Yossele Rosenblatt was born on May 2nd 1882 in Biela Tserkov, in the Ukraine. He came from a long line of Chazanim and his father was a cantor in Kiev.

Yossele sang from a very early age. He became a member of his father's choir and was soon declared to be a 'wunderkind.'

At 18 Yossele married and soon after accepted the position of Cantor at Muncaz in Hungary. This position he obtained against the competition of 40 other Chazanim.

From there he went to Pressburg, where he officiated for five years and during this period, he began to publish his numerous synagogal compositions.

He then stayed for six years in Hamburg and, according to his account, tried to run away to America. However he was 'overtaken on the steamer and brought back like a criminal.'

When he eventually did arrive in the States in 1912, he was immediately engaged by the Congregation Ohab Zedek in New York and his fame soon grew. He recorded for various phonograph companies and this undoubtedly was influential in ensuring that his name spread all over the country.

After appearing in a particularly successful concert in Chicago, Yossele was offered $1000 per night to sing in opera. However, so great was his love for Yiddishkeit, that he turned it down.

In 1922 he was persuaded to enter into a business deal that left him bankrupt. This forced him to give up the pulpit and concentrate on concertising, in which there was the opportunity for him to make much larger sums of money, and so he made extensive tours, including coming to Europe.

In 1927 Warner Brothers offered Rosenblatt $100,000 to co-star with Al Jolson in 'The Jazz Singer,' but they could not persuade him to sing Kol Nidrei. He felt that it was much too sacred to be used as entertainment.

In 1928 he was engaged by the Anshei Sfard Congregation in Brooklyn and was paid $12,000 a year, the highest salary paid at that time to any Cantor.

Rosenblatt was delighted to be offered the chance to film in the Holy Land by the Palestine-American Fox Film Co. Although he was earning a good salary, he was still paying off the debts of his bankruptcy and, when he arrived in Palestine, in 1933 , he was virtually penniless.

Sadly, on June 19th 1933 he was stricken by a heart-attack at the age of only 51. His funeral  service was conducted by Chief Rabbi Kook and attended by more than 20,000 people.

Rosenblatt recorded about 180 compositions, most of which were his own.

top

To begin, let me give you a short history of the cantorial art.

The first Jewish place of worship was the Holy Temple, in which the chief functions of the Levites were choral singing and orchestral music. This music was used to complement the sacrificial services by the Priests, the descendants of Aaron. After the Temple's destruction by the Romans, intruments were no longer permitted to be used for Jewish worship. After this ruling was put into effect, the role of the synagogue singer became more important, for his art was needed to enliven the prayers, and to bring the worshippers to the proper state of exaltation. Unfortunately, most of these early cantors had no knowledge of musical notation; therefore, many fine compositions have been lost forever.

Synagogue music, as we know it today, is a direct descendant of Chassidic music, which had been written as early as the eighteenth century A.D. (see note below) These melodies have been passed on virtually unimpaired, from generation to generation, and are the basis of the music that is sung by our cantors.

Each city or town in Eastern Europe, regardless of size, had in its employ a full time cantor. The more affluent congregations had more than one cantor, referring to the chief-cantor as the Oberkantor, and the secondary one was known as the Unterkantor. The Oberkantor would sing the more intricate solos, leaving the less important singing to the Unterkantor.
 
During the twentieth century, the persecution of the Jews in Eastern Europe brought many Jewish people to America. When the majority of a town or a congregation would emigrate to the Western world, their cantor would settle in the same location. Thus, an influx of cantors to America brought together some of the finest voices in the world, voices which had never before been heard outside of their own communities. A select few of these cantors, such as Rosenblatt and Sirota, gave concerts in major halls, singing classical vocal works, as well as their liturgical compositions. It was through Josef Rosenblatt, whose voice impressed such musical connoisseurs as Cleofonte Campanini, that the art of the cantor was brought to the attention of the "outside world". What Caruso was to the operatic world, Rosenblatt was to the world of the synagogue precentor, and the reutations of both were founded on solid ground.

