arts & culture
Andrew Esenstein | JTA.org
T here is a Grammy Award for
just about every kind of music
— from pop to metal to New Age to
Contemporary Christian — but there’s no
Jewish category. Two Jewish musician
friends hope to change that.

Joanie Leeds, a children’s musician
and Grammy winner in New York City,
and Mikey Pauker, a self-described
“devotional rock” artist from Southern
California, are working on a formal
proposal to add “best Jewish music
album” to the list of Grammys awarded
each year. They submitted their proposal
to the Recording Academy, the body
that governs the Grammys.

In the past, albums of what is tradition-
ally considered to be Jewish music have
been nominated in a variety of catego-
ries, including best contemporary world
music. The Klezmatics’ “Wonder Wheel”
album won in that category in 2006, and
some referred to the award as “the fi rst
Jewish Grammy.”
But musicians who produce albums
of Jewish music often fi nd themselves
caught between categories, Leeds
said. The global category is not a fi t for
American musicians, and categories for
religious music, even if expanded, are
also not an easy fi t, she said.

“‘Jewish’ is complicated, because it’s
not just a religion like Christianity,” Leeds
said. “It’s also a culture.”
To strengthen their proposal, the
pair consulted with rabbis and Jewish
educators about what constitutes
Jewish music.

“We’re doing our best to be as clear
as possible and as inclusive as possi-
ble because not everybody knows that
Jewish music is diverse,” Pauker said.

“It’s transdenominational, it’s based in
spirituality, it’s based in culture and it’s
not just Ashkenazi.”
In their proposal, Pauker and Leeds
make the case for a new category that will
22 MARCH 9, 2023 | JEWISH EXPONENT
Mikey Pauker, seen here performing in Berkeley, California, is one of the
musicians behind a petition to add a Jewish music category to the Grammys.

encompass Jewish religious music, such
as cantorial music, nigguns and Mizrahi
music, as well as secular music, such
as klezmer, Yiddish, Ladino and Judeo-
Arabic music. Albums with Christian
themes, including those produced by
Messianic Jews, would not be eligible.

“It needs to have some sort of Jewish
content in it to make it Jewish music,”
Leeds said. “If there’s a song in Israel
about some guy meeting a girl at a
bar, or whatever it’s about that has no
grounds in text or liturgy or anything,
then it wouldn’t be considered Jewish
music.” “Our goal is really to educate not just
the Recording Academy about what
Jewish music is, but also educating
the public as to what Jewish music is,”
she said.

The Recording Academy regularly
adds and modifi es Grammy categories.

This year, it added fi ve new ones, includ-
ing best score soundtrack for video
games and other interactive media and
best spoken-word poetry album.

Pauker said this is not the fi rst time
musicians have petitioned the Recording
Academy to add a Jewish category. But
this time, he said, he and Leeds can point
to the consistent output of high-quality
Jewish music in recent years. He noted
that in the past two years alone, more
than 100 albums were released that
could have been nominated in such a
category. “We’re at a point in music history
where we’re having a Jewish renais-
sance, and the market has arrived,” he
said. “We have enough artists where we
can get this done.” He added that the
Recording Academy has been support-
ive of him and Leeds in their endeavor.

To raise awareness about their
proposal, they have launched a petition
on the Change.org website. By Friday, it
had more than 1,800 signatures, includ-
ing from non-Jewish musicians.

Among the signers is Sephardic singer
and activist Sarah Aroeste. She said
she supports the push to add a Jewish
category at the Grammys because her
albums, including 2021’s “Monastir,” do
not fi t cleanly into the other categories.

“Jewish music crosses so many
musical boundaries, yet we get lost, or
are ineligible, in existing categories,” she
wrote. “As a Ladino musician specifi cally,
I’ve always been put in the global music
category. I am literally up against musical
acts from all around the globe!”
She added: “Having our own category
— much like other ethnic or religious
groups have them — would highlight the
breadth and diversity of Jewish music as
a genre and would allow those Academy
members knowledgeable about the
music to be able to vote.”
Pauker, 37, recently launched a
folk-rock-reggae-chant record label
called Beautiful Way Records. He will
help lead Shabbat services during
Wilderness Torah’s upcoming Passover
in the Desert festival.

Leeds won a 2021 Grammy in the
Best Children’s Music Album category
for her ninth album, a compilation of
secular children’s music called “All the
Ladies” that included a song about
Jewish Supreme Court Justice Ruth
Bader Ginsburg. She has also released
multiple albums of Jewish kids’ music,
including “Meshugana” and “Challah,
Challah,” as well as a Christmas record
called “Oy Vey” in collaboration with the
rapper Fyütch.

Pauker said the two became close
friends during the pandemic, when they
spent many hours on the social media
app Clubhouse discussing Judaism and
music. As the Recording Academy considers
their proposal in the coming weeks,
Pauker said he and Leeds will hold
community conversations about trends
in Jewish music.

