Baruch Levine has been releasing meaningful Jewish music for decades, not only as a composer but as a singer, gaining popularity for his signature song, “Vezakeini,” released in 2006. Most recently, the Toronto native has released his album “Kumzitz Alive” in September 2024, a special compilation of songs for the month of Elul. The talented artist spoke with The Jewish Link about his experience in the world of Jewish entertainment, what inspires him and how he incorporates his passions into creating beautiful music.

Tell me about your background and childhood. Did you always take an interest in music?

I always loved music. Whenever I would go to a simcha with my parents, I would find myself fascinated with the band, while everyone else was preoccupied with food and other people. When I was 7 or 8 years old, my grandmother had a surgery, and every time we visited her in the hospital I would go play on the piano in the waiting area; my parents realized then that it was time to buy me a keyboard to play on at home. I really played mostly by ear, which is a gift, but I owe a lot of credit to my keyboard teacher, Yehuda Gilden, a”h, who was one of the founders of the band Nafshenu Orchestra in Toronto.

I did miss out on being in the Toronto Boys Choir, which before my time was led by Yeruchmiel Begun, who then moved the choir to Miami before I was old enough to participate. The most experience I got in my childhood was through my school choir and the choir at Camp Agudah Toronto, which was all great, and definitely enough for me to know that this is what I love. In hindsight, I’m glad in a certain way to have kept my talent with family and friends at such a young age, because it’s so much healthier for a child to get attention and recognition from within his familiar circle than to have to deal with the risks and dangers of being in the public eye. I did get the chance to be a child soloist on some of Abie Rotenberg’s productions—“Journeys,” “Dveykus” and “The Golden Crown”—he was a family friend who lived just a few blocks away from us.

You got your start in music composition. Tell me how you embarked on that part of your career.

When I was 9 or 10, before I knew the world of composers, I was just fascinated with songs and where they come from. I remember tinkering on my keyboard, and I was playing a song when my father asked me, “That’s a very nice song; what is it? Whose song is it?” I told him, “I don’t even know.” That’s when it dawned on me that there are people who compose and people who sing; those first two songs I wrote never really made it anywhere, but as they say, the rest is history.

When I was 13, my father called up Zale Newman, who was then the producer of a new singer, Yehuda (Cik), who was 16 at the time. Zale Newman came to the house so I could play him some songs, and he bought a few of them, for $150 each. That was my start in composing.

What’s your composition process like? What inspires you to create music?

My composition process usually begins with a tefillah or a message that inspired me. Years ago, it was possible to pick something like “Shema Koleinu” and write a song with that, because there were only two or three other tunes. Nowadays, you have to be a little more innovative and creative; in every composition, there has to be some element of “chiddush,” something new. It has to be that when the listener hears the music, he raises his eyebrows and says, “Oh, I hear something new here,” even if just for a moment. A lot of composers think they have to be totally new and innovative—but the songs that actually take off are actually somewhat familiar to the listener, but with a “twist.” I look for that combination of comfort and chiddush.

Tell me about your transition from composing for other artists to releasing your own music. How are the two experiences different?

My parents really recognized my need for an outlet to compose, so they would give me some money during bein hazmanim to rent some time in a studio. In those days, there were no home studios, so I needed to be in a place with all of the equipment. I would head to the studio to record the music I composed during the zman (and I won’t tell you whether that was during seder or not)! With this I was able to put together professional demos, and I would mail out cassette tapes to different producers.

My music would make its way to Zale Newman and Abie Rotenberg, who I knew, and even others like Yochi Briskman, Yerachmiel Begun and Shea Mendlowitz, who was producing then for Yisroel Williger. At that stage of my life, it didn’t occur to me that I would ever sing—but as I got a little older and my voice continued to develop, the producers started asking why I was selling my music instead of singing the songs myself.

