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The hora, the hora! How Jewish wedding music got that way
(JTA) — When my wife and I were planning our wedding, we thought it might be cool to hire a klezmer band. This was during the first wave of the klezmer revival, when groups like The Klezmatics and The Klezmer Conservatory Band were rediscovering the genre of Jewish wedding music popular for centuries in Yiddish-speaking Eastern Europe.
Of course we also wanted to dance to rock ‘n’ roll and needed musicians who could handle Sinatra for our parents’ benefit, so we went with a more typical wedding band. Modernity won out over tradition.
Or did it? Musician and musicologist Uri Schreter argues that the music heard at American Jewish weddings since the 1950s has become a tradition all its own, especially in the way Old World traditions coexist with contemporary pop. In a dissertation he is writing about the politics of Jewish music in the early postwar period, Schreter argues that American Jewish musical traditions — especially among secularized Conservative and Reform Jews — reflect events happening outside the wedding hall, including the Holocaust, the creation of Israel and the rapid assimilation of American Jews.
That will be the subject of a talk he’ll be giving Monday for YIVO, titled “Yiddish to the Core: Wedding Music and Jewish Identity in Postwar New York City.”
Because it’s June — and because I’m busy planning a wedding for one of my kids one year from now — I wanted to speak to Schreter about Jewish weddings and how they got that way. Our Zoom conversation Wednesday touched on the indestructibility of the hora, the role of musicians as “secular clergy” and why my Ashkenazi parents danced the cha-cha-cha.
Born in Tel Aviv, Schreter is pursuing his PhD in historical musicology at Harvard University. He is a composer, pianist and film editor.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity.
I was struck by your research because we’re helping to plan a child’s wedding now. It’s the first wedding we’ve planned since our own, and we’re still asking the same questions, like, you’ve got to make sure the band can handle the hora and the Motown set and, I don’t know, “Uptown Funk.” Your research explores when that began — when American Jewish weddings began to combine the traditional and secular cultures.
In the period that I’m talking about, post-World War II America, this is already a fact of life for musicians. A lot of my work is based on interviews with musicians from that period, folks now in their 80s and 90s. The oldest one I have started playing professionally in 1947 or ’48. Popular American music was played at Jewish weddings as early as the 1930s, but it’s a question of proportion — how much the wedding would feature foxtrots and swing and Lindy Hop and other popular dance tunes of the day, and how much of it is going to be klezmer music.
In the postwar period, most of the [non-Orthodox] American Jewish weddings would have featured American pop. For musicians who wanted to be in what they called the “club date” business, they needed to be able to do all these things. And some “offices” — a term they used for a business that books wedding bands — would have specialists that they could call on to do a Jewish wedding.
You’re writing about a period when the Conservative movement becomes the dominant American Jewish denomination. They have one foot in tradition, and the other in modernity. What does a wedding look like in 1958 when they’re building the big suburban synagogues?
The difference is not so much denominational but between the wide spectrum of Orthodoxy and the diverse spectrum of what I describe as “secular.”
Meaning non-Orthodox — Reform, Conservative, etc.?
Right. Only in the sense that they are broadly speaking more secular than the Orthodox. And if so they are going to have, for the most part, one, maybe two sets of Jewish dance music — basically a medley of a few Jewish tunes. You might have a wedding where it could be a quarter of the music or even half would be Jewish music, but this would be for families that have a much stronger degree of attachment to traditional Jewish culture, and primarily Yiddish culture.
There’s a few interrelated elements that shape this. Class is an important thing. For lower class communities in some areas, and I am talking primarily about New York, you’d have communities that are a little bit more secluded, probably speaking more Yiddish at home and hanging out more with other Jewish people from similar backgrounds. So these kinds of communities might have as much as a third or half of the music be Jewish, even though they consider themselves secular. It’s actually very similar to an Orthodox wedding, where you might also have half and half [Jewish and “American” music].