“One of our hopes is this will launch
hundreds of new artists, new records
and collaborations that can really help
push this genre forward,” he said. ■
This story originally appeared in J. The
Jewish News of Northern California
and is reprinted with permission. Jackie
Hajdenberg added reporting for JTA.

Courtesy of Mikey Pauker
There’s a Grammy for Christian Music.

These Musicians Want Jewish Music
to Get One, Too



synagogue spotlight
At the End of a Northeast Philadelphia
Street, a Basement Synagogue
Pulsates with Life
Jarrad Saff ren | Staff Writer
A Congregation Beth Midrash HaRav B’Nai Jacob in
Northeast Philadelphia
Rabbi Isaac Leizerowski is the spiritual leader of
Congregation Beth Midrash HaRav B’Nai Jacob.

“It isn’t just a place where we live. It’s a place
where we grow,” said Dennis Sacks, a 78-year-old
resident of the neighborhood.

Leizerowski estimated that 90% of the people who
live on the street are part of this Orthodox commu-
nity. They are businessmen and social workers,
among other professions. Many of them drive far
away from their enclave each day to work in diff er-
ent sections of the region. As Shaiki Newman, a
57-year-old resident, put it, “I get up in the morning;
I go to shul; I go to work.”
Some families have young children who attend
the nearby Politz Hebrew Academy. A 10-year-old
boy even comes to the 6:30 a.m. minyan each day,
according to the rabbi, who calls that “a beautiful
thing.” Other families have children who are older
and who, like many of their contemporaries from
non-Orthodox synagogues, moved away from the
area. Sacks’ kids, for instance, live in New York City
and Israel.

And while everyone in the community is religious,
there are still levels. Sacks said that he was not able
to attend minyans when he was still working at the
Philadelphia VA Medical Center. He had to work long
hours. But when he retired, he started going every
day. Newman can only attend evening minyans in
the summer when the sun sets later. During the rest
of the year, his business prevents him from getting
there in time. The father of four also said that, when
his kids were growing up and going through Politz,
some families were “very religious” and others were
“not very religious.”
But no one judged each other. What mattered,
according to Newman, was that they were together.

It’s a spirit that continues today. During the fi rst
week of March, one family’s heater went out. The
neighbors got together in a WhatsApp group to off er
backup options and space in their houses. When
Sacks’ wife was in the hospital, he was not allowed
to eat a Shabbat dinner alone.

“How is your wife? How are you doing? Do you
want me to pick up something for you?” he recalled
of those dinner conversations.

Leizerowski does not have a dues structure for
the synagogue. He does not need one. If the duplex
on Algon Avenue needs a new roof for $12,000, the
rabbi just informs the community.

“They understand,” he said. ■
jsaff ren@midatlanticmedia.com
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM 23
Photo by Jarrad Saff ren
bout 90% of Jews in America and the
Philadelphia area are Conservative, Reform,
Reconstructionist or unaffi liated. So when
the Jewish Exponent calls this section Synagogue
Spotlight, it usually refers to a synagogue commu-
nity: a group of people who fi nd each other at the
building. But an Orthodox community is diff erent. Traditional
Jews live in the same neighborhoods and walk to
their synagogues because they cannot drive on
Shabbat. Theirs is a community, not a synagogue
community. The worshipping space is almost inciden-
tal to the ecosystem.

The Exponent’s Synagogue Spotlight series has
focused on this dynamic before. There are Orthodox
communities on the Main Line, in Northeast
Philadelphia and in other parts of the region. But
perhaps no traditional community in the area embod-
ies the structure and rhythm of Orthodox Judaism
quite like the one along Algon Avenue in Northeast
Philadelphia. These traditional Jews refer to their synagogue
as Congregation Beth Midrash HaRav B’Nai Jacob.

But it is not a big building on its own property. It is in
the basement of a duplex on Algon Avenue. A small
black sign sitting on a backyard fence directs you
where to go. Beyond that black sign is a sidewalk
that loops around the duplex’s street. It takes just a
few minutes to walk the entire loop. During that time,
you will see neighbors talking to each other on their
steps — even on a cool, late winter afternoon.

Later, around 5:40 p.m., you will see people getting
home from work, parking their cars and walking to
the synagogue for evening minyan. A similar routine,
just with the cars going out instead of coming back
in, played out in the morning after the early minyans.

Rabbi Isaac Leizerowski said both gatherings are a
part of the daily rhythm in this Northeast Philadelphia
neighborhood. Then, come Friday night, all of those
people, along with many others, usually 75-80 in all,
will cram into the basement for a Shabbat service.

Afterward, they may go back to each other’s houses
to eat together. Later, some community members
might even return to the synagogue to study and
learn a little more.