Salomon Steinberger was the cantor of a major Frankfurt synagogue for thirty years, until he fled to England in 1939. Having studied in the prestigious Pressburg Yeshiva (then located in today’s Bratislava, Slovakia) while Yossele Rosenblatt served as a cantor in the city, Steinberger moved to Frankfurt to enroll in its conservatory. His memoirs provide an insider’s view of the cantor’s world
On Rosenblatt (1901)
[Josef Rosenblatt] personified all the strengths and weaknesses of a genius. […] All the infinite fire of his feelings, the greatness of his soul, was reserved for [one thing] alone. Otherwise, he fumbled with childish naïveté. A virtuoso in one way, an athlete of a single achievement, may be a duffer and weakling in every other arena. […]
Despite unequaled renown, [Rosenblatt] retained his modesty and inner piety. He had a soft, sympathetic heart for the penniless. At first, whenever he collected his hefty salary from the community, distressed individuals would waylay him with considerable success. When his wife expressed her astonishment, he explained guilelessly: “Could you live with your conscience if Reb Moische and his five children and sick mother got thrown out of their apartment because he hadn’t paid his rent?”
With three children, elderly parents, and siblings [to support, the Rosenblatts] too had needs. As long as only the honest cases laid a claim on him, however, his wife held her peace. Then no-gooders [began] exploiting his gullibility, and she couldn’t help but pick up the pay herself. But Rosenblatt continued using the sizable tips slipped him by his numerous fans to assist the needy.
We learned about this [assistance] when the Rosenblatts moved away and the poor began complaining, “How will we pay our rent now?” The same thing happened in Hamburg and later in New York.
Cantorial Auditions in Budapest, 1906
[For much of the 20th century, major congregations accommodated overflow crowds on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur with extra services and cantors, the latter engaged on the basis of a Sabbath audition ]
This Budapest synagogue was very large, and the fee of 120 guilders [for an additional high holiday cantor] was several times the going rate. At last, [the Sabbath arrived when] I was called to pray. I earned generous applause, and the assistant cantor confirmed on the spot that the job was mine. I was to come to the synagogue on Tuesday to obtain the written contract. [But] when I arrived, [another] cantor [was standing there] arguing with my contact.
Cantor Fenichel [the synagogue’s main cantor] had recently returned from Poland […] and had reserved the position […] for his brother-in-law. Lest Fenichel in his bitterness open a competing synagogue nearby, the assistants shamefully yielded under pressure.
They organized a similar job for me at a sister synagogue. I lost twenty guilders in the process, but the position was very pleasant.
After the high holidays, Fenichel came and asked me to forgive him.
I soon returned to Pressburg, where a huge honor awaited me.
The Pressburg Selection Committee
When Cantor Rosenblatt left Pressburg, the local religious council worried about whom the yeshiva would choose as a worthy successor, as there were no artistically knowledgeable members of the cantorial commission to judge auditioning candidates. Rosenblatt suggested that three musically trained yeshiva students he knew be invited to the audition to choose the new cantor of Pressburg (assuming he was suitable in other respects). The three were V. Schlesinger, later of Amsterdam; Emil Gross, later of Hamburg; and myself, later of Frankfurt/Main. We received a very flattering letter from the council, […] inviting us to the auditions on Rosenblatt’s recommendation, as advisers to the cantorial commission.
The candidates were asked to wait until the appointed experts showed up. I’m still amused when I remember these hopefuls’ shocked faces as we appeared. They expected some conservatory professors, and here were yeshiva students! Yet, they soon retracted their disdain as we told them to their faces that what they’d presented as their own compositions had already been published or performed. Some candidates were even rejected before the audition, on our advice, and learned to be more careful.
One day, Fenichel showed up for the audition, and we were introduced to him as the council’s musical advisers. “Delighted, I’m sure,” stuttered Fenichel politely, his face changing color. He gave a sample of his know-how, then asked the director for our judgment. As always, without prior consultation, the ruling was unanimous: he had good qualities but wasn’t ready for Pressburg. He would be admitted to the main rehearsal but couldn’t be considered a serious candidate.
Fenichel approached me and said, trembling, that he hoped this wasn’t revenge. No, I answered, my judgment was unclouded by any such desire, because my colleagues had both offered the same opinion of him. That Sabbath, he prayed without fire or pleasure, knowing his “death sentence” had already been sealed.
“One mountain never meets another,” the Jewish saying goes, “but a man can easily fall upon his fellow.” The moral of the story: we should always behave so that we need neither avoid nor fear such an encounter.
With thanks to the entire Steinberger family, especially Andrew and Monika Simon, who are currently translating and editing the memoir of Andrew’s grandfather, Salomon Steinberger. Steinberger’s father, Arye Steinberger, featured in “Up Against the Wall” (Segula 34 and on our website, www.segulamag.com). Regrettably, Steinberger’s eldest daughter, Ruth Simon, was inadvertently omitted from the article’s Steinberger family tree.
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