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Music is certainly one of the most sublime forms in which mankind unfolds its spirit and being. It is no coincidence that many of us refer to music and songs as being universal languages, since they are tools that allow us to transcend real or virtual borders by means of empathetic feelings towards the five lines of the staff.
In our tradition, music has never been alien to Jewish life. We know that part of the task assigned the Levites in the times when the Temple of Jerusalem was still standing consisted of singing and accompanying the sacred offerings with music. In the First Book of Chronicles, to cite an instance, we are told: “And David spoke to the chief of the Levites to appoint their brothers to be the singers with instruments of music, lyres and harps and cymbals, playing loudly to raise sounds of joy.” (15:16).
The Book of Psalms is, as it were, the living record of poems and psalms that referred to (and still refer to) personal and national situations, to times of joy and pain, to moments of asking and times of gratitude. In them, music manifests itself in a multiplicity of paragraphs, Psalm 98 being a classic example, in which we are told:
“Sing to the Lord with the lyre; with the lyre, and the voice of a psalm. With trumpets and the sound of a shofar make a joyful noise before the Lord, the King.” (4-6)
As we can see, songs and music are an integral part of the Biblical tradition, and even after the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem some raised their voices to prohibit that the soul should be expressed through them (see for example the Talmudic discussion in Gitin 7a, and how this was legislated by Maimonides in the Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Taanit 8:14; and in the Shulchan Aruch of Rabbi Yosef Karo, Orach Chaim 560:3) (1). This did not stop someone like Rabbi Nachman of Breslov from fearlessly declaring that a sacred melody had the power to elevate a person to the level of prophecy, nor from asserting that music itself was the true foundation for a profound connection with G-d.
In this context, our intention will be to study some songs within the framework of the Pesach festival, with a view to not only celebrating the joy of music, but also to establishing the fundamental parameters we wish to preserve as being the theological principles of our tradition in the twentieth century.
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Almost as if by default, at the mention of Pesach one automatically starts thinking of those melodies from the past that still resonate in our ears and evoke pleasant memories of shared moments with our families and communities. It would be hard to find many Jewish children who do not know the melody to “Ma Nishtana,” or “Dayeinu.” Among the older ones, we can still see the smiles on their faces as they sing “Chad Gadia,” or its clever rendition, “A Little Goat.”
In the rhetorical structure of the Haggadah, one can clearly see how music was used as a basic resource in setting up a context that for generations has achieved significant levels of learning on the part of its participants. And in this sense, it is no coincidence that many contemporary thinkers see the need to turn to music as an essential path to creating inclusive and open spaces that will enable us to find our way back to a Jewish spirituality at times lost, at times forgotten (2).
But at Pesach we do not only reencounter ourselves through melodies, but also deal with different lyrics, each marking heights and depths and taking a position when faced with various theological questions and existential spaces. For example, when singing “Dayeinu,” we all should perform the exercise of giving thanks for that which forms part of our daily existence, of knowing to recognize the abundance and blessing of having a roof over our heads, food, clothing, and the affection of our loved ones. When we combine the happy melody with the profound meaning of the lyrics, we should then be transformed into beings who not only petition, but who are grateful, who not only demand, but who make offerings.
And now that our point has been exemplified by the Haggadah, we return to the Biblical text, in this case citing two songs that circumscribe the experience of the Exodus from Egypt and its celebration, and that invite us to reflect and take a position on what each song manifests and propones.
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Two, then, are the poetic texts we seek to introduce at this opportunity: “Shirat ha Yam”, the psalm that lifted up the People of Israel after the “Sea of Reeds” (or Yam Suph) closed in on the Egyptian army; and Shir ha Shirim, that song among songs traditionally attributed to King Salomon, and which refers to a collection of love poems between two young lovers.
