Birdland: a partnership

Red Bird By Mary Oliver

Red bird came all winter
Firing up the landscape
As nothing else could.
Of course I love the sparrows,
Those dun-colored darlings,
So hungry and so many.
I am a God-fearing feeder of birds,
I know he has many children,
Not all of them bold in spirit.
Still, for whatever reason-
Perhaps because the winter is so long
And the sky so black-blue,
Or perhaps because the heart narrows
As often as it opens-
I am grateful
What red bird comes all winter
Firing up the landscape
As nothing else can do

The Shabbat where Parashat Beshallach is read is commonly referred to by a special name, Shabbat Shira (the Sabbath of Song). On this Shabbat, the reading contains the song the Israelites sang when crossing the Sea of Reeds. While there are a variety of observances and customs across communities, one of the most enigmatic is an old Ashkenazic custom to feed the birds during this Shabbat.

Not without controversy, many rabbinic legal authorities objected to the practice. After all, the blackletter halacha (Jewish law) plainly allows for feeding animals that are a person’s responsibility but not for feeding animals which can obtain their own food (see Shulchan Aruch Orach Hayim 324:11). Openly feeding whatever birds might come plainly violates the rule.

And yet, this custom, whose origin is shrouded in mystery, persisted. What’s it all about? According to some explanations, birds joined the Israelite chorus while singing the song at the sea, perhaps even eating fruit from miracle trees which grew between the walls of water. Others suggest a generic thematic relationship between birds and song; birds chirping is nature’s symphony.

Still others claim an origin based on a supposed midrashic account, which seems to be Hasidic and not Midrashic in origin, based on an episode at the end of Parashat Beshallach. It is quoted variously in the name of Simcha Bunim of Peshische or the Chozeh (Seer) of Lublin and goes like this. Moshe told the Israelites not to go out to collect manna on the Shabbat as none would fall. Instead, they were to collect a double portion, the source of our two challot, on the Friday before. Datan and Aviram, however, supporters of Korach, sought to render Moshe a liar in the eyes of the people and surreptitiously placed manna on the ground during the night. Coming to Moshe’s defense, the birds ate the manna and the people who unlawfully went out to collect manna found none.

Whatever the origin, the lessons are timely and important. Religious song and redemptive freedom require a symbiotic musical partnership between people and birds. In other words, shira, a mode of religious soul-singing, cannot co-exist with an attitude of dominance and oppression toward the natural world. Rather, we should look to activate the innocent, delightful bird songs. It’s not just about birds. Making music is about a spirit of collaborative partnership, creativity, and cohesion.

We are currently amid the sixth great extinction, an unprecedented, dramatic loss of life and biodiversity. Religious and spiritual expression have been dramatically and artificially excised from the land, the Earth and God’s creation. As Mary Oliver notes, “because the heart narrows as often as it opens,” the red bird fires the dull-gray landscape. May our spiritual songs and God-fearing bird feeding in turn fire songs of praise and harmony to the Blessed Creator.

BARRY DOLINGER is the rabbi at Congregation Beth Sholom, in Providence, and president of the Board of Rabbis of Greater Rhode Island.