Yosef Moshe Kahana, leading musician of the Belzer court, makes the Jewish music that defines the category — that unmistakable sound that fills the soul and replenishes the body like a good cup of warm tea

“What about Reb Yosef Moshe Kahana?”

My friend, manager of a Jewish music superstore in the heart of Yerushalayim, is suggesting different potential interviewees and he sandwiches this name between two industry icons.

I look at him blankly. “Who?”

With the rhythm of a poker player, my friend slaps down a series of albums on his counter. “This is it, L’chaim Tish. Everyone buys it.”

He presses play on the surround-sound system and the store is filled with music. It’s not the type of music that requires you to identify genre or style; it’s just music, filling your insides like the first sip of tea, giving you a vague sense of nostalgia for something you might never have known.

“Okay,” I turn back to my friend, “hook me up please.”

A BACKDROP

Shabbos has already been out for several hours, but you would never know it in this neighborhood. The serenity of Shabbos in Kiryat Belz hasn’t yet given way to the bustle of the new week, and the leisurely pace of shtreimel and beketshe-clad pedestrians tells me that no one is any hurry to let go.

Reb Yosef Moshe Kahana lives in the shadow of the great Belzer shul, and the building —and its message — is a steady backdrop to his work. The music he shares with the world has been called pure and uplifting, and while the chassidus, its rebbe. and its rhythm influence his work, the gift of song was ensconced inside him since way back, before the building even stood, when the chassidus itself was just re-learning how to sing.

When he was a child in the late 1960s, there wasn’t much music coming from the row houses of Jeanne Mance Street, where Montreal’s chassidic community is headquartered. Everyone was too busy trying to live again.

“My parents were survivors, and so were most of their friends,” he recalls. “Everyone was so overwhelmed, it wasn’t like today, when music was such a part of the culture. Getting through the day took lots of energy.”

But there were simchahs: When there was a chasunah, everyone came. Families were small. Each simchah was an occasion. And little Yosef Moshe Kahana was that child, standing next to the musician, eyes opened wide.

“And my parents understood. They bought me a record player when it wasn’t so common, and filled my world with Reb Ben Tzion Shenker and Reb Yom Tov Ehrlich, Reb Duvid Werdyger, and Chabad.”

Yosef Moshe loved the music, but he discovered his passion when he first heard grammen, rhyming songs. It was the era of the great badchan, Reb Chaim Mendel Mermelstein. “If you worked hard, you could get one of the coveted recordings of Reb Chaim Mendel, tapes passed around from hand to hand.”

But there was little time for the pursuit of badchanus tapes. “I was a yeshivah bochur: Who had time for music?”

Reb Nachman Kahana was a scion of the rebbes of Spinka, but he sent his sons to the local Belzer cheder. “We grew up in Belz, and that became our identity. My father wasn’t a Belzer chassid, but he was a great admirer of the Rebbe.”

Eventually, the Kahana boys went to learn in Eretz Yisrael, at the flagship Belzer yeshivah.

“My father came to visit us, and of course, he scheduled an audience with the Rebbe. My brother, a Belzer chassid, warned my father that the Rebbe would invite him to sit, but the custom was to remain standing.”

Reb Nachman entered the Rebbe’s room. The youthful Rebbe welcomed the distinguished guest, himself a rebbishe kind and asked him to sit. The visitor smiled. “My son says the custom is not to sit by the rebbe, yet the Rebbe tells me to sit. How do I know what the right thing to do is?”

The Rebbe didn’t hesitate. “Sit down and then we’ll figure it out,” he said.

AN EMERGING INDUSTRY

In time, Yosef Moshe got married in Yerushalayim (his wife, like him, is also from the Kahana family, and also an einekel of the rebbes of Spinka). He joined the Belzer Kollel, living the dream for several years, until the realities of a growing family led him to consider his options.

“At the time, not every chasunah in Yerushalayim had a mitzvah tantz, it was more of an American thing. The idea of doing badchanus for a living was somewhat novel, it was an emerging industry.”

The night job provided Reb Yosef Moshe with more than just the usual free drinks and sliced fruit; it gave him a new sense of what people were looking for.

