Today, being his 10th yahrtzeit, Chazan David Werdyger is being recalled for his tremendous warmth, enthusiasm for life, his passion for excellence, his ever-present simchas hachaim and, of course, his illustrious musical talent that forever changed the face of Jewish music.
A legendary chazan and singer and the founder of the Aderet music label, Werdyger was the scion of one of todayâs most prolific music families and was the father of yblchât Mordechai ben David and grandfather of singers Yeedle and Yisroel Werdyger.
Dovid Werdyger was born in Poland in 1919, the youngest of the eight children of Râ Yisroel Aryeh and Gittel Werdyger. His considerable musical talent was evident by the time he was four years old, and by the time he turned six, he had already earned a position as a soloist in the Eizik Yeikeles Shul in Krakow.
With music being an integral component of the Gerrer chassidus, and hailing from a Gerrer family known for its musical prowess, Werdyger grew up in a culture of song and in his memoir âSongs of Hope,â he described how as a young boy, he could sing an entire niggun after hearing it only twice, often going to cheder the next day and teaching the new niggun to both his classmates and the melamed.
Six-year-old Dovid first caught the eye of legendary song-master Yankel Talmud during his first visit to the Rebbe, when the youngster joined in the singing at the Rebbeâs tish. Several years later, on a visit to Krakow, Talmud invited him to be part of the Yomim Noraim Kapelye choir for the holy Imrei Emes of Ger.
After being evicted by the Nazis from Krakow in 1940, Werdyger lived in several different locations, going into hiding twice to escape deportation, before ultimately being discovered by the SS and sent on a death march to the Plaszow extermination camp.
The following story, adapted from Râ Dovidâs memoir, describes the miraculous incident that saved him from certain death (Songs of Hope, as part of the Holocaust Diaries series published by CIS Publishers, 1993):
Our column of condemned Jews marched in the direction of the Plaszow [near Krakow, see also here] extermination camp, each step bringing us closer to the jaws of death. As I trudged along with my brother-in-law Hersch Leib Geldwerth, I clasped his hand tightly; the leaden sky matched our sullen mood.
“Mir gehn yetzt oif Kiddush Hashem,â Hersch Leib whispered. “We are going to offer our lives to sanctify the Name of Hashem. Up in Gan Eden, the tzaddikim are preparing to welcome us. We’ll have the best seats at the magnificent Tish presided over by Moshe Rabbeinu, Aharon HaKohen and the three Avos, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. The Chiddushei HaRim and the Sfas Emes [first and second Gerer Rebbes] will be there to receive us with open arms, and they will give you the honor of singing the Gerer Yedid Nefesh. You remember the verse, ‘Ki zeh kama nichsof nichsafti . . . Because it is so very long that I have yearned to see the splendor of Your strength.’ Today it will come true. You will see the sweet radiance of the Shechinah.” He choked, trying to hold back his tears.
“Letâs prepare ourselves and say Vidui. I can see the Plaszow gate in the distance, and I don’t know how much time we have.”
His words lifted my spirits. Suddenly, I did not fear death any longer. A better world awaited me. All the beautiful niggunim of Ger echoed in my mind, and I saw myself again as a little boy singing in the choir on Rosh Hashanah.
“Kâvakoras roeh edro… [like a shepherd who tends his flock].” The solo I had sung on that memorable Yom Tov echoed in my ears, the words of the tefilla so appropriate to our situation. “Who will live and who will die, who by water and who by fire, who by the sword and who by the beast, who by famine and who by thirst….”
Moved by the memory of the hauntingly beautiful melody, tears came to my eyes. I was overcome by mixed emotions, faced with the prospect of certain death, yet knowing that like Yitzchak Avinu, I was going to my Akeida al Kiddush Hashem.
As we marched, the holy niggunim that were so familiar to me rang in my ears. The solemn melody of Kâvakoras Roeh was followed by the rousing ‘Ein Kitzva Lishnosecha – there is no limit to Your years.’ It was an exuberant marching niggun, and I found myself keeping step with the beat of the tune.
