The modern classic Hebrew
author, Bialik, once wrote a poem entitled "After My Death." These
are the words of the first verse:
"After my death; thus shall you
mourn for me;
There was a man, and, behold, he is no more;
Before his time this man died.
And the song of his life was interrupted in the middle;
And how tragic! He had one more song —
And now the song, too, is lost forever."
I am reminded of this poem at this moment
when we here, thousands of people outside the temple, and millions
of people all over the world, pay a last tribute to Al Jolson.
It was only five years ago that I had the
sad privilege of conducting a Memorial Service for Al's father. It
was in the old building of Temple Israel, to the progress of which
Al contributed his services freely in past years. The day prior to
the Memorial Service, Al and I met to discuss the life of his
father; and I have never forgotten a remark he made in the course
of our conversation. "Rabbi," Jolson remarked, "all I have today I
have received from my father." At the moment, I thought it was an
expression of a strong emotional attachment experienced in an hour
of sorrow. But, after having gathered more information about his
background and having read several informative articles published
by his brother Harry in 1929, I came to the conclusion that every
word of Al Jolson's observation to me can stand the test of
validity. With all of the publicity given to him, with all the
interpretations of his life in print or film, one will never
understand the personality of Jolson unless one studies the
atmosphere of his father's house. It is the only key to unlock the
secrets of Al's personality.
In order to do this, I have to take you
back for a moment to a corner of the European continent called
Lithuania. It had a small Jewish community of no more than 25,000
Jews. But it produced more rabbis, teachers, schools of learning
and colleges of education than the whole of the European continent
put together. Even in the secular field, more Jewish artists and
musicians and literary figures came from that geographical region
than from any other part of the world. A famed European art critic
rightfully asked the question, "What artistic bacteria has hit the
Jewish communities of the small villages of Lithuania?" There is,
of course, no answer to this question, but the fact remains that
they gave us the Soutines, Levitans, the Antokolskys, Chagalls,
Bands, Heifetzes and many, many more.
The capital of this small country was
Kovno, and near Kovno stood a village of no more than 100
families, most of which were Jewish. Its name was Srednieke. On
its one long and unpaved street stood a three-room log house,
primitive and simple, inhabited by the family of Rabbi Reuven
Moses Yoelson. It was there that Harry and Al were born. It was in
the atmosphere of that pious village that they were reared in an
Orthodox spirit. It is a long road from the Srednieke of yesterday
to the world fame of today, and only the Bible had a word for such
a spectacular career. In speaking of a great figure in Jewish
history, who started out as a shepherd and became a king, the
Bible says of David, "He was a man raised up high, the sweet
singer of Israel." (II Samuel 23:1)
But it is not only the atmosphere of the
house, but the personality of the father which is of great
importance for the analysis of Al Jolson's talent. His father was
famed for many characteristic features: for his gaiety and his
humor, for his storytelling and his smile, also for his clear and
beautiful voice which enthralled his congregation. People used to
come from the Lithuanian villages for miles around to listen to
his religious chants that touched the very depths of the human
heart. As a cantor he was famed for pouring his entire soul into
every religious motif which he presented musically to his
congregation.
These are the elements that Al inherited.
His remark was entirely true. Whatever he was came to him from his
father. It is from him that he inherited the comedy and the smile.
But, more than that, it is from Rabbi Yoelson that he received the
form and the content of singing. When you listened to any of his
songs, you noticed the half and quarter tones, the sigh and the
sob, the sudden inflection of the voice and the unexpected
twist—all these are elements that emerge from the cantorial
singing of our people. Listen to his "Kol Nidre" recording, the
last Jewish record he made. You will discover how much of this
cantorial element is in each one of the songs he made so famous.
In addition to this form and style, he inherited the quality of
putting his all into every song he sang, imparting a humaneness of
depth, opening the channels of human hopes, yearnings and
aspirations, and all this with such potency that it penetrated the
very foundations of the human heart. This is why the response of
millions to his musical renditions was unparalleled in the history
of our generation.
When people say that Al Jolson was
forgotten for a while and then had a tremendously successful
comeback, they misjudged the situation. First, there was a group
of close friends who believed in him and made the comeback
possible. Secondly, the melodies of the songs, given to millions
in his inimitable interpretation, were of lasting value from the
beginning. Whenever a song expresses genuine feeling, and the
singer identifies himself with this genuineness, the message goes
straight to the human soul where there is no forgetfulness. The
memories of a generation may be stronger at one time, and fading
at another, but they are by their very nature persisting and
determined. Our generation had only to be reminded of what Al
possessed to proclaim him again the prince of the entertainment
world, a kingdom from which he has never been ejected, a post
which he held successfully for more years than any other human
being alive today.
One more word. Music, it is said, is the
universal language of the heart. Jolson had a magnificent command
of that language. This is why he gave freely of himself, not only
to Jewish, but to a great number of non-Jewish humanitarian
causes. This heart of his, tired out at the end, felt for our
fighting men in the most remote islands of the Pacific and Alaska
during the second World War. This heart, speaking the universal
language of music, moved him to go to Korea, though he was not
well and most of us would have refused such an undertaking. No
better tribute can be paid to him than the arrival this morning of
eight airmen from Korea who flew in for the specific purpose of
participating in this service.
Yet another biblical verse is true of this
phase of his life: "How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the
battle!" (II Samuel 1:25) It is in this spirit that we want to
remember Al Jolson. And the words of Bialik, which I quoted at the
outset, come back to us with a slight paraphrasing of the last
lines:
"After his death, thus will we
mourn for him;
There was a man, and behold, he is no more;
Before his time this man died.
And the song of his life was interrupted in the middle;
Yet how comforting that every song he gave us
Will live eternally in the human heart;
Because he was a man, raised up high,
He, the sweet singer of humanity."
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