As for the film itself, it would be tempting to describe “Song of David” as a straight-up Orthodox hip-hop movie, if such a thing existed. The truth is, it’s much more complicated. The film is a study of its titular character’s struggle: the struggle to be a good Jew and a good artist.
From the start, the movie dwells firmly in iconic imagery. The opening credits fade from black into the striking blue water of a ritual bath, with a man in his early 20s dunking himself beneath the water. From there, the film places Niz in terse, bleak scenes, light on words and heavy with intended meaning, of David being scorned by other yeshiva students, of him standing on the yeshiva rooftop and writing verses.
The paradigm of David’s character — a Hasidic Jew who can find solace only in hip-hop music — is hardly a unique occurrence in today’s real-life Hasidic world, where professional masters of ceremonies like Y-Love and Matisyahu use music as a way of both self-expression and proselytization, and bands that sound like MTV clones play to packed auditoriums of single-sex audiences.
But the clash of hip-hop and Hasidic cultures is still such a striking study in oppositions, especially to non-Orthodox audiences, that the film is almost forced to traffic in these stark, hard-hitting images in order to get through to the audience: the black-and-white clothes, the bearded face nodding in time to rhymes, the traditional wordless niggun hummed over vocal beatboxing. (The film’s soundtrack features Ta-Shma, a hip-hop duo based in Brooklyn’s Crown Heights who contribute both original songs and music from their 2006 album, “Come Listen.”)
To shoot the film, Turgeman had to wait nearly a full year, until Passover 2007 — the only time that the yeshiva was out of session. “The catering alone was a nightmare,” Turgeman recalled. “Even though 95% of the crew was not Jewish, all the food had to be Kehila kosher. And it was a week before Passover. It was really tough. But we withstood it.”
In order to meet with the yeshiva’s demands, all the women on the set had to wear skirts, and married women, even non-Jewish ones, were asked to cover their hair. But those restrictions were easy compared with the ones imposed by the film’s star. After becoming Orthodox and going through the yeshiva system himself, Niz was wary of getting involved in any sort of film, especially one in which he’s first seen underwater and shirtless inside a ritual bath. To film that scene, all female crew members were asked to leave the room, including the cinematographer.
“The [bath] shot was one of the more questionable moments that I encountered,” Niz said, although “eventually, the scene gained the approval of a local rabbi whom I both trust and respect.”
Song of David - Clip from Jewish Forward on Vimeo.
Comment: The interpenetration of traditional Jewish culture and the pop culture of the streets has fascinated me for a long time. Without question, it is an unwelcome and dangerous phenomena. I still remember the furor that the first Jewish "rocking" tune, "Bamarom Yelamdu" provoked in the Yeshiva circles and now our children don't know a different kind of music. Unfortunately, however, it is also unstoppable. We can erect higher walls and ban it, but it will slip in through tiny cracks in the yeshiva walls and though wide open conduits opened up by Orthodox "artists". Looking at the Jewish life 30 years from now, can anyone doubt that the surrounding culture will have changed our shuls, our ways of thinking, even our way of associating and daily life? How then should we deal with this unprecedented penetration of the street into our communities?
Since emotional arousal, images and boundary blurring is the essential component of the artistic experience, we need to allow a greater role to those elements of the religion that share this characteristic. These are the mystical and magical elements of religion that at this time are found only in certain charismatic groups in Orthodoxy. You can't fight the attraction of inner experience, artistic awakening and torrential emotions with intellectual indulgence or dry hashkofo. Instead, we should mine the treasures of Chassidus, Kabbolao and Misnagdic spirituality and make them more accessible to those who are not learned or are not aware of them or how they work. To a great degree, this is already spontaneously happening. There is a thirst for such spirituality that is welling up and revealing itself in the phenomenal growth of Lubavitch and Breslav, Kabbala, Kabbala, Kabbala, and the formation of small, closely knit religious communities and groups.
It is, of course, dangerous, but, I think that it is also inevitable. The Chassidic revolution was also a very dangerous time for Judaism and the Jewish people, but we survived it and because of it. We can ride this tidal wave or we can be submerged below it. I think the former is better.