Both songs are strongly tied to the festival of Pesach: “Shirat ha Yam” marks the culmination of the Exodus from Egypt, underscoring the last of the miracles through which G-d showed himself to the people of Israel. This first song is to such a degree dependent on what happened at the Yam Suph, that part of the song sung by the sons of Israel at the time was integrated into the daily prayer of all Jews, who in daily remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt, in the blessing pronounced after the recital of the Shema, recite the verse: “Mi chamocha baElim Adonai… Who is like you, O Lord, among the gods? Who is like you, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders?” (Exodus 15:11) (3).
To such a degree has this event been associated with Pesach that in the liturgy specifically selected for the days of the festival, the entire event of the Crossing of the Yam Suph was chosen as the text to be read from the Torah, specifically on the seventh morning. Likewise, the crossing through the sea was the starting point chosen by a large number of Jewish communities throughout history and leading to some very interesting customs (albeit ones unknown to many) pertaining to this day of the festival (4).
On the other hand, the relationship between Pesach and Shir ha Shirim is more complex and, at least initially, less evident. The first direct historical records to tell us about the reading of the Shir ha Shirim at Pesach date back to the Middle Ages. In the Masechet Sophrim (tenth century), we read: “The Song of Songs is read during the nights of the last two days of the festival in the Diaspora, half during the first night, the other half during the second night. […] There are also those who say that the reading starts at the end of the Shabbat preceding the festival.” In the Machzor Vitri (twelfth century) we find another custom: Shir ha Shirim is read on the Shabbat of Chol ha Moed [Pesach] […] And we read it at Pesach owing to the fact that in Shir ha Shirim we are told about Egypt, as it is written: “I compare you, O my love, to a mare of the chariots of Pharaoh.” (1:9)
This last point, that is, the connections the Machzor Vitri establishes between Pesach and Shir ha Shirim, happens to tie in with the allegorical interpretation the Biblical text has been given since its inclusion in the Biblical canon. As a whole, the work went from being a collection of poems between two young lovers to being translated as a “historical” document of the relations existing between G-d and the People of Israel. Ii is in this context that we need to understand the Rabbi Akiva’s reasons for defining the Song of Songs as being the most sacred of the texts comprised by the Tanach (Mishnah, Masechet Yadayim 3:5). Thus, the “mare of the chariots of Pharaoh” in our text, is no longer a metaphor used by the engaged to speak to his fiancée, but instead directs us – though sneakily – to the historical Exodus from Egypt and events that transpired there.
To the reason just discussed, that of connecting the budding relationship between G-d and the people upon having been redeemed from Egypt with the budding love of the two young protagonists of “Shir ha Shirim”, we can also add that the motive behind the context of Spring, which serves as a backdrop to events narrated by the Song of Songs (see for example Shir ha Shirim 2:8-14), is related to the time of the year at which the People of Israel were taken out of the land of Egypt, giving rise to another name for Pesach, “Chag ha Aviv” or the Festival of Spring (see for example Exodus 13:4; 23:15; 34:18; and Deuteronomy 16:1).
Much could be said about the texts and their allegories, but lack of space makes this the wrong place to do so. In the next section we will try to look at the messages delivered by each of these poems, with a view to understanding in which ways they present us with two different models of relationships each of us can establish with G-d and with man.
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“Shirat ha Yam” is a song of joy, but forms part of complex mix: The joy of the People of Israel stands in contrast to the total debacle of the Egyptian army. Clearly, this is situation where there can be no two winners, the grace of one side being the disgrace of the other.
On the other hand, we are presented with the image of a combative warrior G-d: “The Lord is a man of war; the Lord is His name […] Your right hand, O Lord, is glorious in power; Your right hand, O Lord, has dashed in pieces the enemy. And in the greatness of Your excellence You have overthrown those that rose up against You; You sent forth Your anger, which consumed them as stubble” (Exodus 15:3, 6-7). This paradigmatic vision of divinity is complemented by a couple of verses prior to the Crossing of the Sea of Reeds, which maintain: “And Moses said to the people, Do not fear, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will show to you today; for the Egyptians whom you have seen today, you shall never see them again. The Lord shall fight for you, and you shall hold your peace.” (Exodus 14:13-14), as well as the idea that this system can only be maintained in as much as Israel carries out the will of G-d here in the land (see for example the commentary of Rashi on Exodus 15:6).