In 1918 there appears an interview of Rosenblatt in which he tells his life story. I have reprinted that article (in excerpt):

"My father, a descendant of a long line of 'chasanim' (cantors and rabbis, was a cantor in Kiev. I was born at Biela Tserkov, Province of Kiev, May 2, 1882. A year after my advent upon earth, one day while rehearsing the choir, my father was disturbed by a voice that yelled louder than the fourteen voices of the choir in a fortissimo. Opening the bedroom door he found baby Rosenblatt in the cradle shrieking his lungs away. There and then father prophesied that baby would be a cantor in a great synagogue one day. Mother used to tell me when I had grown to manhood that at the age of four I put on father's skull cap and 'talus' (shawl for prayer) and imitated father sounding his pitchfork by striking a dinner fork between my teeth and holding it to my ear. Then I started to sing father's 'L'cho Dodi' (from the Friday evening service) so loudly that all the neighbours gathered at our windows. From that time on I became a member of father's choir. At the age of seven I toured in concert all over Hungary, Bukowina and Galicia. Dr. Block of Vienna called me a wonder child when I was nine. He offered to have me presented to the Austrian Emperor, but father declined the honour. He was afraid that the emperor might want to educate me for the opera, while he had made up his mind that I was to follow in father's footsteps.
 
"Shortly after that father died suddenly. Thus the charge of providing for the family fell upon my shoulders when I was but a lad of twelve. My brother Levi, who is today a popular cantor in Hungary, travelled together with me concertising as the 'Boys Chazanim', and we aroused a great deal of curiosity and enthusiasm wherever we came. We earned considerable sums of money, which afforded me an opportunity to study music as well as the Talmud.

"At fourteen I tried my hand at composition. Some of my works became so popular that even old 'chasanim' of repute adopted them. My light soprano voice changed to robust tenor when I reached my sixteenth year, and I had grown quite tall for my age. In reality I had already all the necessary qualifications to accept a position as cantor except one. It was against the tenets of the orthodox faith (it is even now with some old-fashioned congregations) to have a single man fill that holy vocation. Before long the 'Shadchen' (marriage broker) bestirred himself and I was married to a rabbi's daughter at Cracow, when I was eighteen (the age prescribed by the Jewish religion). A vacancy soon occurred at Muncacz, Hungary, where forty 'chasanim' competed for the position in question. I came out the victor. After eleven months of cantorship at Muncacz I was kidnapped by the Pressburg Congregation, where I officiated for five years. During that time I composed 150 synagogal works which were published in one volume named 'Songs of Josef'. The latter became the standard works used by the 'chasanim' all over Europe. I became known as 'Yossele Pressburger' (Yossele is the pet name for Josef). My next engagement was at the Israeliten Synagogen Verband, the largest congregation in Hamburg, where I stayed six years. At my twenty-fifth birthday I wrote twenty-five sacred recitatives, which were published and named 'Prayers of Josef'. At that time I dedicated a prayer to the eightieth birthday of the late Emperor Franz Joseph, for which I received an autographed letter from the Austrian ruler.

"From Hamburg the call came to America. But the Hamburg congregation was unwilling to let me go. Having made up my mind to be heard by my co-religionists in the land of the free, I one day stole away. But I was overtaken on the steamer and brought back like a criminal. Soon I made another attempt at running away. This time I succeeded and landed in New York. First I had a three-year contract with my present congregation, the Ohab Zedek. Subsequently the contract was renewed and extended to five years.
 
"Here my popularity and fame as a 'chasan' spread rapidly and I have endeared myself to my congregation as well as to my co-religionists in general. 'Rabbi Yossele' is the only name they know me by. Rosenblatt had almost ceased to exist. Then came my five-year contract with the Columbia Phonograph Company, which no doubt proved a great factor in heralding my name all over the country.
 
"My next opportunity came when the Central Relief Committee invited me to sing on behalf of the Jewish War Sufferers. It was at one of these relief concerts in Chicago, on March 17 of this year, that Mr. Campanini was one of the 4,000 persons who packed the Auditorium. I never imagined at the time that this concert was destined to bring me so rapidly into the limelight. When Mr. Campanini heard me in my own 'Omar Rabbi Elosor' ('Thus Spoke Elosor') he became so enraptured with my singing that he immediately made me the offer of $1,000 per night to sing with his opera company. 'Omar Rabbi Elosor' affords me full play of my coloratura and is indeed a very difficult composition.
 