Jews in the higher socioeconomic class might, in general, be more Americanized, and want to project a more mainstream American identity. They might have as little as five minutes of Jewish music, just to mark it that they did this. Still, it’s very important for almost all of them to have those five minutes — because it’s one of the things that makes the wedding Jewish. I interviewed couples that were getting married in the ’50s, and a lot of them told me, “You need to have Jewish dance music for this to be a Jewish wedding.”
Composer and pianist Uri Schreter is pursuing his PhD in historical musicology at Harvard University. (Nicole Loeb)
When I was growing up in the 1970s at a suburban Reform synagogue on Long Island, klezmer was never spoken about. I don’t know any parents who owned klezmer albums. Then when I got married a decade later, it was in the middle of the klezmer revival. Am I right about that? Were the ’50s and ’60s fallow periods for klezmer?
You’re definitely right. Up until the mid-1920s, you still have waves of immigration coming from Eastern Europe. So you still have new people feeding this desire for the traditional culture. But as immigration stops and people basically tried to become American, the tides shift away from traditional klezmer.
The other important thing that happens in the period that I’m looking at is both a negative rejection of klezmer and a positive attraction to other new things. Klezmer becomes associated with immigrant culture, so people who are trying to be American don’t want to be associated with it. It also becomes associated with the Holocaust, which is very problematic. Anything sounding Yiddish becomes associated for some people with tragedy.
At the same time, and very much related to this, there’s the rise of Israeli popular culture, and especially Israeli folk songs. A really strong symbol of this is in the summer of 1950, when the Weavers record a song called “Tzena, Tzena,” a Hebrew Israeli song written in the 1940s which becomes a massive hit in America — it’s like number two in the Billboard charts for about 10 weeks. Israeli culture becomes this symbol of hope and the future and a new society that’s inspiring. This is all in very stark contrast to what klezmer represents for people. And a lot of the composers of Israeli folk song of its first decades had this very clearly stated ideology that they’re moving away from Ashkenazi musical traditions and Yiddish.
So the Jewish set at a wedding becomes an Israeli set.
At a typical Conservative wedding in the 1950s and ’60s, you might hear 10 minutes of Jewish music. The first one would be “Hava Nagila,” then they went to “Tzena, Tzena,” then they would do a song called “Artza Alinu,” which is today not very well known, and then “Hevenu Shalom Aleichem.” They are songs that are perceived to be Israeli folk songs, even though if you actually look at their origins, it’s a lot murkier than that. Like two of the songs I just mentioned are actually Hasidic songs that received Hebrew words in pre-state Palestine. Another probably comes from some sort of German, non-Jewish composer in 1900, but is in Hebrew and is perceived to be a representation of Israeli culture.
But even when the repertoire already represents a shift towards what’s easier to digest for American Jewry, the arrangements and the instruments and the musical ornamentation are essentially klezmer. The musicians I spoke to said they did this because they felt that this is the only way that it would actually sound Jewish.
That is to say, to be “Jewish” the music had to gesture towards Ashkenazi and Yiddish, even if it were Israeli and Hebrew. As if Jews wanted to distance themselves from Eastern Europe — but only so far.
Someone like Dave Tarras or the Epstein Brothers, musicians who were really at the forefront of klezmer in New York at the time, were really focused on bringing it closer to Ashkenazi traditions. Ashkenazi Jewish weddings in America are not the totality of Jewish weddings in America, and Israeli music itself is made up of all these different traditions — North African, Middle Eastern, Turkish, Greek — but in effect most of the really popular songs of the time were composed by Ashkenazi composers. Even “Hava Nagila” is based on a melody from the Sadigura Hasidic sect in Eastern Europe.
Of course, if you’re a klezmer musician you’re allergic to “Hava Nagila.”
Then-Vice President Joe Biden dances the hora with his daughter Ashley at her wedding to Howard Krein in Wilmington, Delaware on June 2, 2012. (White House/David Lienemann)
You spoke earlier about Latin music, which seemed to become a Jewish thing in the 1950s and ’60s — I know a few scholars have focused on Jews and Latinos and how Latin musical genres like the mambo and cha-cha-cha became popular in the Catskill Mountain resorts and at Jewish weddings.
