Was this the strangest item that Ohad Sofer, head of the Music and Sound Archive Department at the National Library of Israel, had ever come across? Hard to say, but it was certainly among the leading contenders.
Let’s go back a few years. At the time, Sofer was a librarian assisting visitors and readers in the reading halls. One day, he encountered an unusual item in the National Library’s music collection archive: a decorated wooden box. Inside it lay a cushion, upon which rested a metal laurel wreath, alongside a single, neatly folded sheet of paper.
When he carefully unfolded it, he was astonished to find a lock of hair and a few elegantly handwritten words claiming that the hair belonged to none other than Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, the Jewish-born composer who had converted to Christianity and was the grandson of the famous philosopher Moses Mendelssohn.
This box was part of the collection of a little-known German-Jewish composer named Friedrich Gernsheim.
Who was this man? And how did his archive end up at the National Library of Israel? Sofer delved into the depths of the archive, which includes extensive correspondences with musicians such as Max Bruch and Johannes Brahms. Gradually, he realized that Gernsheim was an exceptionally talented, well-known, and highly respected composer of his time—a close friend of the greatest Romantic musicians of the 19th century, who wrote truly magnificent music.
How did it happen that, outside of the NLI’s Music Department (a highly esteemed institution, to be sure), very few people in Israel were even aware of his existence? The Nazi regime had a hand in it, but this was not the only reason.
A Musical Prodigy
Friedrich Gernsheim was born on July 17, 1839, in Worms, Germany. He was the only son of Abraham Gernsheim, a distinguished Jewish doctor, and his wife Josephine. Young Fritz grew up in a home filled with music—both his parents were passionate amateur musicians. His father played the flute, and his mother the piano. Following in their footsteps, he began playing music at a very young age, initially guided by his mother and later by professional teachers.
At the age of six, he composed his first piano piece while also studying music theory and expanding his skills on other instruments, such as the violin. At the “advanced” age of nine, with his teacher’s help, he composed a full orchestral overture.
In 1849, due to the political situation in Germany, the family was forced to flee their home and move cities—first to Mainz and then to Frankfurt. It was there that Gernsheim was first immersed in a rich musical environment, getting the chance to hear compositions by famous composers, including Richard Wagner, whom he later met and whose music deeply impressed him. In 1850, at just 11 years old, he made his public debut (likely as a violinist) in a concert that featured his own overture.
His public performances and private meetings with professional musicians created a stir in the German musical circles. He became their child prodigy, affectionately nicknamed “Little Mozart.”
At age 13, he was accepted into the Leipzig Conservatory, one of the most prestigious music institutions in Europe at the time. Leipzig was a major center of music and culture, and young Gernsheim found himself surrounded by top musicians, including Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann.
After making a name for himself in the German music scene, it was time to conquer the European cultural capital—Paris. Officially, he went to Paris to study. He was 17. But, as in Germany, while learning from the city’s finest musicians, he also found time to compose and perform. His French debut in mid-1856 was a great success, introducing him to a number of key 19th century musical figures, including Gioachino Rossini, Camille Saint-Saëns, Franz Liszt, Anton Rubinstein, and Hermann Levi.
In Paris, he also met the composer Max Bruch, who became a close friend. Their friendship is well documented in numerous letters and diary entries preserved in his archive at the Library.
After finishing his studies in Paris, Gernsheim was invited to teach at the Cologne Conservatory, quickly becoming a central figure in the city’s cultural life. One of his students during this period was Engelbert Humperdinck, the composer of Hansel and Gretel.
Recognition and Exile
In 1870, amid the Franco-Prussian War, he conducted Brahms’ A German Requiem in Cologne. A letter in the National Library of Israel archives reveals Brahms’ deep excitement—not just about the event itself, but specifically about Gernsheim’s conducting.
His relationship with Brahms began in the 1850s in Leipzig. They were immediately impressed by each other and maintained a long correspondence, much of which is preserved in Gernsheim’s archive. Their friendship deepened after both lost their fathers in 1871, just four days apart.
Three years later, Gernsheim left Cologne and was appointed musical director of the Maatschappij tot Bevordering der Toonkunst (“Society for the Promotion of Music”) in Rotterdam, Netherlands. There, he composed his second and third symphonies and continued writing chamber music. He conducted performances of Fidelio, Don Giovanni, and Tannhäuser.
In 1877, he returned to his hometown of Worms to marry Hélène Hernsheim. They had two daughters. The family later moved to Berlin, where he worked as a conductor and teacher at the Stern Conservatory and later at the Academy of Arts.
In 1914, the city of Dortmund honored him with a two-day festival for his 75th birthday (“Gernsheimfest”), where he appeared both as a conductor and pianist.
In 1915, tragedy struck when his eldest daughter passed away. In her memory, he began setting Schiller’s poem Nänie to music, but was unable to complete the work.
Friedrich Gernsheim passed away on the night of September 10-11, 1916, at the age of 75, leaving behind almost 70 years of acclaimed musical work.
So, why did he disappear into obscurity?
Erasure and Rediscovery
In 1928, Karl Holl published the only biography of Gernsheim, but soon after, the book would be extremely difficult to find. When the Nazis rose to power, Gernsheim’s name was erased from the German musical canon. His works were banned, his publications removed from libraries, and his name was blacklisted in the infamous Nazi-sponsored Lexikon der Juden in der Musik (“The Encyclopedia of Jews in Music”, 1940).
For 30 years, it seemed as though Gernsheim and his work had been completely forgotten.
In the 1960s, his second daughter, who had immigrated to Israel, donated his archive to the National Library of Israel. Initially, she was tempted by offers from Berlin, but Israel Adler, the founder of the Library’s music department, convinced her to keep it in Israel.
At first, the archive’s arrival sparked excitement—a well-publicized event was held, attended by 192 figures from Israel’s music industry. But after that, there was silence.
No concert in Israel has ever featured Gernsheim’s music until now. His name has remained obscure, and his compositions – silent.
This great injustice has been slowly rectified in recent years. A new wave of interest in his work has emerged, especially in Germany, where there have been various initiatives to record his compositions. As a result, items from his archive have occasionally been requested by musicologists or musicians preparing to record his works – handwritten sheet music, printed scores edited by Gernsheim with pencil corrections, and more. However, this interest has not extended beyond the borders of Europe.
On March 30, 2025, the Israeli Chamber Project performed a piece by Friedrich Gernsheim for the first time in Israel, alongside works by his contemporaries. The concert, which took place at the National Library, wass made possible by Suzie and Bruce Kovner.
