For the Birds
Who inspired you to use your voice, melodious or otherwise, to express yourself?
This Shabbat is Shabbat Shira, the Shabbat of song. The name is derived from the song of the sea, sung in this morning’s reading by the Israelites as they embarked on their journey from Egyptian bondage.
Shira ladonai ki gao gaa—I will sing to God who has triumphed gloriously
Ozi v’zimrat yah—The Lord is my strength and my might
Mi kamokha nedar bakodesh—Who is like You, majestic in holiness
Who taught the Israelites to sing—in the manner we’ve been discussing. Who modeled for them the value of using their voices to express themselves?
Remember, until this very moment, the Israelites were slaves. They did not have permission to speak their minds. While, surely, they experienced joy, sorrow and the full range of human experience, they did not necessarily have opportunities to express them uninhibitedly– to “sing”—to “pray.”
There’s a legend that suggests that as the Israelites crossed the sea, they were accompanied by birds. The birds made their voices heard, moving the Israelites to break out in their own song. And so, it is suggested, that the birds taught the Israelites to sing.
Let’s sit with this story for a moment, putting ourselves into the proverbial sandals of our ancestors. The sea has parted, clearing a path for you to leave Egypt. Certainly there would be a variety of noises to accompany the massive exodus. Footsteps, both those of man and of animal. Murmurings between individuals. Instructions from leaders. Or, perhaps an audible silence acknowledging the fear of the unknown.
And then a bird begins to tweet. And then another. Soon they fill the sky. They are loud, and while the sound of birds was not unfamiliar, today they are heard differently, freely, by a people renewed. And just as the birds began slowly and quickly joined together to create their unique song, so too the Israelites began to create OUR unique song.
In reading the text this morning, our baalat koreh used a unique trope designed to evoke organized passage across the sea. In a rare occurrence, we, the congregation, are invited to chant in conjunction with the Torah reader, and we do so, effectively, in one voice. But I can’t imagine that the Israelites were of one voice in this moment. Not only must they have held different opinions and emotions regarding the situation, but quite possibly a single individual may have struggled to balance a range of emotions in this singular moment. Yet, upon hearing the birds, everyone knew that they could sing, that they needed to sing.
It’s not totally clear where the story involving the birds originated, it doesn’t seem to be part of the canonized midrash. But it was known to the Jews of Europe, where the story gained popularity. So much so, that a tradition evolved in conjunction with Shabbat Shirah.
The Maharal of Prague was said to have brought bird feed to the synagogue on this Shabbat and instructed the children to feed the birds. This action was meant to reenact the gestures of our ancestors, who, upon reaching safety, offered fruit to the birds who flew with them across the Sea of Reeds.
At Beth Israel, every Shabbat is a day for the birds. If you are here early enough, you see Ron Sussman filling our bird feeder, offering sustenance to the birds (and the squirrels). Our sanctuary offers us a window to the outside world, reminding us that the prayers we utter in here are not limited by the bounds of our walls and allowing us to be surrounded by God’s creation that we seek to honor and celebrate each day. We won’t likely see many birds today—they’ve wisely gone south for the winter. But perhaps will see, or hear, something, that will remind us to lift our voices, and sing.
Together we sing: Ozi V’zimrat Yah, vayehi li lishua