Musician Nadav Bachar: From the Silent Monastery to Chabad Hassidism
Far from Israel but close to Our Father in Heaven, the esteemed musician began his journey toward Judaism. In an interview, he shares his path, the collaboration with fellow musician Oren Tzur, and the desire to create without such high costs.
- שירה דאבוש (כהן)
- פורסם י"ז חשון התשע"ה

#VALUE!
If you ask the talented musician Nadav Menachem Bachar (34) about free choice regarding his musical career, his answer would be that it was largely not his own choice. What child, starting at age 11, really chooses this path themselves? In Bachar's case, even then, his father, a deputy director at the Electric Corporation and a fervent music enthusiast, noticed his son's phenomenal musical aptitude and decided to invest considerable time and money into its development. "With my father's support, I began classical guitar studies at the conservatory in Caesarea," Bachar recalls his childhood in Hadera, "so in that aspect, the choice was largely taken from me. Now, I understand why. However, in all other areas of life, b"H, my parents are very accommodating and accepting, so other choices I made in life were met with love and support from them."
Bachar, a well-regarded guitarist, has been attached to the electric guitar since his teenage years when he was part of a youth band that primarily played rock and metal music. At 15, the band won a competition judged by Yoav Kutner. Later, he immersed himself entirely in music until his conscription. "At that age, I played about eight hours a day, and the environment around me was completely absorbed in music. When someone plays so many hours a day, they become very addicted and simply cannot leave it."
No wonder that when the draft notice came, Bachar took it lightly. "It's not that I didn't want to enlist in the army," he quickly points out. "I just didn't want to waste my time in roles that would distance me from music, making it secondary in my life, while it was the main and most fulfilling thing I had at the time. When they put me through the selection exams, I went in with the mindset that the army is a rigid body, and if I succeeded, no pleas would help release me to pursue music." Bachar was exempted from the army and enrolled in music studies at Rimon School. His career then began to take shape.
"I started playing alongside various artists like Tomer Yosef, Mika Karni, and others. I blended in with colleagues in the field and felt great about who I was and what I was doing," he smiles and adds, "at least for a while." At that time, he met Oren Tzur, and the two formed the band 'Or Yarok,' releasing the album 'Yishuv HaDa'at' together.
Yom Kippur in Dharamshala
At a certain point, when the emptiness began to overwhelm him, and the false joy he experienced in Tel Aviv ended, Bachar first realized something was missing in his life. "I told myself, 'If the music doesn't bring you to a place where you're truly happy, then maybe you need to find something else.' After finishing my studies, I decided what I needed was a trip to the East. There, I thought, I could find some peace and organize my thoughts and desires."
Bachar traveled alone to the East, but after two months, he contracted malaria due to a mosquito bite. As a result, he returned to Israel for hospitalization at Tel HaShomer. Six months later, near Rosh Hashanah, he decided to fly again - this time to a silent monastery in India. "I experienced ten days of complete silence there, and this was actually one of the things that 'opened' me to Judaism. Why? Firstly, because I knew I was going far to a place where Jews aren't supposed to be. Secondly, because of the intense change of habits in such a short time, you suddenly find yourself in a completely different phase: you have no bed; you wake up at four in the morning every day to be silent and meditate. Naturally, you begin to search within. Something very good happens when you take a vow of silence - that's where I understood two things: if I know so much about Buddhism, there's no reason I shouldn't know about Judaism. And secondly, that I want spirituality to be a part of my life not just for ten days, but every day, for the rest of my life."
From the silent monastery, Bachar arrived at the Chabad House in Dharamshala, India, to spend the Tishrei holidays. It was also the first time in his life that he fasted on Yom Kippur. "I went to the synagogue, and even though I was at a loss during the prayers, I felt amazing."
'A Great Find'
Far from Israel, but close to Our Father in Heaven, Bachar began connecting to Judaism. "I started inventing all sorts of 'Jewish' methods for meditation: I lit candles and recited Psalms. One day I realized that the friction created between me and Judaism had to produce a direction. In other words, I must choose a path and at least begin – to walk in it." So he chose. He spent an entire month studying Torah at the Chabad House in Dharamshala with a Chabad emissary named Dror Moshe Shaul. After that month, Bachar returned to Israel and a year later entered a Chabad yeshiva in Ramat Aviv. Later, he studied for another two years at a yeshiva in Rechovot, where he still resides today with his wife and five children. "After three years in yeshivas, I spoke with Oren, who also grew stronger and closer to Judaism in the meantime, and I suggested collaborating. That's how we formed the band 'A Groysa Metzia,' which developed nicely and produced two successful albums. Later, we started getting more into nigunim, which is a wonderful language of its own."
You and Oren Tzur have been playing and creating together for years, but it's not a given that there is such chemistry between you. It seems like your connection is a 'match made in heaven'.
"There's no doubt that indeed, there was good initial chemistry between Oren and me from the beginning of our acquaintance. However, like any partnership, we also have our ups and downs, and we also require personal growth in character with each other. Oren and I have been playing together for almost a decade, so I believe that years of perseverance and joint playing have done their part. Moreover, something you invest in makes you love it, and therefore, you can't trade it for any fortune in the world."
Looking back, can you now lean back in your chair, give a big smile, and release a sigh of satisfaction about the path you've taken and what you've achieved so far?
"I can't say I'm satisfied with everything I've released. I feel I still don't have the freedom to give myself a perfect score of 100. There's certainly a type of satisfaction; otherwise, I wouldn't continue this work. But with projects like this, you often face constraints. On one hand, you want to produce as many albums as possible and stay 'connected.' On the other hand, you're a married man who needs to provide for five children, and obviously, you can't live off just selling CDs. Today, the format has changed, and with all the music being downloaded online, making a living has become very challenging. You need funding. So b"H, there are still people who love quality music and find it important to document music, like the 'Gal Einai' foundation, which funds album production for various artists. Even from arrangements, you don't earn any money. Only if you wrote an original song that truly becomes commercially successful and is played on the radio - then there are many royalties in it. My aspiration today is to succeed in creating without it costing so much money, and that is not an easy task."