“I felt I’d discovered a key to neshamos, something a bit different than what was out there.”

When he would sing popular tunes with the addition of his own Yiddish lyrics, the effect was powerful. In what would become a defining philosophy, Reb Yosef Moshe theorized that people don’t appreciate having to learn two things at once. “It’s true in chinuch and its true in music. A new tune takes concentration and new words take concentration; in order for it to be a pleasant listening experience, there can’t be too much going on.”

Influenced by the gifted Shulem Kessler, he developed his own style. Like those of his one-time rebbi, Reb Chaim Mendel, recordings of Reb Yosef Moshe were soon being passed around eagerly.

His lyrics, set to beautiful niggunim, became the piyutim for a new generation.

Tehillim’l Tehillim’l, azoi hartzig uhn tei’er, fuhn pastach getrei’er, oif eibek gevehlt

Fahr unz oissgetreten, gevust vuss tzu betten, fahr zeine sheife’lech, zei vuss felt.

The up-and-coming badchan got a big boost when his own rebbe married off his only son, ushering in a flow of simchahs in the Belzer court.

NOT A GIMMICK

“The Rebbe called me in and made it very clear what he wanted.” Badchanus, the Rebbe said, is a talent, not a gimmick. Like the authors of elegiac and sensitive Yotzros, the wisdom wasn’t in the rhyme as much as its message. “I don’t just want the last words to rhyme, I want substance,” the Rebbe said.

Every badchan occasionally has a situation where he is forced to ad-lib, where circumstances force him to improvise. Reb Yosef Moshe shares a behind-the-scenes moment from that first simchah. Emotions were running high, as the chassidim had waited a long time for the simchah. The chassidus had nearly been decimated in the Holocaust. Then, when a rebbe finally emerged to lead them, he and his rebbetzin waited many years for their only child to be born. The wedding of this child, crown prince of the chassidus, was seen as a celebration of the resurrection, and at the central sheva brachos, the gifted badchan sang the glory of a chassidus risen from the ashes. He waxed poetic about the yeshivos and shtieblach, the resurgence of Belzer traditions, when, in mid-song, he received a note.

Please sing about Vizhnitzer mosdos as well.

The Yeshuos Moshe of Vizhnitz, father-in-law of the Belzer Rebbe, was seated at the head as well — but the badchan had reasoned that there were simchahs in the flourishing Vizhnitzer court all the time, so it wasn’t necessary to sing about the growth of that chassidus.

“But I was given to understand otherwise, so I adapted on the spot, adding verses in praise of that chassidus as well.”

Within Belz, the minhag of mitzvah tantz continued to spread and the badchan was busier than ever.

Success didn’t cause him to change his formula: popular tunes, easy, uplifting lyrics, and simple arrangements. “We tried not to drey a kup,” he says in his matter-of-fact way.

The requests to produce of an album of some of the classic Yiddish songs resulted in L’chaim Yidden, the first release, some 25 years ago. There were no marketing firms or strategists involved in that album, but, at a time when selling 2,000 copies was considered respectable, it sold ten times that — close to 20,000 copies.

The first album led to a second one, equally successful: badchanus took a backseat.

KEEPING IT SIMPLE

Like the word “l’chaim” manages to draw people close, to create instant camaraderie, the music released by newly formed L’chaim Productions, reached a new demographic. “Until then, it was widely believed that there were two distinct markets, two different audiences. Those who wanted traditional chassidishe music, then those after what’s called ‘chassidic music,’ meaning it has Jewish words or tempo, but the sound is more contemporary. The conventional wisdom was that the second group had no need or use for ‘tish music,’ the real authentic stuff. We proved that it wasn’t true, they do need it: You can keep the first group happy and pull the second group in as well.”

Going simple can be complicated, though. “Our goal was to be basic, we felt that many of leaders in the industry at the time didn’t have a feel for the street. They were investing in the wrong things; award-winning violinists are nice, for example, but it’s not what will reach people’s hearts. We worked the other way. We said, ‘Look, the song has to be good, that’s important. The voice has to be pleasant. The arrangements have to be good.’ We didn’t try to be mechanech people, to over-teach.”

