A Matter of Time

That musical genesis has certainly made its imprint on Motty Steinmetz. But he brings to that tradition a voice that’s all his own. Those who’ve merited to hear him perform live — especially at a chuppah — can attest that his powerful countertenor reaches into the soul and draws out aspirations and yearnings listeners weren’t even aware of, instilling a drive to daven with fresh urgency for dreams long thought dashed.

His story isn’t about him finding a voice, but a voice finding him.

“I grew up around several kinds of music, I would listen to CDs and everything, and since I was a kid, I loved to sing,” he recounts. “I was literally always looking for an opportunity to get the mic. For me, the beginning was at family mitzvah tantzen. When the badchan finished his job with the grammen, he released the mic, so then I would grab it. And I loved it.”

Word of Motty’s talent quickly spread throughout the chassidus. His first cousin, David Taub, today an arranger and producer, learned together with Motty in yeshivah gedolah, and helped him crystallize his vision for the future. The two remain close today.

“David was always the musician,” Motty recounts. “He had this passion already in yeshivah — he had an electric guitar, and he could read the notes. He told me when I was 17 and a half, ‘Modche, this is your voice. You have a contratenor.’ ”

Motty soon became a fixture at large Vizhnitz events, and it was only a matter of time before his fame spread farther. The inevitable occurred nine years ago when the chassidus commissioned an orchestra led by Ruvi Bannet to perform at a dinner.

“When I got there, they told me, ‘We have a soloist here you’ve got to hear,’ ” Bannet recalls. “They had him perform on the program that evening, and when I heard him, I enjoyed it very much. I approached him afterward and asked him to perform at a hachnassas sefer Torah in my chassidus, Seret-Vizhnitz. When I brought him there, nobody there knew him. But I could see everyone was taken by his performance.

“Afterwards, I said to him, ‘Let’s start working together. You could be known around the world.’ ”

Bannet introduced Motty to his friend Yossi Rubin, a producer, who in turned introducted Motty to Shlomo Yehuda Rechnitz, and things quickly progressed from there. First came “El Hana’ar Hazeh,” recorded together with Levi Falkowitz, Moishe Mendlowitz, and again the Shira Choir. Then Motty performed “K’ayal Taarog” by Shmuel Yefet with the Shira Choir for the 2014 Kumtantz 1 double CD. Later that year at a Rechnitz family simchah, Motty performed a duet with Mordechai Ben David titled “V’sei’arev.” All that led up to the release of Motty’s first CD, Haneshama Bekirbi in 2017.

Motty had reached the level where producers and composers were sending songs to him. “Vihi No’am” on his first album came to him from a friend of his, London music producer Avrumi Berkowitz.

“He heard it for the first time sung by Yanky Daskal in Vizhnitz, on Lag B’omer,” Motty says. “And he told Yanky, ‘This song is mine.’ He paid him and then he gave the song to me. And he also brought me ‘Brivele.’ ”

A singer always needs to be on the lookout for songs that will lead to hits, Motty says.

“Either you’re approaching a famous composer and asking for songs, or they send you songs,” he explains. “And then you have to have the seichel to choose it. Siyata d’Shmaya and seichel.”

Sometimes, for whatever reason, that special sense and Divine assistance are lacking. Motty reflects wistfully on some big numbers that got away.

“Shaya Gross’s ‘Afilu B’hastarah,’ ” he muses. “Popular enough? Or Chezkie Weisz’s ‘Far Dir.’ ”

“ ‘Yireh Shamayim,’ ” pipes up Ruvi Bannet from across the room, mentioning the song by Hershy Weinberger that became a hit for Shmueli Ungar.

“Ruvi was begging me to take that one,” Motty acknowledges.

Motty in a candid conversation with his producer Ruvi Bannet and Mishpacha’s reporter. “I always loved to sing,” he says. “I was literally always looking for an opportunity to get the mic”

The “Nafshi” Backstory

One song that didn’t get away — and that in fact took the world by storm — was Motty’s duet with Ishay Ribo, “Nafshi.” Motty gives us some background, his narrative highlighting many of the challenges inherent in undertaking a musical career, both personal and artistic.

“Ruvi’s wife Naomi was the first to come up with the idea of a duet with Ishay,” he says. “Then I met him at a ZAKA concert where we were both performing. That’s when we first spoke about doing a song together. Then we were looking for a good song for a long time.”

That search percolated for a while until Ruvi Bannet came upon a song by Shmuel Yefet, who had penned Motty’s earlier hit “K’ayal Taarog.”

