Several days ago, the Boston Conservatory of Music’s virtual performance of “What the World Needs Now” unleashed a torrent of tears from me as I watched and listened, not only because I have harbored so much anxiety and fear about covid-19 for many weeks, but also because the music and lyrics made me feel hopeful and grateful. My tears came from sadness and happiness simultaneously, a blended feeling that Kacey Musgraves questioned in her 2018 song “Happy & Sad” where she asked if there was one word to describe this duality.
I am very sad about the way Jews and Asians have experienced an increase in hate from so many people, Asians because Covid-19 exploded first in China, and Jews because an infected Jewish man from New Rochelle, New York, was at the center of the first U.S. Coronavirus hot spot. The fact is, of course, that Asians and Jews are the same victims of this terrible plague as everyone else. A world where any minority becomes a scapegoat or becomes a diversion from others’ guilt is an impoverished world for everyone.
At the same time, however, I cling to happiness because for the past decade Rabbi Marvin Tokayer and I have been researching and writing about how Jews and Asians, when circumstances brought them together throughout Asia over centuries, contributed to and benefited from each other, living together harmoniously and leaving the world a better place than they found it. And these amazing, true stories—many involving music—give me hope.
I think about Max Fraenkel, a German-Jewish lawyer, judge, and accomplished musician. Because he was Jewish, none of his original music was published in Germany, and eventually the Germans arrested him. In 1939, however, he managed to flee to Shanghai where he joined the Shanghai Municipal Symphony and taught composition, harmony, and counterpoint at the National Conservatory of Music. In 1970, after China’s Cultural Revolution, Fraenkel settled in Los Angeles, and twenty years later Fraenkel’s former student Sang Tong, a prominent composer and director of the Shanghai Conservatory of Music, wrote an article to commemorate his beloved mentor and teacher, sealing Fraenkel’s legacy on a joyful note.
Joseph Rosentock also comes to mind. A Polish Jew who became director of the Mannheim Opera House in Germany, Rosenstock was forced by the Nazis to give up his position in 1933. Luckily, in 1936 he was appointed conductor of the Japan Symphony (renamed the Nippon Philharmonic Orchestra). Although Japan became Germany’s ally during World War II, the Japanese supported Jewish musicians, and Rosenstock continued to conduct until February 1944, when he decided to stop until all pro-Nazi members of the orchestra were gone. Upon receiving the necessary assurance, he resumed conducting in October 1945.
Weary from the ravages of war, however, in 1946 Rosenstock resigned from his post in Japan and traveled to New York to conduct the Metropolitan Opera and manage the New York City Opera. After five years, though, Rosenstock returned to Japan and learned that the orchestra had been paying the rent on his apartment in Tokyo so that it always would be ready for their esteemed conductor’s return. He continued to work in both New York and Japan until his death in 1985.
I find myself reflecting on the sadness and happiness that threads through these stories, through the music and the memories of people of different races, religions and cultures working together. This is no time to give free rein to anti-Semitism, xenophobia, racism, homophobia, misogeny, misanthropy, or any other form of hatred, despite Donald Trump’s despicable role modeling. It is the time to accept that “what the world needs now” and moving forward is the belief that like the disparate performers that brought tears to my eyes, we can make beautiful music together, just as Jews and Asians have done for centuries.
Ellen Rodman, Ph.D.; is coauthor (with Rabbi Marvin Tokayer) of Pepper, Silk & Ivory: Amazing Stories about Jews and the Far East and the recently completed sequel Sugar in the Tea: Amazing Stories about Jews and the Far East.