Another secret was the variety. “We learned that you can’t pick hits, you have to let them happen. You have to choose songs that can be hits and then let the people decide.”

TO ACTUALLY SING

Choosing songs, interestingly enough, was his first real challenge. “We called it L’chaim Tish, specifically, because our standard was that the songs had to be suitable for a rebbe’s tish.”

Tracking down authentic songs took time, finding out the source and comparing the various versions that evolved over time.

Though they started with the classics, as the albums kept coming, requests would pour in, people approaching Reb Yosef Moshe bearing their homemade recordings, insisting that “You have to listen to my zeide’s Kah Ribon, my shver’s Menuchah V’simchah.”

“We followed every lead,” Kahana recalls, “but we weren’t looking for complex masterpieces, we wanted to give people songs that they would actually sing.”

Choosing songs was just the start of the process. “After we select a song, I myself do the music, choosing the speed, the proper key.”

Speed, apparently, is central to song as it is to a motorcycle, at least to Reb Yosef Moshe. “I’ll give you an example, here in Eretz Yisrael, the old London boys classic, “Mareh Kohein,” is a huge chasunah hit. The problem is that they sing it too quickly. I wanted to use it, but I had a sense that it should be sung slower — I had never heard the original, but when I found a recording of the way Yigal Calek and his choir recorded it, I was vindicated. Just like the words and tune have to feel right, the pace does as well.”

BETTER THAN ME

Finding the right musicians and arranger isn’t simple, since each song calls for a different skill set. “We are blessed with so many talented arrangers, we’ve used them all, Suki Berry, Mona Rosenblum, Moshe Laufer, Jeff Hurwitz, Chaim Hartman, each has his specific expertise.

“It’s only after the music is in place — base, piano, guitar, drums, all of it — then we start on the singing.”

Reb Yosef Moshe is blessed with a good singing voice, and he can play most instruments. “But others are better than me, so why not use them?” So he used practiced singers, notably the famed Belzer baal tefillah, Reb Yirmiya Damen, and relegates his own role to managing, producing. and directing.

Another L’chaim innovation was the attitude that the song is the most important thing, not the arrangements or voice of the singer. “That was counterintuitive, at least back then, when it was assumed that a really good saxophone solo was worth more than a good song. We tried to let the song shine.”

It’s not only about respecting the song, but also about respecting the audience. “I never thought that I know better — if people say that they want something, then we take that seriously — after all, they are the ones we’re hoping will buy the album, right?” He mentions the very successful Purim Tish album as an example. “There are a whole bunch of Purim CDs, all very nice, featuring cheerful music and beats. But someone stopped me and said, “Yosef Moshe, I want a CD of just Purim songs, not happy songs, not dancing songs, but real Purim songs. Now, it’s not so easy to find 20 or 30 good songs that are really part of Purim, the Megillah, the tefillos, but it was a valid request. And it turned out to be a good idea, baruch Hashem.”

In a recent interview on Motza’sh Chai show, a mega-popular Israeli radio program which revolves around Jewish music, host Menachem Toker was trying to put his finger on what makes L’chaim Tish unique. “Reb Yosef Moshe,” he said, “others have tried to emulate your success, we see other ‘kumzits’ style recordings and they don’t achieve your popularity; how come?”

“Perhaps it’s because we let the choir sing, we try to keep it natural. We don’t over-think the arrangements or swallow up the song?” Reb Yosef Moshe suggested.

“Yeah,” Toker agreed, “there is something there, a magic in your music that makes people want to keep listening, maybe that’s it.”

Reb Yosef Moshe, ever the badchan, was quick to return the favor. “Menachem is roshei teivos meshader nachon, chacham, matok,” [Hebrew for a “wise, correct, sweet host”] he shot back.

When I ask Reb Yosef Moshe’s opinion about contemporary singers, I learn that his personal favorite, in voice, comportment, character, and interpretation, is Avrohom Fried. I am amazed, because I remember a conversation with Avrohom Fried several years ago, in which I asked the superstar what music he personally listens to. “If you were to come to my home on an Erev Shabbos or Erev Yom Tov,” he said, “along with all the wonderful sounds that reverberate in the kitchen you will hear the varmeh, geshmake sounds of L’chaim Tish playing. My children know that the music is a means of transforming the home from weekday to Shabbos.”

