Music of David Eisenstadt

The Great Synagogue on Tłomackie Street in Warsaw was officially opened on Rosh Hashanah in 1878. It became the center of Jewish life in the city and one of the most beautiful buildings constructed in Poland in the late 19th century. The synagogue also earned a place in history for the music resounding within it. The most distinguished cantors of the time served there. There was also a choir led by distinguished directors and singing to the accompaniment of the organ or harmonium. The Great Synagogue on Tłomackie Street was blown up by the Germans on May 16, 1943, symbolically marking the suppression of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising and the razing of the Jewish quarter. The musical tradition has not returned to this place to this day.

A seasoned musician, composer and arranger, conductor and educator, music writer, and author of a popular Jewish music encyclopedia – this is how Professor Marian Fuks described David Eisenstadt, who in his books described not only the activities of the Great Synagogue on Tłomackie Street in Warsaw under his direction, but also his personal memories of their performances.

David Eisenstadt went down in history as one of the most distinguished representatives of choral art in Poland. The most famous musicians of the time came to hear his ensemble perform both during liturgies and secular concerts. In private, Eisenstadt was described as a volatile man – emotional, joyful, mysterious, mystical, and nonconformist. While working with the choir, he was reportedly meticulous, attentive to proper breathing, the richness of sound, diction, and the perfection of performances.

As we read about David Eisenstadt and his life's journey—from small Nasielsk, through Riga, Vilnius, Rostov, and Berlin, to his ultimate fame in Warsaw—we awoke a desire, and then a dream, to hear his music again. In every book, every article, every memoir, he was presented as the most accomplished Jewish artist of pre-war Poland. And his music? It was nowhere to be found in our country. It seemed that with the destruction of the Warsaw Ghetto by German troops and the deaths of the Eisenstadt family—his daughter at the Umschlagplatz, and David and his wife in the German Nazi concentration camp Treblinka—these sounds had been lost to us forever.

And yet, after diligently searching through archives on three continents, we once again picked up his music. We once again heard prayer songs, exquisite recitatives, and the song "And How the King Went to War," written to the words of Maria Konopnicka, one of Poland's most distinguished writers. Today, when they returned in the form of the first-ever recording, memories of David Eisenstadt found not only their complement but also their confirmation.

In the 20th century, countless things were destroyed, erased, and wiped from the face of the earth. Today we demonstrate that they can be rebuilt, remembered, and resurrected. As we entered the 21st century, it seemed that nothing like war would ever happen again. And yet, before our eyes, people are once again dying, cities are being destroyed, and heritage is turning to dust. By presenting Eisenstadt's music, we demonstrate that rebirth is possible. For every person who destroys something, there should be someone who rebuilds something. Destruction, no matter who or what, cannot prevail. We hope that people will remember this in the centuries to come.