One of the final works by Darius Milhaud (1892–1974) was the Ani maamin (“I Believe”) cantata, written in 1972, the title of which refers to the writings of Maimonides that summarise the 13 principles of Jewish faith. The 12th point of this creed, the coming of the Jewish Messiah, was especially emphasised by the writer of the cantata’s text Elie Wiesel. In the piece, the short chorus and vocal solo lines alternate with texts narrated in prose which depict Abraham, Isaac and Jacob travelling around the world and bringing the immense suffering of the Holocaust before God.  The lines by the solo soprano appear near the middle of the piece, and alternate with the words of Abraham. To the questions of the patriarchs (How can God allow such atrocities?), the answers again and again convey unconditional faith: “The thoughts of God are inscrutable. God knows what He does.” The patriarchs finally run out of arguments and leave the heavens, but do not notice the tears in the eyes of God. And they receive a new confirmation, hope in the lives of their children. We first hear the complete text of the creed in the final movement in Hebrew: “I believe with perfect faith in the coming of the Messiah, and, though he may tarry, I will wait daily for his coming. Ani maamin.”

I. Invocation – Kaddish 1; II. Din-Torah – Kaddish 2; III. Scherzo – Kaddish 3 – Finale

For Jews, the word Kaddish (Sanctification) has strong emotional associations: Kaddish is a communal prayer of the dead which is recited not only at burials and remembrances, but in practically every synagogue service. Interestingly, there is no reference to death in the words of the prayer, but three times the works chájé and chájim are heard, which mean life. In truth Kaddish is not so much a funeral song but rather a glorification of God, and thus has a fundamental role in the liturgy. The Kaddish was written in the mixed language of Hebrew and Aramaic used in Jesus’s time. (Some believe that the Lord’s Prayer also evolved from this doxology). Sources prove that certain details of the Kaddish became fixed by the end of the first century, but the form familiar to us today only emerged in the 12th century when in folk use, it came to be associated with grief.

In his symphony composed in 1963, Leonard Bernstein exploits the dual meanings of this prayer: that the Kaddis is said not just for the dead but is also a celebration of life. The narrator is mourning for humanity standing on the brink of suicide (we should not forget that the possibilities for total atomic war seemed far from remote in the early sixties.) At the same time, Bernstein was personally convinced that humans – like a creator, an artist or merely a dreamer – are a divine manifestation and thus indestructible. This duality has two stylistic layers in the music: this is embodied by dramatic contrasts between episodes composed in chromatic and dodecaphonic techniques and those that are simple and diatonic. Another dichotomy is illustrated by Bernstein using a female voice, entrusting to a soprano the material which in the liturgy is said exclusively by men. In Bernstein’s symphony, the female gender represents that half of humanity which recognises God intuitively and which is capable of most closely attaining the transcendent sphere – in contrast to the “masculine” rational and organised view of worldly matters. (36 years earlier, Bernstein employed the same device in his First Symphony when he set the prophet Jermaiah’s words for mezzo-soprano voice.) Bernstein seems not have been happy with the original version of the Kaddish and in 1977, set about revising the work. He excised certain passages, rewrote others and most of all, changed the text of the narrator. He also made it possible for not just women but men to perform it. In places Bernstein’s text – for example when God is accused of infidelity to humanity – approaches the borders of blasphemy (or indeed crosses them). In truth, it is such a profoundly and uniquely Jewish attitude, with the relationship of God and Izrael so intimate and personal that in certain cases, believers can quarrel with the Lord. In the Old Testament, Job also quarrels with God who ultimately answers him.

On November 22nd, 1963, when Bernstein had reached the orchestration of the Amen episode, fate provided him with the dedication for his symphony: it reads “To the beloved memory of John F. Kennedy.”