Parshat Beshalch 5767: Yammin’ in the name of Yah

Exodus 13:17 -17:16

The Shabbat where this portion is read is known Shabbat Shira, the Shabbat of The Song. Pharaoh, in the wake of the last plague, lets the people go, and they travel via the Yam Suf. Stopping at the shore, they find out that Pharaoh has had a change of mind, and has his chariots in close pursuit. But a miracle occurs and the sea splits, allowing the people to walk on dry land through the sea. When they reach the other shore the sea closes up on the approaching Egyptians, swallowing them up in the sea. Moses and the people rejoice by singing a song. So important was this song, parts are recited in the liturgy every day after the Shema, Mi chamocha

Who is like you, O Lord, among the gods? Who is like you, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders? (Ex 15:11)

After the Song, we are told

20. And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a tambourine in her hand; and all the women went out after her with tambourines, dancing.[Ex. 15:20]

Miriam, of course isn’t the only one who gets a whole bunch of people drumming and dancing. Besides being warrior and king, King David was, of course a really good musician. Much of the book of psalms is supposedly written by David. Another piece, which ends the psalms section of the Morning Prayer, is a favorite of mine about music: Psalm 150. In a moment of total idleness once, I thought about Psalm 150. One day I wondered what would be the modern equivalent of those instruments. Using some clues found in the Hebrew root and some imagination, I updated the list with equivalent instruments. For example neivel is also the word for pot, so it was a stringed instrument with a sounding pot on the end. Today that covers a whole class of instruments, but the most common would be the guitar. This is what I came up with after substituting a whole bunch of instruments:

Praise the Lord!
Praise him in his Holy spaces
Praise him in the firmament of his strength
Praise him in his strength
Praise him as his abundant greatness
Praise him with a blast from the trumpet
Praise him with guitar and piano
Praise him with drum and dance
Praise him with Bass guitar and flute
Praise him with loud cymbals
Praise him with steel drum
Every soul-life Praise the lord Praise the Lord!

I had a bit of amusement when I realized I had described every Jazz, Rock, and Reggae band. All would have felt at hone in that collection of instruments. All would have played up a storm. And that incredible sacred noise, whatever they played would have been saying Halleuyah.

I remembered about my translation of Psalm 150 recently when I happened to be opening my mailbox at home. There inside was the Old Town School of Folk Music Winter semester catalog, and it brought back some very old memories.

For those not familiar with OTSFM, It has been a Chicago institution since the late 1950’s. Today it has two campuses: the old Building on W. Armitage, and the newer one on N. Lincoln Avenue. But there was a time when they couldn’t pay enough teachers to give a full class to differening skill levels. So, the story is told, Frank Hamilton, the schools’ founder put all the skill levels in the same room and everyone played together. Called “second half” It is still an integral part of the school to this day, and one of those things that I’ve missed lately. There is nothing like a hundred guitars, bass, banjos, mandolins and harmonicas playing music all at the same time. Even before my return to Judaism, I think the greatest religious experiences were at Second Half. Even when I knew only two guitar chords, it was an incredible experience.

I think that was what both David and Miriam understood all that time ago. Divine praise and divine connection come from jamming together. Every instrument counts, every skill level counts. We should all aspire to play better, but we can play at any level. Thus I can say was one of the holiest experiences at a retreat I went to recently where three of us, two guitars and my ukulele sat in a common room of the OSRUI Lodge and just played music. Two hours just flew away in the blink of an eye as we went through the chords on stuff from Van Morrison to the George Harrison. It was very cool.

I loved it. I think of how many time in our lives we just sit back and listen to the soloist, the expert, the talented passively part of the experience. Yet often, in keeping with a professional image, in exuding the authority such a person they seem so aloof so separate from us. I feel this separation most strongly in worship around the High Holidays when everything gets that impersonal feel. It does not matter if it was jazz or traditional music, or a choir, I ironically feel the least devekut during the High Holidays, because there seem to be performers and audience, not a room full of collaborators. I feel the opposite, much greater holiness most Shabbat mornings too, where everything is so close and personal, where everything is so collaborative, right down to the sometimes heated discussions of the D’var Torah. Its infectious and it keep with me even when I am home alone. I almost feel like we need a sticker for those Shabbat Siddirim “Non-professionals involved – please try at home” There’s just something wonderfully Hamishe about collaboration.

I’ve noted before the Talmudic Rabbis seem to agree with me about this:

If three have eaten at one table, and have spoken thereat words of Torah, [it is] as if they had eaten at the table of the All-present, blessed be He, as it is said, “this is the table before the Lord”. …when there are ten sitting together and occupying themselves with Torah, the Shechinah abides among them, as it is said: “God stands in the congregation of God.”[Avot 3]

The more people the more perspectives, each one a unique view of God. As we all come together, we can piece then together like pieces of a puzzle and find a bigger picture inside of the Divine. Even in a room full of people who can’t sing, when singing together they sound good. That is the miracle of collaboration.

Reading the Song of the Sea this week, I realize I’m not a big fan of the lyrics. But I do play several different tunes for the melody on many different instruments. I learned that sometimes the melody the Ningun, particularly in collaboration can be a powerful thing. A music teacher of mine, Jack Gabriel, once told me a story about the Baal Shem Tov, who believed that a song is like a key to the gates of heaven, but some times you need an axe – and that is a ningun. Add to that several stories similar to this one in Hasidic lore: Once a man went to the Seer of Lublin and was told him to go home right away, the Seer rejected seeing him. Dejected, on his way home, he ran into a bunch of Hasids singing and shouting “L’Hayim! L’Hayim!” at the top of their lungs on their way to see the Seer. The Hasids swept the man into their group, and despite his sadness joined in singing and shouting “L’Hayim!” Before he knew it he was back in front of the Seer’s house. But this time the Seer was waiting at the door, smiling. He told the man, “I saw the Angel of Death standing behind you, and knew you had only hours to live. I sent you home so you could say good bye to your family before you died. But these Hasids in their singing chased the Angel of Death away…” Many times we are told in Hasidic legend that the power of Hasidim collaborating is far greater than even the Tzaddik.

There is a phenomenon among many religions, including Judaism of “privatizing” religion, on making religion solely in the home and a private matter. For many, they want to do what they want, not what the community wants, and thus keep away from community. I will admit there are many times when community feels wrong and makes us feel inadequate. Although I tried when I was younger to play violin and flute, I never succeeded because when I played in a group I felt intimidated. In these elementary school settings, it always felt like it was competition to be the best – and given some physical disabilities in my hand, I was always the worst. Yet from the first day I went to Old Town, things were so very different. This was always Jamming, and I learned Harmonica, then guitar, and even a little bit of drumming there. The lesson of Jamming is one we can translate into our spiritual lives. Because if we have differences, the differences collaboratively make the whole stronger. There are those who believe only their opinion counts, that everyone should be like them. But that is like playing a metronome. I’ve known metronome people and even metronome congregations. We have a Minyan for a reason: it make it possible to have the power of collaboration, but only if we embrace that everyone is different, that everyone has a unique divine spark in them and it is conformity which is the klippot, the “crud” that keeps the divine spark from rising to heaven.

I though of an interesting play on the words for the red sea, Yam Suf. Yam the word for sea could be transliterated as Jam. Suf is spelled the same as Sof, the Hebrew word for end. We at the banks are given a choice. We can Jam, or we can end, and only through the sea, through Jam, can we get to the place of no-end, Ayn Sof namely Sinai. So like Miriam, the women and the entire congregation on the free side of the sea, let us Jam together! All souls praise YaH, HalleluYah!