Benedict Stambler saved a lot of cantorial music in the 1950s. He knew that if we did not save the music it would be forgotten and we would lose a part of our history.
Now for a quick Devar Torah.
This week’s parashah deals with a difficult episode in our history: the delegation of scouts who turned themselves into spies and brought back a negative report about the Land of Israel. It is not one of the most glorious moments in Jewish history, but it is part of our history nonetheless.
One of the important lessons we learn from this parashah is that a people must remember its history—the good and the bad. If you forget your history, you lose sight of who you are, and without a sense of who you are, it becomes very difficult to have a future. Many peoples have disappeared from the stage of history because they forgot why they existed in the first place.
For the Jewish people, memory is central. So many of our customs, holidays, and rituals are designed to help us remember. We remember the Exodus, we remember Sinai, we remember Jerusalem, and we even remember our mistakes so that we can learn from them.
In the 1950s, there was a growing concern that people were forgetting the great chazzanim of the early twentieth century. Instead of listening to cantors such as Yossele Rosenblatt and others who had shaped Jewish musical life, many preferred the newer popular entertainers, such as Mickey Katz, whose humorous and satirical songs were enormously popular.
One man recognized that an important part of Jewish cultural history was in danger of being lost. That man was my father-in-law, Benedict Stambler. He founded Collector’s Guild Records and began reissuing recordings of the great cantors of the 1920s and earlier generations. He was also among the first to make recordings that preserved the music and traditions of Chabad and other Jewish communities.
Like many fathers, he enlisted his children to help with the work. My wife spent time in the New York Public Library researching material for the liner notes that accompanied the albums. The old recordings had to be restored, cleaned up, and preserved for future generations.
Because of his efforts, a tremendous amount of Jewish musical heritage was saved. The music of those cantors was more than entertainment. It reflected the experiences, emotions, hopes, and history of Jewish communities throughout the world. Without those efforts, much of that heritage might have been lost forever.
Today is his yahrzeit, and as we remember him, we can reflect on the lesson of this week’s parashah. Preserving memory is not just about looking backward. It is about ensuring that future generations know who they are and where they came from.
May the memory of Baruch Zalman ben Yehuda Moshe Leib be a blessing, and may the heritage he helped preserve continue to inspire generations to come.
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