Guest Editorial:
To say that Klezmer is the music of the East European Jews is to boil a thriving and soulful genre down to the mundane. Klezmer—or, just as apt a term: “Yiddish music”—began to develop at least 500 years ago among the population of Jews who migrated from western and central Europe towards the east, especially into the fledgling Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth. Performed by a professional caste of musicians, klezmer served as the sound track to many important events, from religious holidays to weddings and brises (circumcisions), accentuating the celebrations of the most important occasions in Jewish life.
With the Holocaust and the near-complete destruction of European Jewry, North America became the center of klezmer performance. Yiddish music had an American heyday with the great Ashkenazi immigration from the late 19th century on. But popular enjoyment and even awareness of the genre dwindled during the Great Depression and, with Jewish assimilation, throughout the 1940s and 1950s. However, the post-war generation, bent on discovering its roots, revived and revitalized klezmer starting in the mid-1970s. From then on, it has once again become a vibrant musical expression in many parts of the world.
One remarkable thing about this resurgence of klezmer is Western musicians’ rediscovery of the European roots of the music and, filling out that exploration, an ongoing collaboration between Western performers and a growing number of musicians living in the very places where klezmer arose. One such place is Kharkiv, in the eastern part of Ukraine. The following essay describes the moment of one American musician’s encounter with a great klezmer clarinetist and all-around performer, Gennady Fomin.
—Peter Lippman
In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing.
About the dark times.
--Brecht
Gennady Fomin
While in Kharkiv last fall, I looked up the prominent klezmer clarinetist Gennady Fomin. As an old klezmer musician myself, I was eager to meet the man. Gennady and his wife, Margarita, met me at a neighborhood coffee house called “Pakufuda,” where we talked about our families, our lives, and our music. At times Gennady, in the heat of the conversation, would break into scat singing when words were not enough to make a musical point.
I was visiting Ukraine in solidarity with that country under attack, to witness the impact of Russia’s assault. I traveled as far east as the city of Kharkiv. At the outset of the full-scale invasion in the spring of 2022, most of the Kharkiv region was occupied by Russian forces. The city was not taken over, but it was subject to fierce bombardment. Ukrainian forces liberated most of the Kharkiv region between May and December of 2022, but stark traces of the bombing remained visible at the time of my visit.
Meeting a fellow klezmer musician fit within my goal of talking to as many people as I could, from any part of society, to learn about the lives of ordinary Ukrainians in wartime.
I started our conversation by proclaiming, “The klezmorim of the West Coast of the United States send their friendly greetings!” We launched into mutual introductions, describing our musical backgrounds and other details of our lives.
In the last few decades—especially since the fall of the Berlin Wall—klezmer musicians from North America and Europe have participated in a variety of festivals and camps from Weimar to Moscow. Many of the klezmorim have met Gennady Fomin at one or another of these festivals. He has a reputation as a talented and prolific musician with his own irrepressible style. The past nine years since Russia’s 2014 invasion of Ukraine have not been easy on musicians, but Gennady continues to make his mark in the world of klezmer, and to bring light to his audience.
In 1999, after participating in a Yiddish music festival in Kyiv, Gennady was inspired to play klezmer music. He had met Frank London, star trumpeter of the Klezmatics, at the festival. As Gennady put it, their collaboration changed his musical life. Soon after, he started the Kharkiv Klezmer Band, which lasted until the 2022 start of Russia’s full-scale invasion.
I asked Gennady what kind of music he had played before he became involved in klezmer, and he said, “I was trained at the conservatory. Then, I played 600 weddings. There are two kinds of musicians: those who play according to sheet music, and those who play according to the wedding.” I responded that I was with the second type, that it was not my preference to use sheet music either. Gennady said, “Written music just spoils the relationship between the musician and the music.” With this agreement, we had already achieved a rapport.
I asked whether the Kharkiv band was still in existence. No, Gennady said that, unfortunately, his old band has dispersed to the four directions. His solo singer is in New York; one instrumentalist is in Israel, another in Germany, and another in the military. I commented that “24 years is a long time for a band to exist; there’s only one Rolling Stones.” Gennady performs with smaller ensembles now.
Gennady has played many concerts in Europe, performing in 29 countries. He mentioned that he had recently been invited to travel to Washington, DC to perform at a large benefit concert for Ukraine’s defense but that, as a male under 60 years of age, he was barred from leaving the country. Gennady can make a living as a musician; he runs a recording studio, where he creates arrangements. He has recorded compositions that, among others, have been used by the International Olympic Committee.
