Everything’s In The Hands Of Heaven
Nissim Black talks about his on-going journey, the evolution of his musical style, and the importance of being a positive role model
The last time I spoke with Nissim Black, back in 2013, he was living in Seattle, and had recently converted to Judaism. At that point, he was well-connected and established within the hip hop community, and was excited to return, only now as an identifiable, yarmulka-wearing Jew. He had already come a long way, leaving behind a world of violence and drugs, exploring the world’s major religions, and was recording new music and plotting his next steps.
But as it turns out, that was only the beginning. Since then, Black immigrated to Israel, embraced the Breslov Hasidic movement, collaborated with numerous singers—many of whom are well-known in the Orthodox world—and reinvented himself, yet again, as a solo artist and performer. His latest releases, which includes the single, “Mothaland Bounce,” are a return to his roots, and a more elemental, stripped-down iteration of rap.
“It’s more culturally representative of where I come from,” Black says in our interview below. “It was also finding that balance of having come this far and to this place as a person, spiritually, and emotionally, but there was a lot of good that I could still do for the broader world.”
Black’s journey has been a multi-continental rollercoaster, but he hasn’t done it alone. His support network includes his wife and their growing family, as well as her sister, who happens to be married to his oldest friend and longtime collaborator, Yosef Brown.
“Yosef, my brother-in-law, he did everything,” Black says about the making of his most recent music. “It’s the same guys doing all the same stuff. Yosef has been my best friend since kindergarten. He does all the production. We’ve been making music for a long time. For us, to be able to reestablish ourselves within hip hop culture—my friends back home are tripping out. We’ve leaped years above what we were doing, and they’re like, ‘We don’t understand, how are you guys living like that and able to do that?’ They’re trying to figure it out, but that’s because there’s a lot of divine assistance that we’re having.”
Divine assistance is a constant in Black’s life, and came up often as we discussed his almost yearly visits to Uman, Ukraine, his insanely popular—if unwanted—appearance on Israeli TV, his universalist message and recent return to his musical roots, and some of his adventures filming his elaborate, and often-watched, videos. Our conversation was peppered with Hebrew and Yiddish expressions that aren’t easy to translate. Where possible, I substituted a similar word in English, otherwise, I define the term, in brackets, and leave the pronunciation up to your imagination.
Last time we spoke, you were living in Seattle and keeping Sephardic customs, which are decidedly not Hasidic. A lot has changed since then.
I am still Sephardi at the core [laughs]. I still keep Sephardic halacha [laws and customs]. The problem is that even then, I was very into Hasidic teachings, and I’ve got even more into it. There is a rabbi in Seattle, Rabbi Shmuel Brody, who I got very very close to. That was a life changing connection, just to see his devotion and love for Hashem [Hashem, which literally means, “The Name,” refers to the four-letter name of God used throughout the bible and other Jewish writings, and many people use it in conversation when referring to God], and being able to spend time with him. I was at the Sephardi synagogue for most of the beginning of my process there—which was great, it was very warm and fun—but the rabbi there, who I was also very close to and who has a big piece in all of this, too, Rabbi Simon Benzaquen, because he is a community rabbi, as well as his many other responsibilities, he and I didn’t get to spend as much time together. Rabbi Brody, was very assessable, and very willing at that time. I actually connected with him before anybody else there in terms of a rebbe-type of thing. He started a synagogue, and I started going there, which was huge for me. Over time, that was what resonated with me more.
When did you move to Israel?
We moved here four-and-a-half years ago now, going on five. The first place we moved to was the Rehavia neighborhood in Jerusalem, which is a short distance from Sha’arei Chesed, another Jerusalem neighborhood. I spent every day, pretty much, at the Breslov Shul in Sha’arei Chesed. That was a very beautiful and precious time for me. I tell people, if you’ve never been to Uman for Rosh Hashanah [editor: Uman is a city in Ukraine, the burial place of Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, and an important pilgrimage site for Breslov Hasidim], you’ve got to daven [pray] Friday night at this Breslov shul. It’s like 40 meters big, and 70 guys are trying to fit into there, and we’re all in there like sardines, but it is fire.
Have you been to Uman?
I’ve been going to Uman since I was in Seattle. I’ve only missed one Rosh Hashanah there, apart from this year, and that is because of Corona. I got turned away at the airport, and that was very tough for me. I was ready to go, but whatever, it didn’t end up working out, and all my connections didn’t work either. But in the end, we had a really good Rosh Hashanah here.