This image of G-d is the one to which we appeal with the Pesach Seder, when, upon opening the door looking for the prophet Elijah, we declare “Shfoch chamatcha… Spill your rage upon those who do not know you.”
Faced with this paradigmatic relationship between the people and G-d, which emphasizes a vertical and individualist relationship and relies on rewards and punishments in order to function correctly, Shir ha Shirim offers us another possible pact with divinity–this one not on the basis of wars and fighting, nor of individualisms that require exclusivity in order to keep afloat. Shir ha Shirim regales us with the possibility of reencountering a G-d who is no father dedicated to our defense or to interceding on our behalf every time we need it (and on the condition that we be obedient children). The Song of Songs’s offering is a paradigm of a covenant built upon a love to which both parties make daily contributions, consolidating it and building a living and constantly growing relationship. A relationship that does not depend on rewards and punishments, but that seeks to derive sustenance from mutual love; one whose sole aim is to strengthen and guarantee a covenant established in the past, but one called upon to renew itself in a continuous present.
While the first redemption in the time of the Crossing of the Yam Suph possibly necessitated miracles and marvels and a paternal G-d to protect a newborn people faced with external threats, it is we who today must define whether we wish to continue building upon our relationship with G-d (and with our neighbors) based on this model, or whether we wish to embrace the paradigm of Shir ha Shirim as an opportunity for redemption turned in the direction of the horizon towards which we must advance.
If it is true that music is the universal language, it is also true that it is up to each of us to use the musical staff of our lives on which to the compose the melodies we wish to be heard both today and tomorrow. That G-d might inspire us, so that with the congruent work of our hands we write and sing songs like Shir ha Shirim, thus making redemption something more local and less of an unattainable utopia.
(1) There exists in the Halachah a discussion on the limits of the ban on playing or listening to music. Rambam adopted the strictest position, permitting the use of music only during certain religious moments. The Shulchan Aruch adopts the same posture, while Rabbi Moshe Isserles, placed charge of writing the Ashkenazi exegesis to the Shulchan Aruch, and basing himself on the commentaries of Rashi and Tosfot to the Gitin text, proposes a more flexible vision.
(2) In this sense it is worth mentioning the entire output of the project originally called “Synagogue 2000” (now “Synagogue 3000”), based on the work directed by Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman and Dr. Ron Wolfson. In his book The Spirituality of Welcoming, Wolfson maintains that when someone ask him the question Is there some essential thing for the creation of a religious service that is spiritually mobilizing?, he responds “there are three things: music, music, music.” The choice of the music, he says, gives us the key to following through with the service, shoots out answers to prayers, provides the rhythm of the choreography, and uncovers the drama of prayer. To Wolfson, music is the most important component of the experience of prayer (pp. 96-97). We likewise recommend a visit to the website www.synagogue3000.com and the blog www.synagogue3000.com/synablog
(3) In fact, the entire chapter 15 of the Book of Exodus, i.e. the entire text of Shirat ha Yam, has been integrated into daily prayers. In the structure of the Tefilah Shacharit, the morning service, the song enunciated by the people of Israel after the drowning of the Egyptians in the Red Sea is recited in the context of the Pesukei Dezimra, the verses and canticles worshipping G-d that prepare the person praying for the most elevated moments of the prayer comprised of the Shema and the Amida.
(4) Some of these likable customs are documented by D. Golinkin in Pesah Potpurri: On the origin and development of some lesser-known Pesah customs”, originally published in Conservative Judaism 55, 3 (2003), pp. 58-71, a slightly changed and expanded version of which can be found at: http://www.schechter.edu/pubs/insight34.htm. All the material relevant to the customs of the seventh day of Pesach and their relationship with Shirat ha Yam is to be found towards the end of the article.