He’s been singing for forty years, but it’s always a new day for Avraham Fried

Photos: Naftoli Goldgrab, Meir Haltovsky

I imagine that somewhere, there is a 20-something-year-old singer sitting and looking at pictures of Avraham Fried in one of his colored wool sweaters and his black hat and wondering what the secret of the look is, what the brand is meant to convey. Effortlessness and toil mixed together, perhaps? Chassidus and universalism? Thoughtfulness and fun?

I can only share my own pshat, based not on any particular conversation with him but on having interviewed him several times. Also, there is a dedicated Avraham Fried channel on Kol Chai Music and it plays on my computer. A lot.

Here’s what I think.

Take me on Your wing, teach me how to sing

The one song the world wants to hear,

Oh, Father dear.

Don’t hide from me,

It seems You’re hiding more and more each day, why, I pray,

I keep looking, You keep hiding,

Oh, I feel so alone, I’m calling to You, Father, please come home.

Don't Hide From Me

Every Jew wants Mashiach, but Avraham Fried wants Mashiach so very much that it comes up in almost any discussion, and you get the sense around him that he’s really not okay as long as we’re in galus.

The hat is on, just in case the call comes. The sweater — the work clothes — is because he’s singing while he waits.

Who We Are

The Friedmans are in a temporary apartment while work is being done to their Carroll Street home. It’s on the sixth floor and it isn’t very spacious, but it works. I notice that not much has come to this temporary apartment, where the furniture and appliances are rented — but the pictures are here.

A full wall of pictures, somber-looking chassidim, men who taught Torah in hidden rooms and women who lit candles in darkened basements — less smiles, but radiant faces.

I comment on the inconvenience of bringing pictures along to a rented apartment.

“We would never,” says Mrs. Tzivia Friedman, who overhears the comment, “and I mean never, be able to raise our children without these pictures. They are who we are.”

Her husband turns to look, his eyes resting on each picture: grandparents, uncles, aunts.

“Anything we’re trying to do is based on what they taught.”

So stand and take the credit

We will be the ones to end it,

Though we’re small, we’re standing tall

Like soldiers

Riding high ’cause we’re on our fathers’ shoulders.

On Giants' Shoulders