The Authoritative "HaMotzi"

And the Man Behind the Melody

Lullaby and good night,
With roses bedight
With lilies o’erspread,
Is my baby’s wee bed.
Lay thee down, now and rest,
May thy slumber be blessed.
Lay thee down, now and rest,
May thy slumber be blessed.

So many children rock to sleep with this classic lullaby, yet without knowing who actually wrote it. This is no slight to the composer. On the contrary, it indicates that that their creative work has enjoyed such popularity that it has become oral tradition.

But sometimes I wish that this wasn’t the only work of Johannes Brahms that the average person knew.

As a cellist and choral singer, I have long-nurtured an affection for Brahms’ broad musical output which made him one of the defining composers of the nineteenth century. I am most partial to those works which I have experienced from within as a performer, including the Cello Sonata in E minor, the German Requiem¹, Drei Lieder Op. 42, the folk songs, and Song of the Fates — although this last one I don’t recommend for children trying to nod off to sleep.

I can only hope that those children who grew up with Brahms Lullaby will one day come to know the beauty of his many wondrous compositions.

So too with our subject today, who is one of America’s most accomplished living composers. A former faculty member at the University of North Texas (1956-1966), the Eastman School of Music (1966-1995) and Juilliard (1997-2017), his catalog includes over five-hundred classical and liturgical works, and his textbook on orchestration has been translated into ten languages and sold over one million copies worldwide.

Yet very few people know that Samuel Adler is also the composer of one of the most ubiquitous American-Jewish melodies: The Motzi Song.

Like all timeless tunes, this one was born of a pressing need — in this case, the need to provide music to the burgeoning Hebrew school of Temple Emanu-El in Dallas, Texas. In 1953, Adler was recruited as music director by the synagogue’s noted clergyman, Rabbi Levi Olan, who had befriended the Adler family while serving in the pulpit with his father, Cantor Hugo Chaim Adler. The circumstances giving rise to the famous Motzi are described by Samuel Adler in his recent autobiography:

“Raymond Israel, the educational director of Temple Emanu-El, as well as other very talented members, provided me with texts that I could set, teaching the children to sing prayers or songs about the different holidays. During the third year of my Dallas sojourn, Raymond and I put together a booklet of twelve songs for little children. We taught them diligently to all the classes from kindergarten through third grade. All the children seemed to enjoy these songs. What we were also trying to do is to introduce certain rituals into their homes that had been neglected and even rejected in most Reform Jewish circles. One of those prayers is called the Motzi or the prayer to be said before eating a meal. "Praised are You, o God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.”

To out great surprise, the children brought this little song home and suddenly the congregation was singing it at home and in celebrations at the Temple. All these children grew up and went to camp since the Reform movement's camp program went into high gear during this period of time. Our Temple Emanu-El children introduced this setting of the Motzi to their fellow campers and before long this little song became ubiquitous in all the camps, even spreading to the Conservative counterparts all over the country. Here is my claim to immortality then, a little prayer that now most Jews in America think came from Mount Sinai and was always there instead of originating in 1955 in Dallas, Texas. My beloved three grandchildren could not believe that their Opa (grandfather) was responsible for this setting of the prayer since everyone was singing it without ever knowing its origin.”

The Israel/Adler Motzi has indeed spread across the American Jewish world, becoming so traditional as to have spawned multitudinous textual variants. These are often the source of sporadic debates as to which one of them is “authoritative.” This week, I conducted a short poll on the matter with my Jewish friends and colleagues. I received some fifty responses, with variants that included the following:

• ...our voices rise in song together / as our joyful prayer is said.

• …our voices join in song together / as our joyful prayer is said

• …our voices join in song together / as our humble prayer is said.

• …our voices rise in song together / as our prayer is humbly said.

• …our voices rise in song together / as our Shabbos prayer is said.

• …our voices join in happy chorus / as our prayer is humbly said.

And my favorite adaptation:

• …plain or raisin, it’s amazin’ / cut it up now, let’s get fed!

Statistically, the first version predominated (over 50% of respondents). As you can see, the principal disagreements were over whether to rise or join in song, and whether the said prayer was to be joyful or humble (For a pious few, the prayer was described as “daily”).

