Selichot season, dispatch 2
6 views
Skip to first unread message
Leon Kraiem
Sep 3, 2025, 6:57:56 PM9/3/25
to Leon’s List
Dear friends,
First, an addendum to my previous email. In it, I wrote of my 12:30 am selichot minyan that “you can’t not be included in a little service like this.”
It was pointed out to me — explicitly, by one friend (with that slightly out-of-place nonchalance, after not having talked for a long time, that quietly and warmly signals she’s been reading every email) and implicitly by another (a local, who asked where this synagogue was, so she could join me one of these nights) — that there is one surefire way to not be included, namely: being a woman.
Okay, fine. I admit, that was an oversight on my part.
(This synagogue does have a women’s section, in the back, behind a pane of foggy glass; my sense from the men’s side is that the women’s section is a sort of shul-of-its-own, its occupants sitting around facing each other, some of their backs against the window, going at about the same pace we are; that said, they are neither seen nor heard from the mainstage. There was a time this would have been a glaring issue to me. I’m very used to it at this point. There’s something lost in that comfort — but it wouldn’t be worth losing the service to try to get the discomfort back.)
—
Second, an illustration of what I said last time about the joyful character of selichot, because-of-not-despite their penitential character: this short clip from a concert I went to last week, by pop singer Eden Hason, at Jerusalem’s best outdoor venue: the Sultan’s Pool, nestled in the Valley of Hinom between the Old and new cities.
The first half of Hason’s show was him playing the big hits — Red Sunsets, Can Soemone Stop Me, Laughing and Crying, a Million Nights — standard so-called “Mizrachi” music, performed in front of a big screen playing endless reels of Hason looking sexy in various states of undress, cut with smoochy lips, muscle cars, and what looked like scenes from the iTunes Visualizer circa 2004.
I went with a buddy of mine, a therapist, who got cheap tickets through a group he works for, that serves the religious gay community — Hason, a nice Sephardic boy from Pardes Hanah, came out last year, and he ended the concert with his song about growing up ‘not man enough.’ We were well above the concert’s median age, and definitely a minority by sex; the bulk of the crowd, at least by sound produced, were teenage girls, who knew every line and made sure we all knew it.
Early on in the war, M became a star. Now he regularly puts out new music, and performs for huge crowds — even at the official state ceremony marking one year since October 7 — but his identity remains unknown.
First, an addendum to my previous email. In it, I wrote of my 12:30 am selichot minyan that “you can’t not be included in a little service like this.”
It was pointed out to me — explicitly, by one friend (with that slightly out-of-place nonchalance, after not having talked for a long time, that quietly and warmly signals she’s been reading every email) and implicitly by another (a local, who asked where this synagogue was, so she could join me one of these nights) — that there is one surefire way to not be included, namely: being a woman.
Okay, fine. I admit, that was an oversight on my part.
(This synagogue does have a women’s section, in the back, behind a pane of foggy glass; my sense from the men’s side is that the women’s section is a sort of shul-of-its-own, its occupants sitting around facing each other, some of their backs against the window, going at about the same pace we are; that said, they are neither seen nor heard from the mainstage. There was a time this would have been a glaring issue to me. I’m very used to it at this point. There’s something lost in that comfort — but it wouldn’t be worth losing the service to try to get the discomfort back.)
—
Second, an illustration of what I said last time about the joyful character of selichot, because-of-not-despite their penitential character: this short clip from a concert I went to last week, by pop singer Eden Hason, at Jerusalem’s best outdoor venue: the Sultan’s Pool, nestled in the Valley of Hinom between the Old and new cities.
The first half of Hason’s show was him playing the big hits — Red Sunsets, Can Soemone Stop Me, Laughing and Crying, a Million Nights — standard so-called “Mizrachi” music, performed in front of a big screen playing endless reels of Hason looking sexy in various states of undress, cut with smoochy lips, muscle cars, and what looked like scenes from the iTunes Visualizer circa 2004.
I went with a buddy of mine, a therapist, who got cheap tickets through a group he works for, that serves the religious gay community — Hason, a nice Sephardic boy from Pardes Hanah, came out last year, and he ended the concert with his song about growing up ‘not man enough.’ We were well above the concert’s median age, and definitely a minority by sex; the bulk of the crowd, at least by sound produced, were teenage girls, who knew every line and made sure we all knew it.
