'A few days in Israel are worth everything to me'

When the directors of Spain's Rototom Sunsplash reggae music festival demanded that singer Matisyahu sign a document declaring his identification with and support for a Palestinian state, the popular Jewish artist decided to do something he had thus far avoided.

Matthew Paul Miller, who for over a decade and a half has been a smashing success on stages all over the world, is absolutely aware that in this business, the show must go on and he must be flexible. But something was burning inside him, and he decided that rather than be forced into signing the declaration, he would cancel his appearance.

"I never experienced such strong anti-Semitism in my life," he said at the time of the incident, which quickly made waves internationally.

This case can doubtless be considered a watershed moment for pro-Palestinian organizations. For the first time in the history of the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement, an attempt was made to prevent a Jewish artist, who doesn't even live in Israel, from appearing. The group of activists from Valencia that organized the petition against Matisyahu is part of an extremist anti-Israel movement that is calling to isolate Israel both economically and culturally through an international boycott. Was Matisyahu, a successful American artist who has starred on lists of top-selling albums since 2005, targeted?

The incident at the Spanish festival sparked, as expected, an international firestorm. After a few days, it looked like Matisyahu's refusal to comply with the demand was effective. Thanks to public pressure, the festival organizers made a public apology and invited him to appear. At that point, he was unsure what to do. The levels of hatred in the coastal city had reached a height that Matisyahu described as dangerous. He later said he had never experienced such tension and hostility in his life. Nevertheless, a stage with his name on the backdrop was waiting, and he had to make a decision: Should he go on and perform in the face of dozens of Palestinian flags, boos and insults, or just go on to the next stop? Matisyahu took the stage, grabbed the microphone, exchanged a few glances with the musicians and chose his first song -- an especially loud reggae version of "Im Eshkachech Jerusalem" (If I forget thee, O Jerusalem).

For Matisyahu, or Matityahu Shaul Miller -- his Hebrew name -- who takes care to visit Israel frequently, the choice was a natural one. Often in his life, he says in an interview following his appearance at the Days of Jewish Culture Festival in Berlin, one can see that "everything that happens is part of a bigger plan. The anti-Semitic incident with the Israel boycott activists, was apparently one of those incidents that make it clear where you belong."

It appears that at least in his case, Israel was a key part of the personal journey that led him to where he is today.

The beats of the Lubavitcher rebbe

Matisyahu first came to Israel in 1995 for a few months of high school, and after that visit began what he calls a "journey of spiritual searching." He grew up in a New York family and battled a drug problem.

"When I was young, I was searching for my identity, what I was good at and what I loved to do. I wasn't happy, and I was looking for a way out or something that would help me," he recalls.

"At first, I looked in the wrong places, but that was the path that led me to music."

In those years, he had no connection to religion in general or the Orthodox sector in particular, but after visiting Israel, something changed.

"When I was about 20, I found the connection to Judaism and Hassidism, specifically. There I started to find the answers to the questions that had bothered me," he says.

Bit by bit, he began the journey toward a hassidic way of life as well as his first steps on his musical path. A few years later, he was already a full-fledged student at a Chabad yeshiva in New York, a successful hassidic rapper, married and a father of three boys, the youngest of whom is named after the Lubavitcher rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson. His religious ties did not keep him from doing what he did best. They called him "the hassidic reggae superstar."

Dressed head to toe in proper ultra-Orthodox clothing, the New York kid with his signature sidelocks and long beard earned a place of honor as one of the top artists in the American rap and reggae scene. Through his microphone, the melody and the rhythm stayed the same, but the words sounded a bit different. For Matisyahu, who at that point was more hassidic than ever, God, the Lubavitcher rebbe and even the Messiah converged perfectly with the beat.

But one day, everything changed. A message to his fans posted on his Facebook pace announced that he was no longer the hassidic reggae superstar, something that had won him many accolades. He shaved off his beard and sidelocks, removed his hat and changed his wardrobe. After a time, he and his wife separated and he began a difficult journey, even by his own unusual standards.

When asked about the tough stage he is going through, he thinks a moment and then says, "For me, the most important thing in life was being a musician and succeeding as a musician. In Judaism, idol worship is forbidden. It's written: 'Thou shall have no other gods before me.' At first, I thought that music was my golden calf and I had to give it up, but then I realized that if I have the privilege to be a musician, part of that is letting some things go and serving something higher."

Today, it's doubtful that anyone who knew him would recognize Matisyahu on the street. The outer signs are part of a deeper change that is also expressed in the new songs he recorded for his last album. They leave no doubt that something is happening to him.

