This interesting piece from Haaretz in 2013 touches on some points rife for further investigation: how to identify a niggun by its composer, the questions of whether and why to notate niggunim, and the happenin’ world of Hassidic academia. Haaretz’s bias is amusingly apparent here–I’m not sure who exactly is the Andrew Lloyd Webber of Hassidic music, but I hope they’d take it as the compliment it’s meant to be.
The Beinoni Nigun was composed by Reb Aharon Charitonov in the late 1800s. He was from a family of kosher butchers, who were also beloved composers of nigunim, in the town of Nikolayev.
This tune entered the Chabad nigun repertoire in the lifetime of the 5th Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Sholom Dov Ber Schneerson (1860-1920), but was popularized by his son, the 6th Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson (1880-1950). He sang it frequently at his farbrengens, and at one point spoke about his interpretation of the melody (which he recorded later in his collected writings, the Likkutei Dibburim). Charitonov had not named this tune when he composed it, and the title “Beinoni” comes from Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak (also known by his initials as the Rebbe Rayatz).
The word beinoni literally means “average,” but has a specific connotation and special place of meaning in Chabad philosophy. In the Tanya, the first and defining work that started the Chabad movement, the Alter Rebbe outlines three types of Jews, borrowing terms from the Talmud but updating them for this context: the rasha, or evil one, is someone who is totally taken by their base and selfish impulses; the tzaddik, or righteous one, is someone who has completely quashed those base impulses and lives a life free of thoughts that distract them from doing the right thing in every situation; and the beinoni. Chaim Miller has recently introduced the translation of beinoni as “in-betweener” in his new translation of the Tanya, which makes more sense than the simple translation of “average.” The beinoni is defined in relation to the rasha and the tzaddik: the beinoni struggles with the inclination for indulgence and selfishness that the rasha lives by, but manages to overcome that to live as righteously as a tzaddik does. Being able to overcome the inclinations of a rasha is no small task, and the Tanya is a multi-volume work dedicated to the emotional and intellectual work required to strive to be a beinoni.
The Rebbe Rayatz pointed to this nigun as being a musical illustration of the inner life of the beinoni, which is characterized by both the struggle to overcome animalistic urges as well as the G-dly soul that always prevails over those urges. He didn’t go into detail, but some of my observations about the musical features of this nigun support his characterization. The most relevant one is about the repetitive pull downwards back to the tonic (the “home base” note). Even though there are frequent leaps upward, and a climactic high point in the third section, the melody consistently returns from those leaps downwards by step, and each section ends the same way by settling back on the tonic.
This article by David P. Goldman also supports an interesting thought about how the type of minor key (Phrygian dominant or Ahavah Rabbah) used here especially enforces the pull downwards, in contrast to the major mode that is characteristic of Western music. The natural resolution downwards (as opposed to the upwards resolution in the major mode) is a musical representation of retro- or introspection. The work required to be the beinoni of the Tanya requires intense introspection, and this introspection carries even more weight when considering that the Tanya specifies that a Jew’s true self is their G-dly soul within, which is “truly a piece of G-d above.”
The Beinoni Nigun, at the characteristically contemplative tempo of Chabad nigunim, is both the illustration and the guide for the experience of the beinoni: everyone has challenges, internal and external, but the prescriptive is to always be in touch with the G-dly soul as a stable core to return to.
Continuing where we left off on page 25, the next section in the Rebbe’s talk is about an analogy between the effect fine wine has on people, and the effect that song has on people.
There’s a cute expression from the Talmud, “נכנס יין יצא סוד”, which translates as, “In goes wine, out go secrets.” This is definitely relevant on Purim, which is commonly celebrated with enthusiastic drinking. The Rebbe connects that expression to his earlier point (in the Part 1 post) about music affecting and improving a person’s capabilities to serve G-d.
(Of note here is that the Rebbe actually recommended a drinking limit, especially on occasions like Purim–no more than 4 shots! So we’re not talking about whether being under-the-table drunk has some kind of value, because it doesn’t.)
The other quote from biblical literature that the Rebbe uses to relate wine and song is the verse from Psalms about “wine that gladdens G-d and man.” This is how he explains the inherent connection with music, in the association with joy and gladness.
More specifically, the Rebbe talks about how the process of making wine is itself part of the analogy to song. Wine does not exist in a natural state in the wild; it has to be fermented from grapes. There is a “hidden potential” in grapes to become wine–the $2/lb grapes at the store could theoretically become a $100 bottle of wine in a few years. Then, someone drinks that wine and gets just tipsy enough to start saying things they probably wouldn’t say if they were sober, perhaps gets up and starts dancing awkwardly, and gets in touch with a normally hidden side of their self that is locked away by inhibitions. In a safe environment, this can be a truly useful experience.
