By Rabbi Moshe Grussgott
Kehilath Israel Synagogue
This week marks the shloshim - completion of 30 days of mourning - for Cantor Daniel Gildar, of blessed memory, a man who had great influence on my Jewish development as a child.
I write this piece as a small tribute in his honor. Cantor Gildar was the chazzan of Congregation Shaare Shamayim, a Traditional synagogue in Northeast Philadelphia, where my father was the rabbi. A great scholar of cantorial music who served as a mentor to countless other cantors throughout the country, Cantor Gildar also had a touch of eccentricity, as many geniuses tend to possess.
He wore an old-time tuning fork wrist-watch, which he would put up to his ear before leading mussaf each shabbat. As a kid I didn’t know why he would press his watch to his ear, but I would often imitate him from my seat, making sure to listen to my own (watchless) wrist before davening.
Cantor Gildar married his beloved wife Marcia relatively late in life, and they never had kids together, although he has step children and grandchildren through her. For most of my childhood he was still single. Every shabbat he would host dozens of people at his table for lunch, including many children.
I and my family would often attend. These meals were crucial experiences for my entire generational cohort at Shaarei Shamayim. A large part of what endeared Cantor Gildar to us as kids was that he had a childlike innocence and sense of humor himself. He wasn’t really trying to “do outreach” to us; he had no apparent or overt agenda in that regard. We got a sense that he just genuinely loved our company and cared about our spiritual and emotional lives. Kids can famously discern sincerity, and we all knew that he had it.
His table was replete with corny jokes and puns; Birkat HaMazon (the Grace After Meals) featured all the classic Jewish puns in which children take glee, like rhyming “rachamim” with “sour cream”. He brought so many of those kids closer to Judaism – including me and my siblings. Yes, even rabbis’ kids need additional religious role models, aside from their own parents, from whom to draw inspiration. Many people don’t realize that. I myself only realized that in retrospect, as an adult.
Cantor Gildar eventually became well known as the go-to pianist for cantorial concerts throughout the country. On a few occasions, he would take me to his concerts in New York, where I served as his page-turner. I’d sit on the piano bench with him, turning the pages of music back and forth, as he’d vigorously wave his hand to cue me. This was a high-pressure job! So many people were watching.
On the drive up to New York, he would challenge me to come up with clever Jewish puns, based on Torah stories, Jewish holidays, or Jewish liturgy; then he’d share some of his own such puns with me. Before the concerts, he’d take me out to eat with famous American cantors. We’d get home to Philadelphia late at night, which always made it feel fun and special for me.
After the concerts, people would invariably come up to us to say how cute we were together, and they’d often ask him if I was his son. “More like an honorary son,” he would say with a smile. Cantor Gildar had hundreds of honorary children, all of whom he made to feel as special and cared for and loved as I felt with him.
His shloshim concluded on the Fast of Ten Tevet. How fitting that on that day, we read in the Haftorah from Isaiah 56:5 of God’s promise to the righteous who have no children of their own: “And I shall give them within My House and within My walls a place of honor and renown which is better than sons and daughters; I shall grant to them an eternal renown, which shall never cease.” May the memory of Cantor Gildar serve as an inspiration for us all.
Rabbinic Wisdom is a “pulpit in print” that shares the thoughts, observations, and wisdom of our community rabbis with readers of The Chronicle.