Such variations are the blessings of oral tradition. Yet I will keep my promise to my readers and reveal the original Raymond Israel text for the Samuel Adler Motzi:

Just five years after its composition, these original words to HaMotzi were published in the 1960 Union Songster: Songs & Prayers for Jewish Youth, the Reform movement’s first youth music book for the baby boom generation, replete with singable melodies for a variety of Jewish and American occasions.² One notes that the original words emphasized thankfulness (grateful chorus; humbly said). Yet through oral transmission, mutation, and even the printing of other variants, our world has developed a multiplicity of modern Motzis.³

But today, I have news for you from the composer himself.

I corresponded with the 96-year old Professor Adler in preparation for this article, and he generously and vigorously responded to my queries. He has two additional things to say on this matter:

1. His own personal preference of the textual variants is: “..our voices rise in songs together, as our joyful prayer is said.”

2. He encourages those singing the melody to use the Hebrew word “B’teavon” instead of “Amen” to conclude. ⁴

Although the Motzi song is fascinating as a piece of American-Jewish oral culture, to me it is much like Brahms Lullaby — a commonly-known melody by a towering composer with a multitude of beautiful works and a compelling story.

It is not possible to concisely bear witness to the drama and depth of Samuel Adler’s life and his contribution to both Jewish music and the Western classical tradition, spanning over seventy years of musical creativity. A Holocaust survivor who narrowly escaped Nazi Germany during Kristallnacht, Samuel acknowledges being the grateful recipient of many miracles. Reading his autobiography, one encounters a person who is self-reflective, diligent, and a collector of wisdom. His colorful stories of studying with giants, including Herbert Fromm, Walter Piston, Paul Hindemith, and Aaron Copeland, reflect a process-driven artist who built his compositional voice and educational presence, brick by brick.

I encourage you to explore the many realms of Samuel Adler’s music, which have been widely recorded, and his many Jewish compositions can also be heard online through the Milken Archive. His dramatic and anecdote-rich autobiography is also a must read. But complementing his amazing musical output, what I have found most notable is his wisdom:⁵

"All of my life, I have tried to be a bridge builder whenever I encountered a situation where reconciliation or any other form of undertaking is required. This has greatly influenced many of my most important decisions. Furthermore, I have always tried to live every moment of my life as fully as possible and hope to continue this lifestyle until the end.”

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In this era where burning bridges is the currency of popularity, we should follow Sam’s path of wisdom and strive to be bridge builders. This is one of music’s greatest opportunities, and one of this hour’s greatest needs as we fight for a civilized future.

If we do, perhaps future generations will bless their meals and rock their children to our melodies, composers of a more peaceful age.

1. To music directors or choral singers considering the Brahms Requiem for a future concert, I thoroughly recommend Jonathan Leshnoff’s oratorio, Zohar, an eighteen-minute work with identical orchestral, solo, and choral forces to the Requiem, and which was composed as its programmatic compliment.

2. For more on the evolution of the Reform Jewish hymnal, see Benjie Ellen Schiller, “The Hymnal as an Index of Musical Change in Reform Synagogues,” in Sacred Sound and Social Change: Liturgical Music in Jewish and Christian Experience, ed. Lawrence A. Hoffman & Janet R. Walton (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992): 187-212.

3. Here’s a modest attempt at explicating this evolution in lyrics: One can understand the natural change to “our voices rise,” as the melody itself “rises” a fifth at that moment; “Song together” has superseded “grateful chorus” since the “chorus” moniker for group singing has gradually fallen out of fashion; and the tension between “joyful” and “humble” prayer hints at the evolving demeanor of our time. I would say that joy has surpassed humility on the stock market of human aspiration these days, for better or for worse.

4. This latter point allows the singer to say bon appetit, rather than answering amen to their own blessing (something generally avoided in Jewish liturgical practice).

5. Adler, Building Bridges With Music, 221; For a sense of Adler’s teaching style, watch this lecture on concert programming given at the Conductor’s Institute of South Carolina in 1994.