Singing wasn’t something I really wanted to do until I was more settled and had a family of my own. It was very important to me that music would always be next to what I do, but not define what I do; I just wanted to be a good family man and a rebbe. If music would, at some point, be able to bring in parnassa on the side, while giving me the opportunity to be a positive influence, that would be a bonus! Once I was more settled in my family life, I was willing to meet with a couple of producers, including Yochi Briskman, who helped me make the decision to pursue this path. I knew that if you put out an album with [Briskman] word about it would get around, so that’s how I got my start in singing.

People still ask me if I feel bad about selling some of my songs to other famous artists that I could have sang myself—it’s a good question, but writing those songs helped me develop into who I am today. It was certainly all bashert.

Who are some of your musical influences, both within and outside the Jewish music world?

I never really listened to non-Jewish music, not only because I didn’t really grow up with it, but I also never felt the need for it—there’s so much in Jewish music to absorb. Jewish music has so many different styles within it, even then when it was still a relatively small world.

Jewish music was especially part of my life growing up in Toronto, with Shlomo Carlebach as an influence, who had a strong and mature voice—a “kumzitz-style” voice—and not many other young people appreciated it. Now everyone does, of course, but I really did as a child. My father would put me to bed every night with “Beshem Hashem,” played from his Shlomo Carlebach cassette table.

I also loved the music of Abie Rotenberg and Yerachmiel Begun, including the Miami Boys Choir, the kind of good, conventional Jewish music that everyone enjoys today. Of course, there was also Mordechai Ben David and Avraham Fried, who are both more commercial singers, whom I both appreciated as well.

I also really appreciated the singer-songwriters, the artists. People like Moshe Yess, and groups like Tzlil V’Zemer and Amudei Shesh, who had talented choir leaders writing beautiful songs.

Are there any specific themes or messages that you consistently explore in your music?

I grew up in a conventional yeshiva household; I was a yeshiva bochur. And all of the challenges and achievements that come along with that are things that I explore. I love to express and bring chizuk and validate those who are also in that world, so there are a lot of songs that reflect that. I sing about the struggles that we as frum people face living in a very difficult, secular world, and how we can keep our identities.

I feel that if every artist writes the songs that they personally connect with, they will be able to give over the messages that they are passionate about. For me, it’s the songs about emunah and bitachon, and bitchu b’Hashem; all of my music involves Torah, tefillah, chinuch and other core concepts in some way.

You’ve performed some major concerts, including at the Siyum HaShas celebrations at MetLife Stadium in 2012 and 2020. What is it like to perform in front of such a large audience?

It’s very interesting, because stage fright is a real thing, but it’s also a healthy thing, so you have to have a balance. If we really thought about the risk of performing in such large audiences, we would freeze from anxiety and nervousness and we wouldn’t be able to get anything out. On the other hand, if we go to performances thinking it’ll be a walk in the park, it’s not respectful to the audience—they need to see our cutting edge and give them the best performance that we can. I feel that I’m gifted with the balance of not being too afraid but also being conscious enough of the audience to give it my best.

Part of performing is treating the performance with respect, and to give people what they’re expecting. The other part of it, which is a little less in our control, is the state of your voice. This crippled me a little in my earlier years.

There’s certainly a rush to it all. When you do execute a great delivery and performance, it’s a wonderful feeling, and a gift to be able to do that. For some, it may be addictive in an unhealthy way; but again, this is why it’s important for artists to build lives outside of performances, whatever that may be.

What has been the most surprising thing about being a singer and songwriter?

It’s surprising to me that some songs make it and some songs don’t; I don’t think any singer could tell you there’s a perfect recipe for a hit. Every composer, singer or songwriter, for every hit song that they write, there are three or four more that didn’t make it.

As a composer, people often ask me how much I would have sold my hit songs for—but really, I would sell all of my songs at the same price. Every songwriter is putting the same amount of effort and artistry into each song, regardless of how popular it becomes.

