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by Penny Blake
In my last blog entry I talked about some of my experiences growing up Jewish in Toronto. In this one I’ll talk about my experiences as a singer, earning money by singing as a lead or soloist for churches. If you had found me at one of these jobs you may have asked, ‘what was a nice Jewish girl doing in a place like this?’, but it was a pretty established phenomenon in Toronto. The Royal Conservatory had a bulletin board at the back where jobs were posted, and my brother and I both took the opportunity to finance our expensive lessons this way – we sang at synagogues as well, of course. It was, I think both a musical and ecumenical opportunity, rounding out my experience in a practical way, and giving me a view of ‘the other’ in some very fine liberal churches. It was perhaps something our parents would not have anticipated. They grew up in an era when anything but being a white Protestant was looked at askance. As Jewish immigration increased, so did old paranoias. The great depression couldn’t have helped either. Some of the ‘restrictions’ they endured must have seemed reminiscent of the Old country. Quotas in places of higher learning, difficulties with jobs, housing… etc., etc. Some other ‘new’ groups – Italians, Ukrainians, Irish - experienced similar prejudices, as do people of colour today, and our new Muslim immigrants. One benefit - we may owe our Mt. Sinai hospitals more to the fact that Jewish interns found difficulties finding placements than to the philanthropic impulses and needs of the Jewish community. But by and large, by the 60’s and 70’s these attitudes were melting away. I don’t know if we’ll ever reach the nirvana of a truly non-racist society – we’ve a ways to go yet. It may have helped that the true horrors of the Holocaust – and indeed, the war - were still fresh in people’s memories. Nazism and anti-Semitism, though not entirely gone, were finally given a bad rap. Being neo-Nazi was not cool at all. What was it like for me, singing in a church? My husband would jokingly call me a mercenary, but I think I should object. My attitude in the first place was ‘take me as I am’, and I didn’t pretend to be of the faith. So places that wanted that total identity wouldn’t have hired me in the first place. And in a way that freed me to be both curious and sympathetic to the aims of the churches and the music. What counted for me was that the people I was serving were sincere, and the music had a message that transcended denomination. Fine music most always does – celebration, joy, sorrow, pride, even redemption – all those emotions or themes aren’t exclusive to Christianity. So, if you feel it, you aught to be able to sing it. I sang everything, even a Stabat Mater (Mary watching her son die on the cross – quite a wrenching scenario, thank God the music formalizes the emotion), and worked with some very fine musicians, such as pianist Clifford Poole and pianist and composer Eleanor Daly. Something I also remember quite fondly was a quartet that was formed from all of the soloists at one of those churches. We sang light classics and show tunes, mostly at seniors’ residences. To this day I enjoy ensemble work just as much as, if not more than, solos. We never settled on a name for long – one was Celebration Singers – but since our leader was a fine, six foot by three foot tenor called Mac Burnham, I would have preferred the moniker ‘Big Mac Quartet.’ He wouldn’t go for it. So mostly acceptance was a pretty good two-way street. I can recall one situation though where my bona fides were questioned, this by a fellow performer, not my director. I was carpooling with a soprano friend to a Lutheran church in Buffalo, and one fine spring day she asked if it was OK if we stopped off somewhere first before heading home. Sure, I said, and off we went. Much to my surprise – especially since she was Catholic – we ended up at an Evangelical service, where – guess what – the topic seemed to be how it wasn’t enough to be good at heart – only true believers could be saved through ‘accepting’ Christ. That was your ticket to heaven. Needless to say I was pretty upset, thinking that she had been my friend. But more to the point, this whole theology business – something that was probably general in the past, but didn’t seem to be a big deal in the churches I was used to singing in - left me cold. Judaism spent a lot more time worrying if people did Jewish things, like light candles or keep kosher – some of which I did, some not – and, in general, mitzvot. This term means, literally, commandments, but colloquially, any good deeds. I think it sums up what I most care about: be honourable, try to do good, even ‘tikun olam’ (improve the world). Then the God problem just takes care of itself. And I figured, then and now, being an alto with a good range, I’d not only get into heaven when the time came, I’d be employed in one of the many heavenly choirs. To believe in order to get into heaven, as though the Almighty could be bribed, didn’t make a lot of sense to me. No – believe because the sun shines and because you and others around you may have some goodness. Here’s a cool song that expresses this better than I can: Neil Young, When God Made Me: https://youtu.be/GNO3QaKNaBk Or you might enjoy this poem, a classic by Emily Dickinson: Why Do They Shut Me Out of Heaven? Why—do they shut Me out of Heaven? Did I sing—too loud? But—I can say a little 'Minor' Timid as a Bird! Wouldn't the Angels try me-- Just—once—more-- Just—see—if I troubled them-- But don't—shut the door! Oh, if I—were the Gentleman In the 'White Robe'-- And they—were the little Hand—that knocked-- Could—I—forbid? https://youtu.be/_k3FKk8ahf8. Modern, music by Aaron Copland – ah, anyone who can sing this … hats off to you.
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