While looking for something else...

I found this here (jewfaq.org has been a wonderful resource for me):

Shabbat Shirah

Unlike the other special Shabbatot, Shabbat Shirah does not have an additional reading, but rather is dictated by the presence of a standard reading. Shabbat Shirah is the Shabbat when we read Parshat Beshalach (Exodus 13:17-17:16), which is the Torah portion that includes the Song at the Sea.

Tradition teaches that there are only ten true Songs (Shirot, the plural of Shirah) in the history of the world. These true Songs are not mere melodies; they are expressions of the harmony of creation and mark monumental transitions in history. Another of these Songs appears on the haftarah portion for the week (Judges 4:4-5:31): the Song of Deborah. The Song of Songs is, of course, one of the Ten Songs. Interestingly, the Tenth Song has not yet been sung: it is the Song of the coming of the Mashiach, which will be sung at the End of Days (see Isaiah 26:1).

*****

That would have been this past Shabbat, in which I skipped Torah study because I was tired and cranky and saving my energy for the Tu B'Shevat seder. (I shouldn't skip Torah study for those reasons, since it's usually quite renewing; even when I go in cranky, I usually come out calmer.)

I'll try to remember for next year.

*****

Further research brought me to this (footnote indicators removed for readability):

We don’t sing when we are frightened, despairing, sleepy, or after a heavy meal. We sing when we are pining after one we love, when we are yearning for better times, when we are celebrating an achievement or anticipating a revelation.

We don’t sing when we are complacent. We sing when we are striving for something, or when we have tasted joy and are climbing it to the heavens.

Song is prayer, the endeavor to rise above the petty cares of life and cleave to one’s source. Song is our quest for redemption.

The Midrash enumerates ten preeminent songs in the history of Israel—ten occasions on which our experience of redemption found expression in melody and verse. The first nine are: the song sung on the night of the Exodus in Egypt, the “Song at the Sea,” the “Song at the Well,” Moses’ song upon his completion of writing the Torah, the song with which Joshua stopped the sun, Deborah’s song, King David’s song, the song at the dedication of the Holy Temple, and King Solomon’s “Song of Songs” extolling the love between the Divine Groom and His bride Israel.

The tenth song, says the Midrash, will be the shir chadash, the “new song” of the ultimate redemption: a redemption that is global and absolute; a redemption that will annihilate all suffering, ignorance, jealousy and hate from the face of the earth; a redemption of such proportions that the yearning it evokes, and the joy it brings, require a new song—a completely new musical vocabulary—to capture the voice of Creation’s ultimate striving.

*****

I do sing when I'm frightened and despairing, sad and anxious, depressed and lonely. To sing, you have to breathe, and remembering to breathe lets me release at least a little bit of whatever pressure's weighing on me. I think I've mentioned before, one aspect of our congregation that really drew me in was all the singing. I agree completely with the above that "song is prayer"; it's long been easier for me to pray in music instead of (or in addition to) words.

Eitz ha'chayim

At Torah study, when we've completed our discussion and return the Torah to the ark, we (often, but not always, depending on who's leading the service) sing a song, Eitz ha'chayim, which calls the Torah a "tree of life".

One of the seder leaders yesterday had us discuss, in pairs, why that comparison, originally found in Psalms, is made and how we think the Torah may be like a tree.

My discussion partner had mentioned, in response to a previous question, that she has hiked dormant volcanoes and was amazed at the sight of saplings growing in crevices of long-cooled lava, that even from such destruction, life springs. I suggested that Judaism itself was somewhat like a tree; there are so many historical events that it should not have survived, and it's taken hold and is thriving in some highly unlikely places.

Just now, as I was making my previous post, I thought about it's being winter where we are, so most of the trees are dormant, but we trust that in the spring, they'll awaken and regrow their leaves. The new growth won't make any tree a different tree; it's just a slightly changed aspect of the tree that's been there all along. So maybe sometimes our connection with Torah and with God feels distant and dormant, but with time, we'll find new aspects and find ourselves growing again in newly perceived warmth.