Latin music is not exclusively a Jewish thing, but it’s part of American popular culture by the late 40s. But Jews are very eagerly adopting it for sure. In the Catskills, you would often have two separate bands that alternated every evening. One is a Latin band, one is a generic American band playing everything else. And part of that is American Jews wanting to become American. And how do you become American? By doing what Americans do: by appropriating “exotic” cultures, in this case Latin. This is a way of being American.
Jews and Chinese food would be another example.
And by the way, in a similar vein, it also becomes very popular to dance to Israeli folk songs. A lot of people are taking lessons. A lot of people are going to their Jewish Y to learn Israeli folk dance.
I’ve been to Jewish weddings where the “Jewish set” feels very perfunctory — you know, dance a hora or two long enough to lift the couple on chairs and then let’s get to the Motown. Or the Black Eyed Peas because they were smart enough to include the words “Mazel Tov!” in the lyrics to “I Gotta Feeling.”
So that’s why we always hear that song! I will say though, even when the Jewish music appears superficial, it does have this deeper layer of meaning. It’s very interesting how, despite all these changes, and despite the secularization process of American Jewish weddings, the music still connects people to their Jewishness. These pieces of music are so meshed with other religious components. Of course, most people see this as secular. But a lot of people connect to their Jewish identity through elements such as Jewish music, Jewish food, certain Jewish customs that are easier to accommodate in your secular lifestyle, and the music specifically has this kind of flexibility, this fluidity between the sacred and the profane.
That’s beautiful. It sort of makes the musicians secular clergy.
It’s interesting that you say that. In his history of klezmer, Walter Zev Feldman refers to the klezmer — the word itself means “musician” — as a kind of a liminal character, an interstitial character between the secular and the mundane. The music is not liturgical, but when the klezmer or the band is playing, it is an interval woven with all these other religious components and things that have ritual meaning.
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Who needs a Reichstag fire when you can just pretend Portland’s burning?
Here in Portland, this supposed city of darkness, happy kids splash around in a fountain next to the sparkling Willamette River, senior citizens practice tai chi in a park, bald eagles and ospreys soar past office building windows, chefs and bakers win national awards, world-class jazz musicians draw locals into clubs, and hiking trails course through the largest urban forest in the country, with glacier-draped Mount Hood as a backdrop.
It’s hardly the hellscape depicted by Donald Trump. What the city is, however, is a primary target in Trump’s scheming to militarize American cities — at least progressive ones like Portland, my home for the past 25 years.
Demonstrations have continued outside an ICE facility in Portland since the summer. The protests have been small, overall peaceful, occasionally tense, but often cheery — such as the time when a group of elderly Portlanders sang “This Land Is Your Land.” But Trump is using the protests as an excuse to launch what local officials and residents fear could be a major military intervention in the city, turning Portland, in essence, into a domestic battleground.
Trump is employing a playbook that’s eerily similar to ones that have been used by despots, including Adolf Hitler, who consolidated his control over Germany by deploying Sturmabteilung shock troops to spread fear across the populace.
Trump has effectively weaponized ICE as his own personal police force, and is using it to bait protestors into clashes and create a pretext for exerting military-style control over cities led by Democrats. From the very beginning of Trump’s second term, federal agents’ pursuit of undocumented immigrants has been marked by the spread of fear and terror. Trump says ICE’s heavy-handed tactics are necessary to fulfill his promise that undocumented immigrants “will not be tolerated.” But the scale and spectacle of ICE actions suggest another motive: to manufacture war-like images that justify crackdowns on leftists, whom Trump routinely portrays as domestic terrorists.
So far, no ICE raid has been more chilling than its assault last week on a five-story apartment building in Chicago. In the dead of night, armed federal agents rappelled from Black Hawk helicopters onto the roof. Others stormed the building from the ground, kicking down doors, throwing flash-bang grenades, and zip-tying screaming children and elderly residents. The target of the raid was a Venezuelan gang. But Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker said many of those who were arrested were U.S. citizens with no criminal record — which has been disputed by the Trump administration.
Two weeks earlier, a pastor praying outside a Chicago ICE processing center was struck in the head by a pepper ball fired from a roof and then sprayed with tear gas as he lay on the ground. He has since sued ICE, alleging violations of religious freedom and free speech.
