CONCERT REVIEW

Why Jews (and non-Jews) love Matisyahu

By Jonathan Rubin

jrubin@jfri.org

KINGSTON — I asked my Indian friend Ankur what he likes about Hasidic reggae star Matisyahu. He says, “He raps so good, and yet he’s white.” No comments about Matisyahu’s practice of Orthodox Judaism, his payes (sidelocks), well-known refusal to play on Shabbat or anything else. Amazingly (to me, anyway), his Judaism didn’t seem to factor in.

So I went to a sold-out show at URI’s Ryan Center on Tuesday to find out why Ankur and millions of other non-Jews across America are fans.

The crowd is mostly young and white. People are enthusiastic and loved talking about why they came.

“He’s real good for diversity, says Kate Ferrara, a 21-year old, who couldn’t elaborate what that means exactly.

“He’s got awesome vibes. He’s good for the whole religion,” says a hyped-up Kirk Sampson (who isn’t Jewish, by the way).

Others talked about his message of peace, or his universal positivity. I ask some of the older folks, a tiny minority, why they’re there. “Rasta music, man,” says David Merides, a tie-dyed Newport hippie.

There wasn’t much of a visible Jewish presence in the crowd. A few Chabad rabbis asked students if they have Seders to go to. Besides them, I didn’t see any yarmulkes on anyone. A group of Orthodox teens yelled out, “We want Moshiach” (the Messiah), one of Matisyahu’s lyrical longings for redemption.

There were a few who felt a Jewish pride; I saw a few Stars of David on people’s necks, and a few T-shirts, include one that said, without explanation, “Shalom Bitch.” Another was covered in blue Hebrew letters, fashionably crafted by popular retailer Urban Outfitters.

From my nosebleed seat high in the rafters, Matisyahu was a Lego-sized black-clad figure rapping into a microphone. Energy started off low, but began to build as he did his hits, including “King without his Crown” and “Exaltation.”

At one point, he came back on stage without his Yeshiva-ish black hat on, and began to twirl about on stage like an awkward, but jubilant kid who had never had a dance class in his life. He was happily lost in the moment. And the crowd went wild.

And then it hit me what his appeal was, why everyone from the sorority girl in the midriff to the big hulky hockey fan with the baseball hat was so into him. He was comfortable being himself. He did what he wanted — he wore his clothes the way he wanted, danced the way he wanted, and sang about Shabbat and the joy of God in a way that sounded good.

And how was the show? I enjoyed it, and I’m happy to say that “I liked him before he was cool.” Which was, amazingly, about 11 months ago.

Jon Rubin is the managing editor of the Jewish Voice & Herald.