When I came to the words, “vâkadeish es Shimcha al makdishei Shemecha, Sanctify Your Name through those who sanctify Your Name,” I was shaken. How fitting this phrase was for our group of condemned prisoners.
As we neared the Plaszow death camp, the main gate swung open. In this camp, thirty thousand Jewish inmates were dying a slow death, but we quickly realized that for us, a swift end loomed ahead. In the central square, a firing squad was in readiness, their machine guns in place, and in the rear, several trucks were waiting to haul away the bodies.
At the gate, our column was ordered to halt.
“Sturmbannfuehrer Goeth, the SS Lager commandant, is coming.” The ominous news spread through the column. The mere mention of Kommandant Goeth sent shivers up the spine of every inmate of Plaszow. A typically coarse, vile German, he was the embodiment of evil.
He approached us slowly, his steely blue eyes devoid of any human emotion, his thin, cruel lips pursed tightly together. He was wearing the green uniform of the Waffen SS, and a Luger handgun dangled casually from his belt. In his right hand, he held a black wooden cane.
“Hashem Roâi, lo echsar,” I whispered feverishly. “Hashem is my Shepherd, I lack nothing. Gam ki eileich bâgei tzalmaves, lo ira ra. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no harm, for You are with me” (Tehillim 23:1-4).
“Achtung! Halt!” the command rang out.
Our column came to an abrupt stop, and one by one, we filed past the commandant. Motioning with his cane, he directed most of us toward the square where the machine guns were set up.
Soon it was my turn, and I tried to look confident as I met Goeth’s stare.
“Vos ist dein beruf?” Goeth asked. “What kind of work do you do?”
“Ich bin saenger von beruf, Herr Kommandant,” I replied straightforwardly, standing sharply at attention. “I am a professional singer, and I have a trained soprano voice. Would you like to hear something?”
Goeth was taken aback. He hesitated for an instant.
“So zing doch mal den Juedischen totengesang,” he said, as a diabolical smile spread across his face. “Sing the song you Jews chant when you bury your dead.” He was obviously very amused at the thought of my singing the memorial chant for those who were about to die.
The weather was cold, the sky was grey, about 200 of us, standing, shivering, not knowing what the next moment would bring.…
I took a deep breath and began to sing, knowing that my fate depended on the quality of my performance. Hashem was with me, and suddenly, I felt like a thousand malachim were standing behind me, lending my voice new resonance and strength.
“Keil maleh rachamim⌔ I began slowly and hesitantly, terror gripping my heart. “Oh, L-rd full of mercy, Who dwells on high. . .” I closed my eyes and concentrated on the meaning of each sacred word of the tefillah. Hamtzei menucha nechona al kanfei HaShechina… Grant proper rest on the wings of the Divine Presence to the souls of the martyrs and the pure ones who were killed, murdered and slaughtered for the sanctification of the Name…”
Seized with emotion, I sang with a vibrancy and fullness I did not know I possessed. Never before had I felt the meaning of a tefillah with such immediacy.
The world stood still. Birds stopped flying, chimneys didnât smoke, trains came to a halt and there was a unique stillness, one which I have never experienced before or since.
“Bâgan Eden tâhei menuchasam, veyanuchu bâshalom al mishkevoseihem. May their resting place be in the Garden of Eden, and may they repose in peace in their resting places⌔ I threw all my might into the last verse, concluding with a thunderous, “Vânomar Amen.”
As one, the prisoners standing nearby responded softly, “Amen.”
There was a moment of absolute silence as the Kommandant stared at me, transfixed. At that moment, I believe that a small spark of humanity, hidden under an impenetrably hard shell of depravity and malevolence, was aroused by my singing.
“Geh ins lager [go into the camp],” he said hoarsely, and with an abrupt gesture of his cane, he directed me toward the Plaszow camp, saving me from immediate execution.
Keil malei rachamim. Hashem, in His abundant mercy, had saved me from certain death.
