Why does Leonard Cohen speak in Hebrew on ‘You Want It Darker’?
Leonard Cohen’s relationship with religion was an odd one from the start. Born into an Orthodox Jewish family, his countercultural life took him far from the realm of tradition and strict, stringent religion and into the world of spirituality as he sought answers elsewhere, whether in Buddhist monasteries, celebrity circles, or the beds of beautiful women. But later in life, it seemed like Cohen found himself returning to his roots as his religious mother tongue of Hebrew became a language he used once again.
At its core, religion is a complex and deeply personal thing. Even within the hallowed halls of organised worship, in the echoing walls of churches or temples, each worshipper is in their own unique dialogue with whatever force they believe moves them from above. For Cohen especially, it seemed that he yearned for the community or the collective energy of religion but could never quite get on board with it. It seemed to stand at odds with the world. Here he was, trying to believe in an all-knowing, all-powerful and all-loving God like his childhood had raised him to, but then he looked around at the world of poverty and pain and injustice and wondered how the two could ever co-exist.
That’s the question being posed on ‘You Want It Darker’ as he essentially enters into an argument with God. The title track of his 2016 album was written at the end of Cohen’s life when the idea of death and whatever might come next was heavy on his mind. In this context, his career-long contemplations of religion seemed to take on a new and immediately present form.
“If you are the dealer, I’m out of the game / If you are the healer, it means I’m broke and lame,” he sings, putting the contradictions of religion into words. But it’s in the central lyrics that the complexity of his point here is articulated. “A million candles burning / For the love that never came / You want it darker / We kill the flame,” he sings. Here, he’s dealing with the way suffering pushes people one way or another. Some flock to churches and light candles in prayer, asking the God that supposedly controls everything for help or guidance. While some find their faith destroyed by the same struggle, killing the flame as they curse God for casting this pain upon them. It deals with the argument that in this world of darkness, God cannot be omnipotent, omniscient and benevolent, so he must be either flawed or not exist at all.
In this final and complex contemplation on the mental battle that plagued his whole life, Cohen sings in Hebrew. “Hineni, hineni / I’m ready, my Lord,” he says, with “hineni” translating to “here I am”. It seems that despite his inner struggle over the contradictions of religion, his old age and looming death as illness took hold led him back to the comfort of his religious raising. “Here I am,” he adds, as if offering himself up to God, keen to surrender to the traditional ideas of death and the afterlife he grew up with.
It’s a deeply moving and profound ending to a lifelong story. At each turn of his career, Cohen’s quest for spiritual understanding has been there. His anthemic hit ‘Hallelujah’ connects an orgasm with a cry out of Godly acclaim. His written work again and again returns to the topic as he once said, “No it’s not poetry, it’s prayer, prayer, psalms.” In all the time he spent in isolation at a Buddhist monastery, the artist was in a constant state of seeking and in constant dialogue with the idea of God or what that idea represented.
But in these final moments on one of his last songs, there’s a surrender. He’s saying that even amongst the complex and difficult arguments surrounding the very foundations of religion, he wants it. Saying, “Here I am, here I am!” in the spiritual tongue he first learnt.
