1.
This is not the first time, and probably not the last, that I have written about Aharon Razel. I follow his work closely and, in fact, his life as well. I follow with amazement. He is a true son of Aliyah, both as an artist and as a person.
What does "Ben Aliyah" mean? It means that his first album ('The Burning Bush') was released in 1997, that is, 25 years ago. That's a long time. And since then, he has not only maintained his level, but has been rising and rising (and the world is rising with him). He is always renewing, always renewing. His texts and melodies are getting better and better over the years, getting deeper and deeper. And that is really not something that can be taken for granted. There are great and important creators whose fountains have dried up. I don't want to write names here, although I have quite a few examples in my mind of people who are signed to great and important works, but whose peak is already behind them. Overall, it is a natural process. I have seen musical Ben Aliyah and they are humble.
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And as mentioned, it's not just in creation, but also in life itself. We all know people, especially those who are returning and strengthening, who were in a period of ascension, of lights, of holy fire, and over time it passed for them. Not that they have shed their burden, God forbid (unfortunately, there are those too), but what can you do, the initial enthusiasm has faded. And that's natural. Maintaining what exists is a lot.
But Aharon Razel's bush is still burning. I remember that after his monumental work "My Opinion About It," in which he turned the preface to the halachic book by the author of "Chaye Adam," Rabbi Avraham Danzig, into a romantic song full of longing for Torah - I told him, "This is it, you've reached the peak. You won't have another song like it. No way." But in the ten years that have passed since then, he has repeatedly broken his own records (for example, with the song "The Holy Hunchback" or with the brilliant book of tori and songs "Hachaim Kennigon").
And what is most wonderful about him is the harmony between creation and life and between life and creation. And that - is not like that with everyone. I'm not talking about poets who wrote sublime poems but in their private lives were drunk and violent people. There's no need to go to extremes. I'm talking about the fact that reality doesn't always match the creation. What can you do, life isn't really a poem.
But with the Razals – and here I also include the eldest brother, Yonatan – it's like this. Do you know the magical family music video for the song "Achta Shalati," in which they learn and play, play and learn? I can testify up close: it's also in everyday reality. This is what the song of their lives looks like.
2.
Well, everything I wrote here is just an introduction to Aharon Razel's new album, 'As the Son of the Missing One.' Wow. What an album, what songs, what lyrics, what poetry. As I said, he is at his peak right now.
I'll quickly go over the milestones of the new album here: We'll start with the opening song, "I Am Another" with Eviatar Banai. Razel's melody to the golden tongue of the Maimonides in the laws of repentance is worth an entire column. And indeed, I wrote an entire column about it in the past, when the song was released as a single. Only Razel can take one of Maimonides' demanding texts – "From the paths of repentance to be the one who returns, he always cries out before God with weeping and supplications, and does righteousness according to his strength, and distances himself far from the thing in which he sinned. He always cries out with all his strength, with weeping and supplications: I am another, and I am not the same man who did those deeds" – and turn it into a thrilling and sweeping song. You hear the song and want to shout, too, with all your strength, with weeping and supplications, along with the two "returners", Aharon Razel and Eviatar Banai: "I am another! I am another! And I am not the same man who did those deeds!".
Then, in a sharp transition, both musically and programmatically, comes the next song: 'Bnei Brak.' A love song for the city of the Torah, Hasidism, and overcrowding. And no, Razel does not ignore the (external) ugliness of the city. "Write songs about Jerusalem / About Meron and the Galilee, and in the meantime / To a corner a little pushed aside / Rise up, shake off the struggle / The lie of grace and the vanity of beauty / You are out of the game / Bnei Brak, Bnei Brak.".
And not only is the city crowded, but also on the way there: "Line 400 is stuck in traffic / A passenger looks at you from a distance / The air conditioner doesn't turn on / We're pushed to the door / Pinchas asks: 'Will we make it on time?' I'm doubtful / We go up on the bridge / And your name is on a huge sign / Bnei Brak, Bnei Brak." But then, when we enter the city: "A stranger won't understand the mess / Idle statistics / The wealth line and the poverty line are marked in an unjustified place / 'Come to Shabbat' says Avraimi, arranging the clothes / The Torah is our life / A life of nobility even in times of stress / Bnei Brak, Bnei Brak / Here your light is on.".
And how is it possible without the nightly hitchhikes from the gas station on the way out of Bnei Brak? "The end of the song, the middle of the night / Trampiada, shawarma / My heart is on fire / When Weiss explains to me tofu, it's like a candy evening on me / Listen to Bnei Brak / If I leave you, my tongue will stick to my cheek." You hear the song and want to squeeze in with Aharon Razel on the crowded, sweaty bus all the way to Bnei Brak.
3.
And then, again, in the sharpest transition possible: from line 400 to the hills of Samaria. To a heart-rending, yet heart-strengthening ballad, 'Letter from Her Beloved.'.
