Ofra Haza

Mizrahi: a culture in perpetual flux

“There are Jews in Arabia and Arabs in Israel”: this is the implicit message in the booklet of the compact disc of the European edition of "Yemenite Songs", reissued in 1985 with liner notes by Ben Mendelson and translations by Mimi Lilienthal. Inside, a geographical map shows the area in question, with the State of Israel stretching from the northern border with Lebanon down to the southern tip at the Gulf of Aqaba, and the area of Palestine split in two: the West Bank to the east, the Gaza Strip to the west, an unfortunate strip of land pressed against the far eastern coast of the Mediterranean. Those borders, already rather shaky at the time, have kept shifting through the decades of history separating us from this album's release, and with them, in a chain reaction, have shifted the fortunes of thousands of lives left trapped in the middle.

Controversial or not from a geopolitical standpoint, as we unfortunately still have to acknowledge today, the creation of the State of Israel in 1948 was nonetheless also the outcome of a very long historical process that began centuries earlier, with the first dispersions of Jewish populations, setting out from the Jerusalem area toward the rest of the planet. Already at this point, the linguistic terms and the intentions behind these events become blurred, since there are various etymological interpretations. Today at least, in the West, the word "diaspora" tends to be used to indicate a migration that is primarily voluntary and intrinsically geographic, one that suggests populations still tied to their land of origin, perhaps even setting out with a colonizing spirit to spread their way of life elsewhere. But the Jewish version of the same word is "galut", which instead refers to a perpetual state of flux and movement, physically uprooted from the homeland and emotionally dissociated at the level of the soul, as if condemned never to find one's place in the world. This latter meaning is certainly heavier and more painful to bear, but it also seems to stem intrinsically from the often poor reception Jewish populations encountered wherever they tried to settle, and the continual persecutions they were subjected to over the centuries.

Among these expatriate groups are the Mizrahi, meaning the "Easterners", those who, at least since 110 BC according to the earliest accounts, pushed as far as the southern tip of the Arabian Peninsula, in that stretch of land now called Yemen. While it's true that, until the creation of the State of Israel, a nation of the Jewish faith had never existed according to modern Western standards, in Yemen the Jews had nonetheless managed to found a kingdom, maintaining an insular way of life based on the preservation of ancient, centuries-old traditions, even allowing for the obvious interactions with local populations. Opinions among scholars on the matter are not unanimous, but several consider Yemenite Jews to be the most culturally untainted lineage, having remained isolated from other branches of the Jewish faith, which have often become Westernized instead.

But the Mizrahi are also the poorest; their isolation, after all, is typical of pretty much all the cultures that found a home in Yemen, from the Muslim nomads in the northern mountains to the fishermen of Somali and Ethiopian descent scattered along the coast of the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean. Finally, there was the arrival of the British starting in 1839, which for over a century further destabilized the region, splitting it into two sections in order to better control the coastal area in view of the construction of the Suez Canal. However approximate, these are the dynamics of Yemen and of those who have lived there: a cradle of Arabia with a millennia-old culture, tainted from its very origins with Hebrew and Aramaic influences, a fragile and complex melting pot prone to perpetual guerrilla warfare, in which the Mizrahi themselves have not had an easy time, persecuted for centuries by both Arabs and Christians. A difficult coexistence, which nevertheless did not fail to create unprecedented streams of cultural exchange and common ground, unfortunately often stifled by violence.

Then, in the first half of the twentieth century, came Nazism in Europe, the most blatant and meticulously documented shoah against Jews that we have record of, to the point of prompting many to demand the creation of a state where they could finally take refuge once and for all: Israel. Obviously, the entire framework behind the birth of the nation, which in fairness also includes military strategies, economic interests, political maneuvers and social conflicts, is far more complex than can be summarized in the review of a music album. However, this story begins right here, that is, when many Mizrahi, still in Yemen toward the end of the 1940s, took part in Operation "Magic Carpet", a series of organized migrations to reunite them with the rest of the "galut" in the shadow of the Wailing Wall. Among these new migrants were Yefet and Shoshana Haza, a married couple on the run after being driven out into the middle of the desert from their home in the village of Haz, in the region around the Yemeni capital, Sana'a. The couple arrived in 1949 with their first young children already in tow; the youngest of no fewer than nine children, Bat-Sheva Ofra Haza, was born in 1957, absorbed along with the rest of the family into the ranks of the first wave of Israel's new citizens.

The ones who pay the price are the Palestinian people, who have inhabited the area for centuries and now find themselves dispossessed of their own lands, with a nation split in two. In Gaza in particular, living conditions for the population would progressively worsen over the years, plunging the region into a state of confusion and wartime corruption from which, ultimately, the extremist factions of Hamas would emerge, still engaged today in guerrilla warfare against Jewish settlers. Thus begins a new chapter of this painful conflict, where the protagonists behind the trigger change but the substance remains the same: what once happened on one side is now poured out onto the other.