About halfway through the show — following an interlude when a guest performer played, of all songs, John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ — Hason came back out, having swapped his bathrobe-kittel lovechild garment for a white t-shirt with “Love your fellow as yourself” on it, and appealed to the crowd: “Friends, it’s selichot season! Time to get repenting!”
This clip is only a few seconds long — most people in that audience were enjoying the concert through their eyes and ears, rather than their phones, and I wanted to join them — but I’ll translate what you’re hearing, and round out the chorus to boot: He’s saying: God, listen to your wretched ones; the ones who are waiting for Your grace; our Father, don’t close up Your ears at Your sons.
Again: One could easily imagine a somber, miserable melody to go with this piyut, chanted like those monks at the start of Monty Python and the Holy Grail who smack themselves with their Bibles; instead, it’s glow-sticks, synths, and a light-show, and thousands of teens reveling in the end of summer vacation. But — again — that’s not because they don’t mean what they’re saying! It’s because making amends, in the context of a healthy relationship, is something to be happy about.
—
It turns out — my friend and I didn’t know this when we bought the tickets — this concert was put on by the regional council of Binyamin, a settlement bloc in the central West Bank about an hour’s drive from Jerusalem.
At the start of the concert, the head of the regional council came out, and gave a special thank-you to Bibi, Smotrich, and “the defense minister,” an ambiguous construction that probably referred to Ben Gvir rather than Israel Katz. These ministers heralded a “revolution” in the settlement enterprise, he announced, touting historic investments in communities east of the Green Line.
Then, another regional council official came out and shared a bunch of exciting stats: this many babies were born in Binyamin this year! We have eighteen residents above the age of 100! She gave a big welcome to 200 new immigrants from the US who were in the audience (unclear whether they have any particular connection to Binyamin or if they were just given free tickets to the show) and the whole ampitheater applauded them.
And, the war-related shout-outs.
Who here is a reservist? A decent number of whoops. Any active-duty soldiers here tonight? A handful. But when they asked about family of reservists, or soldiers in the field? Everyone. One hundred percent. Well, one hundred percent minus me, but my family not being Israeli is a pretty extenuating circumstance.
There were also the obligatory — but by no means perfunctory — expressions of prayer for victory, the return of the hostages, and the safety and success of the soldiers. The “victory” at the top stood out to me — at left-leaning events, you don’t hear that word; the choice is meaningful, amid a war whose goals — returning hostages and destroying the group that’s holding them — have always contradicted each other on their face.
As I noticed the empty yellow chair to the right of the stage — a ubiquitous symbol for those still in captivity— I turned to my friend, and said something to the effect of: “It’s so fucked, isn’t it, holding this in the back of your head at a pop concert.” He agreed, of course, but neither of us saw any alternative; He told me that he opened a group therapy session the other day with a similar acknowledgment. This is done at every event in Israel. How could it not be?
—
I’ve had a lot of thoughts about the above, in the week since I experienced it — those, however, will have to wait for the next email.
Again: One could easily imagine a somber, miserable melody to go with this piyut, chanted like those monks at the start of Monty Python and the Holy Grail who smack themselves with their Bibles; instead, it’s glow-sticks, synths, and a light-show, and thousands of teens reveling in the end of summer vacation. But — again — that’s not because they don’t mean what they’re saying! It’s because making amends, in the context of a healthy relationship, is something to be happy about.
—
It turns out — my friend and I didn’t know this when we bought the tickets — this concert was put on by the regional council of Binyamin, a settlement bloc in the central West Bank about an hour’s drive from Jerusalem.
At the start of the concert, the head of the regional council came out, and gave a special thank-you to Bibi, Smotrich, and “the defense minister,” an ambiguous construction that probably referred to Ben Gvir rather than Israel Katz. These ministers heralded a “revolution” in the settlement enterprise, he announced, touting historic investments in communities east of the Green Line.
Then, another regional council official came out and shared a bunch of exciting stats: this many babies were born in Binyamin this year! We have eighteen residents above the age of 100! She gave a big welcome to 200 new immigrants from the US who were in the audience (unclear whether they have any particular connection to Binyamin or if they were just given free tickets to the show) and the whole ampitheater applauded them.
And, the war-related shout-outs.
