הַצֶּמַח צֶדֶק חִבֵּר כַּמָּה נִגּוּנִים, לִמּוּדוֹ הָיָה בְּקוֹל וְנִגּוּן, וְלִפְעָמִים הָיָה מַפְסִיק בְּאֶמְצַע לִמּוּדוֹ, אוֹ כְּתִיבָתוֹ דִּבְרֵי אֱלֹקִים חַיִּים אוֹ שְׁאֵלוֹת וּתְשׁוּבוֹת, וּמְנַגֵּן אֵיזֶה נִגּוּן.

אַאַזְמוּ"ר סִפֵּר, אֲשֶׁר מִקּוֹל נִגּוּנוֹ שֶׁל הַצֶּמַח צֶדֶק הָיָה יוֹדֵעַ בַּמֶּה הוּא עָסוּק בְּאוֹתָה שָׁעָה.

The Tzemach Tzedek composed several niggunim. He would study aloud and melodiously. At times he would pause in the midst of his study, or in the midst of writing Chassidus or a halachic responsum, and would sing a niggun. My revered grandfather, the Rebbe [Maharash],1 related that from the tone of the niggun the Tzemach Tzedek was singing, he could tell the subject he was involved in at that time.2

A Pearl to Cherish

A niggun is not just a melody. As the Alter Rebbe used to say, “Speech is the quill of the heart; song is the quill of the soul.”

A chassidic melody is worth more than a thousand words — and, indeed, most of the niggunim of Lubavitch are wordless. Nevertheless, they give eloquent expression to the soul’s innermost emotions. Some niggunin express — or engender — a yearning for nearness with G‑d; others, sober meditation; others, exuberant joy; yet others, reflections of repentance.3 When a person is spiritually refined, that expression can come spontaneously and without inhibition.