"I must candidly admit that when Mr. Campanini made me the offer the temptation was really strong. The cantor of the past and the opera-star of the future waged a fierce struggle within me. I almost yielded to the temptation, when suddenly a voice whispered into my ears; 'Yossele, don't do it! Use your voice to serve your God and your people.' I mustered all the courage that my pious training was capable of producing, and hence my firm decision.

"The great impressario had impressed me so profoundly with his deep sincerity and consideration for my religious sentiments that I did not have the heart to turn him dnwn Therefore I had to refer him to my congregation. Their answer was a foregone conclusion to me. I knew just what my singing meant to them and I could not think of breaking faith with them. Some time ago another wealthy congregation offered me $6,000 to sing on the three most sacred holidays, but I did not even entertain the proposition. As for giving up my sacred vocation for an operatic career - never, not for millions!"

 
Up to this point, Rosenblatt's career had been continually in the ascendance. However, in 1922, he made a business investment that was destined to change his life. He was inveigled to back financially a Jewish weekly periodical entitled "The Light of Israel". which eventually led Rosenblatt to bankruptcy. He then resigned his position as cantor in order to earn money on the concert stage to meet his debts, which had risen to over $190,000. In 1923 Rosenblatt made an extensive concert tour in almost every European country. At the beginning of 1925, when he found himself compelled to enter vaudeville, he reached at once the position of a first-class box office attraction.
In 1927, Warner Brothers offered Rosenblatt the sum of $100,000 to co-star with Al Jolson in their pioneer talking picture "The Jazz Singer". They could not, however, persuade him to profane what he considered sacred, by singing "Kol Nidre", the haunting Hebrew prayer inaugurating the services of the Jewish Day of Atonement, for the screen. So they had to content themselves with the use of a minor non-religious Jewish melody.

1928 brought Rosenblatt a salary of $12,000 a year from the Anshei Sfard Congregation of Brooklyn, which was a new high in cantorial remuneration. This year also meant another European tour, and the following year, South America. During 1929 the Anshei Sfard Congregation could no longer pay him his salary, so he once again returned to the Ohav Zedek Synagogue, at the annual salary of $9,000, which was terminated in the spring of 1930.

There was, however, one dream that was to be partially, at least, fulfilled. That was the wish that his last pulpit might be in the Land of Israel. This opportunity presented itself when the Palestine-American Fox Film Company invited Rosenblatt to take the principal part in the first sound travelogue to be produced in the Holy Land. He arrived in Palestine, almost penniless, with the hope that he could obtain a new congregation, for money lasts much longer there. But alas, the strain was too much for him, and he succumbed to a fatal heart attack on June 19, 1933 in Jerusalem, at the premature age of fifty-one. The following day, the funeral, which was conducted by Chief Rabbi Kook, was the largest ever held in Israel, with 20,000 persons attending.
 
Though thirty-nine years have rolled by since then, his golden tenor voice and artistry are still remembered with deep nostalgia by those who had heard him sing and with veneration by the thousands who benefited by his love of fellowman and by countless others, who, though they may never have seen him in person, know him from his recordings.

Too many of our cantors would have liked to become opera singers. They are compelled to remain cantors because the opera doesn't want them. Josef Rosenblatt was one cantor who might, had he wished it, have become an opera singer. But he preferred to remain a cantor.

There has been a rumour for some years that Rosenblatt recorded for the Edison Company in Vienna, during the summer of 1905. To date, there has been no trace of them whatsoever. The 'Vertical Cut Cylinders and Discs" catalogue lists no Edisons having been made during that year in Vienna! In addition to this, indications are that in deference to his position as Oberkantor of Presburg, Rosenblatt probably did not record during the years 1901 to 1906. Dr. Rosenblatt explained to the author that his source for thinking that his father made the aforementioned cylinders comes from the memoirs of his brother, Leo, who travelled with his father on all concert tours. It is entirely possible that he meant to say 'Odeon' instead of 'Edison'. Since there was no mention of the Rosenblatt Odeons in Dr. Rosenblatt's biography of his father, we can safely assume that he was indeed referring to the Odeons instead of Edison recordings.

 (Note: This is what Mr Greenberger wrote. Needless-to-say there is overwhelming evidence that this statement is entirely incorrect!)

top