Today, in the second third of this week’s parasha, we learn about the loss of our loved one, Miriam the prophetess, Miriam Hanevia. And so, as we gather here this Shabbat morning, we commemorate the life of the greatest and most underrated leaders ever to walk this earth. Miriam bat Amram v’Yocheved, sister of Aharon and Moshe.

Miriam was a beautiful and spiritual woman. Legend has it that while the Israelites traveled in the desert, a well of cool water followed her wherever she went— quenching the physical and spiritual thirst—nourishing and nurturing. She was one of our greatest prophets—and to this very day she has never received proper recognition. That tragic slight caused her great pain while she lived, and I believe, still causes pain to her eternal spirit. But the deepest loss isn’t hers, the deepest loss is our own. We’ve never fully incorporated her ideals and her spirit into our Jewish lives. We begin with a prayer to that soothes the wound of loss. The prayer that we’re going to use is the prayer in the Torah that Moshe used to plea with God to heal Miriam when she was punished with leprosy. Page 835 in our Eitz Hayim Chumashim, the end of verse 13. “El nah repha na la. Please God, please heal her.”

Sing and sing. “I was really singing!” When it comes to kavannah there is no limit, you can always dig your well deeper and more intense.

Miriam the prophetess was born in a bitter time. Our Rabbis teach that her name comes from the Hebrew root, Mar, which means bitter. She was born to a life of slavery, ultimate sorrow, tedium and despair. Despite her oppressive surroundings, or perhaps because of her oppressive surroundings, she developed an inner core built around tenacious faith and extreme courage.

When we want to remember someone who has died, we tell stories—foundational stories. A story of her faith. When Miriam was a young girl, (and she had just one older brother Aaron), Pharaoh decreed that any male child born to a Jewish mother shall be thrown into the river to drown. According to the Midrash, Miriam’s father separated from her mother, to avoid the pain of birthing a child destined to die a horrible death. Amram had lost his will to fight – he had lost his faith in humanity. But Miriam never lost her faith, and she never lost her will. She knocked on her father’s door and she said her piece in language that her father would understand. She said, “You come back to our house and get back together with your wife. You’re worse than Pharoah!” “What?” he said, “you watch your mouth young la… She went on, “Pharoah’s decision has killed all of boys. Your decision to have no other children has snuffed the life out of the boys and the girls! What if you have a girl?!” Miriam, in her heart of hearts, knew that a son would be born and survive to save the Jewish people. How did she know? She didn’t know it in her head, she knew it in her soul—and that’s where Miriam lived—in her soul. It was her deepest intuition. She heard the prophecy, and then she acted on it. That story is part of our midrashic lore, because it represents the birth of a prophet, the sacred intuition, and the courage to translate intuition into action. A moment of healing.

El nah refa na lah.

And it worked! Amram went back to his wife, Yocheved, and they conceived and had a son. They hid him from the Egyptians under blankets and straw, until they could hide him no more. He would cry and cry and his mother sat crumpled in the corner, shaking hysterically out of fear. She was so traumatized; she couldn’t even bear to give the boy a name. I imagine Miriam putting her hand on her mother’s shoulder, looking deeply into her mother’s eyes, and saying “Mother, give him to me, it’s going to be all right.” And the mother stopped shaking, kissed Miriam on the forehead, handed her the child, and collapsed from exhaustion.

In the Torah it reads, she took the child to the banks of the river, placed the child in a basket, placed the basket on the water. Vatetatzav achoto meirachok, lede’ah mah ye’asse lo. And she stood from afar, watching what would happen to him. There stands Miriam, watching her prophecy unfold, knowing the outcome, enraptured by the path of the basket on the waters waves.

And Moses cried, heal Miriam, heal Miriam, this I pray.

We fast forward to the Israelites crossing the sea. Miriam takes her timbrel in hand and leads the women in song and dance. The question is asked, where did she get the timbrel? The Israelites just escaped form Egypt in the dark of night. They left in such a hurry, that they didn’t even have time to let their dough rise! A timbrel? Where on earth did Miriam get a timbrel? The Midrash answers, she brought it with her from Egypt, very purposefully. Miriam planned for this moment, from the day she watched the basket on the river. Miriam, was a prophetess. A prophetess of hope and deliverance.

Like any life well lived, there were these peak moments of holiness and grace, and there were times of tension and errors of judgment. Miriam was an amazing prophetess and an inspiring leader, but she lived in the shadow of her younger brother Moses. She practically birthed Moses, and yet, he was crowned the leader of the Jewish people, while she was somehow left in the desert dust. Once, when the Israelites were in Chazterot, Miriam and Aaron finally snapped. They said, “Has God spoken only through Moses? Has God not spoken through us too?” After a life of sacrifice and commitment, she finally couldn’t take it any more. What about me?, she asks, what about my gifts?

My friends, the reason for this memorial is that Miriams’s spirit has been allowed to fall by the wayside. Imagine her pain, imagine her wound. Our Rabbi’s teach that even more than the calf needs to suckle, the cow needs to feed. She had an amazing gift to nurture souls with her deep well of spiritual nourishment. But she was never able to rise to her potential, pushed out of the spotlight—by her younger brother, no less. That pain still exists today. The memory and the spirit of Moses still takes up all the spotlight. We live by Moshe’s values. Every day we practice our traditional Judaism, we honor his spirit. The Torah service, the 613 commandments, and the awesome body of laws and customs that came from Moses at Sinai. These are the awesome structures that Moses built. “But, what about me?” cries Miriam. I believe that Miriam’s spirit is still being tortured. God speaks through Miriam, too. Miriam was creative, spontaneous, spiritual, musical, joyous, complex, and sensitive. Well, today we honor her spirit. Today we reclaim her spirit. To pay our respects of Miriam is to live a life of faith. Understand—

that every day is a new opportunity to do wondrous things. Every day has the potential to bring us closer to reaching our highest goals and dreams—as individuals, and as a congregation. To pay our respects to Miriam is to live a life of courage. It’s one thing to have faith, it is quite another to act on that faith. Rabbi Moshe Cahana, zichrono livracha used to say, “the path to holiness goes through the realm of actions and behavior.” To achieve great things, it takes discipline and patience and courage to take one difficult step at a time. Miriam represents the sacred confluence of faith and courage.

Ribono shel Olam, we turn to You in deepest need, asking for joy in our sorrow and deliverance from the gloom and monotony that burdens our spirits.

We thank you the moments of insight and inspiration You provide for those who crave transcendence from the tedium.

Inspire, O Lord, those of us who yearn; be with us in our struggle. Heal Miriam, by granting us the faith to believe in a better tomorrow. Heal Miriam by granting us the courage to make it happen. And together let us say: Amen.

© Ranon Teller 2005

Sermon Classification: 90