Finally, with a song of the type of spiritual caliber of a Chasidic nigun, one who sings it can use it as a tool to access parts of the soul that don’t have any other mode of expression (not even by drinking). Revealing those parts of the soul can then aid the person in many ways, with the emotional release of singing a beloved song being a basic example. The Rebbe quotes his father-in-law, the Previous Rebbe, to note that people don’t sing when they’re inhibited, so doing the work of shaking off those unnecessary personal inhibitions is crucial to this process of releasing the soul to express itself. Once someone gets to a place where they feel comfortable singing, the act of singing then furthers the process they started by expressing themselves in song in the first place. However, singing a nigun has the additional benefit of giving voice to those hidden parts of the soul that otherwise remain in their hidden state.
On a related note, the Rebbe also briefly discusses musical expression as it is through an instrument versus through one’s own voice. He describes instrumental playing as having certain limits, whereby the nature of a musical instrument has measured pitches, etc., and one’s expression has to be channeled through those constraints. But when one sings a song, especially a wordless one, no such shape or definition is given to their soul’s expression.
Concluding this section is an exhortation from the Rebbe that each person should utilize and respect the habit of singing as a tool that truly benefits them and those around them. It encourages a spiritual health, via emotional health, that should feel like it is an urgent responsibility to Jews “as if the whole nation depended on it.”
This is one of the more well-known nigunim since it’s included in the “seder nigunim,” an informal ritual where songs composed by each of the Chabad Rebbeim are sung in succession as a sort of meditative sing-along. A seder nigunim can be held on Shabbos, holidays, or “chassidic holidays”–the birthday or anniversary of the passing of an important chassidic personage.
So I hear this one all the time, as frequently as once a week if I go to the seder nigunim my neighbor holds on Shabbos afternoons, and was familiar with the whole thing about the Baal Shem Tov, Maggid of Mezritch, and Alter Rebbe each contributing a stanza. But there were some interesting surprises (interesting at least to me as I nerded out) as we looked deeper.
Here’s my recording of the tune as it is now popularly performed, as per a recording of it from a farbrengen with the Rebbe (date unknown):
Here’s what we found in Heichal HaNeginah, from Section 2, page 247. There is no attribution or source, and my guess is that these are reports from the Rebbe. They could also have been overheard by a 3rd party.
On the 2nd night of sukkos 1966:
In conversation at the apartment of the Previous Rebbe, the Rebbe’s brother-in-law Shmaryahu Gurarye remarked to the Rebbe that he had never before heard the Shalosh Tnuos, and wondered at its source. The Rebbe responded that he too had never heard it before he first arrived in the United States. He quoted its source as being the transcription by Shmuel Zalmanov in Sefer Nigunim [the project commissioned by the Previous Rebbe to record as many Chabad niggunim as possible, undertaken by Reb Shmuel Zalmanov]. He then described the niggun: “This niggun contains three movements that are nearly identical. According to tradition, [included as an introduction to the niggun in Sefer Nigunim] the first movement was composed by the Baal Shem Tov, the 2nd by [his student] the Maggid of Mezritch, and the 3rd by [his respective student] the Alter Rebbe.
The next year, at one of the festive meals of sukkos in 1967, the chosid R’ Yaakov Katz sang this nigun. Rabbi Gurarye was there, and brought up his quibble again: “This nigun was never heard in Lubavitch.”
The Rebbe acknowledged, “I also never heard it, but when Zalmanov printed Sefer Nigunim in the lifetime of the Previous Rebbe, including a full introduction for the niggun, the Rebbe approved it, and so it came to be.”
(The nigun as Zalmanov transcribed it is significantly different than how the Rebbe sang it at farbrengens. More on that below!)
Rabbi Gurarye then brought up another question about the performance of this nigun: The three movements are sung consecutively, without any pauses in between. Each of the composers also produced an important book, and the [Previous] Rebbe instructed that each chassid should own all three. However, he also instructed that the three books never be printed or bound together in one volume. How is it that the written words of each composer shouldn’t be “bound together,” but their musical works are?
The Rebbe responded that he had never heard an explanation for the performance of the nigun, but had heard the explanation about why the books are not bound together: the Tanya was written by the Alter Rebbe himself, while Or Torah was compiled and printed by the Maggid’s students, and Keser Shem Tov was compiled by a scribe that was two generations removed from the Baal Shem Tov. The Keser Shem Tov and Or Torah came first and therefore may be higher in spiritual stature, but on the other hand, the Tanya came from the Alter Rebbe himself and therefore may have a stronger spiritual foundation. But this is not the case with the nigun. {We can’t make sense of the following explanation though.} “Those who understand” say that the 2nd movement is commentary on the 1st [implying a direct relationship?]. Another nigun by the Besht “is not found (אינו בנמצא?).”???
Another related explanation, that may shed more light, is from the 2nd night of Sukkos 1970. Bringing up that there are ten known compositions by the Alter Rebbe, the Rebbe addressed the question of how the particular one that goes with the other two movements came to be. He said that the Maggid himself was the one who passed down the first two, and the Alter Rebbe added the third and continued to pass it on to his students.
The next year, on the 2nd night of sukkos 1971, the Shalosh Tnuos was sung as usual. One of the chassidim in attendance said, “hey, we sang this yesterday already.” Rebbe retorted, “We have no other niggun from the Maggid, and the second night of Sukkos is when we welcome the Maggid to our sukkahs.”
