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he new Ahrele Samet album, simply titled Ahreleh, is not really about being new, says producer Naftali Schnitzler. “It actually goes back to a time when Jewish music was not about being new and different, but just about arranging and singing songs to their best advantage.” Samet has been one of Israel’s premier wedding and event singers for years, as well as a popular part of the high-spirited singing at the Yerushalmi Simchas Bais Hashoeivah celebrations, and Lag B’Omer in Meron. But despite his years on the professional music scene, the new release is his debut solo album.

The music is all real, not digitally generated, although on Track 8, “Tzorchei,” Schnitzler creates an electronic, postmodern effect. All along, Samet was keen to include compositions by veteran composer Pinky Weber in his album, so Naftali Schnitzler met with Pinky in Williamsburg on his behalf. The two sat for hours at the piano, working to create some new material, but it wasn’t happening. At one stage, Naftali sent a message to Ahrele, explaining that it just wasn’t going. Samet said, “Give it one more try. I’m going to light a candle l’ilui nishmas Rav Menachem Mendel of Riminov and say some Tehillim.” The song that resulted — just 15 minutes later — was “Aval Melech Elyon,” Track 7 on the album.

Schnitzler points out that the melody is an interesting mix. “The song starts in a major key, which gives it a bit of a more cool, modern feel. But then it warms up and really becomes hartzig.” It’s still a few months to Rosh Hashanah, but the song has already become a popular request at events in Eretz Yisrael. (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 713)

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t was 4 a.m. at the recent wedding of the Belzer Rebbe’s grandson, and the Rebbe began his dance at the mitzvah tantz, right before the chassan himself. The masses of chassidim stood and watched, but the Rebbe’s dance seemed to stretch on for far longer than usual. On and on, suspended in time, the holy dance continued, to the song composed by the Rebbe himself in honor of this occasion: “Ki anu amecha ve’atah Elokeinu, anu banecha ve’atah Avinu — We are Your people and You are our G-d, we are Your children and You are our Father,” from the Yom Kippur davening. The busloads of followers who had to leave to Ashdod and other cities piled out and journeyed homeward, with the song echoing in their ears. Yet when they ran to the local live hookup on their return, they were amazed to see that the Ruv was still dancing to the very same niggun. According to onlookers, the song was sung for 72 minutes straight. Afterwards, the Rebbe commented that he was simply unable to stop in the middle of these holy words. (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 713)

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hloime Cohen, the chassidish singer best known for his warm, dynamic singing of Pinky Weber’s compositions “Lemaaloh, Lemaaloh,” and “Kadsheim, kadsheim bi’kedushas haShabbos… Kah echsof noam noam Shabbos…” has just released a new album, Metzapim, produced and arranged by music duo Eli Klein and Yitzi Berry.

Berry says that arranging the studio time was easy — because Shloime Cohen prefers to come and record late at night. “Shloime would come over to our Har Nof studio to sing when he was full of energy, after singing at a wedding all night. We always turned the studio lights off, because he prefers the darkness in order to lose himself in the meaning of the words he’s singing.”

One night, however, when the singer had driven in from Bnei Brak, it got a little too dark. There was a blackout in Har Nof, and the electricity was down in the studio. “It was one o’clock on a Motzaei Shabbos and we couldn’t record. We spoke and sang and had Melaveh Malkah by candlelight in the studio. Then, as we finished, the lights went on.” But Shloime decided not to begin work. ‘Hashem didn’t want us to record tonight. We’ll come back another time,’ he told us.”

It was that late-night energy that fueled one of the album’s hit compositions, too. After he had finished performing at a wedding, Cohen received an email from Eli Klein, and attached was a new demo, a moving niggun entitled “Kasheh Preidascha” which uses the words of a prayer written by the Ohr Hachaim to express the soul’s yearning for the return of the Shechinah. In the song, the second track on the new album, Cohen’s voice rises in the poignant entreaty, “Zechor ahavaseinu… Remember our love, restore Your Presence,” and then it seems almost melted by tears, in an admission of our vulnerability and our pain: “ki kasheh preidascha — because Your departure is difficult.” Then the music takes over where words leave off. A krechtz for the pain of galus, and a timely reminder that all our suffering stems from the Shechinah’s exile.

 (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 712)

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hen Aaron Razel completed his army service, his search for something more took him to Tzfas. In Yeshivas Shalom Rav, in the alleys of the ancient holy city, he found himself transformed, turning to serious Torah learning that would change the trajectory of his life. Behind the yeshivah there was a cheder, and in between chavrusas, Aaron sometimes found himself gazing at the little boys playing, at the purity of their eyes and their innocent chatter. One of his early compositions reflected this experience — “Ein ha’olam mitkayem ela b’hevel pihem shel tinokot shel beit rabban” (loosely translated, “the world is sustained by the pure breath of children learning Torah”) — as he strummed and sang.

But the song lay in a drawer, unfinished, for years until recently, when Razel was compiling songs for his new album, Ad Emtza Makom (Until I Find a Place). The new album would be Torah-themed like his 2013 album Kavati Et Moshavi, featuring the hit title track “Ani kavati et moshavi b’veit hamedrash” (“I’ve decided to settle myself in the beis medrash”). An appeal on social media for short video clips of children learning Torah brought an avalanche of heartwarming contributions to the “Hevel Pihem” music video. Like most of Razel’s work, the song is sophisticated but also light, easy listening, with some influence from the Israeli music that Razel was raised on. It also makes you feel like embracing all those sweet cheder boys who might just be holding up the world. (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 711)

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elieve it or not, Baruch Levine almost didn’t make the decision that launched his musical career. Before releasing his first album, Levine had sold his compositions to other artists, but in 2006, it was time to sing his own material. He had a long list of song possibilities for the album, and “Vezakeini” was his last choice.

“It sounds like I’m making this up, but I still have that paper with crossing-offs and question marks on it,” he says. “ ‘Vezakeini’ is not a musically brilliant song, and it took only ten minutes to write, so we weren’t sure it deserved a spot.” But “Vezakeini” spoke to the generation, voicing the universal prayer of Jewish parents facing today’s challenges, and its meteoric rise made Baruch Levine famous. (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 711)

A noted composer once said “song writing is ten percent inspiration and ninety percent perspiration.” How true that is. Some songs can schlep out for days, weeks, months, and even years. Getting just the right lyrics, the perfect turn of phrase — not to mention the proper chord flow and subtle nuances of a catchy melody — can be a painstaking process.

At other times, the moment is ripe, inspiration strikes, and the process can be akin to experiencing a Divine revelation. Sometimes a special occasion or especially poignant moment will touch me and trigger an epiphany: At one wedding, after the mitzvah tantz, I was so moved I composed “The Wedding’s Over.”

At the Siyum HaShas I was inspired to write “One Daf a Day.” And sometimes, a certain unusually gifted or learned individual will stimulate the creative juices. When my rebbi, Rabbi Shlomo Freifeld ztz”l, was niftar, I wrote “A Very Special Man” in his memory. On the other hand, after I was attacked by a bunch of hoodlums, I wrote “Nebich of the Shteeble.”

—Country Yossi Toiv

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 747)