In the Spotlight: Leonard Cohen

Yom Kippur – a muse by any other name

Yom Kippur is known to be the holiest day in the Jewish year. The festival falls on 10 Tishrei every year, concluding the Days of Repentance – with the Day of Atonement. Generally, those who attend synagogue or an online service will appreciate, if nothing else, the gravity of the day. Many observers will fast for 25 hours, many will dress in simple colours (black and white) and many will search for something that will support them through their observance and take something from it for the year ahead.

If I could be so bold, I would put to you, the audience, that the one thing that helps the day go faster than anything else, is the music that accompanies the prayer. In orthodox services, this could take the form of a choir, or chazan singing in harmony with his congregation; in reform services this may take the form of instruments being played in minor keys; and perhaps for those who search for spirituality and meaning but don’t observe the stricter rules, this may be heard through the medium of sad songs (or in Britain’s case, the often less-than-stellar weather).

In all of these circumstances, music and song add weight to the words of תשובה (teshuvah) or repentance. I have always found the haunting or pleading tunes to be the most evocative, which in times of tragedy can elicit deeper emotional reactions and a more profound connection to the day’s journey of self-redemption.

One musician felt that this reflection could be his muse while exploring his life experiences. Whilst a practicing Buddhist, Leonard Cohen, has often remarked that in spite of following a path of Buddhism, he never quite felt that he was searching for anything beyond Judaism. This was clear from the numerous references in his discography to the wider Biblical and Rabbinic works. For example, Suzanne, Cohen’s first hit, spoke of the imagery of the most famous Jew, Jesus. In other works, he spoke of Samson and David in his most-covered song Hallelujah. This song is an explicit apropos to the Psalms, which traditionally are songs ascribed to King David himself. I cannot read the lyrics without humming the tune…

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor falls, the major lifts
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

In my home synagogue, this Hallelujah tune is used as the base melody for the Chazan’s repetition of the Kedushah in the Amidah. The power of the lyrics in Cohen’s rendition are as touching as they are emphatic. They encourage some depth of spiritual attachment, that builds until the crescendo of the final hallelujah – and in those recitations of the Kedushah I feel closest to that soulful connection.

Leonard Cohen was a Canadian songwriter, born in the 1930s and died in 2016, who was foremost a poet and latterly a songwriter and singer who found fame in exploring his faith through the lenses of isolation and depression and at the twilight of his career – mortality. He observed Shabbat, a rare thing for a famous Jewish performer, even rarer still when he performed for Israeli troops during a tour at the time of the Yom Kippur War in 1973. 

I mentioned that Leonard Cohen followed a path of Buddhism, however in a 2007 interview for BBC Radio 4’s Front Row show, Mr Cohen said the following, when speaking about his relationship with his faith and religion:

“My friend Brian Johnson said of me that I’d never met a religion I didn’t like. That’s why I’ve tried to correct that impression [that I was looking for another religion besides Judaism] because I very much feel part of that tradition and I practice that and my children practice it, so that was never in question. The investigations that I’ve don into other spiritual systems have certainly illuminated and enriched my understanding of my own tradition.”

I referred to Yom Kippur as a muse in the title of this article. I will explain. Two of Cohen’s most famous songs pull their lyrics and/or their messages directly from prayers recited over Yom Kippur. Who By Fire is an adaptation of the Unetaneh Tokef prayer, exploring the narrative of G-d’s omnipotence and meting out of justice for the coming year. The prayer follows the same pattern, with the first line a direct linguistic translation. The rest follows with some same stylistic changes, as is common for translations:

And who by fire, who by water
who in the sunshine, who in the nighttime
who by high ordeal, who by common trial
who in your merry, merry month of May
who by very slow decay
and who shall I say is calling?

If nothing else, it is clear that through Cohen’s own life struggles, he found some meaning in the record of this prayer, to the extent that he could think of no better expression than the works of rabbonim years ago.

The song that makes me shiver most in Cohen’s catalogue is one of Cohen’s last releases – You Want It Darker. The message here feels similar to Johnny Cash’s cover of Hurt, the language befitting a mourner, someone whose pain runs so deep that it almost transcends their being. The feeling that when you try to describe it to anyone else, the gist can be expressed but the entire vastness of emotion can’t be limited to words alone. This song of Cohen’s pulls influences from both Hineni (the Chazan’s prayer) and Kaddish (a sanctification prayer, recited both by the leader and mourners at different junctures of services).

This song weighs heavily on me, as each time I hear the words, I am reminded of the juxtaposition of people who lived and their oncoming deaths. Cohen wrote this song in the position of his own preparations for death. The Hineni chorus, meaning “here I am” exemplifies the stand-off between the Kaddish references that refer to mourning following someone else’s death and the ready acceptance of those about to be judged, or in more extreme cases.

Magnified, sanctified be thy holy name
Vilified, crucified in the human frame
A million candles burning for a help that never came
You want it darker; we kill the flame.

 Where, in history, Jews about to die, are often quoted to say the Shema, as they feel their final moments upon them, I feel like the Hineni prayer is almost more applicable. Whilst not the catchiest, or most well known in its entirety, Hineni is the word Abraham (the first prophet) used to signal to G-d that he was ready to fulfil his devotion, and sacrifice Isaac. It is a word that I associate the darkest of times, but also acceptance – two feelings that I think Cohen must have been feeling at the point in his life when he was remarking on death.

Inasmuch as anything else, Leonard Cohen sought comfort during his life and career, a search that found him put forth and deliver an incredible discography that explored the mires of a man’s struggle through life.

This last song in his record, was in fact an inspiration to me during the Covid pandemic, when so many people – old and young – were living in fear of the Covid plague. It felt like a modern-day biblical event – a sort of damnation humanity wasn’t really ready for. As sickening as that idea is, You Want It Darker, Yom Kippur and that fear, drove me to write poem after poem where I tried to encapsulate all this bottled-up feeling. It was not something that came to me easily, but in the end, I truly felt like I was doing teshuvah in the most real way I had ever done.