have gone gold, he still only wants to sing about the Borei Olam

Photos  Amir Levi, Shlomi Pinto, Chaim Tuito

There is a narrative ingrained in the public psyche by an often contentious media: that Israeli society consists of three disparate, hostile groups — chareidim, chilonim, and the national-religious somewhere in between — each with separate agendas, each fiercely holding down their line with no interest in reconciliation. If those lines really exist, then superstar Israeli singer Ishay Ribo, the new beloved voice of emunah and hope, has figured out how to cross them. But maybe instead, he’s proven that the battle lines aren’t really there at all.

Perhaps nothing reflects this more than a clip of a heartbreaking visit by Ribo to the shivah of 21-year-old soldier Amit Ben Yigal, killed in an overnight anti-terrorist raid in a village outside Jenin in May 2020. Ishay didn’t know the family, but one thing he did know: This is the broad swath of Israeli society that’s under the radar — people who believe, have faith, and want to connect, even if they are unlearned and not strictly observant.

Ribo sat in a circle with them and sang “Halev Sheli,” his mega-popular song about how only Hashem can heal a broken heart, bringing Amir’s parents to tears as they and other non-religious visitors joined him in singing the words of hope and healing that they all knew. Baruch Ben Yigal told Ishay that Amir, who was his only child, had selected “Halev Sheli” as the ringtone on his phone.

Ishay Ribo, 33, never set out to be a national ambassador of faith when he began writing songs as a teenager, but still, he was careful only to write songs of kedushah, of HaKadosh Baruch Hu, emunah, hope, and redemption. And today, his mix of spiritual lyrics culled from Tanach and midrashim, packaged in powerful, inspirational melodies, has managed to break down sectarian barriers. His prominent black yarmulke and long tzitzis notwithstanding, his concerts attract capacity crowds from the entire spectrum of Israeli society, he has won prestigious national music awards, his four albums have gone gold and platinum — and he still only wants to sing about the Borei Olam.

“Music is a great connector, from a higher place,” he says, explaining that every concert is like a mission to open hearts, because he really believes that he can get a message across to a public Hashem hasn’t given up on. “Not-yet-religious people come and feel their souls stirred. People have told me, ‘I’m not religious, but I won’t listen to your songs on Shabbat.’ The truth is, when I started out, I never dreamed that, with the types of songs I sing, secular people would come to my concerts. But so many people have told me, ‘Ishay, you’re the only connection we have to spirituality.’”

And maybe that can also help answer the mystery question of how Ishay Ribo has found his voice abroad. Israeli singers generally have a hard time breaking into the American market, and not just because of language — there are barriers of culture and style as well. So how was he able to fill 3,200 seats in the Kings Theater in Brooklyn last summer, and sell out thousands of tickets for an upcoming whirlwind US-European tour, when his music is a bit complex and his lyrics profound and often cryptic, in a language much of the audience doesn’t even understand?

How is it that, even without fully comprehending the lyrics, everyone — from the non-affiliated to the frum; Europeans, Americans, and Israelis; from chiloni to chareidi and everyone in between — is able to find what they’re seeking in his music? What’s the magic?

“Ishay Ribo has this universal appeal, although I don’t think it can be attributed to any one thing,” says Yaakov Brown, a music trends and history expert living in Jerusalem and creator of the Jewish Musical Notes chat, whose members include a large number of music personalities and industry insiders. “The success and popularity of any artist, especially within the medium of music, specifically among an audience of such nuanced and diverse tastes, relies on many different variables, the greatest of which is a healthy dose of siyata d’Shmaya.

“For starters,” says Yaakov, “Ishay has been blessed with an abundance of mazal, a fact that he himself declares often. He has remarked many times that he feels that Hashem has given him a special ability to infuse his music with its unifying and influential allure. And then there’s what we call koach haniggun, the ability of the music to skip the brain entirely and travel straight to the heart. It can help express the anguish of the soul as well as the faith that burns deep within us all. Ishay masterfully wields his ability to speak to the pintele Yid inside every Jew through his melody and poetry, and it’s especially powerful because his songs reflect his own real emotion — he’s extremely genuine.”