Who here is a reservist? A decent number of whoops. Any active-duty soldiers here tonight? A handful. But when they asked about family of reservists, or soldiers in the field? Everyone. One hundred percent. Well, one hundred percent minus me, but my family not being Israeli is a pretty extenuating circumstance.
There were also the obligatory — but by no means perfunctory — expressions of prayer for victory, the return of the hostages, and the safety and success of the soldiers. The “victory” at the top stood out to me — at left-leaning events, you don’t hear that word; the choice is meaningful, amid a war whose goals — returning hostages and destroying the group that’s holding them — have always contradicted each other on their face.
As I noticed the empty yellow chair to the right of the stage — a ubiquitous symbol for those still in captivity— I turned to my friend, and said something to the effect of: “It’s so fucked, isn’t it, holding this in the back of your head at a pop concert.” He agreed, of course, but neither of us saw any alternative; He told me that he opened a group therapy session the other day with a similar acknowledgment. This is done at every event in Israel. How could it not be?
—
I’ve had a lot of thoughts about the above, in the week since I experienced it — those, however, will have to wait for the next email.
Yesterday, I discovered that Eden Hason — the guy who I saw perform last week — had released a new single, based on — guess what — selichot! So I’m going to cap this email by sharing it, along with a few other songs it reminded me of.
(This, by the way, is where we get to the edge of my Hebrew proficiency and general Israeli cultural knowledge; I may well misunderstand, in word or in spirit, some portion of what follows; but think of me like ChatGPT — mostly it's true, plus a few harmless hallucinations; the Israelis on the list can correct my mistakes, and hopefully the non-Israelis will find it interesting, like I do.)
Hason’s song, like the original piyut it’s based on, is called Elecha [Adonai] [Nasati Eynay] — “To You, God, I’ve lifted my eyes.” The original prayer continues (translation courtesy of Sefaria): Listen to the sound of my supplications, according to Your great kindness.
Hason’s new track — a collaboration with Ofer Levi, an Israeli music old-timer who, according to Wikipedia, is “a pioneer of the Turkish and Arab music genres in Israel” — an interesting fact, also per the ‘pedia, is that he “auditioned for a military band but was disqualified for choosing to sing in Arabic” — keeps the refrain and several verses of the piyut, and then adds new stanzas in between, in a modern style.
So that it begins, as it has for centuries: To You, God, I’ve lifted my eyes. Listen to the sound of my supplications, according to Your great kindness.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YeGHbSD6n_w
But then, against a new, sick beat, Hason sings: I’ve always been like this; sinning and then asking forgiveness; showing off all night, and then taking my mask off; I’m a good kid, doing everything with love; and I haven’t always found my way, and I’ve been a bit influenced by my environment. And then Levi comes in: At night I sought respite, from what’s weighing on my soul; Nothing is hidden from You; I raise my head up and see You.
Then, the old and new come together, so that both singers, with the sick beat this time, go back to the refrain: To You, God, I’ve lifted my eyes. Listen to the sound of my supplications, according to Your great kindness.
It’s worth emphasizing, Hason is not a “religious” artist; this is not just a really good version of Christian rock. He is a proper, normal pop star, who’s written ballads, and anthems, and decided to add a penitential prayer to his catalogue. As an ex-Soviet Östjude once said of his own free and Promised Land: What a country!
Hason’s song, like the original piyut it’s based on, is called Elecha [Adonai] [Nasati Eynay] — “To You, God, I’ve lifted my eyes.” The original prayer continues (translation courtesy of Sefaria): Listen to the sound of my supplications, according to Your great kindness.
Hason’s new track — a collaboration with Ofer Levi, an Israeli music old-timer who, according to Wikipedia, is “a pioneer of the Turkish and Arab music genres in Israel” — an interesting fact, also per the ‘pedia, is that he “auditioned for a military band but was disqualified for choosing to sing in Arabic” — keeps the refrain and several verses of the piyut, and then adds new stanzas in between, in a modern style.
So that it begins, as it has for centuries: To You, God, I’ve lifted my eyes. Listen to the sound of my supplications, according to Your great kindness.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YeGHbSD6n_w
But then, against a new, sick beat, Hason sings: I’ve always been like this; sinning and then asking forgiveness; showing off all night, and then taking my mask off; I’m a good kid, doing everything with love; and I haven’t always found my way, and I’ve been a bit influenced by my environment. And then Levi comes in: At night I sought respite, from what’s weighing on my soul; Nothing is hidden from You; I raise my head up and see You.
