A Message from Rabbi Katie Bauman
Friday, January 30, 2026
Dear Touro Synagogue Family,
I pray this message finds you well. At Touro, we are so proud of this Shabbat’s amazing B’nei Mitzvah Louis and Major and marvel at our young leaders, week after week. This particular week, I am making my way to Jackson to be with the Beth Israel and broader Southern Jewish community on this Shabbat of Solidarity. It’s an honor to represent Touro there and send love from our congregation, along with many of you. This Shabbat is known as Shabbat Shirah, the Shabbat of Song. As Louis, Major, and Jews all over the world read the words of the song of the Israelites as they crossed the Red Sea, a song that poured out of them with unyielding urgency just like our ancient psalms, we are invited to consider what our song is, what words and emotions yearn for us to give them voice.
I have many songs this week, and many psalms to accompany them, and I suspect you do as well.
It was less than a week ago that we learned about the horrifying killing of Alex Pretti coming on the heels of that of Renee Good, two American citizens who died at the hands of federal agents on traumatic videos we have all seen. Because of these well publicized killings, we have also become aware of many other tragic deaths at the hands of ICE, 8 already this year. I sing a song of grief, of agony, for what becomes of us when we are blinded by fear and intoxicated with power. I will not be so naive as to say, “This is not who we are,” for history has taught us – from Slave Patrols to the Gestapo – that we are indeed this at times. But I will sing out with all my might, “This is not who we are meant to be. This is not who we must be.”
עַד־אָ֣נָה יְ֭הֹוָה תִּשְׁכָּחֵ֣נִי נֶ֑צַח עַד־אָ֓נָה ׀ תַּסְתִּ֖יר אֶת־פָּנֶ֣יךָ מִמֶּֽנִּי׃
How long, O ETERNAL One; will You ignore me forever?
How long will You hide Your face from me? (Psalm 13:2)
As we sing a song of lament together for all we are losing, may our collective voice remind us that a different melody is possible.
Even as we watch in horror the rising brutality on the streets of our American cities, we have also witnessed the staggering strength and perseverance of the people of Minneapolis and their partners from around the country, marching in below-zero temperatures, standing up for the constitution and their neighbors civil rights. When I see them, friends and fellow Jews and rabbis among them, I am filled with a song of solidarity, a song of pride, a song of profound respect and gratitude. Each day, they are alchemizing their grief into action and into hope.
הָפַ֣כְתָּ מִסְפְּדִי֮ לְמָח֢וֹל לִ֥֫י פִּתַּ֥חְתָּ שַׂקִּ֑י וַֽתְּאַזְּרֵ֥נִי שִׂמְחָֽה׃
You turned my lament into dancing,
you undid my sackcloth and girded me with joy (Psalm 30:12)
As we sing a song of support together for those who have found the will to stand, may our collective voice remind us that we have stores of strength within us, too.
Also this week, October 7th finally came to a close. On Monday, 843 days, 12 hours, 5 minutes, and 59 seconds, there are no Israeli hostages being held by Hamas for the first time in 10 years. The remains of Ran Gvili returned to Israel for burial in his home of Meitar, ending a dark and devastating chapter of Jewish history. As people all over the world take off their yellow ribbons, we pray for the next chapter to be one of more strength, more compassion, more communication and more hope than we have yet experienced. For Ran and his family, I sing a song of relief, and for all the grieving and traumatized people in Israel and Gaza, I sing a song for comfort. My God, may there be rest and warmth and light in their bodies and souls swiftly and in our days.
שִׁ֗יר לַֽמַּ֫עֲל֥וֹת אֶשָּׂ֣א עֵ֭ינַי אֶל־הֶהָרִ֑ים מֵ֝אַ֗יִן יָבֹ֥א עֶזְרִֽי׃
A song for ascents.
I turn my eyes to the mountains;
from where will my help come?
עֶ֭זְרִי מֵעִ֣ם יְהֹוָ֑ה עֹ֝שֵׂ֗ה שָׁמַ֥יִם וָאָֽרֶץ׃
My help comes from GOD,
maker of heaven and earth.
אַל־יִתֵּ֣ן לַמּ֣וֹט רַגְלֶ֑ךָ אַל־יָ֝נ֗וּם שֹׁמְרֶֽךָ׃
[God] will not let your foot give way;
your guardian will not slumber.
הִנֵּ֣ה לֹֽא־יָ֭נוּם וְלֹ֣א יִישָׁ֑ן שׁ֝וֹמֵ֗ר יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃
See, the guardian of Israel
neither slumbers nor sleeps!
יְהֹוָ֥ה שֹׁמְרֶ֑ךָ יְהֹוָ֥ה צִ֝לְּךָ֗ עַל־יַ֥ד יְמִינֶֽךָ׃
GOD is your guardian,
GOD is your protection
at your right hand.
יוֹמָ֗ם הַשֶּׁ֥מֶשׁ לֹֽא־יַכֶּ֗כָּה וְיָרֵ֥חַ בַּלָּֽיְלָה׃
By day the sun will not strike you,
nor the moon by night.
יְֽהֹוָ֗ה יִשְׁמׇרְךָ֥ מִכׇּל־רָ֑ע יִ֝שְׁמֹ֗ר אֶת־נַפְשֶֽׁךָ׃
GOD will guard you from all harm,
and will guard your life.
יְֽהֹוָ֗ה יִשְׁמׇר־צֵאתְךָ֥ וּבוֹאֶ֑ךָ מֵ֝עַתָּ֗ה וְעַד־עוֹלָֽם׃
GOD will guard your going and coming
now and forever. (Psalm 121)
As we sing a song for comfort and a better day, for safety, for the blessing of relief after such a long time, may our collective voice remind us that our hands and hearts and prayers play a role in the healing we all so sorely need.
Our lives are a constant dialectic between our own personal joys and pains on the one hand and the concerns we all share as a collective. But of course, these overlap in simple and profound ways. What is so powerful about song, as this Shabbat of Song reminds us, is that singing out is an emotional expression of that dialectic and the sacredness of it. We sing, each of us with our own voice, and together we make a new voice, one comprised of each of us and all of us, one that could not exist completely without us but that will outlive us too. It is mysterious and yet so pure and near – we only need breath, and we can birth a new reality.
As we all sing tonight and tomorrow, as we weep with grief and stand with pride and soothe as best we can the deepest wounds, let us be unafraid of the great emotions we harbor and the prayers we need to say. Giving them voice is the only path through the walls of water toward a better place.