When a song is an anchor and a source of hope

One night, long ago, the tune in this song came to me as a gentle light in the darkness, as a comfort, as a friend. It came to me when I was living alone in an apartment on Yehoshua bin Nun Street in Jerusalem. I was in my early 20s, and my guitar and my books (sifrei kodesh) were never far from reach. Those were days when I hosted never-ending evenings of singing (arvei shirah), informal sing-alongs, and deeply sincere conversations about life, faith, God, and the unknown future. One night, after everyone left, I found this tune. The words are the opening verse of Psalms 27, “Le-David Hashem ori ve-yishi” – “Of David: The Lord is my light and my salvation.” The psalm itself is recited among the prayers of Elul and Tishrei, the Hebrew months preceding and hosting the High Holidays – a season of reflection, introspection, repentance, and prayer. And since the day I composed this song, I have shared it every year during these months, with my friends and family.

As Elul and the High Holidays approached this year, I become increasingly restless. What teaching of Torah could offer a bit of guidance, healing, or solace? What might soothe our hearts battered by a year of anxiety, dread, frustration and anger?

I had found, over the years, that this song provided me with an anchor during times when I was frightened or felt at a loss for hope. I recognize that it may well assuage some of the emotional turmoil that we have all encountered over the past 11 months. It is in that spirit that I recently gathered some of my children and a couple of friends to record this song together with them, though I’d never been certain I wanted to record it before.

And now I come to share it with a much broader audience than I have done previously. I offer it for those seeking a source of hope during these turbulent times. I find that the melody continues to sing inside of me after the music has concluded, and it is my hope that it will stay with you as it stays with me. I believe we need it now.

Until now, I also have never put into words what this song is about. It never occurred to me to do so, though now I think I didn’t want to probe it with analytical tools. I didn’t want to intellectualize these words or risk muddying up the song or cluttering the music with too many thoughts or notes. I think that may be why I didn’t want to record it either. Songs are meant to be felt, not analyzed. And I wanted it to be simple. But in my newfound efforts to bring this song to a broader audience I realized I needed to take pen in hand, as it were, and convey my sense of what is going on in the song.

It is a song about hope, about emerging strength and faith, which mysteriously combat and help us overcome fear.

It needs to open with gentle chords and then swell… until it hits your heart!

* * *

The Lord is my light and my help;

Whom should I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life,

Whom should I dread?

Here’s the conceptual progression of the song.

Round I:

The song opens almost as a question. It is shy but hopeful; it is prayerful and yearning, even a bit scared.

Thus: “To David, Hashem is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?” (לדוד ה’ אורי וישעי ממי אירא)

It is said by one who does not want to be afraid, but that almost rhetorical question conveys a lack of surety, as if to say: “Is Hashem my light? My salvation?”

The verse continues: “Hashem is the strength of my life” (ה’ מעוז חיי ממי אפחד)

It comes as a tender discovery, as if to say, I wish to feel this way. I would like this to be true! Indeed, from whom shall one fear?

Round II: [Two voices]

But as the song continues, the heart finds its confidence, and one is able to sing with greater surety: “Hashem IS my light and my salvation; therefore, from whom shall I really fear? (לדוד, ה’ אורי וישעי ממי אירא). That is, since, in truth “Hashem is the strength, the root of my life!” (ה’ מעוז חיי)

The powerful realization of the Psalmist’s words are best conveyed musically, as the song unfolds.

Round III:  [Instrumental]

In the third and last round, we leave the words behind. The instrumental part of the song soars and takes pleasure in this confident simplicity, implicitly repeating the words of that first verse in the audiences’ minds: “To David, Hashem is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?” (לדוד ה’ אורי וישעי ממי אירא, ה’ מעוז חיי ממי אפחד) But the voices cannot hold back and all join together in an intense crescendo of professed strength.

Conclusion:

Finally, at the end, the heart humbly recedes, and the person returns, as it were, to a quiet hopeful place. But no singers or true listeners are the same at the end of the song as they were at the beginning of a first encounter with it. At the end, they know that “Hashem is my light” (ה’ אורי). And little improves one’s well-being more than that realization.

* * *

The song is much more than some ancient words set to a tune. It is the story of what happens in our private moments when hope stirs. The journey begins shy or sad or uncertain. Then we yearn to feel God’s light, or His Presence, within and beyond, until, slowly, the light that stirred from within us emerges to expand to fill our hearts.

But spiritual clarity of this nature does not last; it recedes and dissipates. But it leaves its imprint (רשימו) and we who have experienced this progression, this encounter, are left having found our core, faithful and longing.

—

With thanks to my children, Eliyahu Yehuda (vocal and piano), Aron Noam (alto and soprano saxophone), and Binyamin (cello); my friend, Avital Macales (vocal), and my new friend and talented producer and percussionist, Michael Suna.