The Ultimate Song

As we know, one of the Chamesh Meggilos is read on each of the Shalosh Regalim, and the Meforishim discuss how the specific Meggilos are tied to their Yom Tov. This year, because there is no Shabbos Chol Hamoe, in Eretz Yisrael Shir HaShirim was read on the first day of Yom Tov, while in Chutz L’Aretz we lein Shir Hashirim on the last day. To me this signifies that there are connections to both the first and last days of Pesach in Shir HaShirim, and I would like to perhaps explore how this is the case.

At the very beginning of Shir Hashirim Rashi reminds us that this is no ordinary Sefer. He cites the Medrash that lists a spate of Tanaim whom expound of the significance of Shir Hashirim: “Kol HaKesuvim Kodesh, V’Shir HaShirim Kodesh HaKadoshim” This is a very unique Sefer indeed: the Pessukim themselves are very poetic, but are also very difficult to understand—there is almost no Pshat level of understanding. In fact the very name of the Sefer, Shir HaShirim—literally the Song of Songs—reflects its importance and standing as above other Sifrei Tanach.

What it is about Shir HaShirim that sets it apart? Why is this Sefer reffered to as “Kodesh HaKadoshim” and why is is the Song among songs? And, if we can answer these questions, how do we understand why this is the Megillah chosen to be read on Pesach?

In order to further understand the nature of Shir HaShirim, I thought perhaps we can look to another Shir which is connected to Pesach: Shiras HaYam. Of course Krias Yam Suf took place on Shvii Shel Pesach and the leining for that day is the section of Parshas Beshalach that discusses Krias Yam Suf and the Shira itself—the last days of Pesach are really defined by Krias Yam Suf. Certainly there are lessons to be learned from the Shiras HaYam that may help us connect to Pesach as well.

The Medrash tells us that the word “Az” at the beginning of Az Yashir relates to the word “Az” that is used by Moshe Rebbeinu with regards to Pharaoh: “U’MeAz Baaisi El Pharoah.” In that case Moshe was complaining to Hashem because since he had first spoken to Pharaoh the edict of “Tichbad HaAvodah” had been made. The work had become more arduous: instead of bringing the Geulah closer, Moshe’s discussion with Pharoah had caused the Shibud to become more oppressive. Now, on the Yam, Moshe Told Hashem: “Because I know I sinned with the word ‘Az’ I will now sing with the word ‘Az’.

This Medrah clearly requires some explanation. Why did Moshe choose this moment, the Shiras HaYam, the pinnacle of joy, the celebration of the Yehuas Hashem, to refer to his a comment which was seemingly made in error? Why is now the time to be Mechaper on the ‘complaint’ of U’MeAz Baaisi El Pharoah?

R’ Gedalyah Schor, in Ohr Gedalyahu, defines the concept of Shira and uses this understnadthing to explain this Medrash,

Chazal tell us that no one was able to say Shira until Bnei Yisrael did so on the Yam. We know however, that Adam HaRishon composed Shiros: the paragraph of Lechu Niranenah with which we bein Kabalas Shabbos was written by Adam, as was Mizmor Shir L’Yom Hashabbos. The latter was penned by Adam in response to the gift of Tewshuvah, which he was given on that first Shabbos. Why then does the Medrash say that no one, including Adam HaRishon, said Shira until the Yam?

R’ Schor explains that the Shira to which Chazal refer is that of the exalted type, which the Shiras HaYam was: Shira not only on the good, but on the bad as well.

The Passuk tells us “VaYar Yisrael Es HaYad Hagedolah Asher Asah Hashem B’Mitzrayim,” that Krias Yam Suf caused Bnei Yisrael to reflect on what had happened in Mitzrayim. While some explain that this refers to the Nissim of the Makkos, R’ Schor says that this refers to the Shibud itself. At Krias Yam Suf each member of Klal Yisrael was Zoche to amazing levels of Nevuah: “Ra’ah Shifcha Al HaYam Mah Shelo Ra’ah Yechekel Ben Buzi.” This clarity allowed them to realize that the Shibud itself had a purpose and a role, and they were able to say Shira not only on the Yeshuah of Krias Yam Suf, but also on the very Shibud they had excaped.

This is the level of Shira that was achieved at Krias Yam Suf that had never before been attained. Yes Adam, and others, said Shira prior to the Shiras HaYam, but that was Shira on the good, on the Yeshuah, but not on the bad.