After weeks of threats, Trump has federalized 300 Illinois National Guard troops and ordered hundreds more to deploy from Texas — using protests against immigrant detention as a pretext for putting soldiers on the streets. The move defies the spirit of the 1878 Posse Comitatus Act, which bars the use of federal military forces to enforce civilian law without explicit congressional authorization.
At a press conference, Pritzker voiced angry defiance toward what he called “Trump’s invasion.”
“The state of Illinois is going to use every lever at our disposal to resist this power grab and get (Homeland Security Secretary Kristi) Noem’s thugs the hell out of Chicago,” Pritzker said.
Portland might well be next.
Over the weekend, a federal judge in Oregon, appointed by Trump in 2019, issued two rulings temporarily blocking his attempts to deploy National Guard troops to Portland. In a blistering decision Saturday, U.S. District Judge Karin Immergut wrote that Trump’s claims of a “war zone” were “simply untethered to the facts.” She added: “This is a nation of Constitutional law, not martial law.”
When Trump tried to circumvent her ruling by ordering California National Guard troops into Oregon, Immergut blocked that maneuver too, writing: “The executive cannot invoke emergency powers based on manufactured chaos.”
Trump responded by claiming that “Portland is on fire,” and threatened to invoke the Insurrection Act, which legal experts note would effectively amount to imposing martial law.
Trump’s description of the situation in Portland is grossly exaggerated, and intentionally so. The protests have occurred in a very small area around the ICE detention center. There have been clashes involving pepper spray, but no ongoing battles. The scene is actually more like an episode of the TV show Portlandia. During Kristi Noem’s visit to the facility on Tuesday she was mocked by activists wearing inflatable animal costumes, including a dinosaur, a raccoon and a chicken. An activist in a giant toad costume has become a social media sensation, especially after an ICE agent shot pepper spray into the air vent on the costume’s back side. Another image making the social media rounds shows protestors using donuts dangling from fishing poles to taunt ICE agents — “ICE fishing,” as they call it.
Portland wears its progressivism on its sleeve, which does not always work in the city’s favor. During the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests downtown, city officials faced accusations of being too lenient on leftist agitators. Riots during those protests, coupled with COVID, led to the closure of numerous downtown stores. Leftists who relish confrontation with right-wing counter-protesters have posed another challenge. During one protest in late August 2020, Trump supporters rode their pickup trucks into downtown Portland and picked a fight with leftist demonstrators. That night, a right-wing counter-protester was shot and killed by a self-described anti-fascist activist, who was later tracked down and fatally shot by federal agents in neighboring Washington state. Before fleeing, the shooter said he was defending himself.
Even before Trump, Portland has had a rocky relationship with federal authority. The city was the site of massive protests against President George W. Bush’s 2003 invasion of Iraq. In 2019, Portland became the second U.S. city — after San Francisco — to withdraw its police officers from the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force, citing concerns over civil liberties and lack of transparency. In the 1990s, staffers for the first President Bush dubbed Portland “Little Beirut” in response to raucous anti-war protests that greeted his visits.
During his visit to Quantico Marine Base, Trump told top military commanders, “We should use some of these dangerous cities as training grounds for our military.” He singled out Chicago, Portland, Seattle, and Washington, D.C. For now, Portland’s resistance may resemble a surreal episode of protest theater—complete with inflatable dinosaurs and the viral “anti-fascist” frog. But there will be no cause for chuckling if the city becomes a proving ground for martial law, with federal troops rehearsing the suppression of dissent.
The post Who needs a Reichstag fire when you can just pretend Portland’s burning? appeared first on The Forward.
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Jewish women struggling with early menopause due to cancer treatment find new help
Beverly was 41, had two children and was contemplating a third when her first mammogram revealed a lump. Diagnosed with breast cancer, Beverly, who lives in Portland, Oregon, opted for chemotherapy, immunotherapy and a double mastectomy.
She knew the chemo would affect her fertility. What she didn’t know was that the type of cancer she had would necessitate hormone suppression drugs that would lead to severe menopausal symptoms.
