By Steven R. Weisman
If music is “proof of the existence of God,” as Kurt Vonnegut Jr. said, music has long been central to the worship experience at Temple Micah. Rabbi Healy Slakman’s arrival two years ago as Director of Spiritual Arts ushered in bold innovations, building on Micah’s beloved music traditions.
It would be hard not to have noticed the introduction of new musical instruments: from a French horn, an accordion and an electric guitar to a variety of ancient Middle Eastern or Persian string instruments like a hammer dulcimer, an oud, a kanun, and a kamancheh. There’s a bamboo flute called a ney and a Norwegian fiddle called a hardingfele, played by a renowned visiting musician.
Temple Micah music now ranges from the beloved, majestic European tunes of the nineteenth century, to the Klezmer tradition, to the poignant and rhythmic Sephardic and Middle Eastern sounds from throughout the Mediterranean—where, after all, Jews have lived for millennia.
I recently sat down with Rabbi Slakman and Philip Mayer, who joined Temple Micah as Music Director last year—probably the only percussionist to serve in that job at any Reform synagogue. Here are edited excerpts of that conversation.
Rabbi Slakman: I am inspired by the ethos of Rabbi Zemel, of creating and engaging with our Jewish inheritance as something that is alive and dynamic. Something that continues to speak to us and change with us in each new season. And something that does not only rely on assumptions of the past. The fact that Temple Micah has a strong and vibrant worship music culture doesn’t mean everything can or should stay the same. Yes, there is music that will always carry a sense of nostalgic reverence for us. And this solid foundation gives a rich and compelling base to build upon. Great, innovative art that stirs us and demands our attention never emerges from a vacuum—it grows upon and in conversation with the great art that came before it. I think we need to have our eyes, ears, and souls open to what may inspire us.
Philip Mayer: I would basically describe myself as a freelance drummer. I started playing rock and jazz—that’s what I went to music school for—and quickly got into all different kinds of music from all over the world. I had an extended stay in Israel, where I studied Middle Eastern percussion, and that became a gateway into classical music from Turkey, Egypt, Greece, Syria, and all over the Eastern Mediterranean. In New York I was making my living in performance and teaching; I worked in synagogues as a hired freelance musician for over a decade, which is how I met Rabbi Slakman back in 2017. We played together every month until she moved here to join Temple Micah. I was first exposed to Temple Micah when I came down to play at her installation. Never in a million years did I think that I would become the music director of a synagogue in Washington, DC! Now, approaching one year in, I’m beyond thrilled to be doing this work which brings a lot of beauty and meaning to my life.
Philip Mayer: I would argue that we’re engaging directly with a tradition that’s very much alive. The organ, for example, wasn’t always part of the liturgical music of the Jewish people, but in the nineteenth century (and even before), Jews in Europe seeking to modernize their worship to reflect the culture and practices of the time and place began incorporating the organ into their services. I’m sure many people thought they were abandoning tradition by doing so, but from our perspective today, I would consider the organ’s usage in Europe as very much a part of the evolution of Jewish music tradition. Here in Washington in 2025, I think we’re engaging with a living tradition in a very similar way.
Rabbi Slakman: And we remain committed to identifying and uplifting the core traditions and processes that define us. At the same time, we’re bringing in different sounds to see how they resonate—some from outside the boundaries of what’s traditionally been heard in Jewish spaces, and others, like the accordion, that were once common. We’re interested not only in exploring new textures, but also in rediscovering and experimenting with how traditional ones might be applied in fresh ways that speak to this moment. For each service, we ask ourselves, “What’s going on this week?”—and we let the answer shape our musical choices. After Trump was elected, for example, we turned to Leonard Cohen’s Anthem to speak to the emotional weight of that moment. That same night, Philip created a custom arrangement that wove together The New Colossus and Oseh Shalom. It was our way of responding to the moment.
Philip Mayer: That means that I’m writing the sheet music for the specific, ever changing mix of instruments we have in the sanctuary from week to week. I may compose a new intro or write specific harmony parts for our choir. Sometimes I’ll bring songs into conversation with each other—like blending “Turn, Turn, Turn” in the style of Nina Simone mixed with “Turning of the World.” We can put a liturgical text with whatever secular piece of our choice that resonates for that Shabbat and have it played by the instruments we have, whether it be cello or French horn or hammer dulcimer.
