Parshat Beshalach: By My Spirit
A few years back, I was meeting with a family that just joined my congregation. While exchanging pleasantries and making small talk, their son, roughly five or six years of age, stood in complete silence. He glared at me with big bright eyes, waiting for me to address him. I said, "Hi, I'm Rabbi Sataloff. It's nice to meet you!" He paused for a moment, searching my person up and down, left and right. We were all confused until he garnered the courage to ask me what was on his mind. "If you're really a rabbi," he said, "Where's your guitar?" His mother bashfully tried to explain the situation away, but it wasn't necessary. I knew exactly what he was talking about.
There are many parallels between rabbinical school and cantorial school. People become rabbis and cantors for many of the same reasons. Namely, we seek to express something profound we feel in our souls. However, one big difference is that in my entire six years leading up to ordination, not once did anybody stop to ask if I could sing. Or even if I liked singing. If singing was a meaningful way for me to worship. If singing was a part of my connection to God. If singing was something that connected me to others. And maybe that's because in the Reform rabbinate nowadays, music has become so synchronous with the practice of Judaism. So much so, these may not even be questions anymore...
But let me back up for just a moment to clarify a point I think is so important to say aloud. It takes courage to practice Judaism by way of a song. It takes bravery to open your mouth and sing. Each week, our B'nei Mitzvah students stand in this very bima and perform the unthinkable. Amid the most awkward phase of their entire lives, we “voluntell” our youth to sing in front of their peers. We encourage them to sound out notes of Torah trope and melodically vocalize Hebrew prayer - and even be proud of what comes out! And after witnessing this feat, week-in, week-out, I’ve come to understand something. That strong leadership in the Jewish tradition is demonstrated by more than just brute force. More than might alone. Leadership can also be identified as an ability to convey our spirit in ways that bring people together. In ways that honor ourselves and God. As we read in Zecharaiah:
“Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit—said the LORD of Hosts”
What song in prayer represents is akin to the creation of life itself. It's turning chaos, raw Godly spirit — into order. Turning cosmic power into poetry. And the sign of a good leader is the ability to synthesize that spirit into something that others can grab ahold of as well. A song that others can sing with you. A dance that others can follow along. Because if you think about it, our fondness for music comes from music's ability to provide a platform to relate to one another. To be together. Sing together. Dance together. Whirl. Twirl. Move — And to be moved. And so it is in our tradition, an infinite give–and–take between humanity and God. Like the push and pull of the ocean tide.
This week, our Torah portion, parshat Beshalach, is truly unique in so many ways. The Israelites arrive at the Red Sea, Moses splits the water, and we walk on dry land. And then, we find ourselves at what's called Shirat Hayam, "The Song of the Sea," Spanning 18 verses of the Torah. As the text relays:
"Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the LORD. They said: I will sing to the LORD, for He has triumphed gloriously; Horse and driver He has hurled into the sea. The LORD is my strength and might; He has become my deliverance. This is my God and I will enshrine Him; The God of my father, and I will exalt Him…" (Exodus 15:1-2)
As Rashi points out, "[Moses'] heart told him that he should sing, and thus he did — when he saw the miracle mentioned in that narrative — his heart told him. Prompted him."
However, it should be noted that Moses does not sing alone. Yes, Moses leads the song, but quickly after, the Israelites join him. Moses exemplifies the notion that song in Judaism is meant for everyone. Even those like me who can’t sing. Because the operation of singing was never intended to be exclusive but inclusive. A shared, communal practice of faith. This brings us to Miriam:
"Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron's sister, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her in dance with timbrels. And Miriam chanted for them: Sing to the LORD, for He has triumphed gloriously; Horse and driver He has hurled into the sea." (Exodus 15:20-21)
The first thing we should take note of is a new title attached to Miriam's name. Prophetess. Until now, Miriam had performed her role in saving her brother and helping lead the people out of tyranny. But in this very instant, Miriam is not just Moses' sister. Instead, she's bestowed the title of an adorned leader. And for a good reason. She, like Moses, leads her people in worship and praise. But what makes her unique is that she takes this glorious moment to new heights. She not only leads in chanting but leads by way of dancing. She uses not only her mouth but also her body to express the spirit that stirs within her.
But unlike the dance of King David in the book of Samuel, Miriam does not dance alone. The other women follow her. And while she does quite literally dance to the beat of her own drum, her dance compliments the song already being sung. It's not a deviation. It's an elevation.
And so we have it. Moses and Miriam. Song and Dance. Voice and Body. Leadership and Community. But this isn't history. These dynamic partnerships are ones that still exist today. In this very sanctuary. Think about the role of rabbi and cantor, of men and women, brothers and sisters, sharing in our unique forms of Godly expression. Each of us stirred by the same spirit but expressing it in different ways.
And so, each week as we stand together in prayer, I pray that we may be stirred. I pray that we may all find unprecedented ways that contribute to communal and personal worship alike. I pray that we may all celebrate together. In dance and in song.