This is why Moshe began the Shiras Hayam with the word “Az.” His complaint to Hashem was that his mission seemed to have been for naught: he had been sent to help Klal Yisroel and instead their workload was increased. After Krias Yam Suf, however, Moshe realized that the Shibud itself was something to sing Shira about, that when he objected to the results of his conversation with Pharaoh, he was protesting something that was in fact helpful to Klal Yisroel. This was the most opportune time for him to use the word “Az” to indicate the fact that his words then had been without complete understanding, they had been lacking his newfound clarity.

This new definition of Shira allows us to understand other instances of the word Shira through Tanach.

The Parsha of Hazinu, for example, is referred to as a Shira, and is written in Sifrei Torah in the form reserved for Shira. But a study of the Pessukim reveals some very scary passages that speak of Hashem’s anger at his children and the punishiment we would receive for our inequities—hardly the stuff of song. Why then is Hazinu reffered to as aShira, something that we would assume would be a positive expression?

R’ Schor quotes the Sfas Emes who explains that Shiras Hazinu shows that we can sing Shira for the punishments as well—for we understand that they too are part of the plan, and necessary for our development and continuity as a nation. This is true Shira—an expression of out wholehearted belief that both that which we see as good and that which we perceive as negative is from the Tzur Kol Olamim and both are equally worthy of Shira.

Perhaps we can use this understanding of Shira—that the ultimate song is an expression of our unwavering Emunah in Hashem, a full-throated declaration that that “Kol Derachav Mishpat”—to understand why Shir HaShirim is indeed the paradigm of Shira.

Shir HaShirim is a song of longing. The poetic Pessukim speak of the yearning to be close to Hashem, to bask in his glory. It is written from a first person perspective, from Bnei Yisroel to Hashem. It is interesting to note, however, that at many points the author is far from Hashem, both literally and figuratively.

We may assume that this ode, written by Shlomo HaMelech, would come from the perspective of someone on a lofty level, who truly understands Ahavas Hashem and yearns to achieve Shleimus in this regard. Many of the Pessukim, however, belie this assumption.

At one point, for example, the Passuk says: “Kol Dodi Dofek Pischi Li: My beloved knocks, asking to be let in.” The object of our longing has finally arrived, begging to enter our home. But we do no hasten to open the door: “Pashtatiti Es Ketutanti, Eicha Elbashna: I have removed my cloak, how can I get dressed again?” In the end, though we rise to open the door, it is too late: “Dodi Chamak Avar: My Beloved has turned and left.”

R’ Shalom Schawdron wrote a Sefer entitled “Kol Dodi Dofek” which expounds on these Pessukim, explaining how this applies to us: we are presented with so many opportunities to let Hashem into our lives, he is knocking at the door, but we make excuses and delay opening our hearts to Him, until it is too late and the inspiration has passed.

This, and many other passages, exhibit the distance from which this Sefer is written. Though we long for Hashem, we are so far away. Why then is this the Shir Hashirim? Why does the yearning of one who is so far removed from Hashem attain a status of Kodesh HaKadoshim?

In the first Perek of Shir HaShirim there are a number of Pessukim in which the author of the Shira describes himself as black or dark. The first is “Shechora Ani V’navo: I am blackened, yet attractive.” The second is a comparison to the Ohalei Keder, which were houses whose walls and roofs were blackened due to exposure to the elements. The third is “Al Tiruni Ki Ani Shecharchores, SheShezafasni HaShamesh: Look not upon me for I am blackened by the sun.”

R’ Shimshon Pinkus explains these Pessukim as a way to understand the value and inherint good in each Jew: we are all blackened to some extent by our Aveiros and lack of Shemiras HaMitzvo, yet we are still beautiful: “Shechora Ani V’navo.”

The same Passuk that refers to Ohalei Keder, which were so dirty, refers to Yirios Shlomo. R’ Shmishon points out that the curtains and tapestries hanging in the palace of Shlomo Hamelech could not have been anything but the most pristine and beautiful. Why would these two items, the blackened roofs of Keder and the pure wall-hangings of Shlomo, be placed next to each other and equated?

R’ Shimshon explains that the roofs of Keder may in fact be dark, but they are not doomed to remain that way: if they are properly attended to and washed they may become spotlessly clean just as the curtains in the palace of Shlomo. We may be darkened, but our innate goodness is just a good cleaning away.

