On the final day of 5782, on the 29th of Elul, corresponding to September 25th, I became a father.
My wife and I welcomed our daughter early in the morning. I remember standing there and feeling profound awe of my wife. Labor is truly an accurate way of describing what I witnessed. Strength, courage, vulnerability, and immense fortitude barely scratch the surface of what I saw in my partner.
And then, she was here, our daughter. In the first instant of seeing her, I cried feelings of relief and hope. And as quickly as those tears came, they were replaced with a sense of obligation and responsibility, for the weighty gift we'd received.
We talked for weeks about the possibility of spending Rosh Hashanah in the hospital and felt it to be auspicious if we found ourselves there as a family of three. And, sure enough, that is exactly where we were.
As I look back on what seems like a lifetime (but really only three weeks) of fatherhood, I've been reflecting on the lullabies I've been singing and why.
I've also spontaneously started using the phrase "sweet pea,” apparently, but I haven't figured out any deeper meaning there yet.
First, let me say: I'm not the strongest singer. I do enjoy it thoroughly, but I wouldn't say I'm great at it. I like to say I enjoy all of the pitches, sometimes all at once.
More than that though, the music I most easily draw from is Jewish prayer and liturgy. I remember it better than other things, from sheer practice, and honestly, they sound the best coming out of my mouth.
Keter Melucha
While sitting in a hospital chair, on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, we listened to the services of a local congregation and listened to the words of our rabbis, their wisdom and their stories. (We might have taken a bit of an unintentional snooze during the sermon, but shhh, don't tell anyone.) When I awoke, my wife and new baby were still asleep, but from my phone, tucked into the corner of a chair on the other side of the room, I heard one of my favorite High Holiday prayers coming from the speaker:
וְיֶאֱתָֽיוּ כֹל לְעָבְדֶּֽךָ
וְיִתְּנוּ לְךָ כֶּֽתֶר מְלוּכָה
וִיבָרְכוּ שֵׁם כְּבוֹדֶֽךָ
וְיִתְּנוּ לְךָ כֶּֽתֶר מְלוּכָה
And all shall come to serve you
And render to you the crown of sovereignty
And bless your holy name
And render to you the crown of sovereignty
In the past, this monarchic language was not particularly meaningful to me, and I wrote about it earlier this year, but at that precise moment, there was nothing greater than the holiness of the Divine. Upbeat, hopeful, and right on theme. (Listen here.)
Later that afternoon and evening, we sang it all together, dancing in our small little room, celebrating the strangest, and most glorious, Rosh Hashanah of our lives. As a family.
And I didn't stop singing it, all week. You can hear me softly singing it here:
Together, once we got home, my Little One and I bounced from room to room, whispering while dancing in the dark in the middle of the night, humming while sipping on coffee in the early morning, and crooning while we got dressed.
For nearly a week, we proclaimed the grandeur of the universe together.
It reminds me of the still, small voice, recognizing the presence of the divine in the tiny moments. I felt that, especially with one of the world's youngest humans.
Shalom Aleichem
A day or two after we arrived home from the hospital, perhaps a Wednesday or a Thursday night, my daughter was expressing some strong feelings. I've discovered apparently, 11 pm to 2 am is awake time. I sought a calming tune and found myself singing this:
שָׁלוֹם עֲלֵיכֶם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָּׁרֵת מַלְאֲכֵי עֶלְיוֹן
מִמֶּלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא
בּוֹאֲכֶם לְשָׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָּׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי עֶלְיוֹן
מִמֶּלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא
...בָּרְכוּנִי לְשָׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָּׁלוֹם מַלְאָכֵי
...צֵאתְכֶם לְשָׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָּׁלוֹם מַלְאָכֵיPeace be with you, ministering angels, messengers of the Most High, sent by the Sovereign of Sovereign, the Holy One, Blessed be God.
Come in peace, messengers of peace, messengers of the Most High, sent by the Sovereign of Sovereign, the Holy One, Blessed be God.
Bless me with peace, messengers of peace, messengers...
Go in peace, messengers of peace, messengers...
There are a number of tunes for this song I enjoy.
There's the slow, plodding one of my childhood (which I love).
There’s the repeating Sephardic one (I always think it will be quick, but it actually takes a long time).
Over the years, my wife and I liked to alternate the two tunes on Shabbat to keep it interesting.
But the one that called to me that night was calm and lilting. While I'm sure I've heard it a number of times, I couldn’t think of a time I’d ever used it at the Shabbat table.
But at that moment, it called to me.
When I brought the baby back to the bassinet, my wife sleepily says from the bed: "that was so calming, we're going to sing it every Shabbat." Maybe this is how traditions are made?
Our first Shabbat was only a day or so away and you can be sure we sang this with the fullness of our beings.
I've always imagined the angels coming, rushing to the house and back out again as they visit each of us in our homes, seeking prepared homes ready for Shabbat. But instead, I realized these angels might instead be hovering above us, encouraging, softly and gently pushing us towards peace.
It makes me think about this image in the Midrash that each blade of grass in creation is encouraged to grow. In some places, it is described as an angel, in others as a constellation, but the lesson is clear: each of us is on a journey and is drawn towards growth.
When I sing this song, it is not just calming, it is a calling upon the heavens to help me guide this child.
Avinu Malkeinu
I didn't actually sing this to my daughter on or around Yom Kippur, but I did joke about it on an errand that week.
V’Samachta B’Chagecha
By this point in the journey, I'd clued myself into what I was doing and began to lean in. We sang on Rosh Hashanah, then on Shabbat, I even sang El Nora Alilah a bit on Yom Kippur. But, then it was the beginning of Sukkot.
I love Sukkot.
It is joyous, physical, outside, and unlike almost any other holiday in the Jewish calendar. My very first newsletter post was about Sukkot. In it, I talked about the idea of Sukkot as zman simchateinu, “the time of our joy.” I wrote:
We might ask, what does real joy look like? What does this concept really mean?
A simchat bat celebrates the birth of a daughter.
Simchat Torah, coming up soon, celebrates our collective act of reading and engaging with Torah.
At a wedding, we say, that the couple should sameach with one another.In each of these, simchah, joy, is intrinsically linked with interacting with other people and with gratitude. We are grateful for that new child, grateful for Torah, grateful to our partner.
Little did I know that two years later, I would be dwelling joyously in the sukkah with my daughter and my partner, soaking up the Torah of the moment.
We are instructed in the Torah to be joyous on these holidays and the Rambam articulated it perfectly:
A person is obligated to be joyous and of good spirits, them, their children, their spouse, and the peolple of their household, and all who rely on them, as it is said [in the Torah]: "v’samachta b’chagecha," "and you shall be joyous on your holiday."
And that refrain, bidden and unbidden, has continued to escape my lips as we bask in our temporary dwelling.
The Torah of Lullabies
In the middle of the night, my mind is not able to logically choose the best song for the moment to calm my child, but yet, the perfect words have found their way to me.
Part of it is living in a rooted way in the cycle of holidays.
Part of it is having spent time with the texts of our Tradition.
Part of it is being open to the moment and letting the blessings in.
One of the lessons of these few weeks is to just revel in the presence of creation.
As I’ve been wandering the house, humming and singing, staring down at the face of my daughter, there is often little more I can do but be present with her. Sure, I can soothe, sing, and speak, but for so many moments, I stare.
These moments are sacred.
The lullabies have become our spiritual tool to bring attention to where it must be, on each other.
Love it! Mazel tov :) L’chi Lach and Kol Ha’olam Kulo are two favorites to sing to my kids :)
Yes! I love this! It's your first ever musical newsletter! Mazal tov!