Sunday, November 24, 2013

These music stars have no Jewish successors

Zohra al-Fassia, who used to perform for the Moroccan king

Shoshana Gabay has a fascinating 'tour d'horizon' of Jewish artists who brought their music from Arab countries to Israel, complete with clips hitherto unseen. Their online following today is mainly Arab. The subtext is typical of much of what appears in +972 - that Israel  did not know how to appreciate these artists' musical culture, unlike the US vis-a-vis Russian Jewish artists (an unfair comparison, perhaps). The proof is that Gabay had her film proposal about the Iraqi musician Filfel Gourgy turned down by the Israel Film Fund. But the article fails to acknowledge that if these communities had not been brutally driven out of Arab lands, they would still  be performing for live Arab audiences today.

 We might examine more closely the odd reversal that occurred in Israel in the life of the Jewish Arabs compared to their brothers, the Jewish artists from Russia. The latter arrived over a century ago from their oppressive country to the United States, and were actually quite fortunate in gaining worldwide acclaim. If the Russian artists experienced the American dream of ‘rags to riches,’ then the experience of Arab Jewish artists in Israel was the reverse: ”from riches to rags.”

When we say, “what once was is no more,” about the Diaspora musicians who arrived in Israel, the intention is not nostalgic. It simply communicates that these great musicians had no Jewish successors. The next generation was hardly able to master the art and language of their parents. Of all the important musicians only a few played in the Arab Orchestra of the Israeli Broadcasting Authority. For instance, Alber Elias, Zuzu Musa from Egypt or qanun player Abraham Salman. It was renowned violinist Yehudi Menuhin who kissed Salman’s hands, fully recognizing his genius. Those are fine examples of artists who learned music in schools and academies. Yet that sort of musical education was not available in Israel.

The students of artists such as Yosef Shem Tov were in fact Palestinians, whose elite, including Palestinian musicians, was uprooted from their homeland in 1948. There were not many Jews like the musician Yair Dalal who took the trouble to come and learn from masters such as Salim al-Nur. Al-Nur composed pieces of intellectual and emotional complexity. But on YouTube, a melody he composed at the age of 17 in Iraq, ‘Oh You Bartender,’ attracted many listeners in the Arab world: it was sung by Jewish singer Salima Murad, the national singer of Iraq, and the words were written by the poet and caliph of the house of Abbas, Ibn Al-Mu’tazz of the 9th century.

Hand in hand with the erasure of the active role of the Jews (sometimes as an avant-garde) in the creation of modern Arabic music, the number of Jewish listeners has declined. In the first Mizrahi immigrant generation, those in the Mizrahi Jewish community still completely understood both the palimpsest of this high musical language that was developed, layer by layer, over generations and the musical talent of the geniuses of their generation. They continued to consume this music over the entire course of their lives. High art and popular culture were not considered separate entities. Everyone was a connoisseur.

As the years went by, the audience grew older. The young generation turned to ‘Hebrew’ music and was asked to abandon its roots. According to the conventions of Arab culture, an artist needs an audience that can understand what he (or she) sings about, and that would discern the beauty in the musical phrasing he sings or plays. She needs this sigh of pleasure and wonder: ‘aha’ or ‘alla.’ Without this feedback, he cannot sing and play. This sudden breach in a naturally developing culture was the reason our musical heritage died.

Logging in to Arab cyberspace, when entering the names of those forgotten artists in Arabic, we will find out that their names are cherished by musicologists on musical forums, in discussions on Iraqi television and radio, and in audio and video clips uploaded by Arab internet users. The acceptance of and excitement over the best of our artists evokes sad thoughts of those who were supposed to be our brothers in Israel.

Salim Halali. He is all beauty, elegance and cosmopolitanism – features that the Israeli nouveau riche has always craved.

Salim Halali: sang of the exile of the eternal wanderer

In Israel, the conversation of the greatness of these musicians has become strange. How is it possible to describe that which is no longer apparent? Many of the youth in Israel no longer understand profoundly the beauty of the sound in the manner of their parents and grandparents and the current young generation of Arabs. One can always praise and exalt, yet she who has Arabic music for breakfast, without saying a word, already knows that Salim Halali and Filfel Gourgy reach great heights. Of course it is possible to talk about the past status of the distinguished musicians and to bring historical evidence to their detractors, that Saleh al-Kuwaity and Zohra al-Fasia were the artists of the king. Yet this is a defensive discourse. After all, the essence of our tragedy is not that al-Fasia does not have a king to sing to. The problem is that she has no one to sing to.

And this is what Salim Halali sings about in “Ghorbati” (my Alienage), a beautiful lamentation about the exile of the eternal wanderer in the places of others (loosely translated): “I, who was silver, turned into copper and the garment I was wearing left me naked. I, who gave advice to the others, now have lost my mind, my wisdom turned to madness.”

Read article in full


Sylvia said...

They will have no Jewish successors because they no longer understand their own languages.
Most of those singers - the Maghreban in particular - sang popular music in their particular dialects, not in standard Arabic.

These languages are becoming rapidly extinct in Israel, as a consequence of an initiative some three years ago by then Minister of Education Gideon Saar.

Saar wanted to provide more teaching jobs to Israeli Arab women, which in itself is a great move, but since in Israel you can't discriminate and to ensure that they will be the ones getting the Arabic teaching jobs, he enacted a new pedagogical rule: that Arabic (standard) must be taught in Arabic (Palestinian dialect). In other words, Jewish and non-Arab students are taught in school a language they don't know using a language they don't know either.

This had many unfortunate but predictable effects. First, needless to say, non-Arab teachers of Arabic need not apply.
Second, the students come out learning well neither the dialect not the standard Arabic.

Third and most nefarious effect is that in the process for those who understood the Arabic of their country of origin their former Arabic dialect is now being irremediably erased and replaced.

bataween said...

That's fascinating, Sylvia. Another example of how Israel was concerned to look after its Arab citizens (and rightly so, in theory) at the inadvertent expense of the distinctive culture of Jews from Arab countries.