The third type of darkness is “SheShezafasni HaShamesh: the sun has blackened me” R’ Shimshon points out that this darkness, this blackening, is not innate but is caused by external factors: though we may be so dirty that we would not want to be gazed upon, “Al Tiruni Ki Ani Shecharchores” we must remember that this not who we are at the root, it is caused by our surroundings and environment.

This is the secret of Shir HaShirim, the reason it is Kodesh HaKedoshim.

Yes, the sefer is written from the perspective of someone who longs for Hashem, but stands so far away from him. Even when presented with an opening for growth, at the “Kol Dodi Dofek” moment, he squanders the opportunity, choosing instead the comfort of his physical existence, hesitating until “Dodi Chamak Avar.”

But his longing is valuable and laudable nonetheless, because “Shechora Ani V’Navo.” Even in our blackest of states, we are beautiful. Even when we are comparable to the Oheli Keder, we are but one moment of inspiration, one thought of Teshuva, away from glowing like the Yireos Shlomo. We are blackened by our exposure to the elements, to the society in which we are entrenched, but beneath it all there is pure goodness.

If Shir Hashirim is a song of longing, a declaration of our love for Hashem, it is also a tribute to the beauty of every Jew. As R’ Shimshon writes, even those with the darkest souls have been seen to carry out the most remarkable of chassadim, because they are Jews. Shechora Ani V’Navo. These love pains, which come from someone who is seemingly so far, are considered Kodesh HaKedoshim because they come from a Jew, from one who is so close to attaining the status of “Yerios Shlomo.”

Perhaps this is why Shir HaShirim is the ultimate song, Shir M’Al Kol HaShirim.

As we explained, the essence of Shira is a declaration of our Emunah in Hashem, an affirmation of our faith that both the Shibud and the Geulah have the same value, both are the Ratzon Hashem.

R’ Tzadok HaCohen writes that just as one must have Emunah in Hashem, he must have Emunah in himself as well.

Perhaps we can therefore say that Shir Hashirim is the pinnacle of Shir because we declare our Emunah in ourselves. We speak of the dark times, the moments of “Al Tiruni Ki Ani Shecharchores” when we are so far away from Hashem. We talk about the lost opportunities, the times that we did not rise to the occasion. But we also talk of the love and longing we have for Hashem, and this has value because we are so close to achieving it. Shechora Ani V’Navo.

Just as the Shiras HaYam reflects on the Shibud, reminding us that this the dark times were an essential part of our Geulah, Shir HaShirim speaks of the dark times in our spiritual lives, and we can reaffirm that we know that these were passing moments, not our true essence, and that they are also a part of growth.

Perhaps this is one of the connections between Shir Hashirim and Pesach.

We left Mitzrayim on a very low level, saved only by our last minute observance of a small number of Mitzvos. Had we remained in Mitzrayim for even one moment longer, we would have been trapped, doomed by our own spiritual paucity. Just one week later, on Shvii Shel Pesach, we stood on the shores of the Yam Suf and were Zoche not only to a phenomenal display of the Yad Hahsem, but to unbelievable levels of Nevuah.

We were not, however, ready for Mattan Torah. We still had six weeks of growth remaining until we could stand at Har Sinai and become the Mamleches Kohanim V’Goy Kadosh.

Pesach, though, is about the journey not the destination. We have started on the path to Kabalas HaTorah, and though we haven’t reached the goal yet, we are secure in the knowledge that we can get there.

The last days of Pesach are inherently connected to the first: the only Yom Tov on which we don’t say Shehechiyanu is the last days of Pesach, because they are all one. In seven days we have come quite far, from the Kur HaBarzel to the Shiras HaYam, but they are all part of the journey.

We read Shir Hashirim, which is also about our journey. We know that we are not yet at the level to which we aspire, but we strive to reach it. Shir Hashirim is a reaffirmation of our Emunah in ourselves, the knowledge that the Shecharchores is but a phase, that if we work at it, we can shine like the Yerios Shlomo. We remind ourselves that we are beautiful regardless of our temporary shortcomings, that Shechora Ani V’Navo.

This Shira rises above all others because it reminds us of the journey on which each of us has embarked, in the quest for growth, the ultimate road to Hashem. We know that we can shed our darkness and glow with Kedusha, as we bask in the Ziv HaShechina and achieve a level of “Nagilah V’Nismicha Bo.”

“Kol HaKesuvim Kodesh, V’Shir HaShirim Kodesh HaKadoshim.” The song that celebrates our own greatness is the ultimate Shir, the Shir M’eal Kol HaShirim.