Gennady told me of another musician who has left for Germany: his daughter, who plays the flute and has also participated in the European klezmer scene. Gennady said that after a missile from a rocket launcher landed in his yard after the 2022 escalation, life felt too dangerous in the city, so he sent her abroad.
Gennady’s wife Margarita told me, “Although we have two musicians in the family, I have nothing to do with music.” She has suffered the economic impact of the war. She runs a manufacturing company, but it was located in the part of Kharkiv oblast (region) that was occupied by Russian forces from the spring of 2022 until they were driven away. When the Russian troops left, they looted her equipment, which set her operation back 20 years. She is now trying to resume production.
War
Gennady described a particularly terrifying moment at the beginning of the spring 2022 invasion: “At one time, there were 100 missiles fired into the northeastern part of the city. It was at night, all in one hour and a half. Between the launch and the landing, the difference is eight seconds. The Russian positions were nine kilometers from the target, and they were using small rocket launchers. They were firing mortars: launch, strike. launch, strike. It was crazy.”
Margarita’s parents live in the same village where her factory was located, and that village, 10 kilometers from the Russian border, was 90% destroyed. While the village was under occupation, Russian forces used her parents’ house as a headquarters. The house was damaged before the greater part of Kharkiv oblast was “de-occupied,” as the locals say, in May of 2022. Now the house is being used by the Ukrainian army. There is still danger, as the Russians are firing rockets into the area. Margarita’s brother, enlisted in a local brigade, was killed in July of the same year.
Kharkiv is the second-largest city in Ukraine; before the 2022 escalation, its population was 2.4 million. At the time of the invasion, throngs of people fled the city, as did millions of people from other parts of Ukraine. They left for safer territory within Ukraine, or they sought refuge abroad. Gennady and Margarita remained in the city. Many people returned to Ukraine after a few months, especially to areas that were no longer under assault. But fewer came back to Kharkiv, whose population is now about a million shy of its pre-invasion number.
Gennady told me the difficult story of his family. His village, close to the Russian border, came under Russian occupation immediately upon the beginning of the invasion and remained so for many months. There was much violence; Russian shells struck the center of the village, and seven people were killed. Gennady’s brother tried to help rescue people and save what could be saved. He was not injured, but the destruction was too much for him to bear. He died from a heart attack soon afterwards.
Gennady’s brother had been taking care of their mother, who was ill. After his death, a neighbor tried to look after her, but the illness became too severe. The only way out was for the mother to be evacuated into Russia where she could receive regular care. However, she died not long afterwards.
It took several months for the cremated remains of Gennady’s mother to be transported to Kharkiv via a long detour; the ashes had to be brought into western Ukraine via Slovakia, and then all the way across the country back to Kharkiv. Even after the ashes were delivered, they were not able to be buried for ten more months because of land mines that had been placed in the cemetery.
On hearing this unhappy story, I said to Gennady, “It must be hard to play music after such sad things have happened in your life.” He answered, “No, on the contrary, it is the only thing holding me in this world!”
During my October visit, there was regular bombing by the Russians, mostly on the periphery of the city or further out in the oblast. I had been nervous when arriving in Kharkiv, but the city seemed peaceful and I never witnessed a bombing.
Gennady said, “Recently there was another shelling in the northern part of town. There were many explosions and windows were broken, and everyone was quite frightened. Then a couple of weeks ago, there was shelling near the Central Market. People hid in the metro station.”
He admonished, “Be careful, because there is still danger here. If you hear sirens, just hide. You should use the two-walls rule; when you hear the air-raid sirens, you hide between two walls, and then the explosion wave doesn’t touch you.”
I said, “I heard air-raid alarms four times yesterday, and there were more that I did not hear. I was watching people for a reaction, but they did nothing, so neither did I.” I asked if it is generally safer in the city these days.
Gennady said, “It’s all relative. There are no safe places.”
I answered, “I will not tell my family this until I leave here. I hope for the best,” and I noted that the day was Friday the 13th.
Margarita said, “If you think about bad luck, then you are attracting it.”
Language
While a large number of people who live in Ukraine speak both Ukrainian and Russian, the city people in Kharkiv have long used Russian predominantly as their home and work language. They learn Ukrainian in school. As with much of the country, people there are now switching languages as the Russian assault compels them to cement their identity as Ukrainians. I heard Russian spoken in the market, but the educated people I spoke with told me that they were mostly speaking Ukrainian now.