""A year ago, I didn't know Ahuvia Sandak, the late, nor his dear family," he says, "until my wife told me that her school friend's son had been killed. We went to Nehem. 'Take this letter,' his father told me at shiva, 'make a song out of it. Ahuvia wrote the words after his death... my way.' I found such sensitive words. A boy describes his life. Building a house on a hill. Sheep. Flute. Studying the Bible. I tried to insert simple chords with a strum of folk music that I grew up listening to. And a little tear that came out from time to time between the lines.".
And here are some of the lyrics of the song that Razel performs on the album together with her lover's father and brother: "In a wooden house / that we built on the mountain / I lived with friends / and with the hawk / I would get up to the pasture / go out with the sheep / write songs there and live the holiness of the Land of Israel / which I love so much.".
And suddenly you feel like, from the hustle and bustle of Bnei Brak, taking a ride straight to the hills of Samaria and joining in the magic described, by her late lover, in the following line: "The heat of the day / I did not feel in the vigil / nor the cold at night / Studying Torah, with love out of a desire to adhere to its mysteries / Since the age of three I have been studying Torah with my father / And ever since I have been associated with the figure of David, the king of the Messiah.".
Well, writing these words without the protector (and without the tear) is not the same. You will of course have to hear the song. And also see the special illustrated music video.
But a small correction: It seems to me that the expression I repeated twice here, "in a sharp transition," is not accurate. It is an expression of journalists, not of artists. Certainly not of artists of the generation of immigrants. For them, it is less of sharp transitions, and more of "harmony." And this is exactly what is so moving and so authentic about Aharon Razel and his work. He is truly connected to the world of Torah and sees light in the ugly Bnei Brak. He is truly connected to the lives of his late lovers and his friends, Yavdla on the Hill (Tavdla).
4.
Then Razel arrives at a station that no one wants to go to with him: Auschwitz. He composed a moving story told by Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach about a young man who meets his uncle, a Hasidic Kuznitz, in the extermination camp. For two years, the uncle strengthens him, physically and spiritually. Then: "One night, he woke me up from my sleep and said to me / Know that you are the only one left of the whole family / And I have a feeling that tomorrow I will no longer be, and this is my last request / As you know, I know the entire Gemara by heart, word for word / And since the day I entered Auschwitz I have not stopped studying / Today I am holding Tractate Moed Katan / I estimate that by tomorrow I will reach page 7, page 1 / I ask you / If the Holy One, blessed be He, will help you / And you come out of here alive / Please finish the Tractate for me.".
The message of that constant Hasid who studied Torah in Auschwitz and perished, passed on through his nephew who survived, then through Carlebach, and now through Razel, is that the six million are essentially asking us: Continue. Not only live, but continue us where we left off. Finish the tractates that we haven't finished yet.
And again: you need to hear the moving song, the work that is performed like a musical that tells the story, with a dramatic choir and a symphonic arrangement.
5.
Okay, I focused here on only three songs, three stops on the journey of Aharon Razel's musical. But the album has no less than 15 songs, including: a powerful duet with David D'Or on the song "Shema Yisrael" ("I will not forget those days / I felt so alone / But I stood there as long as you were / And the night of the star / You hid your face / I covered my eyes in prayer / Shema Yisrael, our God, the Lord is one"); "Kabben HaMteag", the album's theme song, whose lyrics are in mysterious Aramaic. At first glance it sounds like a Kabbalistic passage from the Book of Zohar, but it is a text written by a poet from Kibbutz Saad, whose name is Aharleh Edmanit, about the times when a person moves away from studying Torah and this only arouses longing in him; a new and catchy melody for "Ki Ashmara Shabbat", including a rap section that even managed to excite me (who still refuses to recognize this musical genre); A new and wonderful melody to the story "The Heart and the Spring" by Rabbi Nachman of Breslov (in a special performance with Yosef Nativ); another song in Aramaic – actually a hit in Aramaic – "Olu, Olu" (this time the words are indeed from the Zohar); two songs written together with his wife Efrat; and also a symphonic work lasting only one minute and forty-eight seconds with only one sentence, from the Likutei Moharan: "There will be a time when a simple, kosher man will be a great innovation.".
6.
""Twenty-five years have passed since the summer of 1997, when I released 'The Burning Bush,'" Razel writes in the acknowledgments on the album cover. "Those were two days of recordings, and a few more completions. On the second day, exhausted, I even drove the bassist to his house... and here it is again summer. I find myself writing a few words for the cover of the thirteenth album. The world of music has changed so much. The CDs are gone... But those who love permanence, permanence will love it back. And so for the past year and a half, once, twice a week, I have been going to the industrial area of Talpiot.
""Between a dark garage and a workshop, Avi Tal's studio is hidden. We start with a Torah talk. Then I pull out a new song or an old sketch and the magic begins again. A melody radiates light and strings... Sounds rise and sounds fall and here a new album is born. All that remains is to thank God, the blessed. You were with us every moment.".
There is no doubt. God was with them at every moment. You can feel it in every note and every guitar solo in Aharon Razel's musical journey. And what a privilege it is that we too – from the days of the tape, through the CD to YouTube and Spotify – are part of this journey. I heard many this week who are excited to live in Messi's generation. I am excited to live in Aharon Razel's generation. To see him continue to grow.
