For a month, Moshe had taught the people. He had told them their history and destiny, and the laws that would make theirs a unique society of people bound in covenant with one another and with Hashem. He renewed the covenant and then handed the leadership on to his successor and disciple Yehoshua. His final act would be blessing the people, tribe by tribe. But before that, there was one more thing he had to do. He had to sum up his prophetic message in a way the people would always remember and be inspired by. He knew that the best way of doing so is by music. So the last thing Moshe did before giving the people his deathbed blessing was to teach them a song.
There is something profoundly spiritual about music. When expression transcends language and the soul longs to break free of its earthly bonds, it modulates into song. Jewish history is not so much read as it is sung. When we daven, we do not read: we sing. When we engage with sacred texts, we do not recite: we chant. Every text and every time has, in Yiddishkeit, its own specific melody. There are different tunes for shacharis, mincha, and maariv. There are different tunes for shacharis, mincha, and maariv. There are different moods and melodies for the prayers for a weekday, Shabbos, the Shalosh Regalim, as well as for the Yomim Nora’im.
Music also has the extraordinary power to evoke emotion. Who can sit on Tisha B’av reading Eichah, with its own unique cantillation, and not feel the tears of Yidden through the ages as they suffered for their faith and wept as they remembered what they had lost, the pain as fresh as it was the day the Bais Hamikdash was destroyed.
Yom Kippur begins with Kol Nidrei, a dry legal formula for the annulment of vows and not really a prayer at all! There can be little doubt that it is its ancient, haunting melody that has given it its hold over the Jewish imagination. It is hard to hear those notes and not feel that you are in the presence of Hashem on the Day of Judgment, standing in the company of Jews of all places and times as they pleaded with heaven for forgiveness. It is the holy of holies of the Jewish soul.
Which brings us to today.
וַיָּבֹא מֹשֶׁה וַיְדַבֵּר אֶת כָּל דִּבְרֵי הַשִּׁירָה הַזֹּאת בְּאָזְנֵי הָעָם
Torah is likened to a song, a melody that nurtures and sustains the soul of every single Yid. Just as a musical tune has the ability to reach out and permeate the consciousness of a human being, to break through barriers around one’s heart and emotions, affording him the aptitude to perceive truth and understand the profundity of life. So, too, does the Torah have the unique capability to pierce the cold and sin-encrusted heart of a lost or wayward Jew, and bring him close to his eternal source of spiritual sustenance.
Moshe’s parting words are that of a song because songs reach deeper and are remembered for longer. The characteristic of being a song ensures that it “shall not be forgotten.” Song is a uniting force that brings together people of different backgrounds. Even those who do not know each other join in, arm in arm. As different as we are, we become brothers. Song not only moves outward but inward, touching the inner core, our inner goodness and godliness. And although sometimes we are unaware of that potential purity within us, song can stir and awaken our inner souls.
Song also moves upward. The distance between the lower world and upper world is great. How can we bridge the chasm? With the connecting ladder of song, which brings heaven down to earth and earth up to heaven. Song is transcendent, moving out, in, and up. It crosses all barriers. This is the secret of song. This is the magnificence of Torah.
Torah Tzeeva was first recorded in 1964 and was released on a collection of songs composed by The Bostoner Rebbe, R’ Moshe HaLevi Horowitz, zt’l (1909-1985). The song was made further famous by singer Mordechai Ben David when in Tishrei of 1985, famed duo Suki & Ding released the third of their four All-Star albums – this time it was a Torah themed record and was named accordingly. Parshas Ha’azinu teaches us that words without music are like a body without a soul. So yes, Moshe Rabbeinu takes leave. Days pass and years go by, but the song of Torah remains forever.
Wishing all of you a transcendent Shabbos!
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