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Story: The Prayer of the Old Cantor
It was the most holy day of the year in Berdichev. All hasidic Jews gathered in one synagogue. They waited for their rabbi, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, to finish praying.
The rabbi was a very holy man, and he often became so absorbed in praying he would cry and shake. Sometimes he would speak things they did not understand. But they knew he was their steadfast advocate before the Heavenly Judge. If anyone could get their souls inscribed in the Book of Life for the next year, their rabbi could.
But as the pause continued, and he cried, muttered, and paced in front of them, the people thought, "He is asking a lot from us. We are fasting! How long will he detain us?" Still, they waited quietly for the rabbi to finish.
The rabbi stopped and faced the people. At last he would pray for them, they thought. They became very attentive. "At this time," he said, "I cannot continue. Today, someone so committed to this prayer must he would be willing to die while he prays it must sing it."
The people were thankful for the efforts he went through, week after week, for them. But this was different altogether. He had never insisted one of them do the same thing! Therefore, they waited, and no one stepped forth to sing the prayer.
The rabbi spoke again, saying, "One of you must sing the prayer. In this holy moment one must sing it who is willing to die in the act." They looked around at each other, and most of them had ideas about who should sing the prayer. But no one spoke.
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak said, "There must be someone who is willing to sing this prayer now, knowing it may be your last words in this lifetime."
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They heard a bench scraping, and slowly someone was standing up. Oddly, the sound was not coming from the side of the synagogue where those esteemed important sat. Still, they were relieved to hear the sound of someone rising.
Turning to see who it was, they saw an old man rising slowly from the bench against the back wall. They were shocked. Him? Once, this man had a gorgeous voice and, in fact, long ago he had been Rabbi Yitzchak's cantor. But he was so unsparing of his voice in service of the Creator he had begun to lose it. By the time he more croaked than sang, the cantor was asked to stop his attempts at music. There had been an awkward period when he insisted on singing the service, but the congregation had resolved it by hiring a new cantor. After a service wherein the old cantor, with his old-style melodies, could not be heard above the new cantor's robust voice, the old cantor stopped singing. For years no one had given him even a thought.
But this day he crept slowly toward the bima. The rabbi saw him, smiled, and stood aside. When the old man reached the bima, he turned around to face the congregants. He opened his mouth. What came out sounded more growl than song. The people covered their ears. The old man went on, anyway.
This man was to represent them to God in Heaven? People in the prestigious seats started exchanging glances. Yet, now, they began being distracted by other sounds, from their beloved Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. He was bent over in pain, moaning, and crying.
The old man continued singing the prayer, his rough voice cracking completely. For a moment no sound came out at all, except his labored breathing. His voice cracked repeatedly. The silences became longer than periods of singing.
Continued... |