“He’s a good composer, Shmuel Eliyah,” says Motty says of Yefet. “So Ruvi sent me that song, and the moment I heard it, I said, ‘Bingo, we have a good song.’ ”

But although the search had ended, the work was only beginning. First, Motty and Ishay had to work out the right pitch for the song. Motty’s countertenor voice can make it a challenge for other singers to match him harmonically.

“It’s very difficult for me to do a duet because I sing in a different key than most other singers,” he explains.

Even after that had been resolved, work on the song extended over a lengthy period. The hold-up was due to more than technical vocalizing points, Motty confesses.

“It took like a year and a half to cook, this one,” he reflects. “There was a certain time when I took it off the table.”

Because the work was taking so long?

“No. Because I was afraid. Because this was something new, something very bold for me.” He pauses. “There was a month when Ruvi was talking to me about it, trying to move it forward, and I said, ‘Enough, nigmar, it’s over.’ And then he convinced me to speak to a few people. And we decided to go for it.

“And then it exploded.” He smiles and shakes his head. “Unbelievable, mamesh unbelievable.”

In the end, his decision to branch out from his established fan base paid off.

“I had been wanting to reach a bigger audience with my songs, and this was a good way to do it,” he says.

And he’s quick to credit his partner in the venture.

“A few big singers here in Israel had asked me to do duets with them, singers who are really at the top of the Israeli music world,” he says. “And I was refusing, of course. Why? Because I have a responsibility for which singers and which songs I expose my crowd to. Ishay Ribo was the only singer about whom I could say that every word that he writes is pure, heilig, from the Bashefer.”

Costs and Benefits

There are other lines Motty Steinmetz won’t cross as a chassidic performer, as well. Perhaps most famously, he makes clear to potential clients that he will not perform in a venue that doesn’t have a mechitzah completely separating the genders. That dedication has won him wide admiration, but it comes with real-life costs. But he has complete inner peace about the path he’s chosen, whatever the financial consequences.

He cites the recent example of a large fundraising event in an out-of-town American community. The organizers approached him to perform and he spelled out his condition about the mechitzah. The parties came to an agreement, a date was set, a venue was booked, and travel plans were made. Then a few weeks later Motty got a call from the lead organizer: One of the biggest contributors had gotten wind of the mechitzah and put his foot down.

“He’s telling me, ‘Listen, sorry, but my biggest donor told me, no way this is gonna happen in our community.’

“So of course, it’s not a question,” Motty continues. “I gave up a huge amount. And this is just one story out of many, it happens all the time. So I’m giving up maybe half a million dollars a year for this cause. This is a lot of money, but I truly believe that the Bashefer won’t deprive me, that what is written for me is mine.

“In the tefillah that we say for parnassah in davening, we make three requests — ‘b’nachas v’lo b’tzaar, b’heter v’lo b’issur, b’chavod v’lo b’vizayon.’ ‘B’nachas,’ we want our parnassah to come easily, without stress or problems. ‘B’heter,’ it should come properly, in the permitted way, how it’s supposed to be. And ‘v’lo b’vizayon,’ it should be mechubadig.

“So every year I give up half of these concerts, and the people inviting me don’t understand — ‘Why not?! What’s the kashe? Come, sing, do what you do.’

“But I don’t see two options about this. I’m very strict. If I come in and I see something wrong, I won’t sing unless it’s fixed. Because I know if I don’t deal with it, nobody will. This is a matter on which I stay strong, baruch Hashem, with emunah and bitachon. What’s mine is mine, what’s not isn’t, and that’s that.”

He admits that it creates some awkward situations. “Sometimes it’s difficult to do this,” he says. “Is it my job? Is this my thing to do, or should somebody else be doing this? It’s a conflict.”

But the awkwardness is worth it, he says, if it prevents worse situations.

“In a concert, there’s a lot of emotion going around,” he points out. “So that’s why, especially in a matzav like this, more caution is needed. Even if it’s a big concert. There could be dancing and everything. Or it could be in a house — someone’s making a party, you know, bringing some sushi, bringing a bartender, and this, and that… What could happen?”

His father gave him some helpful advice about keeping his head on straight.

“I talked to my father about the problem. He told me, ‘Motty, this is basar v’chalav!’ So this is one of my missions, and I’m trying to do my best.”

The American Way

Motty’s music has won him legions of devoted fans in the United States, and from his standpoint, the feeling is very much mutual. He’s especially enjoyed the opportunity to perform in out-of-town communities and get to know people there.

“I was in Chicago two to three months ago, I found it such a lovely community, b’emes,” he says. “Good people, geshmak.”