I was among the forty men who had professions that were deemed useful enough for them to be sent to the Plaszow camp. The remaining hundred and forty prisoners, or so – among whom was my brother-in-law Hersch Leib Geldwerth – were led to the square, and within moments, they were machine-gunned to death. May Hashem avenge their blood and the blood of all the Kedoshim.
Râ Dovid spent five months at Plaszow and was eventually transferred to a nearby camp where he worked at a factory under the direction of Oskar Schindler, giving Werdyger a brief reprieve from the horrors of the war. He also spent time in the Mauthausen-Gusen concentration camp and the Linz labor camp, where he was liberated on Shabbos, May 5, 1945.
Following liberation, Werdyger married his first wife, Malka, first settling in Paris and then relocating to America in 1950. The couple had four sons, Yisroel Aryeh, Mordechai, Chaim and Mendy, and Werdyger found work both as a chazan and in his new business, Werdyger Travel.
It was while he was serving as a chazan in the shul of Rabbi Jacob J. Hecht that the seeds of Werdygerâs musical career began to bloom in earnest, with Rabbi Hecht advising him to record an album. Werdygerâs first record, Tefillah LâDovid, was released in 1959 and completely sold out. Tefillah LâDovid was followed by a second record a year later entitled LâDovid Mizmor.
Râ Dovid then created his own record label, Aderet Music, and as the years went by, more and more albums followed (30 in all!), with Werdyger recording various niggunim from many different chassidic dynasties – Bobov, Boyan, Skulen, Satmer, Sadigur, Melitz, Radomsk, and of course Ger – using the music of the alter heim to build a permanent bridge to life in America.
On the night of September 28, 1997, seventy-thousand people were linked together by satellite and they celebrated the completion of a seven-and-a-half-year Daf HaYomi study cycle. For the tenth time in recent history, the Jewish people concluded the last page of the Gemara and began again the first.
Before the thousands assembled at Madison Square Garden, Reb Dovid Werdyger intoned the Keil Malei Rachamim on behalf of kedoshei Churban Europa. In his memoirs, Werdyger describes this moment as being one of the high points of his life, noting the stark contrast between this joyous moment and singing the very same words at the Plaszow death camp.
âHashem performed countless miracles to bring me from the valley of death in Plaszow to the summit of fulfillment at the Siyum Hashas,â wrote Werdyger. âA never-ending stream of chasdei Hashem has accompanied me every step of the way.â
While there are many well-known niggunim that he composed, for todayâs song choice, I decided to go with a song that was arguably his most famous recording. Although it was not his own tune, Lo Seivoshi is just one of the many treasured songs that David Werdyger chose to gift Klal Yisroel, but has become the song that is most associated with his signature vocal flair. Composed by Râ Yaakov Dov (Yankel) Talmud, this marvelous melody was first recorded on Songs of the Gerer Chasidim Vol. 2 in 1962.
Lo seivoishi vâlo sikolmi – Do not be ashamed, do not be humiliated, we ask Hakadosh Baruch Hu to rebuild Yerushalayim. Commentaries explain that this is being addressed to Yerushalayim with a question: Ma tishtochachi uâmah tehemi – why are you forsaken? Why do you cry? You are aware that in the very near future, Boch yechesu aniyei ami – poor survivors among us will find shelter within your boundaries, Vânivnisah ir al tilah – and you will be rebuilt as you were in the previous years! Continues the paytan, those who trampled you will be trampled, those who attempted to devour you will be cast far away!
This was a large part of the message that Reb Dovid Werdyger used his voice to convey – a voice to which there is no comparison to its beauty and unforgettable melodious sound. The great chazan mesmerized those fortunate to hear him, and continues to carry us in his role as shliach tzibbur, leading us through our tefilos and zemiros ad biâas goel tzedek, bimheira vâyameinu.
ר’ ×××ר ××× ×׌×ק הר ×׊ר×× ×ר××
Yehi Zichro Baruch – may R’ Dovid’s memory be a blessing and may his neshoma have a heavenly Aliyah.
0 Comments