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PACE SIX
THE DETROIT JEWISH CHRONICLE
The Chazan and His
Voice
A Yiddish Story by Abram Raisin.
The Chazan of Kalmonik was fold.
ing his praying shawl one morning
after the service, humming a tune,
when he attempted an antricate mu-
sical stunt. The sound stuck in his
throat, Ile glanced about him
anxiously to see whether anyone had
noticed it, but there was no one in
the synagogue except old Enoch,
who was deaf and dumb.
The echo of the unsuccessful feat
rang in the Chazan's ears as he was
walking home, with his praying shawl
and phylacteries under his arm. He
was astonished, for nothing as seri-
ous as that had ever happened to him
before. But then he recalled that a
few weeks prior, on a Sabbath morn-
ing, while he stood at the altar, sur-
rounded by his choir, he had failed
in the very same way. As luck would
have it then, too, no one noticed it.
At least his basso did not, and he
was a good singer. Certainly, if so
expert a musician did not notice it,
the congregation would pass it by.
Nevertheless, the recollection of both
failures weighed heavily upon the
Chazan, and felt inclined to try the
unlucky note then and there, but the
street was crowded with people. Ile
decided that he would attempt it at
home, EC) he walked briskly, as if
someone were at his heels.
Ile entered his home very quietly,
disposed of his bundles in their cus-
tomary place, did not greet his wife,
but began at once running up and
down the musical scale. His wife ex-
claimed: "Did you ever) The day
isn't long enough for him! It is not
enough that his voice grates on one's
ears all day long!"
In a terror-stricken voice the Cha-
zan spoke, his eyes blinking. "It
grates on your ears? What do you
mean?" But his imploring look said,
"Ilaee mercy on me; even if it does,
5:1 tothing."
nut she was too busied with her
cooking to heed his looks. She re-
peated: "Certainly, it does hurt one's
tars—what then? Do you think I have
no cars? If you sing with your
young men, of course I must bear
with the uproar, but now alone—"
The Chazan turned as white as chalk
as he stammered: "Krona'', what is
the matter? Are you out of your
mind? What is it you are saying?"
"What's the matter with you to-
day?' Krona!' exclaimed impatiently.
"Enough of this silliness. Go wash
yourself for breakfast"
Though he bad no appetite, he pro
seeded to wash his hands, for he
Thought that abstaining from food
might make it worse for his voice.
When be said the blessing for the
meal he chanted the words and
glanced shyly at his wife. "I
imagined it; it was only my imagina•
lion," he muttered. "Voices don't go
so easily." But he thought of Reb
Meier, another Chazan, who had lost
his voice at an early age, and be was
full of forebodings. Ile lowered his
head to the table and fell into deep
meditation. Then he arose and cried
out in a loud voice, "Kronah!"
"Well, what's the matter? Why do
you shriek in such a voice?" she re-
plied, entering the room.
"Oh, why do you harp on my
voice?" the Chazan cried, almost be-
side himself. "With whose voice,
think you, am I calling? Why do
you plague me so?" and his eyes
were full of tears.
"What do you want?"
"A few raw eggs," he murmured.
Krona') was not agreeable that
morning. "Here's a holiday for you,'
she said. "In the middle of the week
—eggs. Do you sing tomorrow?
Eggs are dear now."
"Kronah," the Chazan begged, "let
eggs cost what they may—one, two
or three hundred roubles—get me two
raw eggs and say nothing further."
She finally shrugged her shoulders
and said: "My bother! He wants raw
eggs—all right."
When she had left the room the
Chazan again tried his voice and
listened very carefully to catch the
timbre of each note When he found
himself unable to take the note which
was the cause of all his fear he un-
hesitatingly called to Kronah, "Bring
here the eggs at once!"
Kronah handed the eggs to him
with a frown and said angrily, "Nu,
what he has a taste for eggs—one
scrapes and saves and he—"
He would have poured out his heart
to her. He would have told her then
and there that it wasn't the eggs he
wanted; that he did not intend to be
extravagant. lie would have told her:
"Kronah, look here, 1-1—am a thing
of the past, a wornout instrument--
have had my day." But he controlled
himself and thought, "Perhaps I am
mistaken after all."
Ile swallowed the eggs as if they
were medicine, and when he had dis-
posed of them he attempted several
musical runs which required some
skill and was successful. At once his
spirits rose "Not at all bad! Not at
God still lives!" he thought.
all!
Reb
"Voices don't go so easily.
Meier, a drinking man, while I do not
drink, and even at Bar Mitzvahs take
no more than x thimbleful of whisky."
"But, alas! His cheerfulness was
soon at an end. While trying an-
other run the same fatal note rang in
his cars, and he was again in a state
of great perturbation.
The dread of losing his voice wore
on him. His thoughts were continu-
ously of the effects of the loss on his
future. Once before he bad lost his
voice, but that was when he was
seventeen and his voice, there-
fore, had been soprano. When he
had lost it then he was disturbed, but
pleased, for he knew that it was nat-
ural for his voice to change, and that
in a hew months he would have a
manly baritone, so he waited patient-
ly and was rewarded.