South Florida is another favorite destination, he says, mentioning Miami Beach’s Kol Eliyahu (formerly Adas Dej Maglei Zedek). “The Dej shul there, I felt like I was in Meah Shearim. This is mamesh a chassidishe beis medrash, in Miami. And there’s also a beis medrash where there’s no speaking during davening, no speaking in shul on Shabbos, they’re very strict there. And if somebody doesn’t understand the message, they can throw him out.”

In general, Motty says he finds the American lifestyle very appealing. “I would love to have a place like Lakewood in Israel.”

As much as he is drawn to the US, though, he has no plans to move there.

“Eretz Hakodesh, yishuv Eretz Yisrael is the most important thing,” he states emphatically.” So that’s why I’m flying all the time. My base is here. I’m raising my children here. And I’m not really giving anything up, because I believe, you understand?”

The conversation turns to the adulation that chareidi performers, Motty among them, have been receiving from their fans. Motty himself is very aware of the dynamic and has done some serious thinking on the matter.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he says. “The majority of the people who are coming to you, what are they saying? They’re saying, ‘It touches my neshamah. You helped me to learn. You helped me to survive. You gave me strength.’ So I think this is one of the reasons [for the adulation] — because the effect is so big, with the effect comes the reaction. When you touch somebody’s life, they look up to you.”

It’s a big zechus, but with it comes a big responsibility.

“I feel like a kli kodesh,” he says. “I know so many people whom I helped to learn.”

That being said, he acknowledges that the dangers are real.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m not going to say that there aren’t some people seeking some kind of celebrity status,” Motty concedes. “A lot of people, maybe a majority of people, want to be famous, maybe because there is some glamour associated with fame. But there’s also the other side — a loss of privacy, or maybe a person starts focusing on the wrong things. And this doesn’t only exist with singers. Gvirim are also celebrities, right? The heads of big organizations, they’re also celebrities, right?”

The main thing, he says, is to keep the proper priorities in focus. “If a singer knows that people are looking at him, and they’re learning from him, it gives him a bigger achrayus, a bigger responsibility about what he’s doing.”

Building for the Future

Another cultural phenomenon much remarked upon in chareidi quarters is the predominance of chassidish singing in the entertainment world. Motty is thoughtful when queried as to why he thinks that is.

“I think the chassidim always took the way of simchah,” he says after a moment. “Dveikus b’Hashem, a leibedigkeit. Today there’s a movement to go back to the old —to the old style of music, the old niggunim. People are releasing all kinds of songs, but the ones that speak most to the neshamah, about simchah, they’re staying in the market. That’s chassidishe music, the old niggunim.

“Also, people are looking for authenticity, I think. Music that touches the source, or gives them simchah, or feeds their emotions. And they find it in the chassidishe music.”

As to the predominance of chassidish singers in the spotlight, he traces it to a very simple reason — infrastructure.

“In the chassidishe oilam, every kehillah has a choir. In Vizhnitz, after the Holocaust, the Imrei Chaim brought over all the songs from before the war, and built a choir to recreate these songs. Because of him and a few chassidim, the world of niggunei Vizhnitz survived. He also composed a few songs, like the Vizhnitz ‘Oideh.’ So in Vizhnitz, like in every chassidus, there is a choir, and there’s a tish.”

But although the chassidim have built up a big lead in this arena over the decades, Motty says he’s starting to see other streams catching up.

“You know, 99 percent of the mesorah of niggunim was conserved by the chassidishe oilam. With the litvishers, only today they make a simchas haChag on Yom Tov, they sit in the yeshivah and sing, like here in Ponevezh. It’s a chiddush. The last few years, there’s a ne’ilas haChag, with rabbanim sitting, with bochurim, and they’re singing chassidishe niggunim. In Ponevezh! A tish, mamesh!”

Facing the Fear

Since Motty himself broached the issue of fear earlier in the conversation, it raises the question: Does he ever get scared before he sings, or is a seasoned performer like him beyond that?

“If you had asked me this three months ago, I would have answered you differently,” he says. “I would have said, no, I have no fear onstage, I’m okay. But I’ve had a few concerts now where it hasn’t been easy to go and address a big crowd. Sometimes I can be walking out and feeling like there’s only ten people there, and it’s just me and the mic, and that’s it. But sometimes I feel very nervous.”

How does he overcome that feeling? His performances clearly give no indication of someone hobbled by fear.

“I have to realize that everything I think I hear isn’t necessarily what the crowd hears.  I don’t know how it looks from the outside. I only know what’s going on in my mind. So, it’s an avodah.

“Sometimes those first two songs are frightening. But I’m trying all the time to live with the Bashefer, and know that He is with me all of the time. I can’t tell you that I’m doing it with 100 percent success, because nobody is, but I’m trying at least. I have my failures, but I’m trying.”