Diwan: songs poised between tradition and innovation

It takes a thick skin to tackle the affinities and divergences between peoples in a context like the one just described: two cultures pitted against each other in a new war of interests disguised as an old religious conflict. But the making of "Yemenite Songs" starts precisely from these premises, while avoiding any explicit stance; its purpose is to bring back into the light the ancient Mizrahi culture in the Yemenite dialect, updating the precious remnants of a past steeped in points of contact between Jewish culture, Muslim culture and the influence of those African peoples who had crossed the Gulf of Aden. It is not, then, a political record - frankly, there's no need for it to be one: the setting it's embedded in is violent enough to stir up plenty of arguments regardless. Which is a shame, because between the innate beauty of the songs on offer, a fitting production that blends traditional instruments with synthesizers and drum machines, and the crystal-clear interpretations of one of the Middle East's most evocative voices, "Yemenite Songs" breathes a simply universal human warmth, in which the modern and the age-old, the divine and the earthly, generate a poetic sap that is immediately felt on the skin, even for listeners unfamiliar with all the dynamics described above.

The genesis of the work has personal roots first and foremost; young Ofra grew up listening to her mother's voice, who would occasionally perform at neighborhood Bar Mitzvahs singing traditional Mizrahi songs, mulling over, in other words, that past which for her was still recent and certainly not easy, but which remained steeped in memories, customs and traditions she absolutely did not want to lose, despite a new passport in a new nation. It should also be said that in Israel the Mizrahi were considered second-class citizens, the poorest residents living in the working-class areas on the outskirts of Tel Aviv, so for them keeping their roots alive was also a matter of principle. Ofra's success as a popstar, not just locally but internationally too - including a second place at Eurovision in 1983 with "Hi" - was a great source of pride for the entire nation. But it is with "Yemenite Songs", her ninth studio album in her career, not counting a few theatrical collaborations, that the singer truly became an artist in her own right, as well as a symbol of vindication for all Mizrahi. Decked out in gold jewelry and surrounded by flutes and percussion, the performer carried forward a project rarely heard before then, one that earned her respect in both the Arab world and the West, precisely thanks to the bold stylistic fusion on display.

In Arabic, Diwan are collections of ancient poems, conceived to be danced and sung during the year's most important ceremonies. The expansion of the Moors, over the course of the centuries, meant that cycles of Diwan can be found across much of their sphere of influence, even beyond strictly Muslim areas, from Morocco to Persia as well as in Sicily and Andalusia. In Yemen, the Diwan belonging to Mizrahi culture are considered particularly noteworthy; Rabbi Shalom Shabazi, who lived between 1618 and 1670, is one of the most renowned poets, chosen by Ofra as the author of seven of the eight tracks featured here. Amid love stories, everyday portraits of village life and urgent songs lamenting states of oppression, Shabazi's Diwan touch on key issues within the Mizrahi community, becoming precious antidotes around which the population gathers for strength.

The typical structure of the Diwan roughly follows a medieval-style outline: nashid, the a cappella introduction, shira, the central section sung and danced with full instrumental accompaniment, and hallel, the finale in which singers and dancers take their leave of the audience, sometimes inviting them to join in the chorus. Even though we don't know exactly the dance steps and melodic lines used originally, since only the lyrics of the Diwan were written down while the rest was taught orally, it's fascinating to think of the various generations who passed them down over the centuries, each one slightly altering their form according to the times and contexts. Ofra's versions, in this respect, fit fully into twentieth-century sensibilities, condensed and shortened into song form to the point where the label "pop" can be added to the genre without diminishing either its value or its historical relevance in the slightest.

If the doors of the rich are closed

The doors of paradise remain open

The message of the famous "Im Nin' Alu", placed right at the album's opening, could not be more universal: a song introduced a cappella by Ofra alone, before the instrumentation invites the listener into the heart of the record, immediately breathing in its distinctive atmosphere: layers of traditional percussion and sinuous basslines mixed with synthesizers and drum machines, with a swaying melodic theme that repeats and chases itself, in call-and-response between the singer's voice and the string and horn sections. An imposing opening, one that makes "Yemenite Songs" a composite, multifaceted collection of Diwan, capable of recounting human stories and matters of faith despite being condensed into just eight songs.

The vignettes of everyday life among the Mizrahi people are particularly vivid. The romantic, rapturous "Yachilvi Veyachali", for instance, is a long-distance courtship between two young people who are not allowed to speak to or see each other; the lyrics gather the thoughts of the lovers, who have no choice but to use their imagination to express their feelings. But despite the rules imposed on the two protagonists, the airy melody and brisk accompaniment of the song seem to breathe the exciting promise of a "village Saturday", hinting that, despite everything, the love between the two young people represents the one true guarantee for the future of the entire community.