Then, the old and new come together, so that both singers, with the sick beat this time, go back to the refrain: To You, God, I’ve lifted my eyes. Listen to the sound of my supplications, according to Your great kindness.
It’s worth emphasizing, Hason is not a “religious” artist; this is not just a really good version of Christian rock. He is a proper, normal pop star, who’s written ballads, and anthems, and decided to add a penitential prayer to his catalogue. As an ex-Soviet Östjude once said of his own free and Promised Land: What a country!
--
Nor is this the first pop song of this genre; last year, Odeya (she has a last name, but only the way Adele does) released a track called Ben Adam — just like the Hason song, this one’s built around a liturgical mainstay, with new verses in between the familiar refrain. In this case, it’s the piyut that starts the selichot service — what you say upon waking in the middle of the night to seek repentance:
Son of Adam, why are you sleeping?! Arise, call out with supplications! Pour out speech, seek forgiveness from the Master of Masters. (translation via Sefaria)
At which point, Odeya sings: I could write a book and make a pretty penny, about what it’s like living a lie, bouncing between vodka and pills; if someone finds a soul, bring it back here; [I’ll be here] until the morning, dancing amid the smoke/to the beat, when each bop is sadness; what’s the money worth, we’re all on the spectrum; I could write a book and make a pretty penny, about how to brighten the soul. (translation via LyricsTranslate — it doesn’t quite flow, but it’s better than I could have done)
Nor is this the first pop song of this genre; last year, Odeya (she has a last name, but only the way Adele does) released a track called Ben Adam — just like the Hason song, this one’s built around a liturgical mainstay, with new verses in between the familiar refrain. In this case, it’s the piyut that starts the selichot service — what you say upon waking in the middle of the night to seek repentance:
Son of Adam, why are you sleeping?! Arise, call out with supplications! Pour out speech, seek forgiveness from the Master of Masters. (translation via Sefaria)
At which point, Odeya sings: I could write a book and make a pretty penny, about what it’s like living a lie, bouncing between vodka and pills; if someone finds a soul, bring it back here; [I’ll be here] until the morning, dancing amid the smoke/to the beat, when each bop is sadness; what’s the money worth, we’re all on the spectrum; I could write a book and make a pretty penny, about how to brighten the soul. (translation via LyricsTranslate — it doesn’t quite flow, but it’s better than I could have done)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upYVC1W4KeI
Odeya is referencing a particular type of little book usually distributed by Breslev Chasidim — followers of Rabbi Nachman of Breslev, the 19th-century Hasidic leader from modern-day Ukraine who declared it “a great mitzvah to be happy all the time,” and whose chasidim are known to drive around in psychedelic hippie-vans blasting EDM and dancing at red lights.
(A personal note, to be taken with a grain of salt, as I’ve never studied Rebbe Nachman’s torah in depth — I’m generally of the camp that, as my Beginner’s Talmud teacher Rav Mordechai once said, “‘it’s a commandment to be happy all the time’ is not how happy people talk,” nor is it particularly healthy; in recent years, though, I’ve found myself adopting this mantra, with a slight change of stress: rather than, “it’s a mitzvah (to be happy always),” I’ve been saying to myself, “it’s (always) a mitzvah (to be happy)” — which may be a distinction without a difference, technically speaking; but practically speaking, for me, they’re worlds apart. I think the move I’m making is similar to what people in recovery mean when they say, ‘one day at a time’ — which would make sense, given the overrepresentation of addiction, alongside other mental illnesses, among the battles fought by the people who flock to Rebbe Nachman.)
Imagine me dancing with the Messiah, on this very day; making peace with myself, because what is mine will come, and everything happens for a reason; My Rebbe Nachman promised: there is no such thing as despair.
Son of Adam, why are you sleeping?! Arise, call out with supplications! Pour out speech, seek forgiveness from the Master of Masters.
Odeya is referencing a particular type of little book usually distributed by Breslev Chasidim — followers of Rabbi Nachman of Breslev, the 19th-century Hasidic leader from modern-day Ukraine who declared it “a great mitzvah to be happy all the time,” and whose chasidim are known to drive around in psychedelic hippie-vans blasting EDM and dancing at red lights.
