Israel's soundtrack, distilled

Seven years ago Arik Einstein published a book, "The Same Love," which he described as " an outline of an autobiography." Eli Mohar, the book's editor, came on my television show to promote it. During the entire interview I kept hoping the door would open and Einstein himself would walk in, radiating that special charm he possessed his entire life. He was a prince of modesty. I remember sharing a ride with him in a rickety pick-up truck 53 years ago on the way to Kibbutz Harel, where he had a meeting with a director or artist. Even back then, when he still went by the nickname of Ariyot (his given name was Aryeh) -- he overflowed with an inexplicable charisma. He was at the beginning of his career, and better known as a track and field champion than as a singer or actor.

Later, his career took off. He became the best of the best, soaring to the heights yet remaining firmly planted in the ethos of his youth as the child of two actors from the Ha'ohel Theater. He was a product of the socialist Zionist Hashomer Hatzair youth movement in Tel Aviv, but at the same time a true representative of a genuine bohemia. He could occasionally be seen on Dizengoff Street in the 1960s and 1970s, where fashionable people liked to strike a pose. But he belonged more to the exciting, creative group that hung around on the beaches of the first Hebrew city.

Einstein was idolized by large swathes of the public, as evidenced this morning by the masses of people mourning his sudden passing. In reality, he was a bit of a recluse, living for many years by the maxim that "a man lives inside himself." Someone once asked him why he doesn't go out and absorb the adulation of the masses for his velvelty voice and multifaceted music, from "beautiful Israel" songs to the rock that was close to his heart. "I have already paid my debt to the public" he answered, and stayed home.

His work was a model of multifaceted talents, a sense of humor, intelligence, and the ability to put into words his deep love for watching sports, especially Hapoel Tel Aviv. Above all, he was Israel's soundtrack. Arik did not preach to anyone, but his voice spoke clearly to every listener. Eli Mohar summed him up precisely: "The wisdom of Arik's voice was in its smiling sadness, its warm detachment."

An entire nation grew up on his voice and his romantic lyricism. "Your head is crowned in black gold," he sang in the words of Abraham Halfi.

Or Nathan Alterman's poem: "You came upon me like a sudden storm, and I will forever sing to you/ In vain I tried to place a wall between us/ In vain I tried to close the door/ My desire persists for you and your garden/ I am bewildered and overcome."

Or Naomi Shemer's song, "From sea foam and a cloud/ I built me a White City/ Like them it foamed/ Like them it washed over/ Like them it is beautiful."

All of his songs are intense and concentrated expressions of the land of Israel, in both melody and lyrics. He is one of a handful artists who sang and composed their own music and lyrics. He raised Israeli music to a level that has no rival. His music accompanied an entire nation for decades. The people supported it and it supported them.

Israeli music does not have its own pantheon or poets' corner. The great artist are spread throughout several cemeteries. Nevertheless, they are a hard nugget that unifies us all.

He died as he lived, without drawing undue attention, without troubling others. His forehead is crowned in gold, not black gold, but pure gold.

טעינו? נתקן! אם מצאתם טעות בכתבה, נשמח שתשתפו אותנו