From the distance the sound could have been the soldiers-marching, horses-hooves-beating, chariots-rolling sound of war. In the tumult some of the children covered their ears. But as they crossed the threshold, it was clear. The sound was one of joy, playful celebration, dancing. They joined in, dancing, lifting up instruments of their own, clapping, tapping, shaking, stomping, and quickly, without the need for words, the gathered people, old friends and new were a community united in song.
This week, at MWJDS, we had a visit from the musical duo Cesar Lerner and Marcelo Moguilevsky, who captivated our students with an engaging, interactive performance. Both musicians are multi-instrumentalists and students heard all sorts of wind instruments, harmonica, jaw harps, and accordion. But most of all, to connect with our students at all of their ages and developmental stages, the duo used a lot of percussion, and call and response, so that the students were not only listening and learning, but doing, feeling, experiencing, and being the music.
It feels too good to be a lucky coincidence that this visit came in the week of parshat Beshalach, also known as shabbat shira, the shabbat of the song. This is the part where B’nei Yisrael, the Israelites, finally cross the sea, the sound of horses hooves, rolling chariots and the soldiers of Pharaoh’s army pursuing them from behind, and emerge safely on the other side.
Reaching the other side, B’nai Yisrael take a breath and see what has happened. And what is the first thing they do? They sing. The Torah tells us that Moses and B’nai Yisrael sang, and records the words of their song, which the rabbis later set as part of the liturgy of psukei d’zimra, the songs of praise that act as a sort of warm-up section for shacharit, the core of the daily morning prayer service. These verses are known as shirat hayam, the song of the sea. In some newer siddurim, the verses just following the song itself are now included.
Up until this point, it is not clear how the whole people sang with Moses, but Miriam’s leadership looks familiar, and we can understand how people joined her. She invited them in with drums and with chanting, and with call and response, in much the same way that Lerner and Moguilevsky did with our students this week. The verses about Miriam are often read as a side-note to the main song of the sea, as the women imitating the men’s song of praise. But I suggest that we read it, instead as a clarification.
Just after the crossing, the Torah wants us to feel the emotion of B’nai Yisrael celebrating their freedom and gives us the song. Only then does it come back to tell us how the song happened. Moses, with God’s help has led the people out of Egypt and through the sea. But Miriam, a prophet in her own right, is the one with the capacity to lead the people into song, to help them make meaning of what has just happened. When Moses sings, the text reads “az yashir Moshe, then Moses sang…”. But the word the Torah uses for Miriam, translated above as “chanted”, is vata’an, a word which can mean, sing, shout, testify, answer. It is her song that includes the whole people.
Before seeing our guests, Lerner and Moguilevsky, call out to our students and respond to their playful response, I heard their performance the previous evening at The Center for the Arts in Natick. In their Q&A session with the audience, two of their responses stuck with me and drew me back to this parsha.
The first was when they were asked about how their style has evolved in the last number of years, from an almost traditional klezmer/tango fusion sound to a more avant-garde undefinable personal style. They responded that in the past three years they have each lost their parents, and that in that loss and pain, they found that their musical style growing in unexpected ways exploring sounds in ways that were not available to them before. That sense of loss, freedom, growth, and outpouring of expression from an unknown and unknowable source struck me as intimately related to what B’nai Yisrael must have felt on the safe side of the sea. Having lost a lot, disconnected from a significant piece of their identity, they are reaching out through music, though dance, to explore with the soul what the mind may not yet be able to hold on to.
The other comment from Lerner and Moguilevsky shared that stuck with me was when they were talking about their improvisational style and the interplay between them and shared an anecdote from a performance they had done earlier that day. Lerner explained they had been playing at a synagogue and one of the audience members said that it sounded to her like they were praying. Cesar looked a bit surprised, or confused. In his imperfect English, he explored the possibility. He said, “Maybe we are praying.” He turned to his partner, “Mogui, We are praying?” and got a nod of approval. “Yes. We are praying.”
I did not ask, but I got the impression that formal prayer may not be their thing. But although they might not put it into these terms on their own, they know that their music does the same thing as prayer. It connects them to something beyond themselves, to something in the realm of the emotional, the spiritual, the unknowable. And when they perform, they bring others into it, lifting their audience, playing with them, and incorporating the audience’s response into their song. I imagine that B’nai Yisrael, people who have lived their whole lives as slaves, who are accustomed to crying out in pain and suffering, are unpracticed in prayers of praise and gratitude. I imagine them, hearts beating hard, veins full of adrenaline, overwhelmed with emotion, responding to Miriam’s call, and wondering, “We are praying? Yes, we are praying.”