By Norman Greene
PARIS–Is there a connection between Klezmer music and Islamic terrorism? I was afraid I might find one here in Paris
My wife Bobby and I were spending eight days in Paris this fall bemoaning the precipitous decline of the American dollar and generally enjoying the French escape from their recession. Actually, if there was a recession in Paris in September, you couldn’t prove it by me. The shops, boulevards, restaurants and concert halls were filled with French speaking buyers. You could tell they were seriously in pursuit of material things by simply viewing the packages and bags they were carrying. In the French department stores, I thought there might be an early holiday sale underway judging by the vast numbers of shoppers and the constant ringing of cash registers.
In the midst of all this observation, our French cousin Beatrice called to invite us to a Wednesday night concert. We were delighted to accept. Beatrice has a good ear for music and a better eye for alerting us to special events. Because of the timing, we were instructed to take the Metro to a little visited arrondissement (district in Paris) where the Theatre de la Vieille Grille is located.
So we braved the Metro and with only two changes in trains arrived at a fairly bleak little square.
We had no trouble finding Beatrice seated under a tree in this businessman’s district far from the tourist crowds. But we could find no familiar sights to help us gain our bearings.
Well, some Champagne at a sidewalk café helped while we waited for Beatrice’s friend Sophie to arrive and then we four walked a block or two to a tiny restaurant not listed in any tourist guide. I am sure neither Zagat nor Frommer’s ever heard of the place, which strongly resembled a neighborhood bar. In fact, after settling into our chairs, I noticed there were mainly swarthy male customers in the establishment. The only three women in the small room were all seated at my table.
Cousin Christophe arrived and dinner was served. We had to rush in order to be at the theater in time for the concert. While half way through my meal, it belatedly occurred to me that we were in an Arab neighborhood, but the food was excellent, albeit with a heavy Middle Eastern emphasis. My French cousins seemed unphased by anything but the passing of time and Sophie, who is of Jewish Moroccan decent, was serenely happy because her meal was vegetarian and didn’t violate her practice of kosher dining.
As we walked to 1 Rue du Puits de l”Ermite, I kept an uncharacteristically nervous look out for any unsavory characters. The others chirped away unaware of my paranoid discomfort. We soon arrived at the theater on a deserted side street. It was little more than a store front. The owner evidently knew cousin Beatrice and after hugs and kisses, we were all introduced. As for me, I was just anxious to get off the street corner and into the safety of the theater.
Once inside, I wasn’t so sure that this whole thing was a such a good idea. The theater was a makeshift affair with four or five rows of uncomfortable seats squeezed into a very small space. There may have been room for 30 – 40 people at the very most. No U.S. fire department would have ever allowed this one exit, fire trap to house so many people, so crammed in together.
Beatrice seemed to know half the people in the house as she explained to me that the evening’s program had undergone an emergency change of plans. The lead singer was taken ill, along with a few of the musicians, but not to worry, there was a plan B.
“Spilkes,” the band to perform that evening was being augmented by two singer/musicians from another band called “Les Gares.” Eleonore Biezunski, who became the lead singer for the evening and played the violin with great aplomb, also performs with a another, older group called “Les Shtetlstompers.” Samuel Maquin, presumably the leader, played the Klezmer and a few other instruments. The fourth musician for the evening was a Jewish American, Brian Bender, who spends two months of every year in Paris picking up gigs, played a trombone, the piano and also sang. He was the only one to speak English, although he sang in Yiddish. Sadly, I didn’t catch the percussionist’s name. I think they had all practiced together for about an hour before the performance. What troupers! Oh well, we already had paid for the tickets.
What kind of a concert was this? Why a Klezmer Concert in a small theater in an Arab neighborhood in Paris, France, of course. Was I nervous about all of this? You bet I was.
Beatrice’s pleasure radiated throughout the small, cramped room. The music began and it was nothing short of marvelous. All of the young 30 something performers knew their stuff. Their program mainly in Yiddish was varied and spirited. The audience, which must have been solidly Jewish, responded with great enthusiasm. Encores were demanded and delivered.
Amidst this euphoria, it occurred to me that the sounds of the music and singing were being carried loud and clear up and down the city block. I wondered if Arab gangs might be gathering outside to storm the place or to merely pick us off one by one as we exited. I made a commitment to myself to quickly leave once the performance was over and not to linger on the sidewalk.
This was not to be the case, though. Beatrice had to embrace each of the musicians who congregated with many of the audience members on the sidewalk after the performance. Each performer was very generous with his/her time and took pains to chat with us all. In all of the rush of enthusiasm, I almost forgot my concerns about possible French Arab terrorists lurking in the shadows. I say almost, but not quite.
While stories of growing anti-Semitism in France swirl around the world, Beatrice and Sophie seemed totally oblivious to them. They are happy to be French and Jewish and able to enjoy a fabulous evening of Klezmer music that would have made even Molly Picon, Fanny Brice or Fyvush Finkel smile.
I smiled, too, but couldn’t quite shake the paranoia.
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Columnist Greene is based in San Diego