June 16th: Shelach Lecha
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Two Torah portions have names in which God sends people forth, Lech Lecha in Genesis and this week’s portion, Shelach Lecha (Numbers 13-15). In Lech Lecha, God sends Abram and Sarai forth, “from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” (Genesis 12.1) There is no response, no discussion, no negotiating. Abram and Sarai do just as God commands and “go forth.”
In Shelach Lecha, God commands Moses to send forth spies/scouts to reconnoiter the Promised Land: “Send men to scout the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Israelite people; send one man from each of their ancestral tribes, each one a chieftain among them.” (Numbers 13.2) The twelve men selected go forth on their mission, but, when they return, only two of the scouts, Joshua and Caleb, are enthusiastic: “Let us by all means go up, and we shall surely conquer the land.” (Numbers 13.30) The other ten scouts “spread calumnies among the Israelites about the land they had scouted, saying, ‘The county that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers.’” (Numbers 13.32) The people believe the pessimistic ten and reject God’s mission.
Why does one sending-forth work and the other fail? Perhaps the problem is in bringing the people into the discussion. Abram and Sarah are not asked to scout the land and then move there. They are just told to go. In Numbers, the scouts report their opinions to the whole Israelite people, and a discussion ensues. There is debate, and cynicism, anxiety, and panic seize the day. Another possible explanation could be the emotional state of the people chosen. Abram and Sarai are full of faith and ready for adventure, but the Israelites in the desert are still so traumatized by slavery—“their spirits crushed by the cruel bondage” (Exodus 6.9)—that embarking on God’s conquest is just too much. Or the difference in results could be a matter of the difference between the two missions. Abram and Sarai are just asked to dwell in the land (alongside the other inhabitants), while the Israelites are asked to conquer the Land and its fearsome peoples.
Whatever the explanation, we are left with two attempts at change and two very different responses. Change is often difficult, and, when individuals, societies, or congregations attempt change, a number of factors affect the outcomes. My thoughts go to the changes in synagogue music in my career and lifetime—perhaps because Lech Lecha, the more successful sending forth, is the subject of one of Debbie Friedman’s most enduring compositions.
L’chi lach, to a land that I will show you.
Lech lecha, to a place you do not know.
L’chi lach, on your journey I will bless you.
And you shall be a blessing, l’chi lach.
L’chi lach, and I shall make your name great.
Lech lecha, and all shall praise your name.
L’chi lach, to the place that I will show you.
L’sim’chat Chayim, l’chi lach.
And you shall be a blessing, l’chi lach.
Younger readers may not realize this, but guitar-accompanied, folk-style synagogue music was a revolutionary thing back in the 1950s, 1960s, and even 1970s. Reform Temples had choirs accompanied by pipe organs, and traditional synagogues had a capella chanting. When non-religious folk music with guitars became very popular among young people after World War II and they expressed the desire to hear this kind of music in synagogue and church, the people in charge of worship were very, very resistant. In youth group settings, social justice songs had a kind of religious resonance—and, in Jewish circles, Israeli folk songs were popular, but there was no real religious music in the folk style, and many young people were frustrated. Eventually, composers wrote folk style music for worship, but the controversy went on for years. Eventually—in both Judaism and Christianity, religious music evolved, and Debbie Friedman was one of the people in Judaism who made these changes possible. She was one of the first song-leader/composers, and she succeeded in making folk/guitar music prayerful.
She brought to her work formidable talent, determined Jewishness, and hard work. She also collaborated with some very talented writers, but there was something else that made her compositions so influential in effecting major changes in Jewish worship music. Consider these three characteristics of her work.
(1) She combined the style and chord progressions of rock and folk music with Biblical and prayer book passages. Her songs felt very Jewish because they were very Jewish. In Debbie’s cool and fun songs, we were singing the Bible.
(2) Many of her songs incorporated both Hebrew and English and in a very comfortable way. The Hebrew introduced English speakers to important phrases and terms and solidified the Jewishness of the song. The English allowed non-Hebrew speakers to know what the words meant: we could understand the spiritual messages we were singing.
(3) She encouraged female empowerment, but in a subtle, non-confrontational way. By simply adding the feminine L’chi Lach to the Torah’s masculine Lech Lecha, she seamlessly embraced every Jewish girl and woman, reminding everyone that God’s mission is for both males and females. There was no argument. No impassioned speech. She simply included Sarai in the charge to Abram. In Miriam’s Song, she took a Biblical verse about the women on the side of the men’s Song of the Sea and turned it into an equally exciting celebration. “And the women dancing with their timbrels followed Miriam as she sang her song…” No fuss, no muss. She just included the women of the Torah in the Torah, and every modern girl and woman knew that they are part of the Tradition too. I am not suggesting that arguments are unnecessary for change, but it strikes me how differently change goes when confrontation is not the first step.
A talented and inspired composer, Debbie was also an agent of change. She helped us improve and enhance our spirituality—our kavannah, and I believe that her strategies helped immensely. As we work on all of our necessary changes, let us remember that change does not just happen. It requires strategy, patience, and awareness of the challenges we all have in adapting to new ways.
Could God’s charge to Abram and Sarai go wrong? Perhaps, but they are brimming with enthusiasm and faith. Could God’s charge to the Israelites go better? Perhaps, but this could be a learning experience for the Lord: dealing with humans requires great patience. Could Debbie Friedman songs have helped? Who knows, but they would certainly have brought some grace, poetry, and delightful tunes to the process.