Some stories refuse to be forgotten. They wait—for those willing to listen.
The project behind this album grew out of silence. Out of decades of quiet that surrounded one of the most fascinating figures of pre-war Warsaw’s musical life—Dawid Ajzensztadt. A legend in his own time: conductor, composer, and a charismatic figure of the city’s cultural scene. His concerts drew the elite of Warsaw, and his choir sang so beautifully that even the street noise seemed to fall silent. And then his music was erased—from space, from memory, from scores. Until now.
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What you hear on this record is the result of months of research—almost a detective’s investigation—carried out by Jakub Stefek and Lilianna Krych. Two artists who not only read Ajzensztadt’s scores, but listened to them anew. And brought them back to life—where they belong: in the heart of the once-Jewish Warsaw.
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This is music that has come home.
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Even though the Great Synagogue on TÅ‚omackie Street no longer exists, its sound has survived. Ajzensztadt composed for that place, for that community, for that city. And though not a single stone of it remains—except for a bent cloakroom tag—his music lets us rebuild it in our minds. Like a sonic archive made not of bricks and mortar, but of breath, emotion, and resonance.
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Thanks to the work of Match Match Ensemble and the use of the harmonium—an instrument that once supported choirs of that era—the project not only recreates the sound of the time, but also recaptures its spirit. Because this is not about historical reconstruction. It is about experience—shared, human, deeply moving.
What you hear on this album is more than notes on a page. These are stories written into languages—Yiddish and Hebrew—with unfamiliar sounds and unaccustomed melodies. They are personal memories—family stories, painful, fragmented—like that of Lilianna’s grandmother, who escaped the ghetto, survived two years barefoot in the forest, and lived with unimaginable strength.
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This is a record that speaks with voices no longer alive—but still longing to be heard.
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The Great Synagogue cannot be rebuilt. But we can make it sing again. And though the BlÄ™kitny skyscraper now stands where it once did—this music is its living shadow. A sound that rebuilds a world, even if only for a moment. And sometimes, that moment is enough to know that memory lives on—and that the future can be built upon it.
