• Part I: Khutzpah (audacity), 30 minutes, composed 2000.
• Part II: Tsores (misery), 15 minutes, composed 2001.
• Part III: Simcha (joy), 15 minutes, composed 2001.

Pronunciation: Ch as in "Bach" or "loch".

Chelm is the Yiddish name for the Polish city of Chełm (Note the stroke across the ł, or £ if your browser cannot show ł--pronounced cheuum). The Jewish quarter of Chelm was vibrant 1442-1939, and it became the subject of a curious sort of folklore. Tales were told of a Jewish city of Chelm occupied by earnest, pious, and helplessly naive fools. In the minds of fools, they were all supremely wise sages. The nonsense and silliness portrayed in the folkloric tales of Chelm reflect broadly on the human condition.

The lumber to build Chelm. "Chelm" means "mountain" in Polish, and indeed the city stands beneath a mountain. When the people first beheld the valley, they felled trees on the mountainside for lumber to build their houses. They cleaned the trunks into fine logs, and carried them down the mountainside. A passerby offered the suggestion that they roll the logs down the mountainside, and they were so impressed with the wisdom of this suggestion that they carried their wood back up the mountain and rolled it down.

The assembly house. The main street was lined with houses, and now all they needed was a great assembly house in the middle of town. The Chelmites felled the largest tree they could find, to serve as the main pillar of the assembly house, and brought it to town. But just as they were about to bring it into town, one of them called "Wait!" Which end of the log should enter town first? This was an auspicious act, and they mustn't do it incorrectly. Should the crown-end enter first? But that might make the root-end jealous. Okay, so let the root-end enter first. But that might make the crown-end jealous! The only solution was to bring the log into town sideways, so both ends entered at the same time. Boom! The two ends of the log bumped against the houses on either side of the main street, for the log was longer than the street was wide. What to do? Well, naturally, one sage declared, they must knock down all the houses in town, bring the log to the middle of town, then rebuild the houses! And so they did.

The traveler. One Chelmite--let's call him Gimpel--decided to see the big city for himself. The big city was, of course, Warsaw. With little idea of travel and even less of following directions, Gimpel set out by foot on the road to Warsaw. Night fell, and he wandered off the road and found a spot to sleep. Before sleeping, he took off his shoes and pointed them in the direction he had been traveling, so he would be able to resume his journey the next day. In the night, a thief came along and thought to make off with the unguarded shoes, but when he saw the poor condition of them, he tossed them back on the ground--pointing the wrong direction. The next morning, Gimpel woke up, shook himself, put on his shoes, and marched onward in the direction of the shoes towards a town that looked strangely familiar. Friends of his greeted him, but he shook his head and said he was a traveler from another town. When asked to describe the town he was from, he said "It's exactly the same--only different!" Amazingly, a woman who looked just like his wife appeared and grabbed him firmly by the elbow and led him indoors to his dinner. And there he lives in Spilkes (anxiety) lest the true man of the house return home.

Isaac Bashevis Singer gives a more complex and elaborate ending to the tale of the traveler in which he breaks into song:

Those who leave Chelm
End up in Chelm.
Those who remain in Chelm
Are certainly in Chelm.
All roads lead to Chelm.
All the world is one big Chelm.

The music. While my music always deals first and foremost with making a splendid sound, in this particular piece I built the sound partly from preexisting materials: torah trop, haftarah trop, and klezmer zmiros. The first movement employs torah trop--the chant style used for reciting the pentateuch--as if it were a sort of folkloric storytelling tune (well, it is!). In liturgical tradition, pentateuch readings are followed by readings from later in scripture, in haftarah trop--a subtly different chant style, which runs through the second movement.. And in Jewish lore, the line between liturgy and socializing is blurry or non-existent, so it is not inconsistent with tradition that the music should end on a hilariously fugal presentation of klezmer zmiros--wordless or almost wordless tunes appropriate for folk-band performance and dance.
    Throughout the work, the contrabass takes a prominent role which may be likened to a protagonist, a cantor, a storyteller, or simply a wonderful and dominating voice. Every player in the small string ensemble has a separate part, and like the oboes and horns, each string part eventually gets a distinctive and prominent role in the music.
    The piece was originally requested by the bassist of an ensemble of exactly this roster; when I finished writing the music, the ensemble was unable to work with me because of new contractual obligations. The great hornist and longtime friend William VerMeulen suggested contacts in Houston, Texas, and this group has recorded the work.
    This recording was released by Centaur Records as CRC 2699, in October 2004.

Personnel for the recording
Oboes: Robert Atherholt, Linda Gilbert
Horns: William VerMeulen, Brian Thomas
Violins: Eric Halen, Qi Ming, Sophia Silvios, Denise Tarrant, Erica Robinson, Si Yang Lao, Sylvia VerMeulen, Hae-a Lee
Violas: Wayne Brooks, Rita Porfiris, Joan DerHovsepian
Violoncellos: Chris French, Barrett Sills
Contrabass: Paul Ellison
Director: Larry Rachleff
Manager: Richard Brown
Assistant to Richard Brown: Hae-a Lee
Recording engineer: Andy Bradley
Producer: Judith Sherman
Editing: Judith Sherman
Editing Assistant: Jeanne Velonis
Mastering: Marnie Hall
Cover art: Michele Goren
Graphics: Anne K. DeCastro