Abie Rotenberg once said to me that “a song should not be judged by how hot it comes out of the oven, but by how warm it stays.” There are songs today that just stay; they’re out there, and everyone’s singing them. But there’s an element of surprise in which songs become that, and which songs never quite make it.

What was the inspiration behind your latest album, “Kumzitz Alive”?

For a year-and-a-half I’ve been working with a new manager, Ilan Schnitzer. He is a wonderfully talented manager, a real people person whom everyone enjoys working with, artists and clients alike. He is the one who wanted me to create a clip of a classy kumzitz performance, which I do in addition to composing and concerts, weddings or simcha performances.

In the past few decades, we’ve seen concerts become commercialized—it’s no longer just several pieces on a stage, with a band and a singer. Now it involves DJs, VJs and lights, and it’s a very high-impact sort of performance, where audience participation looks more like sitting back and clapping along. Instead, kumzitzes are more emotional, where the audience really participates together. I think today people really want to be involved in the music, and I love the idea of being able to help people tap into that emotion, not in a depressing way, but in a way that’s truly “alive.”

We wanted the album to be a play on the word “live,” like a live kumzitz, but also to note that it’s not really “dead,” rather alive—get people into a room and become an integral part of the performance. And this kumzitz, the one on “Kumzitz Alive,” is not just slow songs, but it also has fast songs, all of which have an “unplugged” vibe. I’ve performed in this style all over, and it’s been very well received; every artist has their style of kumzitz, and this is mine. I’m thrilled to share it with everyone.

What is your favorite Chol Hamoed activity?

I’m trying to come up with a good answer here, but I’m usually working over Chol Hamoed. That’s actually my favorite activity—I’m grateful to be able to perform and sing over Chol Hamoed. This is usually the peak season for artists and performers. Yochi Briskman once told me that he used to take his family on Chol Hamoed trips before Yom Tov, because he knew that he was going to be producing shows over Chol Hamoed, and he didn’t want his kids to lose out on some of those activities … how thoughtful is that!

If you could visit any place in the world that you haven’t been, where would it be?

I’ve never been to Australia, and I would love to go. I feel like I’ve been to every sizable Jewish community in the world, but not the ones in Australia. I’ve had a few opportunities to go, but it’s challenging to travel there due to the sheer length of the journey. With my school schedule [at the Waterbury Yeshiva], it’s really hard, but I hope to be there someday soon.

When and where is your next performance?

I have a few events over Aseret Yemei Teshuva, but my next big performance will be over Chol Hamoed Sukkot for about 2,000 people at the Ritz Theatre in Elizabeth, New Jersey.

What advice would you give to someone who wants to pursue a career in music?

This is a challenge I didn’t really have, but nowadays it’s really a “roll of the dice” in terms of getting your music to go viral and get yourself out there. It’s all mazal. I think people are a little bit too focused on getting their songs out there and putting a lot into social media, whether posting statuses or getting on YouTube. But I would rather see artists focus getting their songs “in,” so to speak, on the quality of the music. I would suggest sharing with your families, or if you’re in yeshiva, then getting your yeshiva to sing it, and eventually it will become a hit in a real, organic way—if it’s great, it’s going to get out there anyway.

I know many artists who got their starts simply because of the world that they were in at the time. Like Mrs. Chayale Neuhaus: Her songs are major, and we still sing them because they sang her songs at the camp that she was in. In elections, pollsters really measure enthusiasm; how much energy is behind a candidate. It’s the same thing with music—I think artists get too focused on the numbers, checking how viral they’ve gone, instead of creating more enthusiasm for their music. People should really focus on just writing great music and letting people enjoy it.

When I got my start, I didn’t have access to this world. Instead, I shared my music with my family, my shul, my camp, and that was it. Everyone became enthusiastic about my music and that’s when I hit the peak; I think we need to bring that back.

Channa Fischer is the digital editor of the Jewish Link and the resident 20-something in the office. She resides in Washington Heights.