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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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My Path to Being More Observant: Building a Jewish Life on Love, Not Fear
Reading from a Torah scroll in accordance with Sephardi tradition. Photo: Sagie Maoz via Wikimedia Commons.
I love connecting Jews to Judaism. There’s a big part of the Jewish world where people don’t know what they’re missing out on. If people have only ever been exposed to one stream of Judaism from a young age, their worldview will be shaped by that experience. We have access to knowledge, spirituality, and meaningful ways to connect to G-d, and we should be sharing this with all Jews.
I try to show them love by inviting them to Shabbat dinners and powerful experiences. These are all very important things to me. But I wasn’t always this way.
I grew up in Sharon, Massachusetts, surrounded by a rich tapestry of Jewish life. I attended Temple Israel, a Conservative synagogue, spent summers at Camp YJ in Amherst, New Hampshire, and was involved in BBYO throughout high school. Between Hebrew school three days a week and my parents hosting many Jewish holidays, Judaism was woven into the fabric of my daily life.
Yet despite this strong foundation, my journey to Aish’s yeshiva program wasn’t something anyone might have predicted. I was always connected with Judaism growing up, and I had many Modern Orthodox friends in college, but yeshiva wasn’t initially on my radar. That changed when I got to the University of Michigan.
At Michigan, I connected with Michigan Hillel and became deeply involved in Israel activism and Jewish student leadership. I also developed a meaningful relationship with Rabbi Fully Eisenberger, at the Jewish Resource Center, who taught me for four years. The Jewish Resource Center at Michigan became instrumental in my growth, supported my learning journey, and gave me confidence in my decisions.
The Jewish Resource Center was tremendous to me. I really felt supported in my journey and my learning, and that allowed me to feel confident in my decisions to go to Aish.
I had visited Israel four times before that point, starting with a five-week trip through Camp YJ in 2019. After I graduated from Michigan, I had a consulting job lined up in Manhattan starting in February, which gave me a perfect window of time in between. I decided Israel was my best option to increase my Jewish knowledge and set up my Jewish future for success. Ultimately, that meant yeshiva.
Having arrived at Aish in September 2025, I dived headfirst into intensive Jewish learning. While my studies have been overwhelmingly positive, the transition hasn’t been without its challenges. I’ll admit that my biggest hurdle is wanting to run before I know how to walk.
I wish I could read Gemara all day, but translations are hard for me. Sometimes you just have to take your time and say the words correctly and with intention. Time is my challenge. That’s my hurdle.
Despite these mild frustrations, I have found incredible support among my rabbis. Rabbi Daniel Schloss has been particularly influential in helping me understand halakha, Jewish law. The way he gets me to think through the principles of Shabbat is very powerful, because it shows I have the ability to interpret halakha and use it correctly. He’s an incredible teacher.
Rabbi Ethan Katz has also been instrumental in my growth, as he’s helped me learn to study at a pace that I desired, and I’m grateful for that. He has such positive energy, and I really appreciate that.
Throughout my journey, my family has been remarkably supportive. My parents have embraced this increasingly observant path I have been traveling, catering to my needs and ensuring I can build the Jewish future I envision. While they haven’t necessarily followed the same trajectory themselves, their gift to me was the foundation that made everything else possible.
Even as I learn, I’m always looking for ways to give back. Before arriving here, I led a Birthright Israel trip, and will be leading another one. I look forward to the day when I can host people regularly and get involved with outreach organizations back in New York.
People often ask me if I’m wary of being in New York, but I refuse to let others define my Jewish identity. Our Judaism is made up of things we love. We love being Jewish, celebrating the holidays, and connecting with the community. I’m looking to find positive ways to build my Judaism.
Thanks to my upbringing and studies, I feel confident and proud of my Judaism. I want to bring that confidence and passion with me, ready to share what I’ve learned and continue growing in my connection to the most fulfilling Jewish life.
The author holds a Bachelor’s degree in Economics and a minor in Entrepreneurship and Judaic Studies from the University of Michigan, and recently attended Yeshiva in Israel at Aish.
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Holocaust Survivor, 96, Celebrates Aliyah to Israel With Five Generations of Descendants
Charlotte Roth’s aliyah ceremony, attended by five generations of her descendants. Photo: Nefesh B’Nefesh
Holocaust survivor Charlotte Roth formally immigrated to Israel on Wednesday and celebrated with an aliyah ceremony attended by her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren who live in the Jewish state.
“It is a truly wonderful moment in my life to be able to call myself Israeli, a citizen of our Jewish state,” said Roth, 96. “Walking these streets with five generations of my family fills my heart with deep joy and strength, especially when I see Israeli soldiers and feel safety and pride where there was once fear.”
Aliyah refers to the process of Jews immigrating to Israel.
Roth made the move to Israel with help from Nefesh B’Nefesh — a nonprofit organization that promotes and facilitates aliyah from the US and Canada — and the Israeli government’s Population and Immigration Authority, in cooperation with the Ministry of Aliyah and Integration and three nonprofits: The Jewish Agency for Israel, Keren Kayemeth LeIsrael, and Jewish National Fund–USA.
The Holocaust survivor was born in Czechoslovakia. In 1944 during Passover, at the age of 14, Roth’s family was forced into a Jewish ghetto. Weeks later the family was deported to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp in a cattle car and faced horrific conditions during their transportation. Upon arrival at the Nazi death camp, which was the second day of the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, Roth was separated from her mother and siblings, and never saw them again.