Have you performed in Uman?
I usually perform every year, at least, for the last three or four years.
I’ve heard that Uman is like the Coachella of Jewish music.
I guess so [laughs]. There are a lot of guys that go, and many different types of people. The concert is an amazing experience. For me, that’s not the main attraction of being there, although I think a lot of people look forward to it every year.
I think artists premier new songs there, and it sets the tone for the new year. Has that been your experience?
Not really, because I’ve never premiered new songs there. It could be for other people. I am so disconnected from the concert part of it. Every year, I never know if I am going to do it or not. Lazer Scheiner owns the venue, and if someone from his team requests for me to go on, then I’ll go on. But I never go in thinking, “I am ready to perform this year”—although sometimes they do call me ahead of time, but it’s not like a thing for me. I go strictly for the spirituality. To be there. I am a Breslov Hasid. I go there whether there’s a concert, no concert, five people, 100,000 people—I am there for the Rosh Hashanah tikkun. The concert is not my main part. Now the davening? That’s something else. The davening is something that is very hard to replace.
What’s the story behind your appearance on the Israeli TV show, Ha’Kochav Ha’ba? Isn’t that the competition to be Israeli’s entry in the Eurovision Song Contest?
I found out about that as I went. What happened was, I was in between management, and a friend of mine was helping me out. The people from that show had been contacting me from the moment I got to Israel, and we always rejected them. But they kept calling about the show, and I told them I wasn’t interested. But Israelis are sales people, you know? They said, “Just come meet the producers.” My friend said, “They just want to meet you. They’re big people. It could be good for you with the industry here, maybe make some connections in Israel.” I went only for that part of it, and I told them, “If I come, no cameras. No auditioning. No nothing. I just want to come and meet you.” They said ok. I went there, played some music, and I did do something for them, but I made sure that there were no cameras.
After that, they worked on me, and worked on me. They said, “You have to do the show. It’s going to be a big Kiddush Hashem [literally: ‘a sanctification of God’s name,’ but colloquially it usually refers to a public act that leaves a powerful, positive impression].” I didn’t give them an answer. But then I went to my rabbi, Rav Shalom Arush. He told me to go. He said, “Don’t even think twice about it. Go go go.” It was still very tough for me, but I ended up going back. I never did an audition. After they finished doing the auditions, they brought me into like a rehearsal space. I was still unsure about it, but they were very respectful. They put me in a room by myself, because, obviously, with everything else that was going on there, they were being respectful as they could [in regards to my religious observance], and that was good. After that, I had to pass through the room to go to the stage where all the other artists were, and they were saying, “Wow, Nissim Black, wow.” I thought, “I can’t go on this show and go against people who already know my music.” It felt very weird. There’s a lot of acting that comes with that stuff that they want you to do. I did the first round. They passed me, obviously, and I quit immediately. After the cameras stopped, I quit. I couldn’t go on. It was too much for me.
In the agreement I had with them, I told them, “Please don’t air it. Don’t put it on TV.” But next thing I know, there’s a commercial, and I am in the commercial. I was in Uman with my family at the time. I was freaking out. I called my manager—by the time it came out, I already had a new manager—and he went to meet with them. He watched the episode. I said, “Why are you going to play it anyway, knowing I am not continuing, and that I got passed to the next round?” But it came out. It was everywhere. I was on the billboard. I was on the front of the paper in Israel. Everyone was saying to me, “You’re going to win Eurovision.” I said, “I am not in it. I am done.” You know, these shows are recorded months before.
Two days later, after that came out—and completely unrelated—America’s Got Talent called me from America. They got in touch with me about coming on their program. I said, “No,” but if I had told Rav Arush about that one, he would have sent me on a private jet over night [laughs]. But I went to talk to them—they met up with me when I was in L.A.—and it was the same thing, “We really want you to come on the show.” Obviously, it’s a story for them, “He’s black. He’s Jewish.” The whole thing for them is gimmicky. I went on there, too, and I passed, and I quit. But that was more for contractual reasons.
Although Rabbi Arush had a point. Your appearance on Israeli TV made a huge positive impression. The write-ups I saw about it were incredible.