“I don’t know Reb Yosef Moshe personally,” Avremel tells me now, “but his music is clear indication of what he’s all about. The ultimate compliment I can give him is that his albums bring kedushah into the home and I really hope he continues to produce.”

YOU PUSHED ME AWAY

As the producer responsible for releasing the albums of his own chassidus, Belz (including hits such as “Ki Orech Yomim,” “Ki Atah Hu Melech,” “Psach Shaarei Shamayim” and, most recently, “Hishbati”), Reb Yosef Moshe receives direct tutelage from his Rebbe.

“The Rebbe understands music. He once told me that he appreciates Modzhitzer music because the pieces are a ‘binyan,’ well-constructed with a ‘reisha and a seifa,’ defined parts.”

Early on, Reb Yosef Moshe asked the Rebbe if the choir on the Belzer albums had to comprise only Belzer chassidim. “The Rebbe told me that as long as they were ehrliche yungeleit, it didn’t make a difference. That’s what I do with L’chaim Tish too, I look for good voices; as long they are sincere people, yarei Shamayim, they’re welcome to join.”

The choir members have to be ehrlich, the songs authentic and tish-worthy. Are there any composers he shies away from?

He nods knowingly, understanding where I’m headed with the question. “We used a niggun from Shlomo Carlebach, but we wrote ‘amemi’ instead of the name of composer, because the chassidishe oilam is ambivalent about him.”

The song, “Uva’u Ha’ovdim,” is an old favorite of the rebbe of Vizhnitz-Monsey, hence its tish-worthiness. Regarding its composer and his legacy, Reb Yosef Moshe shares a personal story.

“I was once flying to Vienna and Reb Shloime was on my flight. I went over to say hello, and I asked where he would be performing. He told me he was scheduled to appear at a large non-Jewish festival, and he appeared uncomfortable about it. Then he looked at me and said, ‘Etz hutz mich derveitert, you, the chassidic crowd, have pushed me away, so now I sing for them.’

“I loved his music and appreciated his sincerity; I wanted to make amends, to find away to bring him close on his next trip to Eretz Yisrael. It wasn’t meant to be. Two months later, Reb Shloime had a heart attack and died.

“Is it fair to include his song and not his name on our album? I don’t know. I like to think it’s a toivah to include his niggun, but I really don’t know what’s right.”

SECHEL AND MODERATION

While many successfully learn to navigate the challenges of the music industry, others stumble. Does Reb Yosef Moshe, who, has been responsible for bringing so many of the ‘yaldei peleh’, (wonder-children), to public prominence, feel it beneficial for a young boy to go from singing zemiros with his family to becoming a celebrity?

“Like everything in life, you need seichel and moderation. I actually feel that it’s good for the child. Talent has to come out somewhere, you can’t repress it and expect it to disappear, so we offer a perfect setting for these children to shine, away from the stage and crowds. I look back at the many children who joined us in studio over the years, and they are all successful adults.

“The only problem is when the parents lose their judgment, start shlepping their child around to simchahs or to visit hospitals, then the attention can be a problem. Bikur cholim and giving people joy is a mitzvah, but mitzvos have to be justified by the results too, parents have to think before allowing their children to show up wherever they’re requested.”

THE NIGGUN DOES THAT

Some of Reb Yosef Moshe’s interpretations of classic niggunim have become classics, perhaps none more than Kah Echsof. Written and composed by the Rebbe Reb Ahron of Karlin, the Lchaim Tish version sets the mood for the upcoming Shabbos each week on Yedidia Meir’s popular radio show, in homes all over — and even in grocery stores.

“A boy from Brooklyn wrote to me how he heard the niggun playing one Erev Shabbos in Goldberg’s Supermarket and, on the spot, he swore off listening to non-Jewish music. It doesn’t surprise me. The niggun does to a person.”