Happy New Year, trees!

Yesterday, C and I went to a Tu B'Shevat seder at our synagogue. It began with a guided imagery, in which we were guided to imagine ourselves as seeds growing into trees (and if that sounds cheesy, it really wasn't), and from there, we moved, physically and mentally, into the seder itself, which involved readings, music, fruit and wine.

(I think all seders, for any occasion, involve wine. I expect to not be disabused of that notion.)

The seder itself went through the seasons of the year, and for each season, we drank a different wine (starting with autumn: white, white-with-a-little-red, red-with-a-little-white, red) and ate a different fruit (fruits with hard shells but soft insides [e.g. almonds]; fruits with edible seeds [e.g. pomegranates] fruits with edible outsides but something inedible inside [e.g. olives, dates], wholly edible fruits [e.g. figs, berries]).

I think. Did I mention that I'm doing this from memory and there were four cups of wine? Also, I'm not quite sure how the miniature apple strudels fit into this scenario, but they were rather tasty.

Anyway, where we live is in a cold snap right now, so it was quite lovely to be in a warm synagogue with friends and food, celebrating nature and knowing that soon, it will be warm enough outside to properly appreciate the cycle of the seasons again.

Sarah laughed

Gen. 18:11] Abraham and Sarah were old, well advanced in years; the way of women had ceased for Sarah --- 12] so Sarah laughed inwardly, thinking: "Now that I am withered, will I have pleasure, with my lord so old!" 13] But the Eternal One said to Abraham, "Why is Sarah laughing so, thinking: 'Am I really going to bear a child, when I have grown so old?' 14] Is any wonder too difficult for the Eternal? At this fixed time, next year, I will return to you, and Sarah shall have a son. 14] Sarah, then denied it, for she was afraid, and said, "I did not laugh"; but [God] said, "Ah, but you did laugh!"

In Torah study, we often discuss Sarah's laughter upon learning she and Abraham will have a son and how the word for her laughter (ותצחק va-titzchak) is related to that son's name (יצחק yitzchak, Isaac). I don't recall it being mentioned, at least not often, that Abraham laughed first.

Gen. 17:17] Abraham fell flat on his face and laughed, thinking: "Can a child be born to a man of 100? Can 90-year-old Sarah bear a child?"

It seems to me too that there is something discussion-worthy in contrasting Sarah's inward laughter with Abraham's falling on his face laughing, but I'm not sure what that is at the moment.

Um...

I spoke in passing to my sponsoring rabbi for the first time in quite a long while (I did e-mail her assistant to set up a meeting). I think she called me by my last name. Granted, my last name is a fairly common first name among Jews, but I'm just going to hope I misheard her. She did seem to want to meet with me.

Postin' fool

I now have as many posts this month as I had for the two years preceding. Hm.

I e-mailed my sponsoring rabbi's assistant; she said she'd get back to me shortly. I really shouldn't be as nervous about this as I am.

Not interfaith

For a while, C and I were on our synagogue's Interfaith mailing list, and I finally got around to asking them to take us off. I know "interfaith" is often defined as "Jew + not-a-Jew", but I never felt the label really fit us; most interfaith stuff around here is geared towards couples and families in which Judaism plus another religion are being practiced.

There's an interfaith dinner at our synagogue soon, and a Jewish-by-choice friend is going (sans Jewish husband, who's not much into the whole synagogue life thing), and she asked if we wanted to go. C was kind of interested, so I suggested C and friend go and see what kind of rumors get started. I'm actively not interested at the moment, to the point of being hostile to the idea, and I'm not sure where that's coming from. I suspect a fair amount of defensiveness on my part, since I still haven't converted official-like.

That reminds me that I really should e-mail my sponsoring rabbi's assistant to set up a meeting. I'll do that now.