Yeah, it was good. I mean still, to this day, one of the biggest platforms I struggle with is TikTok. TikTok is just people doing stupid stuff, and if it’s not that, then it’s a lot of inappropriate content. I have my team, and they told me, “Just do rabbi stuff, man [laughs].” So I am just living regular life, and all of sudden, TikTok started taking off. It was all these secular Israelis—and the words and things they were writing—it’s crazy the effect it is having on people. Thank God, hearts are opening here in Israel.
You’ve done a few collaborations with big name crooners from the Orthodox Jewish music world—like Gad Elbaz and Avi Delevanti—has that audience accepted you, and embraced your music?
I think so. It’s always been a shock for me who has. It wasn’t until last Succos that I had my first run-ins from people who were [anti my music]. But in terms of it being enough to make me think that there is some crazy issue with me in the Orthodox world? I don’t think so. It’s been a lot of love. I’ve never focused on a particular crowd, or set out to say that “this is my target audience.” Hashem gave me a gift and a commission to go and spread His name in the world, and I am going to do it. I don’t make too many calculations about doing something different because of the Orthodox world… and I am always surprised at the bubbies who are listening to me [laughs]. I am very surprised about who my audience is.
Collaborating with Gad has been amazing. We got very close. It was a mutual friend who connected us, and that happened through that article on Aish. After my story was on there, there was another story by a guy named Elan Cohen—he had found Lady Gaga, came to Israel, became religious, left everything, and left the music industry—he also had an article on Aish around the same time that I did, also music related. He saw mine on there, and he reached out. We became good friends, and eventually it was his idea to do “Hashem Melech.” We thought it was appropriate, and we premiered it on Aish.com, because that was where the whole connection happened.
After that, me and Gad collaborated a few more times, and did concerts together, obviously, after making a hit like that together. I didn’t know there was a Jewish music world until after I did that song. Even when I was making music before, I was just shooting in the dark, hoping that my older audience would accept the fact that I changed. After “Hashem Melech” came out, I thought, “Wow, I didn’t know there were that many Jews listening to music.” Everything has been a surprise for me. There was never a sit-down strategy or anything like that. Even now—and I have infrastructure now—it’s still just with the help of heaven. Whenever we push, it doesn’t happen. But whenever I daven, it does happen. I don’t know what else to do. I have no source of help at all when it comes to figuring out how to make it happen, Hashem just keeps doing it.
And you’re still not targeting a specific audience? Is your approach still universal?
Even more so now. Another thing, recently, is a big shift sonically. How the music has changed as well. I was actually very nervous, for two years I was scared, because I was worried about the music, and not [bringing anyone down spiritually]. I had all these different things in my head, which put me in a place where I felt almost like—it damaged me a little bit, all the fears and worries and doubts, what’s it going to be if I…? I was worried about that other world, and even after going to holy people (צדיקים), it was very hard for me. But then I ended up with that one song, “Mothaland Bounce,” and I was fighting with everybody. I didn’t want to put it out. I did that song as a joke, It wasn’t like a full-on, serious song. We were in the studio—and I liked it, it wasn’t like I didn’t like, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t like it—but it was the one song that I didn’t take so seriously. But it won, I signed a deal with a label—a label that had a partnership with Sony, it’s under the Sony/Orchard umbrella (ShineBox Records & Sony/Orchard)—I did a deal with them and we put out that one song and that one video. I didn’t expect it to go viral like that, but it really did.
Musically, it’s a change for you. The beats are more pared-down, and the rapping is more straight forward.
It’s more culturally representative of where I come from. It was also finding that balance of having come this far and to this place as a person, spiritually, and emotionally, but there was a lot of good that I could still do for the broader world, for little kids. I didn’t have a lot of positive African-American role models growing up. How many other boys—even if they don’t become Jewish—are going to make better decisions in their life if they actually had somebody positive to look up to? A guy like Jay-Z, he was a positive role model for me. Even though he was rapping about selling drugs, he wasn’t considered gangster music to us. He put us in a state of mind to start thinking about business, about being successful, about eventually moving out from the street-type of mentality. That was the best they got. Close, but no cigar at all. I think, Hashem is granting me—and with my little portion of Torah coming into a whole different light—I can offer so much to the world. I have a voice, where I can still be influential. To sit on that, and to not be able to do it, would almost be counterproductive. It was a very hard time for me to figure out how to make it happen. But the whole thing is, that it’s the language you’re using, which is a language people understand that you’re speaking to the world with it. If you don’t speak the language, then they can’t hear what you’re saying.
The artist plays an important role in our culture.