With all this and despite the twists and turns, one point has remained constant, and that is his connection to Israel.

Matisyahu's last album was recorded partly in Israel, as well as the video that goes with it. Two weeks after the incident in Spain, Matisyahu sent a surprise tweet from Berlin airport. The plan has changed, he wrote. "Making one more stop before heading home ... Jerusalem if I forget you." He notified his fans about the concert in Israel's capital, which is taking place today during the Jerusalem Sacred Music Festival.

It's interesting to track the concert tour of the guy who until recently was a Chabad Hassid -- Belgium, France, the Netherlands, Ukraine, Germany and Poland. Something of his DNA is imprinted on his tour schedule. Not many artists move naturally from nature parties with tens of thousands of participants to concert venues that look like community centers to small clubs or a tiny synagogue next to Auschwitz. It seems like the life stages of the restless Matthew Paul Miller are becoming clearer than ever. Will Jerusalem be a regular stop on his journey?

Human beatbox

Shortly before the Jerusalem concert, I met Matisyahu at an acoustic concert in Berlin. The event organizers, who apparently didn't realize how popular the reggae artist was, planned a relatively intimate performance and were surprised when twice as many people as expected showed up.

He took the stage, more exposed than ever. Without amplifiers, special sound effects or synthesizers, with only by an acoustic guitarist and a microphone. In a simple gray shirt he grabbed from the closet and skinny pants, he looked like an aging hipster, and his long gray hair was tied back under a baseball cap.

When he started to sing songs from his latest album, the words in his cracked voice were surprising. He sang about the broken home, about loneliness and about an unending search. Slowly, the words ended and Matisyahu moved on to what he loves -- the beatbox. Like a human drum machine, he used only his lips to produce a repetitive, stubborn, and touching beat, and it appeared as if the audience was praying with him. At one point, two wisps of hair escaped his cap and it looked like he still had sidelocks. Or did he do it on purpose?

After the concert, I noted that no one in Brooklyn would recognize him this way. He smiles and then becomes serious: "Yeah, for sure. I don't have sidelocks or hassidic clothes anymore, but I'm also not a pop star. I'm in jeans and T-shirts. My friends say I look like a movie director."

Are people who connected with you at the beginning ask themselves why you left the Chabad world?

"It's complicated to explain. I wasn't raised to be a Hassid. I chose it during a time when I was searching for my identity. I wanted to know who I was and where I came from. A big part of that was being Jewish and looking for spirituality. Searching for spirituality in Judaism at the point where I was [meant] being a Chabad Hassid. The meaning of being a Hassid says exactly the opposite -- not to be influenced by external fashion, everything comes from within.

"When I started to be successful, it became a style that was associated with me. The Hassidic reggae singer -- that's what made me exotic and different, but that wasn't why I started with it. In the end, when I decided to shave off the sidelocks, it was to go back to 'me, myself' and mainly to be simple. Not to show the world all the time, 'Hi, I'm someone wearing religious dress.' Spirituality is something that is inside me and I don't need to be dressed like a Hassid to express that. People change from day to day, and I changed. One day you feel one way, and the next day you feel different."

However, Matisyahu declares that the hassidic rapper has not vanished completely.

"Part of what I once believed in I don't connect with. There are certain things I don't agree with, that I don't think God agrees with. It made me start asking questions and doubting certain things and chose how to live my life, but there are a lot of religious people who connect to my music on the personal level, regardless of religion or religious laws. Part of that has to do with everything that happened now in Spain."

Is it possible that part of the opposition to you stems from the fact that you are recognized as a Jew?

"You are what you are. I have a history, and my fans know what I am and who I am. My identity, my Judaism, is a big part of I am and what I do. Part of my music and my internalness. As far as externals, I don't dress like I used to, but my internal connection with God is just growing. If you're a religious Jew, Muslim or atheist -- that has nothing to do with music, and I heard that from people and fans all the time. Music talks about something higher. People always say that they don't know what God is, but my music brings them to a place where they can ask the question, and that's the place where God is."

When asked if we will be seeing him more in Israel now, he answers: "I used to come a lot. For about all of the High Holidays I would visit Nachlaot [a Jerusalem neighborhood] but I haven't been for a long time, even though part of my last album was recorded in Israel. I've wanted to come for a long time, but it didn't work out. After the incident in Spain I decided it would be perfect to end the story in Israel. We were in Poland and Germany, and finishing in Jerusalem was very significant to me. But even regardless of what happened -- a few days of touring Israel for fun, even without performing -- is worth it all to me."

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