Rabbi Slakman: We talk a lot about, “What does American Judaism sound like?” The truth is, there’s no single answer—because the American Jewish experience is wide-ranging, multi-ethnic, and evolving. I think the sound of American Judaism should reflect this richness. While folk music holds a quintessential place in American musical identity, it doesn’t speak to every American Jewish story. Sephardic Jews have long been part of the American Jewish fabric, yet their musical traditions have rarely found space in the progressive or Reform world. At Temple Micah, we’ve only just begun to confront that. Yes, we’ve introduced a few Sephardic piyyutim—liturgical poems set to melody—into our High Holiday services. But more broadly, we’ve also started experimenting with shifting the rhythmic texture of some familiar Ashkenazi and folk melodies, making space for new layers of sound that expand who and what gets heard in Jewish worship. And I wonder about how that might impact who feels represented and empowered by the American Jewish story.
Philip Mayer: It’s worth noting the incredible diversity of Sephardic music. From one end, it could sound like the most classical Ottoman Turkish style music or song. Sephardic Jews landed all over the Mediterranean, so it could be North African or sounds from Spain, the Ladino music that is much more akin to Western classical music. Some of the instruments that I play are rooted in traditions that are more North African and eastern Mediterranean. But there’s a lot of crossover. For example, the song Shiru l’Adonai [“Sing to God”] was written in Europe but on a very Sephardic rhythmic framework.
Rabbi Slakman: Lewandowski, a nineteenth-century German Jew who played a pivotal role in modernizing Jewish liturgical music, is a classical composer from the Reform movement canon. For the past few months we have been singing his setting of Tzadik KaTamar—“A righteous person shall flourish like a palm tree”—every week on Shabbat. And in Lewandowski’s spirit of contemporary consideration and advancement, instead of performing it in the traditional, grand, classical Reform style, we offer it quietly, often with acoustic guitar, to experiment with a folky = aesthetic that resonates with us today. Similarly, when we want a piece to carry a more Sephardic form, we might take a traditional Ashkenazi folk tune and shift the rhythm by adding a darbuka, a Middle Eastern drum. It’s still our familiar melody, but the feel changes a bit. We’re constantly experimenting—fusing traditions, reimagining sounds—and discovering what resonates most deeply with our community.
Rabbi Slakman: Vocal music and congregational participation are central pillars of Temple Micah’s worship life. So when we experiment, it’s essential that the choir is part of the process. At the same time, we’re interested in challenging assumptions—pushing the boundaries of the classical four-part choral structure of soprano, alto, tenor, and bass—and considering how different approaches to group singing might enhance or deepen our worship experience. We’re also continually exploring new ways for lay musicians and musically inclined congregants to plug in and contribute—because the sound of our community should be shaped by the community itself.
Rabbi Slakman: We have big ambitions for the coming years. And this year, our youth choir sang alongside professional musicians playing instruments like the hammered dulcimer, kamancheh, and electric guitar—experiences that were, I believe, both memorable and exciting, and which hopefully sparked curiosity and creativity. Philip also led a Middle Eastern percussion workshop for our Machon Micah students, giving them hands-on exposure to new rhythms and traditions as well as opening up conversations about what makes something Jewish—which I think is just incredibly cool. He also extended that offering to the wider community through an evening elective for all ages. These experiences are part of our larger commitment: to experiment with worship culture, to open doors to new musical languages, and make space for more people—including our youngest members—to experience, think about, talk about, and shape the ever evolving project that is Temple Micah. In the coming year and beyond, we’re excited to deepen the connection between the artistic and musical explorations that inform our Shabbat and holiday worship and the learning that takes place in Machon Micah.
Philip Mayer: Heavy metal? [Laughter]
Rabbi Slakman: I think we’re just at the beginning of our experimentation, and we plan to keep going. We’re hoping to bring artists and creative scholars into our community for longer, more intentional periods of time to observe us, learn with us, inspire us, and help shape the way we think about worship and music — not just for a weekend or a single service, but through ongoing conversation and intentional collaboration. Another thing we’re really excited about is offering more musical, cultural, and artistic events outside of worship— concerts, lectures, and gatherings that deepen intellectual engagement, spark thought, and invite curiosity.
This article originally appeared in the June/July/August issue of the Vine.