We can’t let the endless Oy Veys drown out the part of our identity that is joyous, creative and alive, which is why I agreed to become the chair of JMI
December 4, 2025 14:46
Jewish comedians have a line for everything, but my favourite is the one about Jewish music: “We gave the world melody, and in return they asked if we could keep it down.” It always makes me laugh because it captures something instantly familiar: so much of the noise around being Jewish; the commentary, the crises, the endless Oy Veys, drowns out the part of our identity that is joyous, creative and alive. The part that reminds us who we are at our best. And nothing expresses that better than Jewish music.
So when I was asked to become Chair of the Jewish Music Institute (JMI), I did what any self-respecting Jew with far too much on their plate would do: I tried to dodge it. “I’m too busy,” “I’m overcommitted,” “I can’t take another inbox” – the usual repertoire. But I’d also been feeling worn down by the endless Oy Veying of Jewish life, as if our whole identity had slipped into that familiar routine where no Jews means no news.
Then I met Na’ama Zisser, JMI’s Artistic Director, whose journey from strictly Orthodox Bnei Brak to shaping the future of Jewish music in Britain is enough to make Elijah put down his cup and take notes, and suddenly the whole thing made sense. It felt suspiciously like Hashem using her as the messenger, a sort of cultural Seder night hint: “You’ve asked four questions, here’s your answer.” And just like that, it didn’t feel like another responsibility, it felt like something true tapping me on the shoulder.
It’s easy, understandably easy, to become consumed by the darker side of being Jewish. You don’t need me to enumerate the reasons. The atmosphere, the mutterings, the strange experience of being a tiny community apparently controlling everything while barely managing to control our own synagogue booking systems. People taking down mezuzahs, tucking in Magen Davids, moving through the world slightly folded in on themselves. Fear, when repeated enough, becomes a posture.
But there's another story, older and richer. Jewish music is the sound of a people who refused, across millennia, to disappear. It’s muscular culture: confident, curious, unafraid. It builds bridges where words fail. It carries loss, yes, but also mischief, scholarship, longing, delight and the stubborn belief that beauty has moral force. You can hear entire histories in a single phrase –exile, homecoming, yearning, resilience – often with a joke smuggled somewhere inside the clarinet line.
Most importantly, Jewish music has always offered something outward. It doesn’t ask the world to understand us first, it invites the world in. It is culture as hospitality. And there is something profoundly healing about that right now. When so many forces attempt to flatten Jews into symbols or threats, culture restores our humanity, our complexity, our humour. It reminds us that we’re not just responding to history, we’re contributing to it.
There is also, for me, something about pride. You will know the spirit I mean: when LGBTQ+ communities were attacked, their answer was Pride, not hiding but marching; not shrinking but shining. We’re here. There is something in that for us too. A Jewish pride that isn’t roaring or defensive, but confident. We are here. We are Jewish. And this; this music, this culture, this civilisation is what we give the world. We aren’t going anywhere.
Which is precisely why I agreed to take on this role at JMI. Because it stands for a version of Jewish life that lifts, connects, builds and enlarges. For more than 40 years JMI has brought the full spectrum of Jewish sound to Britain, Klezmer and classical, Sephardi and Mizrahi, cantorial and contemporary, youth big bands and conservatoire-level scholarships. It preserves what survived the Shoah and cultivates what comes next. It protects, teaches, commissions and welcomes.
This year, JMI is expanding its programmes, investing in young musicians, commissioning new work and preserving endangered musical archives. We’re imagining a Jewish music festival programme with the full breadth of our sound: Klezmer beside Ladino, big band beside baroque, electronic experimentation alongside synagogue chant. That range isn’t a quirk, it’s the expression of a civilisation that has learned to flourish everywhere.
And so, the ask, sweet, simple and very much a mitzvah. Go online and join JMI. Don’t stand outside the tent listening in. Be part of the thing itself. You don’t have to be Jewish, musical or brave enough to attempt a harmony; you just have to care about the kind of culture this country deserves. Membership isn’t about obligations or tote bags. It’s about standing with something beautiful and saying: this matters. It’s about helping the next generation inherit more than anxiety. It’s about showing up for Jewish creativity in a moment when presence itself is an act of courage.
So join us. Add your name. Add your voice. Help keep this music alive, audible and abundant. Because the world, and certainly Britain, becomes richer, brighter and infinitely more joyful when Jewish music is playing.
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