Gennady told me that he had primarily spoken Russian, but he knew Ukrainian. Now he speaks Ukrainian. Margarita told me she speaks “surzhyk,” a blend of Ukrainian and Russian.
Our interpreter, Pavlo, added, “I’m speaking Ukrainian. Either Ukrainian, or Russian still with some people, with my mother, and some old friends when we meet. But mostly Ukrainian. I have been bilingual for many years, so I have many friends who I talk to in Ukrainian.”
Margarita asked me, “How do you like our city in a state of war?”
Kharkiv was beautiful in October, with warmer weather than usual. I responded that the parks were magnificent, the streets clean and orderly. In comparison with the Balkans where I had spent much time, the places I visited in Ukraine felt more European. I never saw anyone jaywalk, and it seemed to me that drivers in Ukraine were very polite.
Margarita said, “To us, things seems much worse than what you are describing. However, now there is more respect in society. People are more united than before the 2022 invasion.”
Sometimes, war brings out the good in people.
Gennady said, “The war will have to last at least another two years. Before the war, Russia built their armament up extensively.” He added, “They hate us in Russia.”
Pavlo said, laughing, “And we hate them back. But we will fight, we will struggle. And we are fighting.”
I asked Pavlo if he was required to go to the front.
“Not yet; I haven’t been summoned, but they have my records. They know where to find me.”
Wrapping up the evening, Gennady told me that he was going to play a concert the next night, and he invited me to attend.
Gennady’s club show
The concert turned out to be an informal gig at “The Switch,” a hard-to-find club in a darkened neighborhood. Inside the venue, however, there was a familiar pub atmosphere and friendly employees. A Ukrainian flag hung on the wall behind the informal stage, and the rainbow LGBTQ+ flag was displayed as well.
I sat with Margarita and a couple of her friends. Accompanied by an accordionist and drummer, Gennady started off the first set with a few familiar klezmer tunes. His playing was inspiring, with tasteful improvisations, at times approaching jazz, wandering away from the melody and then back again.
Besides klezmer, Gennady played some Ukrainian folk material, a short Moldavian suite, and a good number of contemporary folk-pop songs, including some that he had composed. The mood was good. It seemed that everyone there—40 or 50 people—was acquainted with Gennady and his music. An exuberant side to Gennady’s personality shone through, drawing in his audience of friends. This veteran of 600 weddings and numerous tours was in his element.
In the second half of the evening, people stood up to dance. When the otherwise demure Margarita danced, she was as lively offstage as her husband was onstage.
The energetic highlight of the evening was Gennady’s rendition of “Slava Ukraini”—the ever-popular slogan “Glory to Ukraine.” Gennady put the lyrics of this song together with inspiration from familiar patriotic lines, setting them to his own melody. The audience responded with fervor, singing along with the chorus. You can enjoy a video of Gennady’s composition here:
The scene reminded me of the well-known verse by Bertolt Brecht cited above.
Outside, very dark events were taking place between Kharkiv and the border with Russia, and the Russian assault on the Kharkiv region would only escalate in the coming months. But what was happening between Gennady Fomin and his audience at The Switch was an uplifting display of their determination not only to resist the brutality of the Russian invaders, but also to remind people how to “hold themselves in this world” and express the joy of living that, somehow, persists in the dark times.
The visit Peter Lippman describes in this essay took place in late 2023, at a time when there was a “relative lull” in the violence being visited upon Ukraine by Russia, especially in Kharkiv. As you have read, there were air-raid alarms and periodic bombings, but also a feeling of hope.
A year later, the hope is still there; patriotism endures, defiantly, in the face of an attacker who denies the existence of Ukraine, the language of the Ukrainians, and their very identity. The future is not possible to predict. Ukrainians fight on in defense of their sovereignty and independence against increasing brutality. The assault is protracted; Ukraine lacks personnel and munitions, and is forced to rely on bigger allies to survive. It is a tiring and traumatic experience, and Kharkiv has at many times borne the brunt of the violence. But still people hold to their determination to win, regardless of the odds.
Gennady Fomin has continued to perform, periodically. He sings about the dark times while bringing light to his audience and his community, imparting the message that, yes, there is a tomorrow, and it is worth living for.
Peter Lippmann is a musician, writer, and life-long human rights activist.
You can see his articles on klezmer here and here. His Ukraine journal, with photos, is here.
And you can learn about his book, Surviving the Peace: The Struggle for Postwar Recovery in Bosnia-Herzegovina, here.