For Beverly, now 46, that meant hot flashes, vaginal atrophy, zero libido, thick curly hair that turned straight, sparse and wispy, and what she describes as “old lady bones.”
“If I’m lucky enough to live to 95, am I just going to crumble into a pile of chalk?” she said.
Beverly, who asked that her last name be withheld for privacy reasons, is not alone in experiencing severe menopausal symptoms following breast cancer or ovarian cancer treatment or prophylactic surgery, which entails breast and/or ovary removal, sometimes along with removal of the uterine and fallopian tubes.
Risk-reducing surgery is often recommended for women who carry a BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene mutation, which significantly increases the risk of breast and ovarian cancer. These mutations are found in Ashkenazi Jews — in both women and men — at rates about 10 times higher than in the general population.
For women who test positive, surgery can reduce the risk of developing ovarian cancer by over 75%. There may also be reduced risk of breast cancer, though research findings are mixed.
While hormones gradually decline as older women approach menopause, younger women who undergo surgery-induced menopause may experience a sudden and dramatic hormonal crash.
“Natural menopause is gradual; surgical or medically induced menopause is intense,” said Elana Silber, CEO of Sharsheret, a Jewish nonprofit organization that provides support, counseling, patient navigation, financial assistance and education in the United States and Israel for those facing breast cancer and ovarian cancer.
“Doctors focus on immediate cancer treatment plans; Sharsheret helps support and educate women about what comes next,” Silber said. “We highlight these critical issues so that women know to raise them with their healthcare providers, and we make sure they don’t face those questions alone.”
As public discussions about menopause have become more common, Sharsheret has fielded a growing number of inquiries from young women seeking information on the subject and ways to connect with peers. Many are navigating an abrupt and frightening transition for which they never prepared, and they sometimes describe it as even more traumatic than their breast surgeries.
“Menopause brought on by breast cancer surgery or treatment doesn’t follow a normal, natural progression,” said Adina Fleischmann, Sharsheret’s chief services officer.
Sharsheret has responded by connecting women with social workers and genetic counselors to help them understand both the medical and emotional impact of treatment-induced menopause.
Through peer-to-peer connections, survivors are matched with others who have gone through the same surgeries and drug regimens. They get real-world perspectives that many women say they don’t receive from their physicians.
The organization also provides survivorship kits, medical webinars, and tailored educational materials on sexual health, bone strength, fertility preservation, and non-hormonal strategies for coping with hot flashes, sleep disruption, and vaginal dryness.
Beyond the physical symptoms, it’s not uncommon for women undergoing early menopause to experience depression, according to Dr. Gila Leiter, an Ob/Gyn affiliated with New York’s Mount Sinai Hospital and a member of Sharsheret’s medical advisory board.
“Knowing what symptoms to expect — and expect pretty suddenly — is very important,” Leiter said.
Liora Tannenbaum, Sharsheret’s Israel regional director, underwent risk reducing surgeries as a result of being a BRCA carrier. She said she was less fearful of the physical recovery from having her ovaries and uterus removed than when she did her double mastectomy, but she was terrified of the emotional and mental recovery.
“As much as I looked for people to talk to for support who had been through this, I found that so many women were suffering in silence,” Tannenbaum said. “The lowered tones and discomfort around the entire conversation caught me by surprise.”
One woman, M., 44, recalled symptoms “hitting like pile of rocks” after surgery five years ago to remove her ovaries, fallopian tubes and uterus. (She asked to use only an initial to preserve her privacy.)
Just 23 when she lost her mother to ovarian cancer, M. was 28 when she learned she carried the BRCA1 mutation. She spent several years considering her options before ultimately choosing to remove her ovaries and uterus.
“It took me a long time,” M. said. “The biggest concern is you want to have kids, and when you have these surgeries you can’t have kids.”
Most doctors, including M.’s, recommend such surgery by age 40. By 39, after two children, a third miscarriage, and ongoing exams, a suspicious finding — which proved to be nothing — made her doctor insist on risk-reducing surgery if she wanted to live to see her kids’ bar mitzvahs.
