blogs/rabbi-huberman

Judaism and the Power of Song 

Can you remember a time when every song on the radio was speaking to you, and only you?

Music can make sense of our emotions and experiences when words and reason fail us. We rely on music as a conduit and conductor of joy and sadness.

Leonard Cohen famously wrote of "a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord." King David, "the sweet psalmist of Israel," is credited with writing as many as half of the hundred fifty songs found in the Psalms.

Officially, there are ten songs designated in the Bible, alongside scores of references to other instrumental and vocal music.

We read descriptions of the musicians and vocalists who accompanied sacred processions.

They played flutes, lyres, harps, drums, and pipes, and each captured an aspect of the human condition: the drums our hearts, the flutes our inner spirits, the stringed instruments the grace inherent in our motion.

The Torah first mentions music when we are introduced to Jubal, of the fourth generation from Adam, who is recorded as "the father of all those who play the lyre and pipe." (Genesis 4:21)

But there is no better example of the importance of song than in this week's Torah portion, Beshallach ("Let the people go"), as we witness the parting of the Sea of Reeds, memorably captured as the climax of the film The Ten Commandments.

We watch as Moses-arms outstretched-ushers the Israelites from bondage to freedom. As the liberated Israelites gathered on the other side, they saw the Egyptians perishing beneath the waves.

And what did the Israelites do?

They sang.

Their song was so loud, in fact, and so rich with soul, that God commanded them to cease.

"How can you sing," God demands of them, according to tradition, "as the works of my hand are drowning in the sea?"

The song is cherished enough in the Jewish tradition to be given a layout all its own within the Torah, one which conjures a vision of waves and stepping stones.

This Song of the Sea is followed by the description of "Miriam and the women," singing and dancing with their timbrels and tambourines.

What a symphony that must have been!

Manhattan congregations such as B'nai Jeshurun and Romemu attract hundreds each Shabbat, imbuing their services with such songs of spirituality, enriched by musical instruments.

Our own Friday service has evolved into a sacred convergence of guitars, keyboard, banjo, mandolin, clarinet, trumpet, and drums. Our children and other congregants bang their tambourines, just as Miriam and the women did.

Indeed, as congregations seek growth, looking to attract a generation of soul searchers, what medium more is organic to Judaism-what language is more persuasive-than music?

A year or so back, I attended a service outside the community, one that had dwindled in recent years from more than one hundred and fifty people to barely fifty.

I wondered if it could be a coincidence that, over a rushed Sabbath service, attendees did not recite a single melody, instead rattling off every prayer quickly and mechanically.

We live in times when younger Jews, as well as others seeking spirituality, rely on music to lift their souls. Earphones and playlists have become staples of daily life.

All our lives have soundtracks now. Should places of worship be any different?

What is Kol Nidre without its haunting melody chanted by the Cantor? Each service, each occasion, each holiday within Judaism is framed inside its own melody.

About fifteen years ago, managing a continuing care facility in Edmonton, Canada, my wife Patte had an idea. She proposed holding a Passover Seder for those affected by Alzheimer's disease.

The children of many residents warned Patte and me not to bother: "It would be a waste of time," they told us. "Besides, most appear oblivious to their surroundings."

But Patte was sure she was on to something.

On the night, all the Seder preparations made, patient after patient was wheeled into the multipurpose room.

For the first five minutes of the Seder, we chanted Passover melodies. The response from the patients was minimal.

Then came Dayenu. As Patte and I began to sing, each resident straightened up, their eyes a little more open, a little more focused. Most of them began trying to follow the melody, or mouth the words.

It was as though the melody had spoken to something in the DNA of everyone in that room, and they had each found their song of family freedom, joy, and celebration.

During this week, the Sabbath of Song, we bow to music and its role within Judaism.

In a Jewish world where many congregations are aging, or fading to black, perhaps it behooves clergy and lay leaders to consider more music. Our tradition reminds us that song and spirituality are interwoven.

Let us therefore search out new melodies and renditions. Let us embrace traditional composers and contemporary ones.

Tonight, as congregants enter our Kiddush room at the start of our service, they will walk through long shreds of blue crepe paper hanging from the ceiling.

Those are to remind us that the pursuit of freedom and newness requires action and courage. Tonight each of us will part our own Sea of Reeds.

Most importantly, we will celebrate song.

Whether or not you are inspired to attend our services tonight, let us recall on this Shabbat a song or melody which inspires us today, or one that's touched us at some point in our lives.

On this the Shabbat of Song, let us move closer to music as part of our Judaism, and our past and future lives.

Let us be reminded and comforted by one of God's most inspiring and sacred creations:

The power of song.

Shabbat shalom, v'kol tuv (with all goodness)

Rabbi Irwin Huberman