For sure, one thousand percent. And another thing is taking back those elements of what you are. The Lubavitcher Rebbe used to talk about this, too. Rabbi Yitzchak Ginsburgh once read me a letter the Rebbe wrote to Avi and Yosi Piamenta, where he told them not to change their style. It is very important thing to understand, and it is one of the things that the Keser Shem Tov talks about, too [the Keser Shem Tov is the first published collection of the teachings of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Hasidic movement]. He said that when Abraham went down to Egypt (Genesis 12:10-20), he went down for the purpose of gathering the treasures of Egypt. It is the treasures that you get specifically from down in that place. Even when you come out and have left Egypt, you’re supposed to bring back the treasures.
Hip hop music is the most influential music in the world right now. How dare we not use it to spread light or to spread Hashem’s name in the world? It’s a huge treasure, and I am sitting on gold by not doing it. Seeing the influence, even now, only adds to it.
What role does music play in your spiritual journey? Do you find it’s a form of prayer or a way to connect to God?
Absolutely, and it’s become more so even now. I often pray, “Hashem, how do I pack in deep messages and concepts in a way that it’s not going to be preachy, or people aren’t going to feel like they are listening to something very religious?” I have to daven that much harder. It makes it easier that I have a room in the house just for meditation and contemplation [התבודדות].
How about when you’re performing, do you have that same type of experience as well?
For sure, and in every way. I am a very purpose-driven kind of person. I spend a lot of my meditation and contemplation begging Hashem to reveal to me what I am supposed to be doing, and I believe one thousand percent that Hashem will show a person. There are so many hints, and you have to pay attention to the hints that Hashem is sending down to a person. Non-stop, he’s calling us from heaven. He’s not doing that to fall on deaf ears. I feel very much that I am doing what my purpose is. I am very connected to the fact that this is who I am, and that this is what Hashem wants me to do. Therefore, it is infused in my spirituality when I am on stage. I morph into a different person. It’s hard when I am in the grocery store, aisle six, and someone says, “Nissim kick a rap for me.” I think, “You don’t understand, there’s preparation to get to such a place, and I don’t know how much you’re going to appreciate it anyway in front of the Top Ramen [laughs].” It’s the whole thing for me. I am involved in the editing of the videos—on “Mothaland Bounce” I had less input, obviously, because that was a label situation—but usually, I am very involved in everything that goes out, from the show, what the lights are like, and the fog and the smoke. The whole thing should be an experience. People should leave feeling closer to Hashem, or closer to something, after they leave.
Your videos are very elaborate. Do they take forever with all those outfit changes?
[Laughs] We try to plan it out really well—if I am in one outfit, I don’t want to go back to change again. We try to make sure we get all the shots that we need. It doesn’t always work that way, but definitely that’s what we’re trying to do at least. But we usually get them done in one day. It takes all day, but we get them done in one day. Generally, I am shooting with less crew, the gear is getting better, and you can do more with less. That’s the route that I took with these most recent ones. Instead of shooting with a 20-person crew or something like that, and usually we get it done in one day.
“Mothaland Bounce” was done in a day?
No. That was two days. But there was a story with “Mothaland Bounce” [laughs]. Technically, it was done in one day, but it ended up having to be done in two days. What happened was that I had less input. The person who directed it was Leon Robinson—he’s played in so many movies, and he’s the one on the fire escape with me in the beginning—he’s directing it, and you’re dealing with Hollywood guys, so you have to deal with it. I showed up on the set, everything was going great, and then all of a sudden, the African dancers that they told me about, they had skirts on, and they weren’t wearing shirts. These guys were butt naked, with these skirts, and they’re dancing in the street in Manhattan. I said, “No. Cut!” This turned into a big argument. The main choreographer, he saw this and said, “Guys, stop now and I’ll buy shirts.” And another guy yelled at him, “No. We’re not buying shirts. This is what African dance looks like.” So Yosef, being Yosef, said, “Nissim, do the scene, finish it, and tell them we’re going to talk to the rabbi afterwards.” That was the agreement. They said, “Nissim, we’ll listen to what the rabbi says.” My rabbi was my wife, ok, I didn’t need anybody else [laughs]. I extended my trip in New York and I offered to pay for the reshoot. We had to compromise, and we kept the skirts and I had them put on shirts. It ended up being a two day shoot because we had to reshoot the guys with clothes on. I mean, they were oiled up. But thank God, I am back doing my own thing.
Photos courtesy of Nissim Black
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