Music: Dybbuk in Detroit

• Share

To the Hebraic incantations of Elohim and Adonai a sacred promise was made in Detroit one night last week. The Jew Sender ben Henie swore before Jehovah that, if his unborn child should be a girl, he would marry her to the son of his faithful neighbor Nissen. But Nissen died leaving his son poor while Sender grew rich and increasingly greedy. The holy promise was broken, just as it was in Sholom Ansky's mystical drama. This time The Dybbuk was having its U. S. premiere as an opera, which has had considerable success during the past two years in Europe. The music was by Italian Composer Lodovico Rocca, who spent four years in Palestine studying Hebrew moods and chants. The first production in English was proudly staged last week by Detroit's Civic Opera in Masonic Auditorium.

On a stage strangely dark the pact between Sender and Nissen was pledged in such a leisurely prolog that many a Detroiter shifted uneasily, began to fear for the evening to come. First act picked up when the scene changed to the interior of a synagog. Comics were the bearded batlans who droned their prayers for a kopek or two, spent their earnings on vodka. A tragic, pale-faced figure was Hanan, Nissen's son, torn between the Talmud and the cabalistic mysticism which used to be feared by all good Jews. By prayers and fasting Hanan had hoped finally to win Sender's daughter Leah. Instead he dropped dead calling on the unholy powers as Sender appeared, rowdily announcing Leah's betrothal to a rich merchant's son.

Because the opera was supposed to be in English, the advance libretto sale had been light. But during intermission hundreds of Detroiters rushed into the lobby, glad to pay for some guide to its meaning. The second act spoke more eloquently for itself. Scene was the village square on the day of the marriage ceremonies. All the ghetto rabble was there, begging for alms, food, drink. One gay interlude came when a ragged peasant orchestra evoked a reedy little tune from the big band in the pit. Thereafter the tension grew grimmer. The beggars danced madly while Leah swept in to whirl despairingly with a groveling hunchback, a hideous, pawing old crone. Rocca's orchestra reached a frenzied climax as Leah faced her bridegroom, suddenly screamed like one gone mad. Just as abrupt was the hush when the verdict was passed. "A dybbuk has her ... a dybbuk, a dybbuk. . . ." Curtain went down with every instrument in the orchestra simulating the horror of that dread word.

According to ancient Hebrew lore a dybbuk is the restless spirit of one who has died committing a sin. Such a spirit, it once was believed, could return to earth, take heathenish possession of an innocent mortal. In the opera last week it was the tortured Hanan who bewitched Leah. To exorcise his spell she was led before an ancient rabbi to whom Sender admitted his treachery, gladly consented to renounce half his riches. Persistent prayers were said over Leah, who dropped lifeless when Hanan's spirit left her. Finale came with their love duet, frankly lyrical, typically Italian, which brought Detroiters cheering to their feet.