Devarim 32

It was Mrs. Pomeranz’s 25th anniversary at the Nachmanides School. Hard to believe, but she had been teaching music to the student body for over a generation. She had played at assemblies for students who now had their own children at the school. She had taught everything from how to play “I Want to Hold Your Hand” on the recorder to how to arrange three-part harmony to “Ani Ma-amin.” And she had done it with grace and an amazing amount of patience. Not easy for a music teacher at a suburban New Jersey yeshiva day school.

Now it was her turn to be honored. The yearly school dinner presented a five-minute video that spanned her tenure at Nachmanides. Everything from leading the music at siddur plays to playing Pomp and Circumstance at eighth grade graduation. But for Mrs. Pomerantz it was like a horror show. Yes, it’s true she was a perfectionist, but still this was hard to watch. And to listen to as well.

Had she really worn that sheitel 10 years ago? Was it on backward or something? It was horrible.

How did she let the sixth graders talk her into performing Van Halen at the Purim party? What a mess. David Lee Roth would not have been pleased!

Did she really wear that dress to the graduation 15 years ago? Was that ever in style?

The choir eight years ago was so off tune. How had she let them perform like that?

That version of Maoz Tzur would make Judah Maccabee turn over in his grave.

Still, she smiled throughout. Although she had been squeezing her husband’s hand rather hard during the entire video. That’s got to hurt. She would apologize later.

Finally, Rabbi Rosencrantz, the principal of the school, got up to speak.

“You know, Mrs. P., there isn’t a person in this room who hasn’t been touched by your gift of music. Some have played it, some have sung it and some have listened to it. There are even those here who have done all three, as have their children.”

“You’re making me feel very young,” Mrs. Pomerantz said, to the laughter of the whole room.

“Yes, well, there’s nothing I can do about that!

“At the conclusion of the Torah, Moshe gets up to say goodbye to the Jewish people, and he recites the parsha of Ha’azinu. It is poetry, but it is referred to as a shira, a song. It is a large, overarching, brilliant view of Jewish history—past, present and future. But there’s always been one thing I’ve always wondered. After the whole book of Devarim, where Moshe speaks to the Jewish people at great length on a great variety of topics, why was this final song necessary?

“The answer, I believe, is that music touches you in a way that regular speech cannot. It is emotional. It reaches the heart in a way no other medium can. And that is why Moshe gives us Ha’azinu. It is an emotional, vibrant, touching musical coda to his final words, to inspire the people as he leaves them.

“Now, Mrs. P., I hope you’re not going anywhere.”

“Not for a long time!”

“But in the hope that our music can reach out to you, we have prepared a few musical performances in your honor.”

Now she really was surprised. In all her years at the Nachmanides School, nothing of a musical nature had ever gone on there without her input. And here they had prepared performances behind her back. This would be interesting.

The first group to come out was the entire sixth grade, all 52 of them. They were wearing blue pants/skirts, and white shirts, marched out in relatively decent formation, and stood at attention. Mrs. Weiner, a veteran sixth grade teacher, stood in front of the group and with a nod of her head they all pulled out their recorders from behind their backs.

What happened next was unprecedented.

As far as Mrs. Pomerantz could tell, they played “Louie Louie” by the Kingsmen. It was an inspired choice. The University of Southern California Trojan Marching Band they weren’t, but she felt it was a valiant effort. She might have arranged it differently, but it brought tears to her eyes nonetheless.

The next performance was even more astounding. The eighth-grade girls came out and performed a capella. It was a version of “Bo-i Beshalom” from Lecha Dodi. It took her a second to place it. It was so familiar. Then she realized why. How long ago had she written that? How did they get their hands on it? Did they call her daughter? However they did, they definitely did it justice. She wouldn’t have changed a thing, and that was definitely rare.

When she came up to receive her commemorative plaque and to pose with the principal and the school president, Mrs. P. was speechless. It took her over a minute to compose herself. You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Finally, she spoke.

“In honor of this occasion, I’m now going to sing Bette Midler’s ‘Wind Beneath My Wings.’”

If it could have gotten any quieter, it just did.

She cleared her throat.

“Just kidding. I love you all too much to do that to you. But you really are the wind beneath my wings. Thank you and good night.”

Sometimes, a song is just the thing, and sometimes no song hits just the right note.

By Larry Stiefel

 Larry Stiefel is a pediatrician at Tenafly Pediatrics.