The Year of the Hallelujah RH1: 5771

Sometimes I find myself flipping through the channels at night, and I will stumble upon a Christian television preacher. Now maybe it is out of a sense of curiosity for the other, or perhaps it is due to a feeling of shared purpose, or maybe it is just an attempt to pick up some tips of the trade, but often I will tune in for a while. No matter how often I watch, I am always surprised by a few things which impress me. First off, I notice the sets. Elaborately constructed sets, with a giant rotating globe in the background, a handsome lectern adorned with the brand of a particular preacher of the logo of a particular church, a robed choir perched on risers, waiting to raise their voices in praise. But more than anything, I notice the crowd. The awesome crowd of tens of thousands who come to hear the power of Scripture, whose hearts are open to the possibility of being moved, who have no qualms about shouting the famous refrain: Hallelujah!

Now don’t get me wrong. For the most part, I’m not jealous. I don’t crave an elaborate set to frame the experience of our prayer; and I learned long ago that it is not the lectern that matters, but rather the words which emanate from the lecturer. And as I look out this morning on this soaring crowd of nearly a thousand, I do not envy those who must try to connect personally with their congregants across miles of rows, or through the stale space of the television broadcast.

But since the Jewish New Year is the time for honesty, allow me to share with you what does make me envious of these Christian preachers. I am jealous of that singular word, so often ringing from the lips of their congregants, that word which for millennia has given voice to the indescribable song of the soul: Hallelujah.

I know, some of you might cringe when you hear this word…and I understand why. Too often the word is seen as a cliché call and response to a preacher’s rhythmic rant. For many of us, this word Hallelujah feels a bit like the calling card of the hyper-faithful; those who attend tent revivals and are prone to speaking in tongues. In other words, this Hallelujah doesn’t feel rational, it doesn’t feel authentic, and it certainly doesn’t feel Jewish.

But the truth is, this couldn’t be farther from the truth. I must admit that I have a bit of fun when I ask our children here at Emanu-El, what is the Hebrew word for Hallelujah? And I watch as their brains begin to work overtime. It doesn’t even occur to them, and perhaps not to many of us that this word Hallelujah, the word which has become so ubiquitous among our Christian friends, is truly a Hebrew word, and what’s more, it is an authentically Jewish concept.
Yes, that’s right, the word Hallelujah is ours, and it always has been.
And today, on this New Year’s Day, it is time for us to take it back!

First let us begin with some important facts. The word Hallelujah is a hybrid, containing the Hebrew root, Hey Lamed Lamed, Halal, meaning to praise with the word Yah, the yud and the hey borrowed from the Divine name of Yud Hey Vav Hey, which we now pronounce as Adonai. Put together, Hallelujah simply means: Praise God! In fact, the Hebrew word Hallelujah appears 24 times in the Book of Psalms, especially in a series of Psalms we use as part of our davening each morning.

These poems, Psalms 146-150, are the final five poems found in the Book of Psalms, and they each begin and end with the word Hallelujah. And if you come to our morning minyan some time, you will discover one of the greatest sounds in the world: the sonorous tones of one Louie Yosinoff, age 92, as he articulates for the entire chapel to hear: Hallelujah! Praise the Lord.

So just what are we trying to express when we invoke the power of the Hallelujah? Let’s take a look at one of those Psalms we read each morning to lend us its guidance. Do me a favor, please turn to page 62 in your Mahzorim. Here at the bottom we find Psalm 148, a poem which creates for us a litany of praise. First we begin by exalting the architect of our universe, the heavenly Creator who designed the sun and the moon, commanded the stars to shine in the night sky. Next, however, the Psalmist changes direction, heaping praise unto God for the wonderful diversity of experience which exists in our word. Fire and hail, snow and smoke, mountains and hills, wild and tame beasts, creeping creatures and winged birds, men and women, young and old, Let all praise the glory of Adonai: Hallelujah!

So the first thing we are trying to achieve through the power of the Hallelujah, is a sense of holiness and a sense of wholeness, a recognition of the Godliness that can be found in our world, when we only take the time to notice it. Think to those moments in life when you have been overwhelmed with a sense of the world’s perfection: on that cruise to Alaska with your loved one, hiking through the forests of Yellowstone with your wide-eyed child, counting the countless stars in the sky as you sat alone near a Bedouin tent in the Negev, sitting beneath a wide-branched willow with a father who has long since passed away, or looking out on the blue waters of Block Island Sound from atop your bicycle as your daughter’s sleeping head bobs on your back. Have you ever had moments like these? If you have, then right now I encourage you to close your eyes, take yourself back there for just a moment and allow yourselves to speak the holy word: Hallelujah.

And now, like Psalm 148, let us pause to take notice of the profound diversity which lends life its balance. Because life is not simply about living in neutral, but rather it is about experiencing the poles, recognizing that our world is made whole by appreciating the opposites. What can we say to God for the comfort of the warm sun on our faces in July; as well as the soft licking of a New England snowflake in December? What should be our response to the spider’s web and the eagle’s soaring? How do we give thanks for the calm of the seas or the raging of the thunderstorm? How can we ever annunciate our praise for the difference of the sexes, for the nervous excitement of the first date and for the comfortable ease of finishing each other’s sentences? How should we give thanks for the vigor of youth and the wisdom of old age? For the potential of new life, and the comfort that comes with a life well-lived? There is only one word which dares cross our lips as an answer to the perfection of God’s dichotomous designs: say it with me now: Hallelujah.