“I was already considering surgery, and that scare pushed me to do it,” M. said. “I’m glad I did.’”
But the sudden loss of hormones – not just estrogen, but also progesterone and testosterone – left her with vaginal dryness, loss of muscle mass, dry skin, diminished libido and a return of asthma. M., now a nurse who volunteers for Sharsheret’s peer network, noted that she wasn’t told during her medical appointments what to expect.
“The message was: ‘Don’t worry about it. We’ll give you a low-dose hormonal patch and everything will be fine,’” she recalled.
Menopausal symptoms aren’t severe for all women, and sometime they’re only temporary.
Farrah Zweig was 31 when she was diagnosed with hormone-positive, HER2-negative breast cancer. She had a lumpectomy, radiation and chemotherapy. She also took Lupron, a hormone suppression drug, which put her in menopause.
“My medical team did not discuss menopause with me,” said Zweig, now 42. “My only source of information was from people who had gone through it due to age, not as a result of a medical treatment like mine.”
She experienced the hot flashes and difficulty sleeping, which she expected, and also had a tough time losing weight she’d gained during chemo.
Leiter said physicians often don’t inform patients about treatments that might help their symptoms — even those that don’t involve hormones. She noted that antidepressants can reduce hot flashes and mitigate some of the irritability or emotional fluctuations. Meditation, cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia, and laser treatments for vaginal dryness also can be effective.
“Knowing what you may feel and how you’re going to handle it, what medications are available, what support systems you’re going to have and maybe lining up your therapist or acupuncturist in advance makes all the difference,” Leiter said.
To speak with a social worker or someone at Sharsheret, visit www.sharsheret.org or call 866.474.2774.
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László Krasznahorkai, grim Hungarian author with hidden Jewish roots, wins literature Nobel
This year’s Nobel Prize for literature was awarded to a Hungarian writer whose work offers bleak visions of existence, and whose father hid his Jewish ancestry from him for much of his childhood.
László Krasznahorkai, the 71-year-old novelist and screenwriter, achieved international acclaim for formally daring books like “Satantango” and “The Melancholy of Resistance,” as well as a series of collaborations with the filmmaker Bela Tarr. He is often compared to master Russian novelists like Dostoyevsky and Gogol.
The Swedish Nobel jury called him “a great epic writer in the Central European tradition that extends through Kafka to Thomas Bernhard, and is characterized by absurdism and grotesque excess.” Another prominent champion of Krasznahorkai’s: the Jewish culture critic Susan Sontag, who praised the infamous 7.5-hour film adaptation of “Satantango” and deemed him a “master of the apocalypse.”
Krasznahorkai was born in 1954 in the small town of Gyula, near the Romanian border. As a child, he has said in interviews, he had no idea his father hailed from a Hungarian Jewish family. In 1931, as antisemitism was on the rise in Hungary but before the passage of formal anti-Jewish laws in the country, the author’s grandfather had changed their family name from Korin to the more native Hungarian-sounding Krasznahorkai.
“Our original name was Korin, a Jewish name. With this name, he would never have survived,” Krasznahorkai told a Greek interviewer in 2018. “My grandfather was very wise.”
When the author turned 11, he learned about his Jewish heritage for the first time. “In the socialist era, it was forbidden to mention it,” Krasznahorkai has said about his Jewish ancestry. “Korin” would later serve as the name of the protagonist, a suicidal Hungarian archivist, in Krasznahorkai’s acclaimed 1999 novel “War and War.”
Many of the author’s books, written in challenging postmodern style, are concerned with the effects of political turmoil and national upheaval on everyday citizens, from provincial farm workers to intellectuals. Some of his novels, including “Hersch 07769” and “Baron Wenckheim’s Homecoming,” have plots that deal directly with neo-Nazis.
In that 2018 interview, the author, an outspoken opponent of Hungary’s authoritarian prime minister Viktor Orban, also addressed his relationship to Judaism in characteristically pessimistic fashion.
“I am half Jewish,” he said, “but if things carry on in Hungary as they seem likely to do, I’ll soon be entirely Jewish.”
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