Received after Shabbos
Dear friends,
I find that Yam Suf continues to reveal new depths. Each year the sea splits open differently, showing us something we weren't ready to see before.
I want to share some thoughts about shirah, about Miriam HaNeviah, and about the ways the sea still splits in our own lives.
What is Shirah?
Shirah is what happens when ordinary words are insufficient and the soul must speak.
Ramban explains that when Bnei Yisrael witnessed the sea split and their enemies destroyed, regular speech could not contain what they experienced. They needed shirah – a heightened form of expression that transcends ordinary language. It's the difference between saying "thank you" and bursting into song because gratitude itself demands more.
Maharal teaches that shirah represents the moment when we perceive God's hand so clearly that silence becomes impossible. There’s more to it: Sfas Emes adds something profound: the shirah at the sea wasn't merely a response to miracles witnessed – it revealed that we ourselves had been transformed.
The Gemara in Sanhedrin (91b) counts ten great songs in Jewish history, with Shirat HaYam as the first sung in this world. Even the way the shirah appears in the Torah scroll is unique – written in a brick-like pattern. The Baal HaTurim explains that just as bricks interlock to build something solid, our individual voices of praise combine to create something greater than any one of us could express alone.In Battle Plans, I wrote about how we often feel we're fighting alone, but we're actually part of a larger army.
Miriam HaNeviah: Carrying Drums Through the Desert
"Vatikach Miriam hanevi'ah achot Aharon et hatof b'yadah" – Miriam the prophetess, sister of Aharon, took a drum in her hand.
Why "sister of Aharon" and not "sister of Moshe"? Her greatest moment arguably took place before she was Moshe’s sister - before he was even born. Consider what this means: a child living under Pharaoh's brutal decree, having the courage to predict redemption. When baby Moshe was placed in the Nile, she stood "mirachok" – from afar. Rashi explains she wasn't merely watching her baby brother; she was watching to see what would become of her prophecy. This is audacious faith.
Miriam led the women with drums and dance because the women had such faith in God's salvation that they brought musical instruments out of Egypt. Consider what this means: when fleeing slavery, what do you pack? The women brought tambourines – not from naiveté, but from certainty. They knew that every Yam Suf is meant to split.
Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that while Moshe led the men in shirah, Miriam led the women, ensuring the song would echo not just in that generation but in all generations to come. The women sang "shirah laHashem" – they directed their song to God Himself. Authentic joy is always a dialogue with the Divine.
This is what I wrote about in Infinite Love – that God's love for us is so vast, so patient, that He waits for us to pick up our drums even when we can barely lift them. Miriam understood this deeply.
Let me share my own Yam Suf moment.
I was a young mother when a note arrived from Rabbi Refson, head of newborn Neve Yerushalayim, in response to my having heard about his dream school when I was looking for a place for my innocent young neighbor to learn. She was a boarder across from my apartment in Givat Shaul. Tehillah (not her name) was from New Jersey. She had drawn closer to observance through her local rabbi, and following her hearts longing for more, enrolled in a Judaic Studies program in Hebrew University. It took no time for her to realize that they were teaching many things – modern Hebrew, the history of Zionism and more, but Judaism just wasn’t on their agenda.
We heard of Neve (which was actually only a small apartment in Bayit Vegan with 6 girls living together and learning from volunteer teachers under Rabbi Refson’s direction). I had been learning with Tehillah and when Rabbi Refson heard about it, he asked if I would come teach. The seminary was only in its second year. I had small children. My only teaching experience was with teaching English for a chabad school. Why would anyone want me to teach?
That was over fifty years ago.
What looked like an impassable obstacle became a path I've walked ever since. The greatest privilege of my life after my being able to marry and raise a family – all because I was willing to step forward when I couldn't yet see the dry land beneath my feet.
Another Sea That Split
And let me share one more story, because seas are still splitting every day. This one was shared by a family with Rabbi Frand:
A young couple in their early thirties had been married for several years without children. After many heartbreaking disappointments and failed treatments, they finally – miraculously – conceived. The pregnancy was difficult, but they were overjoyed. At eight months, during a routine checkup, the doctors discovered the baby had no heartbeat.
The mother had to deliver, knowing her child was gone. It was unbearable. They asked their rav: should they try again? Could they emotionally survive another loss? With his blessing, they decided to try once more, though their hearts were shattered.
Several months later, the wife felt unwell and took a pregnancy test. Positive. But this time, the joy was muted by terror. Every checkup, every ultrasound was Yam Suf – the waters standing on either side, the fear of collapse, the desperate hope for passage.
Week by week, the pregnancy progressed normally. But the couple couldn't breathe. Then one day, in the seventh month, the wife went for an ultrasound. The technician grew quiet, called the doctor, whispered in the corner. The couple's hearts stopped.
The doctor turned to them with tears in her eyes. "I need to tell you something. We went back and reviewed all the imaging from your previous pregnancy. Your baby – the one you lost – had a condition incompatible with life. Had the baby lived to term, there would have been maybe hours, days of suffering, and then..." She paused. "But this baby? This baby is perfectly healthy. A completely different story."
"I'm telling you," said the doctor, "that sometimes God answers our prayers in ways we can't understand until much later."
They named their daughter Sigal – סגולה – because she was their precious treasure, born from the place where the waters split and they walked through on dry land.
Shabbat Shalom
As we sing Az Yashir this Shabbat, remember: the sea is always splitting for someone. Parnassah, shidduchim, refuah, children – whatever stands before us like an impassable sea can part when the moment is right.
Like Miriam, may we have the courage to hold onto our drums even in Mitzrayim, the faith to believe the song is coming, and the wisdom to know that sometimes we stand "mirachok" – watching from afar, not understanding the full prophecy, but trusting it will unfold as it should.
The best way to relate to what you have inside you is being able to speak out your shirah to Hashem in your own words and in the words of those who songs will always inspire us, the songs that had melodies and the songs that didn’t.
I am enclosing information about a new shiur on tefillah on zoom, that can open the doors and take you to a time for telling Hashem how you felt when the sea split for you, and how you will feel the next time and the next time till moshiach. The siddur is the way we have to make it happen.
To my students: thank you for the privilege of learning together. To my readers: thank you for your trust. To my children and grandchildren: you are my shirah.
Shabbat shalom,
Love,
Tziporah
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