Still these drawings in the synagogue are joyful, optimistic, colorful, innocent. For a moment you might think you are at any elementary school anywhere. The Moorish splendor of the Spanish Synagogue offered some comfort. It is gorgeous, with every cupola, every archway, every surface hand painted in rich reds, blues, and golds. Such abundance might have been overwhelming, but I found this synagogue's perfect floor to ceiling geometric symmetry somehow calming.
Superlatives are meaningless in our hyperbole-mad culture.
Nevertheless, I can only say that this concert was incredible. With fifty gorgeous voices, exquisite harmonies in four languages, music from a half dozen countries, it was by turns elegiac and celebratory, soulful and joyous. As it ended, I opened my eyes and saw that my hands were curled tightly around the balcony rail and my face was soaked with tears. Exhausted, and not a little embarrassed, I leaned against the wall and vowed to get a hold of myself. Thus resolved, I waited for the next song cycle, which was written, according to the program, by a Terezin composer.