When he was a kid, Avremel Friedman went public as a child soloist on several albums — but while the light of most child stars dims as their voices change, Avraham Fried’s only became brighter. Ten years later, his 1981 debut album, No Jew Will Be Left Behind, turned into the beginning of a nearly four-decade stretch, as listeners connected to his niggunim of the neshamah. Through hundreds of songs and dozens of albums, we’ve sung and swayed, danced and prayed. And now we’ve asked our readers:
Which one of Avraham Fried’s songs has touched your life?
“Shalhevet”
On March 26, 2001, tenth-month-old Shalhevet Pass was targeted and killed by an Arab sniper in Chevron while she was sitting in her stroller. The tragedy shocked the Israeli public. Soon after, Avraham Fried, together with his brother Rabbi Manis Friedman, wrote a song to memorialize her short life and express the sentiments that the event engendered. In my early twenties at the time, I’d scream out “Baby Shalhevet” at many a Chol Hamoed concert, at times getting a comment but never meriting a rendition after the initial couple times that I had heard him perform this song. Ironically, the first stanza of the verse conveys the power and impact that a life unlived had upon the world, which parallels the fact that a song unpublished could leave the greatest impact.
The words, in part, are:
Too young to walk, you went further than us all
And though you never said a word, you said more than words can say
The sweet fragrance of Gan Eden was still fresh upon your skin
The angels cried, Oh the day you died — the day your flame lit up the sky, ohhh
Oh, Baby Shalhevet, there’s a fire in your name
Without you there’s an emptiness, we are wicks without a flame
You left this world a tiny baby, but to me you’re so much more
You’re the giant heart of sacrifice that will open heaven’s door.
—Yochanan Gordon, Cedarhurst, NY
Avremel’s Take
Wow. You have all the words to this pretty much unknown song. People ask me why I didn’t record it.
Answer? Too painful. When holding a newborn grandchild baruch Hashem, I’ll whisper the line: “The sweet fragrance of Gan Eden still fresh upon your skin.” May we have happy things to sing about.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 791)
