Hazzan Boroff was, like
Rafi, a short, wide man who wore business suits that looked like those of his
Wall Street congregants. Barnoy was sitting forward in his plush chair, with
his muscular arms balanced at the elbow on the maple desk. Like Rafi, Boroff
was also an athlete; he had represented Israel in powerlifting in the 1994
Olympics in Los Angeles, the same Olympics that motivated Rafi to take up
distance running because of the woman whose drama was played out in front of
80,000 horrified spectators at the L. A. Coliseum and hundreds of millions of
others around the world on television. Gabriela Andersen-Scheiss, the former
ski coach, was dragging herself, seemingly near death, around the track for the
final 6/10 of a mile in the women’s marathon. Boroff had Rafi’s build, but
extra heft on the shoulders and much larger arms – a fact that all his
congregants knew whenever he flexed his arms as he was doing now. The warp of
his pinstripe really had to warp to contain the 17” arms, while the woof just
weft.
“Lo yuchal la’asot konsert k’mo zeh b’million years,” Boroff
cautioned Rafi, when he heard of the idea of an opera concert on Long Island. “Kulam
y’cholim lik’not kartisim la Met o
City Opera. Lamah rotzim lishmo’a lanu?
Boroff added that because Rafi was the cantor of Suffolk County,
he had an advantage.
“Az ani m’argen um’kayem oto, v’atah y’chol lashir bazo!” Rafi’s
offer to put the concert together and then have Boroff and his choir be guest
artists made the other sabra
cantor-athlete flex his muscles with excitement. His fabric weft louder this
time, so he took off his jacket and grabbed a stack of promotional material.
“Here, look over this.
Make sure your best graphic artist in your shul
works with the best photographer you’ve got. Blow your budget on these. They
are durable, and they sell tickets.”
The heavy card with a
high gloss finish displayed Hazzan
Boroff, first in a High Holiday robe, and then in costume as the chimney sweep
in Mary Poppins. In both shots, the face popped. Rafi could see that he had a
lot to learn still.
First he had to sell
his choir. Never, not in Israel,
not in Cleveland, certainly not in Philadelphia, did he have
a group of people who wanted a result without working for it. The choir had
hated Rafi’s first High Holidays. No folk tunes. No unison. No Long Island Hebrew. Music. Four parts. He wants us to
sing in four parts! Who does he think he is, Leonard Bernstein? Every note was tightly
composed, and this kid (Rafi was really 40) wants us to sing what the composer
wrote and not what we think she wrote. But Cantor Ben-Berak got us through it,
and the composition professor at Stony Brook said we sounded great. So maybe.
First he had four come
back. Then a fifth. Another two. Rafi got on the phone and called all the old
members who had left out of boredom under the previous cantor. Now there were
thirteen. No, that wouldn’t do. Rafi sang bits of all parts to help the women
who coutldn’t read music. That means he
counts. Fourteen. Winter concert on Shabbat
Shirah. You’re not supposed to applaud during a service. But that V’al Kulam that starts as easy as can
be, the one that gave a scintilla of confidence to the ragtag bunch of wayward
silver singers that Rafi inerited, silence. Then a buzzing, and a few hugs in
the choir loft. Then Rafi decided he would be Leonard Bernstein, winked at his
pianist, the jazz/classical/Renaissance star from Stony Brook, and sang bekol ram, “SING! GOD A SIMPLE SONG! To
Him be praise,” by which time Gabe had the music to “Simple Song” from
Bernstein’s Mass out, in time to slam
the chord for, “MAKE IT UP!”
The last big musical
event in Suffolk County,
at least until the open air concerts began in Huntington,
the Hamptons, and the North
Fork, was Rafi’s Night at the Jewish Opera. Hazzan Boroff couldn’t
make it – family emergency in Israel.
Two other guest soloists, a cantor and his wife, a doctoral candidate in Early
Music at Stony Brook, came. Several members of the Shelter Rock choir offered
to come. Boroff said they wanted to come. If all five of them came, they would
have reduced the average age by at least fifteen years, but Rafi’s choir voted
them out. This is OUR event, they said. We have this music, and we are going to
blow them away. Rafi didn’t have to ask his troupe to sell tickets – everyone
they knew paid full price for this.
The choir opened with Gott Bensch Amerike by Irving Berlinski,
as the famous Broadway legend had signed the Yiddish manuscript. The
transliterated Yiddish appeared in the program so that everyone could join.
With the good feeling among the 280 concertgoers still bouncing off the walls
and creating ether for the forthcoming sound to dance on, the choir and
soloists performed sections from Judas Maccabeus, finishing with “Hail, the
conqu’ring hero,” to which Rafi was practically tap-dancing. The choir almost
giggled. Rafi had asked Gabe early on, when all the notes were in place, what
he’d change. Gabe replied,
“Can you make it dance?”
Now it was dancing.
Next came three arias from Elijah, the two tenor arias and “It is enough,” the baritone
aria which would have been an Act II finale if this were an opera. Two arias
from La Juive – by the guests, the husband singing Eleazar, the wife, Rachel.
Then Samson et Dalilah – part in French, but the final solo and chorus in
English, again with the words printed in the program. Intermission. A Rossi psalm. Then, the banned music of the
Holocaust, including the great aria of der
Kaiser von Atlantis by Victor Ullmann. Hagada
shel Pesach, by Paul Dessau. And finally the death aria from The Golem, by
John Casken. Gabe and Rafi had worked like mathematical slaves to get this one
right. It came out perfect – but it was the piece nobody understood. Pure Rafi.
All was redeemed when
the choir took up positions on the main steps to the stage, wrapped a white
yoke over their collective shoulders, waited for Rafi to join them under the
yoke, and sand the Chorus of the Slaves from Verdi’s Nabucco. Pin drop. Rafi
emerges and sings Nebuchadnezzar’s conversion aria. Choir! Bravos echoing on
that ether! Three encores!
The next year, the
congregation had a fight over hiring a new rabbi. The families that left
created a cantor-sized hole in the budget. Rafi and Segal, who had bought a
house shortly after this magical moment, were left with half their income, and
their future, destroyed.
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