The Unique Exodus

The Exodus story has repeated itself time and time again. Some exoduses are voluntary: people moving to

Ben-Gurion not only attended, but gave a lecture, as did at least one other member of his cabinet.

another place to find a better life; others are involuntary: people escaping or being forced out and seeking a haven. The Biblical Exodus was different again: a persecuted people struggling for liberation and finally seeing their yearning realised.

The subject was analysed at a national Bible convention in Israel in 1963 in the days of Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion. Ben-Gurion not only attended, but gave a lecture, as did at least one other member of his cabinet. (Well may we envy the days when heads of government were capable of more than mere political machination.)

The speakers compared the Exodus from Egypt with the return to Zion from the Babylonian exile. It was pointed out that the Exodus was an escape from oppression, whilst the return from Babylon was a free-will Aliyah. The Israelites who left Egypt found none of their own group in Canaan, whilst those who came from Babylon rejoined a Jewish community that had remained in the Land.

These and other aspects are relevant to every experience of movement and migration. Do people move because they want to or because they have to? Is their integration different if they find some of their own people already present in their new home? To what extent do beliefs and ideals provide an impetus for migration, or is the motivation more pragmatic?

Is every Exodus unique?

Sabbath of Song

The music of the Temple in ancient Jerusalem must have been remarkable. The musicians were the Levites; their mode a combination of vocal and instrumental; their mood an oscillation between agony and ecstasy. Look at the musical references in the Book of Psalms with its chorus of praise - and its chorus of lament; its meditative instruments - and its full-throated instruments of triumph and joy.

Then came the time of trauma. The Temple was destroyed. The Levite choir came to an end. No-one could sing the song of the Lord any more in a land of exile. Musical instruments were inappropriate because there was no Temple. Even at weddings, when nothing could prevent the welling up of human emotion, the music had to be restricted.

Yet music had to have its place, and it moved into the synagogue, the home and the hall of study.

Synagogue music took three forms: Biblical cantillation, prayer chant and, eventually, choral singing. The modes of cantillation varied depending on the book that was being read. There were separate styles of melody for the Chumash, the haftarot and the megillot. There were also ethnic differences between Ashkenazim and Sefardim, and sub-groups within each tradition. The ethnic differences reflected the environment, so that even today one can discern styles of melody that come, for example, from Germanic, Russian, Roman and Spanish backgrounds. No-one can claim to have the original cantillation, though all follow a rhythm and pattern that must be very ancient.

The prayer chant - nusach - was also a matter of diversity in unity. There was room for variety, but each Jewish tradition had its own musical theme for each occasion. The officiant might improvise and go off on a musical tangent, even bringing in snatches of melodies from outside, but he always returned to the standard mode.

Who was the "officiant"? The chazan started off as the synagogue overseer and became the resident expert in the services. Originally without musical training, he became a professional precentor, sometimes bitterly criticised for

At home, it was Shabbat and festivals that brought music to the table.

turning into a prima donna. In many places, the chazan was supported by a rudimentary choir and eventually the choral music itself became an art form. Questions arose as to how to control the composition of the choir and the conduct of the choristers.

At home, it was Shabbat and festivals that brought music to the table. When the world was hostile, the Jewish family was a sanctuary. When it was cold outside, the Jewish home was warm. Songs - often incorporating snatches of popular melody from outside sources - were passed down the generations, and it was no barrier to lack a singing voice.

In the study hall, a Talmudic sing-song developed. As people studied together they would dramatise the development of the rabbinic argument by raising, lowering and varying the voice. Children's melodies for Mah Nishtanah often recapture the Talmudic melody.

All this deserves to be celebrated on Shabbat Shirah, the Sabbath of Song.