Now if you would be so kind as to do me another favor, please turn to page 63 in your mahzorim as we read responsively in the English of Psalm 150, the final poem in the Book of Psalms:

Halleluyah! Praise God in the sanctuary, praise God in the powerful heavens.
Praise God for the mighty deeds, praise God for infinite greatness.
Praise God with the shofar call, praise God with harp and lyre.
Praise God with drum and dance, praise God with flute and strings.
Praise God with crashing cymbals, praise God with resounding cymbals.
Let every breath of life praise ADONAI, Halleluyah!

This famous Psalm is not only recited as part of our daily liturgy, it will also make an appearance during our Rosh HaShanah Musaf, as part of the Shof’rot service.


In his beautiful commentary to the Book of Psalms, entitled Our Haven Our Strength, my colleague Rabbi Martin S. Cohen beautifully explains the theological import of Psalm 150, when he writes:

The great goal of human existence, the poet implies, is to praise God by becoming lost in a web of exultation . . . For most of us, language will fail miserably as a vehicle for conveying the deepest of our spiritual feelings even to ourselves, let alone to God. The poet suggests, therefore, that we abandon the notion that human speech is the sole acceptable vehicle for prater and praise and we should instead seek to communicate our most profound thoughts outside the realm of language: with blasts of the shofar and with the gentle music of the lyre.”

Rabbi Cohen points out an important lesson for us. This Psalm teaches us that the true meaning of the word Hallelujah is that we are placed here on earth with the simple task of giving praise to our Creator, and yet we do not have the verbal tools to succeed in this task. Our words and our actions fall painfully short: Or as the siddur say it best:

Were our mouths to fill with song as the sea,
Our tongues to sing endlessly like waves,
Our lips offer praise like the limitless sky . . .
We would still be unable to express our gratitude to You, Adonai our God and God of our ancestors or to praise Your name for even one of the myriad moments of kindness with which You have blessed us.

What Psalm 150 has to teach us, is that despite the shortcomings of our language, the overwhelming power of the Hallelujah can nonetheless be found in one of our earthly tools; through the unshakable power of music.

Music allows us to transcend our mortal limitations and stretch onward and skyward with our gratitude for the gift of life. Whether it is Mozart’s inspiring horn concertos, a Puccini aria, or the Beatles’ White Album, music reminds us that there is so much more to life than our jobs, our portfolios and our to-do-lists. Listening to a great piece of music shows us that there is majesty in this world, there is meaning, there is reason to live at all. In a word, music is the ultimate: Hallelujah.

For me personally, no popular song demonstrates the spiritual power of music more than Leonard Cohen’s masterpiece entitled: Hallelujah. Now, Leonard Cohen is certainly no Pavorati, and although his version of the song should be valued for its originality and its authenticity, I am nonetheless grateful that other artists have leant their voices to this song, such as Jeff Buckley, Rufus Wainwright, KD Lang and Brandi Carlisle. Of course, the younger people in attendance this morning will best recognize the Rufus Wainwright version from the movie Shrek.

But no matter who sings it, the results are viscerally the same.
And the last verse perhaps puts it best:

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah; Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

And although the verses are each inspiring, borrowing from Biblical allusions to King David and Samson, the true power of the song comes in its one word chorus: Hallelujah.

Simply singing this word, combining the emotion of our souls with the power of music magically transports us. Can you feel it? That serendipitous moment when you first met your love? Hallelujah. That time of overwhelming joy as you first held your newborn child? Hallelujah. The peace that comes with the recognition that life is too short to be burdened with worry or complaint? Hallelujah. The stunning realization that we are but a collection of complex carbon, and yet we can see, we can sing, we can think? Hallelujah.

Which brings me to the last line of Psalm 150, the closing line for the entire Book of Psalms and one I want to encourage us to take with us as a mantra for the coming year:

כֹּל הַנְּשָׁמָה תְּהַלֵּל יָהּ הַֽלְלוּיָֽהּ:
Let every breath of life praise Adonai, Hallelujah.
In these modern times it is too easy to live our lives in a uninspiring rush. We are numb to moments of meaning. We hurry past our children as they grow old before our eyes. We take for granted the support of a spouse, the devotion of a friend. We rarely take the time to notice the nature which surrounds us, even as it disappears from our lives. We are living in a state of spiritual narcolepsy, choosing to sleep though days, which turn into weeks, which turn into lives.

This year I want us to take seriously the challenge of the Hallelujah. I want us to reclaim this word, break it free from the cliché of the call and response, and incorporate it into our lives as a pathway towards meaning. And let me tell you how.

As I wrote this sermon I received an email from a congregant who was on a vacation visiting the majesty of Arcadia Park in Maine. “I am sorry I won’t be able to attend the meeting on Monday night she said, but please fill me in when I get back.” I replied to her email using five simple words: Say a Hallelujah for me.

So this year I am challenging you to make a change, one that will help to bring purpose, praise and peace into your lives: I implore you to practice saying Hallelujah.

When you see beauty in the natural world, with the changing of the leaves, the first snow of winter or the courage of the crocus: say it: Hallelujah.

When you take pride in your children, watching their first steps, celebrating their ascension into maturity, or rejoicing at their becoming parents themselves: say it: Hallelujah.

When you feel loved in your life, the warm grip of your partner, the supportive hug of your friends, the embrace of your community: say it: Hallelujah.

And finally, when you notice God’s fingerprints in this world of ours, the sun on your face and the stars in the sky, when you slow down to notice the rhythm of your beating heart, the strength of your muscles, the song of your soul; and when you pause to reflect upon the countless sea of breaths in our lives: then take the time to stop, dedicating that one breath to the singular purpose of praise and say:
כֹּל הַנְּשָׁמָה תְּהַלֵּל יָהּ הַֽלְלוּיָֽהּ:
Let every breath of life praise Adonai, Hallelujah.
Let every breath of life praise Adonai, Hallelujah.