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This past week was one of great anticipation for me. It was the week leading up to Shabbat Shirah, the portion of the Torah that describes the parting of the Sea of Reeds (‘Red Sea’), the passing through of the Israelites, their joyful song of liberation, and the final demise of Pharaoh.

 

I looked forward to this reading, marking a moment of affirmation in my first year of Cantorial studies here in New York. What parasha could be more about my journey than that of Shabbat Shirah, the Sabbath of Song. The week began with my student ma’mad duties and I created the opportunity to lead a musical morning service. Moments ago, the week of Song ended with the victory of the NY Giants in the Super Bowl.

 

I usually don’t link Torah, music, and football, but this week, I did. As an instrumental musician, I relished the opportunity to organize a prayer service that could include instruments, and on Tuesday, we brought in the morning with hand drums, an Argentinian cuatro guitar, and melodies that lead us up the steps of kavvana into our daily keva of the Shaharit service. I was able to play my djembe drum alongside a hand-drumming friend from another synagogue, while also doing my ma’amad duty to shepherd the service in on time. Where was my oboe for this one? in its case for another time when I am not overseeing the service and I can bring it out for musical inspiration.

 

I also had the privilege of hosting a service for a Rabbinical student who was giving his senior sermon. I had not met him in person before; we emailed a lot during the week to iron out details of the very brief mincha afternoon service he would be leading and offering his d’var Torah in. When we met, moments before the service, I saw he was my age. And as I listened to his words of Torah after he'd led the service, I knew it was besheret that we would be working together. He spoke about the parting of the Sea of Reeds, about the grace of Moses in allowing his arms to be supported by others when he grew tired.

And most resonant for me was his description of how the Reed Sea closed behind the Israelites, and they were now faced with a new destiny. Here, he focused on the Israelites’ infamous 40 years of wandering. Was it really wandering?

 

Those of us who begin later may seem lost, yet with those figurative, and maybe literal, 40 years of experiences, we later starters have a fullness with which to appreciate the richness and wisdom of our traditions in a way that cannot be transmitted solely through texts or musical training. When I turned 50, I bought a necklace with a fob that says, “Not all who wander are lost”, and his words truly phoned that message home. Are we lost, or are we found?

 

Shabbat Shirah then came, and I craved more words, interestingly enough, rather than a musical Shabbat service, here in New York. I was offered an aliyah, without realizing that I would be saying the b’rachot for the reading of the Song of the Reed Sea. Enjoying yet more of the synchronicities of the week, as I stood next to the reader at the amud, I took in all I could of the beautifully laid out acrostic of words in the scrolls, which she read in the Sephardic cantillation. My week of song had unfolded well.

 

After Shabbat, I assumed the serendipities of song had come to a close, but I was mistaken. I had a lot of work to catch up on, including continuing to imbue myself toward piano and solfeggio recognition by ear, and spent much of the day literally hugging the piano upstairs, drawing the resonant pitches into myself.

 

I also knew it was Super Bowl Sunday, and that the NY Giants were playing their biggest rivals, the NE Patriots. I remembered football games from growing up in Southern California, and knew the game would be slow compared to the adrenalin-laced action of Stanley Cup Hockey Finals. But, I wanted to be part of ‘New Yo’k’. I quit my tasks near the end of game time and joined the gang of students in front of a Big Screen, picked my way through the vestiges of wings and meatballs, got directed to the barrel of iced beers, and settled in, and managed to control my quips about hockey pucks vs footballs.

 

In the end, the Giants won, pushed to victory by Ahmad Bradshaw’s bum-planting goal. The kicker for me: as Bradshaw sat momentarily triumphant on the ground the announcer told the world: “Yes, the Red Sea parted--and Bradshaw came through!” The Giants came from behind to win.

 

Yes, indeed, the Sea parted. Our team came from behind to win. Did the announcer go to shule yesterday to hear that parasha read? or did he bring a little bit of shule to the world?