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Onstage at La Bellevilloise in Paris, on a cold Tuesday in November, a quirky character addresses the crowd : “HaShem is a winner ! That’s why you’re amazing!”
But we’re not there yet : the evening is just getting started, and almost nothing here suggests we’re in a Jewish setting. Yet the clues are beginning to emerge : opening the show, Jon Onj performs “Efo” [“Where?” in Hebrew], a breakup song that makes you want to groove and sob at the same time, then gets the crowd to sing “Happy Birthday” to “my mom,” who’s right up front – the Jewish mother, even on the R&B stage. Jon Onj wins over the crowd with a bold final track, melodic, quiet, before bringing in the organ. And the floor and walls begin to shake, and the room is ready for Hillel.
With his disco‐ball shtreimel, long payot cascading down his temples, and dark sunglasses, Israeli singer Hillel addresses the more than 400 people gathered for his first‐ever concert in France. Strobe lights flash, blue, green, red lights fill the stage, and the singer bounces to the beat of “Disco shel‐haShem” (“God’s Disco”) before switching hats. His stage persona alternates between a psychedelic groover’s hat and a cap bearing his motto : “HaShem is a winner!” During quieter moments, the pianist’s dexterity shines through behind the tzadik singer. Midway through the concert, the drum machines fall silent and Hillel sings “Oseh Shalom Bimromav” with just piano accompaniment, the crowd joining in, before launching into Mariah Carey. Reggae‐infused rhythms, funk, and then, without warning, the lighting softens and the piano alone accompanies a Hasidic nigun, joined by the audience’s “lai‐lai‐lai.” Mystical. Joyful. Magical.
In the crowd, we spot “HaShem is a winner” caps, we spot a rabbi, and together with a few concertgoers, we laugh and start coming up with variations : the rabbi suggests “HaShem is a loser too, HaShem is everything,” we try “HaShem may be,” “HaShem is…”; the cheekiest among us dare to suggest “HaShem is a wiener,” and we find ourselves dreaming of a Hillel ft. Shammai concert.
For an hour and a half, Hillel transforms the dance floor into a space of kavana, both dance‐fueled and mystical. He sings divine disco as effortlessly as the words of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, getting a surprisingly diverse crowd dancing and praying. Here, die‐hard fans who know every lyric mingle with effortlessly stylish yet sophisticated young people brought here by Midrash, the collective behind the evening, and a much older crowd who follow the entire Jazz’N’Klezmer Festival lineup. Chairs are pulled into the middle of the room for those who find standing painful, but everyone stays together, and those sitting in chairs are just as young on the dance floor.
Midrash, the collective formed by Gabriel Amzallag and Joséphine Tapiro, is the one that dreamed up this evening, pitched it to festival director Laurence Haziza, and co‐produced it. The concert quickly sells out. Midrash also invites chef Or Bitan to showcase her “raw Levantine cuisine,” and damn, does it smell good in that in‐between space somewhere between the smokers’ terrace and the room full of revelers.
It’s a Tuesday evening in November in Paris, cold and gray, but in these anxious times, let’s say it : in the heart of Belleville beats a Hasidic heart, and hundreds of groove‐loving hearts beat along with it. Thank you, La Bellevilloise, for the atmosphere and the crowd, thank you, Jazz’N’Klezmer Festival, for making the improbable tangible, and thank you, Midrash, for this takeover where we can jump electro, dance disco, feel the funk, and sing nigunim all together.
On this cold November evening in Paris, despite the anxiety in the air, we trade anxiety for oxygen and good vibes, and suddenly, everything feels a little less serious. Tonight, no one felt unsafe, judged, or put on the spot ; tonight, we sang, we danced, and damn, did we have a blast ! Hillelujah! Be'ezrat Midrash!
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