Dad’s Bass Voice to Barbra Streisand to Phish

Avinu Malkeinu.

Two Hebrew words. Four words in English.

Our Father. Our King.

Whenever I hear those words, I do not first think about their nearly two-thousand-year history.

I hear Dad.

Our father was a quiet man. He did not overly reflect on his youth or talk much about his family relationships. We knew he had grown up in the shadow of his own father, but he rarely explained what that meant. Much of his early life came to us in fragments, if it came to us at all.

But every once in a while, Dad would belt out Avinu Malkeinu in his deep, resonant bass voice.

I can still hear it.

For those few moments, the quiet man disappeared. What came through was Dad’s full persona—his confidence, his strength, and even a little of his swagger.

He was not feeling the pain of his illness.

It felt like more than a song or a prayer. It felt like a message being passed from a father to his sons:

Remember who you are. Remember where you came from. Ask for mercy. Try to do better.

Years later, the prayer came back to me through Harlan.

Harlan developed an almost obsessive passion for Barbra Streisand when he was young. He loved her voice, her presence, and the Broadway world surrounding her. Among his collection of Broadway soundtracks, Barbra occupied a special place.

When her version of Avinu Malkeinu came along, it became one of the first songs Harlan played on my original DJ stereo system.

He did not play it once.

He played it over and over and over again.

For Harlan, listening to Barbra’s goose-pimple-creating version seemed almost like meditation. He would settle into the music and let that enormous voice and those ancient words fill the room.

I did not understand then that those moments would become part of the soundtrack through which I would remember him.

Then this week, I came across Phish’s recent performance of Avinu Malkeinu at Madison Square Garden.

Phish first performed the prayer in 1987. In 1995, the band placed it inside “The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday,” part of Trey Anastasio’s fantastical Gamehendge world. In July 2026, during Phish’s 95th Madison Square Garden performance—a concert deliberately revisiting its 1995 history—the prayer returned again.

And suddenly, the circle was complete.

I heard Phish, but I thought about Harlan listening to Barbra.

And through Harlan, I heard Dad’s bass voice again.

That is quite a journey for two Hebrew words:

from a father singing to his sons, to Barbra Streisand on Harlan’s stereo, to Phish at Madison Square Garden, and finally back to me on another Friday as I sit down to write Harlan’s Legacy.

The story of Avinu Malkeinu reaches back to the Talmud. During a devastating drought, Rabbi Akiva stepped forward and offered two simple appeals beginning with the words Avinu Malkeinu.

Our Father. Our King.

He asked for mercy.

The rain came.

Over generations, those short pleas grew into the longer prayer we recognize today. We ask for forgiveness. We ask for mercy. We ask to be remembered favorably. We ask for another year and another chance to do better.

Perhaps that is why the prayer has survived.

Every generation finds its own voice through which to hear it.

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, begins with the Israelites bringing the first fruits of their harvest and retelling the journey that brought them there. They are told to remember where they came from—and to say it aloud.

That is also what I try to do here each Friday.

Harlan’s Legacy is not only about the things Harlan said. It is also about what he loved, what moved him, and what still causes me to hear his voice.

That is why Barbra Streisand, Phish, Broadway music, and so many other wonderful artists belong in these weekly words.

They are not side trips. They are part of the way memory works.

We do not keep people alive by pretending they are not gone.

But we can keep their influence from going silent.

As we move through Elul and closer to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, may we listen again for the voices that helped make us who we are.

May we remember where we came from, repair what can be repaired, and try to do better in the year ahead.

And wherever we hear those ancient words—in a synagogue, through Barbra Streisand, unexpectedly at a Phish concert, or still echoing in a father’s deep bass voice—may we hear them anew:

Avinu Malkeinu.

Our Father. Our King.

May Harlan’s memory continue to be a blessing.

Shabbat Shalom.

Peace, Love and Equality for all.

Hal & Peggy Jo