Growing up in a Hasidic family, Ari Rabin would secretly share one of his sister’s earbuds to listen to Taylor Swift. He was just 10 — the son of a rabbi who ran a girls’ school — and pop music was his quiet rebellion. Alongside Swift, he listened to One Direction and Justin Bieber, sneaking in bits of the secular world that rarely entered his home.
Now 24, Rabin, who performs under the name Alnev, lives in Crown Heights, home to the center of the Chabad movement. He says that while music was always part of his life, he never imagined himself becoming a singer.
“I was always quiet with my voice,” he told Unpacked. “I was super lowkey about it. I guess I was shy. I didn’t know if I was any good.”
The birth of Alnev’s creativity
Although Alnev was raised in Florida, his early education was in a Chabad high school with an intense focus on Torah study.
“They were strict on the dress code with the black hat and jacket, and I didn’t necessarily connect to it,” he recalled. “I also wanted more English studies and was thinking about going to college.”
In 10th grade, he transferred to a Chabad alternative boarding school in Pennsylvania. It was still religious, but the atmosphere was different — one that encouraged students to explore their personal connection with God.
“I wasn’t sure what it would be like,” he said. “All I knew was that I would learn secular studies, have access to my phone once a week, and generally have more freedom. It ended up being the best decision I ever made.”
At that school, Alnev began writing songs and performed live for the first time. His classmates praised his lyrics, and their reactions helped him realize that music could be a meaningful outlet.
“I was never really a fan of Jewish music,” he said. ‘It didn’t speak to me. To me, it was important not to just quote a pasuk (sentence from the Torah); it was important to write creative lyrics that showed vulnerability that people could relate to.”
Music also became a way for him to make sense of his own story.
“I was mostly writing about processing my childhood experiences,” Rabin added. “I had some difficulties with my parents. I was trying to formulate my feelings at 15. It was my first time leaving the house.”
Becoming “The Writer”
During Sukkot, he would stand on street corners holding a lulav and etrog, asking passersby if they wanted to make the blessing. Other times, he would walk up to men and ask if they were Jewish and wanted to put on tefillin.
Some people were happy to participate, he said, while others reacted angrily or brushed him off. A few even denied being Jewish altogether. The experience taught him a lot about how people respond to vulnerability — something he later found mirrored in performing music. The same openness and risk it takes to approach a stranger, he explained, are also required to share one’s art.
That sense of vulnerability is visible in his creative work. In the music video for his single “The Writer,” Rabin sits at a typewriter surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper, wearing a suit, tie, and his black yarmulke. The song, a catchy and introspective pop track, is the first single from his new EP “and everything you left was blue,” which was released on November 13.
The lyrics blend wit and melancholy, like in the line: “The mathematician who can’t put himself above it / Another failed attempt at making faulty numbers fit.” The EP, he said, draws from a past relationship and the emotions that came with it — heartbreak, reflection, and ultimately acceptance.
Since stepping into the music scene, Alnev has performed at notable New York venues, including the Gramercy Theatre and the Music Hall of Williamsburg. His next show is scheduled for November 23 at the Mercury Lounge in Manhattan, marking another milestone in his journey from Hasidic student to rising pop artist.
Creating songs you’ll want to lend your ear to
From his first EP, “Vincent,” one track in particular stands out — “Van Gogh,” which has garnered more than 600,000 streams. The song highlights Alnev’s talent for pairing emotional vulnerability with clever wordplay. With lines like “If chaos was a lifestyle, I’d be on the cover of every Forbes Magazine. If dying was an art form, could I be your Van Gogh, pretty please?” The track captures his signature blend of self-awareness and melancholy.
What makes it even more striking is that “Vincent” was recorded entirely in his bedroom, not a professional studio. The production is polished yet intimate, a sound that mirrors the introspective nature of his lyrics.
Among his newer works, one of the most thought-provoking tracks is “ghost.” While songs about being ghosted typically center on romantic relationships, Alnev’s version explores the pain of losing a creative friendship. The song, he’s explained elsewhere, was written about a friend whose writing he admired but who suddenly cut off contact.
When they eventually reconnected a year later, she recognized herself in the song.
“We had a really nice friendship,” he said. “She actually heard the song. After she ghosted me, a year later, we became friends again. … She said, ‘That’s the best song that was ever written about me, and there’s been a couple.’”
The chorus — “I never slept with your ghost, but you still found a way to haunt me” — turns the familiar language of heartbreak into something original and deeply relatable.
Other tracks on the EP continue in this vein of lyrical honesty. “At least we didn’t try” opens with the haunting line, “When I think of my future, your face isn’t in the wedding pictures anymore.” In contrast, the closing song, “little bit in love,” delivers a quiet emotional punch as he sings about leaving a message for God — only to imagine the divine mailbox too full to receive it.
Together, the songs showcase Alnev’s growing confidence as both a writer and performer: a musician who can merge poetic introspection with pop accessibility, finding holiness — and heartbreak — in the everyday.
A desire to be a trailblazer
Since sharing his music publicly, Alnev has received messages from people within his Crown Heights community who say his songs encouraged them to start writing their own, explore visual art, or even reexamine certain relationships in their lives. The response, he said, has been both surprising and affirming: proof that vulnerability can resonate even in spaces where self-expression is often more private.
Visibly identifiable as an observant Jew, with his blond hair and ever-present kippah, Alnev remains deeply connected to his Chabad roots. He still attends synagogue every Shabbat and describes himself as both religious and reflective, continuing to navigate what faith and creativity mean to him.
“You’ll never catch me without a kippah,” he said. “I’m deeply affiliated with Chabad, I’m still religious, and figuring out exactly where I stand. I go to shul every Shabbos. I’m trying to bridge the gap in the community I live in.”
Through his work, he hopes to bridge the worlds he straddles — the Hasidic and the secular, the spiritual and the artistic. His goal, he says, isn’t just to make music, but to carve out space for others in his community who may be questioning, dreaming, or struggling.
“I want to be a trailblazer who is a voice for people who may be experiencing difficult things and make them feel less alone,” he said.
‘ The preceding article may include information circulated by third parties ’
‘ Some details of this article were extracted from the following source unpacked.media ’