Roth did forced labor in Auschwitz. She survived the Nazi concentration camp, a death march, and imprisonment in another camp before she was liberated at the end of World War II. Her mother and siblings did not survive the Holocaust and before she had a chance to reunite with her father, he committed suicide, thinking that his whole family had died. Roth met her future husband in a Displaced Persons camp, where they married and had their first child before immigrating to the United States. They had four children together and today Roth is the matriarch of nine grandchildren, 26 great-grandchildren, and 11 great-great-grandchildren.
Rabbi Yehoshua Fass, co-founder and executive director of Nefesh B’Nefesh, said Roth’s life journey “is a testament to the extraordinary resilience of the Jewish spirit.”
“From unimaginable darkness emerged a light that has shone for over five generations,” he added. “Her aliyah, surrounded by her family in the Jewish homeland, is profoundly moving and represents courage, renewal, and the enduring triumph of our nation. We are deeply privileged to share in this remarkable moment.”
Roth continues to wear one possession that she still has from before the Holocaust, which is a ring engraved with the initials “IS,” for Ilanka Shvartz, the name she was given at birth.
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DePaul University Denounces Antisemitic Harassment, Targeting of Jewish Students
Students walk into the student center on the campus of DePaul University in Chicago, Illinois, US, Oct. 2, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Jim Vondruska
DePaul University in Chicago has denounced an antisemitic incident which took place near its grounds last Wednesday, with President Robert Manuel saying he is “outraged.”
According to the university, a group of its students, as well as others from Loyola College and Roosevelt University, were harassed at the local Olive & Oak Café during a regular outing hosted by Hillel and the Jewish United Fund. During a verbal onslaught, the perpetrators demanded that the students leave for being Jewish while a JUF staff member was subject to battery, according to a description of the incident told by the Chicago Police Department.
“While this incident occurred off campus, I am outraged that our students were targeted and harassed because of their Jewish identity,” Manuel said in a statement on Monday. “These actions are inexcusable. DePaul University condemns antisemitism in all its forms and will continue to stand firm in doing so, in line with our Catholic, Vincentian values.”
He continued, “We are working to determine whether any of the offenders are affiliated with DePaul community, and we will take swift, consistent action if any violations of university policy are identified … Acts of hate and violence has no place at DePaul — or anywhere. Our commitment to foster a campus environment rooted in dignity, care, and respect for all remains unwavering.”
Last Wednesday’s incident is not the first time Jewish DePaul students have been subject to alleged battery and discrimination.
In November 2024, two Jewish students participating in a pro-Israel demonstration at DePaul University were “brutally” assaulted by two ruffians who concealed their identities with masks. At least one of the men, Adam Erkan, involved in the assault has since pleaded guilty to misdemeanor battery. According to court documents, he approached the victims, Max Long and Michael Kaminsky, in a ski mask while shouting antisemitic epithets and statements. He then attacked both students, fracturing Kaminsky’s wrist and inflicting a brain injury on Long, whom he pummeled into an unconscious state.
Law enforcement identified Erkan, who absconded to another location in a car, after his father came forward to confirm that it was his visage which surveillance cameras captured near the scene of the crime. According to multiple reports, the assailant avoided severer criminal penalties by agreeing to plead guilty to lesser offenses than the felony hate crime counts with which he was originally charged.
His accomplice, described as a man in his age group, remained at large as of late last year.
“One attacker has now admitted guilt for brutally assaulting two Jewish students at DePaul University. That is a step toward justice, but it is nowhere near enough,” The Lawfare Project, a Jewish civil rights advocacy group which represented the Jewish students throughout the criminal proceedings, said in a statement responding to the plea deal. “The second attacker remains at large, and Max and Michael continue to experience ongoing threats. We demand — and fully expect — his swift arrest and prosecution to ensure justice for these students and for the Jewish community harmed by this antisemitic hate crime.”
Antisemitic incidents on US college campuses have exploded nationwide since Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, massacre across southern Israel.
The 2025-2026 academic year has seen a continuation of that pattern.
Earlier this month, a non-student graffitied Nazi insignia on the campus of Northwestern University. The Schutzstaffel (SS) symbol representing the notorious paramilitary group under Adolf Hitler and the Nazi Party in Germany was spray-painted on Northwestern’s campus in Evanston, Illinois. The SS played a central role in the Nazis’ systematic killing of 6 million Jews during the Holocaust.
In January, a right-wing influencer and University of Miami student upbraided her Jewish peers in a tirade in which she denounced them as “disgusting” while accusing rabbis of eating infants.
“Christianity, which says love everyone, meanwhile your Bible says eating someone who is a non-Jew is like eating with an animal. That’s what the Talmud says,” the social media influencer, Kaylee Mahony, yelled at members of Students Supporting Israel (SSI) who had a table at a campus fair held at the University of Miami. “That’s what these people follow.”
She continued, “They think that if you are not a Jew you are an animal. That’s the Talmud. That’s the Talmud.”
The Talmud, a key source of Jewish law, tradition, and theology, is often misrepresented by antisemitic agitators in an effort to malign the Jewish people and their religion.
Mahony can also be heard in video of the incident responding to one of the SSI members, saying, “Because you’re disgusting. It’s disgusting.”
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.