(A personal note, to be taken with a grain of salt, as I’ve never studied Rebbe Nachman’s torah in depth — I’m generally of the camp that, as my Beginner’s Talmud teacher Rav Mordechai once said, “‘it’s a commandment to be happy all the time’ is not how happy people talk,” nor is it particularly healthy; in recent years, though, I’ve found myself adopting this mantra, with a slight change of stress: rather than, “it’s a mitzvah (to be happy always),” I’ve been saying to myself, “it’s (always) a mitzvah (to be happy)” — which may be a distinction without a difference, technically speaking; but practically speaking, for me, they’re worlds apart. I think the move I’m making is similar to what people in recovery mean when they say, ‘one day at a time’ — which would make sense, given the overrepresentation of addiction, alongside other mental illnesses, among the battles fought by the people who flock to Rebbe Nachman.)
Imagine me dancing with the Messiah, on this very day; making peace with myself, because what is mine will come, and everything happens for a reason; My Rebbe Nachman promised: there is no such thing as despair.
Son of Adam, why are you sleeping?! Arise, call out with supplications! Pour out speech, seek forgiveness from the Master of Masters.
--
And now, briefly, one more song — because I already decided I would write about all three, and wrote each of them as a separate to-do on my daily task list, and I want the satisfaction of crossing all of them off.
This one’s not based on selichot, but I got here by word-association:
This one’s called Tihyeh (Be a) Benadam — though this time, the latter is spelled as one word; not so much the literal ‘Son of Adam’ — which is used in liturgical Hebrew, like it is in Quranic Arabic, with a certain moral/spiritual weight attached to it; rather, in this case, something more like just: human being.
And now, briefly, one more song — because I already decided I would write about all three, and wrote each of them as a separate to-do on my daily task list, and I want the satisfaction of crossing all of them off.
This one’s not based on selichot, but I got here by word-association:
This one’s called Tihyeh (Be a) Benadam — though this time, the latter is spelled as one word; not so much the literal ‘Son of Adam’ — which is used in liturgical Hebrew, like it is in Quranic Arabic, with a certain moral/spiritual weight attached to it; rather, in this case, something more like just: human being.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q45iVdtDD44
This artist goes by “M” — literally, just his first initial, and he only performs with his face covered. That’s because, in his non-singing life, he’s an active mista’arev — that is, an undercover agent in the West Bank, who has a whole other life as a Palestinian Arab; if he performed with his face exposed, his cover would be blown.
This artist goes by “M” — literally, just his first initial, and he only performs with his face covered. That’s because, in his non-singing life, he’s an active mista’arev — that is, an undercover agent in the West Bank, who has a whole other life as a Palestinian Arab; if he performed with his face exposed, his cover would be blown.
Early on in the war, M became a star. Now he regularly puts out new music, and performs for huge crowds — even at the official state ceremony marking one year since October 7 — but his identity remains unknown.
And so he sings: Everyone lives this way — arak, beers, reserve duty… and I find myself between guitars and rifles, covering my face.
And you, he continues. No matter your clothes, first be a human being. No matter your role, first be a human being. No matter how much money you have in the bank, first be a human being.
I don’t have any thoughts on this particular song; but it’s been on my mind because I first heard it at the same time that I was reading a book by a rabbi of whom I’m a big fan, and from whose weekly Zoom classes I am an inveterate truant, who is fond of using the phrase: be a mensch.
This cross-language construction — of “human being” as an aspiration — is something I’ve been chewing on this selichot season.
There is more to say, but it’s 1:30 am, and I have work at 7.
And you, he continues. No matter your clothes, first be a human being. No matter your role, first be a human being. No matter how much money you have in the bank, first be a human being.
I don’t have any thoughts on this particular song; but it’s been on my mind because I first heard it at the same time that I was reading a book by a rabbi of whom I’m a big fan, and from whose weekly Zoom classes I am an inveterate truant, who is fond of using the phrase: be a mensch.
This cross-language construction — of “human being” as an aspiration — is something I’ve been chewing on this selichot season.
There is more to say, but it’s 1:30 am, and I have work at 7.
—
The hostages have been in captivity for 699 days.
—
As always: I am alive, and I am well, thanks to others, not all of whom are.
Leon
The hostages have been in captivity for 699 days.
—
As always: I am alive, and I am well, thanks to others, not all of whom are.
Leon
Reply all
Reply to author
Forward
0 new messages