This week is Shabbat Shira, the Shabbat of Song, because it’s in this week’s parashah that the Israelites walk through the sea on dry land. In praise, gratitude, and complete awe, they are led in song by their leaders Moshe and Miriam after that incredible moment. And it’s a moment that had to have been absolutely defining of their religious experience. With such a wondrous sight and in such a life-changing moment, how could it not be?
Some of the first words of the song, the first words of exalting in this tremendous moment, are “This is my God and I will enshrine God; The God of my father, and I will exalt God” (Shemot 15:2).
The rabbis wonder, why in this moment, do they invoke God specifically as the God of their father? One collection of Midrash suggests that it’s because in that moment, the Israelites are not only praising God for what has happened to them, but also praising God for the miracles performed for their ancestors. But Rashi takes this a little bit further and comments that this verse means, “I am not the beginning of holiness; the holiness and God’s divinity over me has been held by me and stood by me since the days of my fathers.”
I think for Rashi, this moment of praising God is not just about the wonders and miracles that our people witnessed in that moment, it’s a statement of seeing oneself as a link in our tradition. The people, in that miraculous moment, are seeing that they are a part of something bigger than themselves, something that is holy and has existed before them and will exist after them. They, perhaps finally, see themselves as a part of a chain of tradition.
This feels especially fascinating at this particular moment in the narrative. The Israelites have just come out of slavery, are coalescing as a people, and next week they will stand at Sinai together. They are entering into a relationship with God, as a people. And so I think it makes sense that Rashi wants the subtext of their song to be a sense of groundedness in our tradition - they are rooted in the middle of our tradition, with people before them, and hopefully, people after them.
And ultimately, I think that Rashi is making a claim on where each of us can see ourselves. We are situated in a tradition that reaches far into our past, and hopefully well into the future. The song they sung, the song that we each sing, it doesn’t belong to me, and yet it is fully mine. And maybe, we teach that song to someone else, and they learn to sing it. With their own slight differences in harmony, they will teach it, yet again, to someone else, who will own it, even though it is not theirs. And they will sing it, with everything they have, as if it is theirs, while also knowing that it is somehow mine, and yours, as well.