A bunch of different recordings of this nigun are freely available on chabad.org, chassidus.com, and youtube. The one below, recorded as part of the Previous Rebbe’s Nichoach project, includes the recording from the farbrengen with the Rebbe that is the basis for how everyone sings it nowadays, and is very different from Zalmanov’s transcription. In the same recording, they brought on HaRav HaChosid Dovid Leib Marozov a”h to sing a version of this niggun that he reports was the version known in Russia, also totally different from Zalmanov’s transcription. I have not found a recording to match Zalmanov’s transcription. Rabbi Marozov also includes a few words about how the Rebbe RaShaB (the fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe) learned the niggun from his father, the Rebbe Maharash, and taught it at his yeshiva, Tomchei Temimim. (Thanks to Rabbi Chayim Boruch Alevsky for translating the Yiddish!)
Here’s the audio in full. The recording from the Rebbe’s farbrengen is at 1:34. Rabbi Marozov comes on at 4:23.
One more thought
As a personal interpretation, I think this nigun is an illustration of the role each of its composers played in the genesis and spread of Chassidus. The first stanza, by the Baal Shem Tov, lays a stable foundation, and then offers material to be developed further. The second stanza, by his student the Maggid, takes that material and does the developing–more movement, and a more exalted-feeling place higher in the scale. Then the Alter Rebbe’s stanza does something that is both really simple and really powerful: it’s the exact same material as what is found in the Maggid’s section, but taken a fifth higher. I think the Rebbe’s performance of this nigun reveals the meaning of the Alter Rebbe’s addition: once the Alter Rebbe’s leap is taken, further repetitions of that stanza can continue to take that leap again and again. It happens naturally. I think this is a musical parallel to the same way the Alter Rebbe refined the Baal Shem Tov’s teachings into Chabad Chassidus, and the Rebbe taught them in a way that was accessible for his time so that his constituents could go on to further them themselves.
The talk we started with was from Purim 1960. As the Rebbe presided over the many hours-long celebratory meal in his shul, 770, he spoke at great length about music. We got through about half the talk, so, to be continued. Below are my paraphrased and sometimes summarized versions of Rishe’s literal translations.
As the Alter Rebbe (Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of the Lubavitch movement) wrote in his seminal work known as the Tanya, “Every single day a person needs to look at themselves as if today they went out of Egypt.” The behavior and daily habits of a person must reflect this principle, because the Exodus from Egypt was the prototype for our story as Jews. Therefore, even the minute struggles and triumphs of daily life must also be seen as a reflection of the struggle and triumph of the Exodus from Egypt, and that meaning should be injected into them.
The Torah uses a specific phrase to describe the way in which G-d’s assistance came in the original Exodus: “yad ramah,” a hand upraised (as in triumph, or as Rishe puts it, “like a fistbump!”). This phrase initmates that G-d gives us the strength to overcome great obstacles with a spirit and attitude of triumph. Obstacles can be seen as externally imposed, but a person should acknowledge and work on the obstacles that are internally imposed. Personal inhibitions are the ones people have real control over, but are therefore the most difficult obstacles to overcome. Therefore, they must approach the transcendence of these internal obstacles with “gladness of heart and hand upraised.”
The Egyptians [which, according to Chassidus, were the embodiment of the idea of self-imposed constraints] pursued the escaping Jews right up until they crossed the Sea of Reeds, where every last Egyptian drowned. Upon the completion of the Exodus right then and there, the Torah records that the Jews burst into song. The chronology of that is also interpreted to be that the completion was finalized through song. But interestingly, a grammatical trick that is exploited all the time in Torah interpretation appears here. When the Torah says “אז ישיר,” that can be translated as either “So they sang” or as “So they will sing.” The Talmud, in tractate Sanhedrin, comments on this: “The Song of the Sea was relevant not only to that time. It says ‘Yashir’—future tense: they will sing—until the final redemption comes.”
In the meantime, we are confronted with daily challenges that invite us to do the work of breaking our internal limitations. Again, these are considered minute versions of the biblical Exodus. But the joy that we find in our little triumphs must color the attitude in which we approach those challenges. Confronting a challenge will be ineffective if it is done so as a burden to resent. Rather, since the challenge is an opportunity to better oneself and find deeper, G-dly meaning and purpose, the approach must be with “gladness of heart and hand upraised.”
The prototype of the Exodus is apparent in every struggle, including the part where the struggle was overcome and everybody started singing. This part is a literal cognate in our everyday lives: when the struggle is truly overcome, musical expression naturally accompanies it.
As the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe said, in many ways and many times, there is only so much of the soul that can express itself through words. There will always be a part of the soul, the primary part in fact, that simply does not find expression intellectually. According to the previous Rebbe, this part of the soul is only expressed through a kiss or a dance. These are expressions that allow one soul to communicate directly with another. Dance is the easier example: seeing someone dance is infectious. The Rebbe adds that when one plays music, it exposes the root and essence of his soul. That root and essence cannot be expressed through words, and has no other possibility for expression other than song.
The Chamber of Song 