Even more sinuous and poetic is the chant "Lefelach Harimon": a slice of pomegranate, used as a metaphor alongside flowers and spices, to express unconditional love for a woman who here rises to the imposing role of muse, like Helen of Troy or Dante's Beatrice. The bold medley "Tzur Menati/ Se'i Yona/ Sapri Tama", which brings together three classic themes from the tradition, follows the structure of the Diwan even more faithfully: the enchanted a cappella introduction soon gives way to public dancing, opening the floor to the famous theme typical of village festivities, "Se'i Yona", before finally blending it with the courtship ode "Sapri Tama", a theme usually sung by men to express interest in a woman, here referred to as "the innocent one".

The closing “Ayelet Chen” brings another of Shabazi's love poems back into song form: amid crackling local percussion, English horn, strings and double bass, the theme celebrates the vision of a beautiful woman, here described with the grace of a doe beneath a blossoming apple tree. Ofra, a skilled performer with an unusually flute-like voice, manages to lovingly describe her deeds while at the same time embodying her very likeness.

But the stories of the Mizrahi also know tragedy. Deeply evocative is “A 'Salk”, a lament of pain addressed directly to God. During the persecutions, such as those imposed while Shabazi was still alive, Jews were forbidden from using instruments to accompany their communal songs — a practice not unlike what was imposed on slaves on cotton plantations in America, who indeed created the roots of the blues with their bare hands, striking everyday objects directly. The Mizrahi Jews of the seventeenth century improvised by beating on trays and metal barrels; here, percussionists Iky Levy and Chaim Gispan work their way through an arsenal of drums, tin surfaces and bells, creating a shimmering, silvery tapestry, aided by a thread of synthesizer and drum machine beats. The song's momentum follows the call and response between Ofra and the string, oboe and bassoon arrangement, and the result is tremendously evocative. The theme of faith also echoes through the intense sonic textures of “Ode Le'Eli”, another dramatic prayer addressed to the divine in a moment of need.

The only recently composed track on the tracklist is “Galbi”, written by singer, poet and Mizrahi culture researcher Aharon Amram, born in 1939 in Sana'a. Among the first in Israel to spread awareness of Yemenite culture, Amram can be considered the founding father of this specific branch of Jewish music, even though at the time his performances were banned by the government itself, which looked unfavourably on Mizrahi expression, considered poor and "minor", as well as too intimately tied to the Arab influences of Yemen and therefore in total opposition to the nation's political and social manoeuvring. The fact remains that the flow of "Galbi" is particularly sinuous and Arabic-sounding; a simple portrait of a woman in love, expressing her desire while aware that it is unrequited, almost a kind of lament of Ariadne trapped in the figurative labyrinth of her own heart, but which in Ofra's voice also exudes an unbeatable sensuality without ever coming across as remotely vulgar. Together with "Im Nin' Alu", remixed a few years later, "Galbi" would also become a huge hit around the rest of the world, introducing the singer to a wide international audience, among the leading figures of what was then somewhat loosely called "world music".

Bitter postscript

It is, however, with a certain heaviness of heart that we bring this article to a close — and how could it be otherwise? Although the release of "Yemenite Songs" was, in retrospect, the beginning of Ofra Haza's expansion onto the world stage, later carried forward even more explicitly with 1988's "Shaday", the singer would pass away in February 2000 at just forty-seven years old, from complications related to HIV. Her death deprived the world of one of the clearest voices of the Middle East, certainly less towering than the classic figures of Umm Kulthum and Fairuz, but capable of great evocative power even in more Westernised pop and dance contexts. All things considered, Ofra Haza was one of the very few Israeli figures able to transcend the cultural barricades that still divide the region and public opinion today. Nor are the people of Yemen faring any better, a country that has for years now been plunged into a bloody civil conflict, to the point of reaching fourth-world status, given the dire living conditions faced by large portions of the population — with the added burden of now being a place of relatively little interest to global geopolitics, and thus left to its fate without international attention. The most recent census counted the Mizrahi population still present in Yemen at... a single inhabitant.

So what does that leave us with? Not much, it must be said. Thirty-eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds of music that alone will certainly not be able to offer effective solutions to the situation between Israel and Palestine, nor to ease the pain of all those who, over the course of the last eighty years, have lost loved ones in the conflict. But if a resolution should ever truly come, if peace were to stop being merely a utopia, "Yemenite Songs" could make for an excellent soundtrack to it.

Thanks to Shafea T.A. Saif for the consultation and valuable suggestions

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29/10/2023