Why did he guard his voice so
carefully? Not because he feared for
his position with his people. Hi s
congregation would not remove him
though he lost it completely, for it
did not pay his salary, and was corn-
yelled to dun his congregation often;
but they would have refused no one
who stretched out a begging hand.
the was assured on that score.
It was for pure love of singing that
he feared the loss of his voice. He
had a very poor opinion of his con-
gregation's musical taste. When he
stood at the altar indulging in mu-
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steal acrobatics, he did it merely to
please himself. Of course, there were
his eight assistants, old and young,
who really constituted his entire mu-
sical world. They were very dear to
him, and NV heti one of them would de-
clare to a stranger, not in his pres-
ence, "Alt, there is a Chazan for you;
ate, but he sings!" he was in the
seventh heaven of delight. Ilia as-
sistants often traveled to neighboring
towns and tarried his fame with them
and they returned with opinions on
music from various Chazonim, and
they recounted the stories that were
told, and some of the legends were
eventually woven about the person-
ality of the Chazan of Klamonik.
When he heard of these stories, the
opinions of his musical colleagues, he
would say nothing, but assume a criti-
cal mien.
Ile would think of what his col-
leagues wood say should they learn
that his voice was gone. He suffered
torments in thinking of their com-
miseration. Ile knew that his repu-
tation was excellent, and that his col-
leagues had a very high opinion of
the quality of his voice. And he
imagined he saw groups of Chazon
shaking their heads mournfully and
speaking in whispers. They were
sorry for hint, of course. "l'oor fel-
low! Haven't you heard? The Cha-
zan of Klamonik—"
"But I may be mistaken." he
thought in hopeful moments, and he
would sing a trifle and attempt to
take the high note, but whether out
of pure fear or the loss of his voice,
he could not utter one musical sound.
In a period of three weeks he was
a changed man. His face was pale,
his eyes sunken and feverish, and he
was as if he had been wrestling with
a giant.
"What's the matter, Chazan?" a
singer would ask.
"The matter?" the Chaian would
echo, frightened. "Well, then, what
is the matter with me? Do you know
anything about it, eh?"
"If I knew I wouldn't ask • you.
Why do you look so anxious and
worried?"
"Worried, say you?
Anxious?
Only that. Nothing more."
"Ala" said the knowing ones, "the
Chazan must be composing some-
thing elegant for the holidays."
Four weeks passed. The Chazan
was still in dread, for he did not know
definitely whether lie had really lost
his voice. He was "eating his life
out." He would have been content
to exclaim, "No help for it. A man
its duty to fulfill. It cannot do every-
thing, but it can do something. What
can't live forever!" But this doubt,
hanging between knowledge and ig-
norance, reduced him to a skeleton.
Filially he resolved to know the truth.
It was twilight. His wife had gone
to purchase groceries and all his sing-
ers had left, except Yossel, the bass.
he Chazan kept glancing at him,
opened his mouth to speak, but closed
It again.
At last he said, "Yossel!"
"Well, Chazan?"
"Tell me—now, you are an honest
man I"
The other looked at the Chazan
amazed. "Why do you tell me this
now, Chazan•?"
"My brother"—the Chazan almost
burst into tears. "Brother Yossel—"
and he could say no more.
"What is the matter?"
"Ile an honest man and tell me the
truth!"
"I don't understand."
"Tile truth. Do you see any change
in me?"
"Very much," replied Yossel, as he
noticed his pallor and emaciation. "A
very great changer
"Now I see you are an honest man!
Tell me frankly,' and he mopped the
perspiration from his brow. "Now
what do you say, Yossel; is it lost
forever?"
"What's lost?" Yossel inquired.
"What! And you ask? What have
to lose—? I mean my voice!"
The truth began to dawn on Yos-
sel, who was too good a musician to
misunderstand any longer. He
glanced at the Chazan and asked,
"Sure?"
"What sure?"
And he regained
courage. "Perhaps it's not sure! I
may be mistaken."
Yossel began examining the Cha-
zan as if he were a physician. He
commanded, "Well, take the 'do's"
There was a rasp in the Chazan's
voice and he stammered like a raw
student, but he sang 'do.'
"With more boldness, three-quart-
ers time," Yossel repeated. "Now,
with your pardon, the 're.'" And the
Chazan took a run of "re's" very
tremulously, "Re-re-re."
Yosscl stood a while in meditation.
He then exclaimed dolefully in a
tragic voice, "Lost!"
"And really, really forever, for-
ever?"
do you think? You are not
a boy; you can't expect another voice.
There's no help for it this time."
The Chazan dropped his tuning
fork, covered his face with his arms
and fell upon the table weeping like
a child.
On the following day Klamonik
knew that the Chazan had lost his
voice.
"And I think," said the inn-keeper,
one of the reputable seatholdees in the
synagogue. "that is all a rumpus for
nothing. What do you think? The
next holiday we won't he kept in
school so long by his stunts. For my
part, I am a plain man, but I assure
,you I wouldn't exchange a bitter
onion for all his singing and for his
voice, which they say he lost. What
do you say?"
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LONDON—Official information has
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I, •
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