by Ken Kirsh
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I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to be a doctor but my parents made me become a country songwriter.
Not intentionally, of course. But by modeling thoughtful and engaged lives, they instilled in my brothers and me a sense of empathy and a focus on truth. I was encouraged from an early age, both at home and in Hebrew school, to question things. This emphasis has served me well in every aspect of my life. It’s partly cultural; I’m guessing many of you had similar experiences growing up or in guiding your children.
Growing up Jewish and country music have more in common than you think. Both are driven by those qualities of empathy and truth while navigating life with curiosity, introspection, and humor.
For one thing, if you want to get at the truth, you have to question and debate things. It’s how we arrive at single best answers, at least for that moment in time. Ask any Talumdic scholar. Better yet, ask a nine-year-old. You’ll learn a lot about yourself, including how to think fast and argue more intelligently.
For another, if you want to understand what motivates, inhibits, and confuses us—and how we cope—you can pore through the Old Testament or just listen to a country song, in which case you’ll have your answer in three minutes, give or take.
The grappling search for truth and solace in the face of struggle can be found in both places. It’s how Harlan Howard famously described the simplicity and authenticity of country music as “three chords and the truth.”
There may not be a ton of humor in the Torah (is there a rabbi in the house?) but it’s definitely part of the Jewish culture. It’s in our DNA, how we cope to relieve stress. One great example of expressing conflict through humor in country music can be found in a Ray Stevens lyric: “Take your tongue out of my mouth, I’m kissing you goodbye.”
But as much as humor plays a role, it’s the parallel between country themes and living a Jewish life—how we think, act, and navigate the world—that intrigues me. Both entail conflict, heartache, and persistence against a backdrop of struggle, where reality is embraced, not swept under the rug.
The human condition—in all its pain and glory, tsuris and naches—is front and center in both the Jewish mentality and country music stories. You won’t find that corollary in Ken Burns’ documentary on country music. But that wasn’t his point. It’s mine.
As someone who spends a lot of time writing country and other styles, I can tell you it’s as grueling as climbing Masada. In a way, it’s harder. Scaling the mountain requires physical endurance, one that tests your stamina, but there’s a defined path and general timeline. And it begins and ends with you alone.
Writing a song requires mental fortitude challenged by the blank page, a search for inspiration with no map or time constraints, and the obsession of creating the perfect rhyme, rhythm, and reason—a story set to music that moves people, sometimes to tears. And it begins with you but ends with others. Once you put a song out there, it’s no longer yours. It belongs to strangers. Hopefully a lot of them. The song means whatever they think it means.
When you scale a mountain, the air gets thin, but you can manage it. When you write a song, you make something out of thin air, but it often manages you.
Case in point, Leonard Cohen, a famous Canadian songwriter born into an Orthodox Jewish family, wrote 150 draft verses in a five year pursuit to complete his magnum opus “Hallelujah.” That’s obsession. It’s also persistence in the face of struggle that ended in an anthemic masterpiece.
Two other Jewish country and folk songwriters include Bob Dylan (raised Jewish as Robert Zimmerman) and Shel Silverstein (children’s author and writer of Johnny Cash’s biggest single, “A Boy Named Sue”).
Country music may be more popular in the Delaware Valley than you think. There are no empty seats when Kenny Chesney, Zac Brown, Morgan Wallen, and others play large venues in the area. The energy rivals that of an Eagles game. I’ve witnessed it firsthand.
Another parallel between country music and Jewish living is that both acknowledge pain and problems but attempt a positive spin. This is done with wordplay and irony—huge components of Jewish humor and country lyrics—and with the music itself. Very often, the lyrics are sad, but the arrangement conveys a brighter sentiment; in this case, the music belies the lyric so it goes down easier. I call it heartache set to happiness. We know it’s bad. Why make it worse?
Neil Diamond not only demonstrates this in “Song Sung Blue” but the lyric is specifically about this very concept. Putting a happy face on a sad situation isn’t denial or delusion; it’s a coping mechanism to express your way out of it, to one extent or another. It wasn’t produced as a country song but I can sure hear Willie Nelson singing it.
Examples of country songs that use this cathartic technique of contrasting the tone of lyrics and music are Dierks Bentley’s
“She Hates Me,” Brad Paisley’s “Bucked Off”, and Maddie & Tae’s “Die From A Broken Heart.” Here’s an example of a lyric set to an upbeat song of mine, “Wishing”:
We had a good run
I didn’t wanna see it end
I’m not unhappy now
But I was happier then
He loves me good
And he’s my guy
But it’s not him I had in mind
There’s nothing more that I can do
So I stare off wishing it was you
The lyric already conveys regret, sadness, and lack of closure so the music avoids amplifying those emotions with an engaging sound that’s more comforting. When you’re getting your shoulder popped back into place, would you rather hear “This is gonna be painful” or “This’ll hurt for a moment then you’ll feel much better”? Even truth has its limits.
You won’t like every country artist or song any more than you find every Jewish comedian funny. But if you like irony as much as I do, you can appreciate the difference in faith, broadly speaking, while the similarity in culture and human experience is undeniable.
I like to explore themes of inner conflict in relationships. These are easy to come by because mine all have one thing in common: they end. On the other hand, my parents were married for 70 years and it didn’t end in a breakup. It’s an admirable milestone but where’s the angst in that?
In the final analysis, whether it’s country music or an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, the common ground is truth, persistence, and softening pain. Country music has a lot more to offer than you think. Take it from a Jewish Cowboy. It’s the emes.
About The Author:
KEN KIRSH grew up in Philadelphia. Cut him and he bleeds music and cheesesteaks. If you hear strains of Philly Soul in his Country Pop, you’ve got a good ear and that’s the reason. He had a show that ran on and off in New York for three years, writes in many styles, and aspires to be a late bloomer. His music and lyrics are at KenKirshMusic.com and can be heard on all major music platforms. He can be reached at ken@ kenkirshmusic.com.