One of the most important factors in a successful performance, Motty says, is the response and support of his audience. He tries to remain cognizant of the fact that a mere decade ago, he was a nearly anonymous chassidish bochur in Bnei Brak, and now he receives fan letters and emails from all around the globe.

“When I hear that someone got chizuk from me, I say to myself, ‘Yes, you’re doing what you came to do.’ If you’re doing what you came to do, it makes you happy. It erases the doubts, and it gives you chizuk.”  —

Day in Court

Motty’s firm stance on the mechitzah issue drew worldwide attention in August 2019 in a celebrated incident that remains imbued in the public consciousness. He was scheduled to perform at a concert sponsored by the city of Afula, in a municipal venue, with segregated seating. But a secular women’s lobbying group filed a lawsuit against the event, contending the city government was engaging in gender discrimination by holding the concert.

A local Afula district court judge recommended that the event should be held with three sections: one for men only, one for women only, and one with mixed seating. Because it was a recommendation and not a ruling, the city proceeded with the concert as planned, with only two sections. The secular women’s group appealed the judge’s finding, and the district court rejected the appeal. So the women’s group took their case to Israel’s High Court (often called “the Bagatz” for its Hebrew initials).

Meanwhile, a different district court, in Natzeret, convened on Sunday, 10 Av — which was observed as Tishah B’Av that year, since the 9^th fell out on Shabbos — to rule that the gender separation was illegal, and the concert must proceed without a mechitzah. Motty’s reaction was swift — and quickly became the center of the story.

“In these things, like I said, it’s not a question,” he says. Even now, nearly four years later, his eyes flash with indignation as he recounts the story. “Either it’s separate seating, or I’m out. So I remember it was Tishah B’Av, 12 in the afternoon. And I was receiving messages — ‘The court decided this concert cannot have separate seating.’

“A friend forwarded this to me, so I answered him in a WhatsApp message. ‘This is just a gezeiras shmad, I’m not going to surrender. I’m not going to do it, I’m not going to sing. You’re going to see, the High Court’s not going to decide the matter, it’s going to come back to the local district court.’

“And then he did something that usually would make me very angry. He released this message. It was a private message.

“But seven minutes after, I was listening to the news, and suddenly I heard, ‘Court strikes down mechitzah, the singer announced he’s not going to sing.’

“So, unwillingly, I became the big issue, with this message.

“Then it all started. Messages from all over, members of Knesset, for nine days the whole country was aflame over this, mamesh azoy. Everybody wanted to speak with me, all the media. I refused most of them.”

After Tishah B’Av, the Shas party filed a petition with the Natzeret district court to reverse the decision. That petition came before the district court on Wednesday of that week — the same day as the concert. It was also the same day that the secular women’s appeal came before the High Court.

Amazingly, the Natzeret district court reversed its initial decision — and went along with the recommendation of the Afula court that there be three separate sections.

“I said no way,” Motty recounts.

The city proceeded with the concert under the original plan, with two sections divided by a mechitzah. The night of the show, a throng of media descended on the venue, along with thousands of chareidi Motty Steinmetz fans.

“So then I came to the park,” Motty says. “They caught me, all the media, and baruch Hashem, the Bashefer gave me all the right words to say. It was very successful.”

In the end, by all accounts, the show was also a smashing success. Just as it ended, word came that the High Court had issued a ruling on the just-completed concert.

“Afterwards, when I was going off the stage, we got word that the Bagatz said no,” he says. “They said this judge in the district court couldn’t issue his ruling. But it was just interesting, when I sent that WhatsApp message, I said, ‘You’re going to see, it’s going to come back to the local district court.’ ”

Motty also takes care to clarify another matter for the record: that the concert was indeed held with a mechitzah dividing a men’s section from a women’s section, and nothing else.

“Until today, the Reform and the women are trying to claim that this concert was held with three sections. Wikipedia and all other media are trying to claim, ‘we won,’ trying to rewrite history. But that’s not how it happened.”

Whatever claims the media tries to spin, it’s clear that the real lesson has stayed in the public consciousness, Motty says.

“Wherever I go, people are still talking about this, and I’m so happy that I was zocheh to make this kiddush Hashem. To show that a person can still stick to his principles and defend Torah, and the world will have to tolerate it.”

There was one additional benefit, from Motty’s standpoint.

“This also opened up for me so many crowds who were exposed to my music because of this,” he says. “Ratzah l’kallel v’yatza l’varech. They wanted to control and eliminate this holiness, and then what I did was just the opposite.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 906)