“We are actually eineklach of Reb Ahron Karliner. If one of the tzaddikim will pull me out of Gehinnom,” Reb Yosef Moshe remarks wryly, “maybe it will be him.”

It’s not just Kaf Echsof, however, that has that effect.

One day in 1996, while the choir was recording a haunting niggun called “Kol Zeman,” with lyrics by Reb Yosef Moshe, there was a knock at the studio door.

Shlomo Artzi, one of secular Israel’s leading singers, stood there. He’d been recording in a nearby studio and heard the choir singing; he’d been transfixed by the song and wanted to know what it was.

Arranger Moshe Mona Rosenblum explained Reb Yosef Moshe’s lyrics. Kol zeman shahaner dolek efshar od lesaken — as long as the candle is burning one can still mend and repair.

The folksinger shyly asked if might have a turn to sing. He took the microphone and, along with the chassidish choir and Rosenblum’s arrangements, Arzti let out a cry of teshuvah: Vi lang der neshamo iz bei mir, modeh ani lefanecha, Basheffer tei’ere dank ich dir.

“He was deeply moved. He told me that he’s a great nephew of Rav Meir Shapiro, the Lubliner Rav. He was eager to learn more.”

THE OTHER FIFTY PERCENT

In recent years, after releasing close to 90 albums, Reb Yosef Moshe has added to his repertoire. He still travels to America for the occasional badchanus engagement, and has started a distribution company for his own albums, along with books, toys and other products.

With understated candor, he shrugs. “I always joke that I had two goals when I started, to spread these songs and to make money. I got 50 percent — the songs are all over — so how can I complain? Some people don’t even succeed with the first half.”

“On a serious note, the sense of satisfaction, the sipuk is great, but when I started to marry off my children, I realized that you can’t make a chasunah with sipuk. I needed to do more.”

He recalls directions from his Rebbe. “It was 20 years ago, before there was an Internet and all the issurim against technology. Kosher videos seemed to be the wave of future, audio-visual adaptations of stories of tzaddikim or other themes. Someone suggested I get involved in the video business, so I asked the Rebbe. He said, ‘It’s not a business for a yungerman who gives out Belzer music, it doesn’t go together.’ ”

So over the past few years, as the industry struggled to adapt to a new reality —that of music being copied for free and distributed that way — Kahana worked to figure out a solution.

MY HARD WORK

“Look, there isn’t a single dayan, living or dead, who says its mutar to copy music without permission, I tracked down all the supposed matirim, not one says its permitted, but I’m not going to give you the whole shmooze about stealing music, everyone heard it already. But I will tell you a cute story.”

While leafing through a newspaper, Reb Yosef Moshe noticed a tiny advertisement. “We will fill your iPod with 2,000 heimeshe songs for a nominal fee.”

Reb Yosef Moshe called the number and made an appointment. “The vendor met me in a quiet alley, anxious to do the job and get his money. I told him that before paying, I just wanted to make sure it was okay with him if, once I had the songs, I would transfer them to other people’s iPods as well. This way I could recoup my investment.”

The dealer was incensed. “Of course you can’t do that. Do you know how hard I worked to assemble the songs, to get them all together and create this list for you to enjoy? Mah pitom, why do you think you should make the money from my hard work?”

Reb Yosef Moshe gave him a long, hard look and thanked him, walking away.

“It didn’t change anything, but it’s a good story. So I realized that if I would release children’s albums, no one would copy them, no parent is comfortable giving their child stolen music, right? Those have to be real. So we started a new series.”

The children’s albums used the same formula — pleasing songs, simple lyrics, good music — and met with similar success. One of the albums of classic Shabbos songs with Yiddish lyrics, comes with an accompanying book, featuring magnificent illustrations. The songbook spawned Shabbos and Yom Tov-themed dolls, educational electronics, and toy mitzvah objects.

Does that mean that the L’chaim Tish has sung its last song?

Of course not. The sipuk is still there; identifying, recording, and releasing chassidic classics remains Reb Yosef Moshe’s passion.

Besides, there is still so much to share. As an Israeli folksinger and a chassidish choir sang late one afternoon:

Kol zeman s’brent doss lecht… Modeh ani lefanecha…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 549)