All We Need Is … a Miracle?
NEW YORK — Cecil B. DeMille knew the cinematic power of the biblical story of Moses parting the Red Sea. The Hollywood director depicted this awe-inspiring moment, when the Israelites dash across dry ground to escape the Egyptian army, with epic special effects in his 1956 Oscar-winning film The Ten Commandments. To the fleeing Israelites in the Book of Exodus, however, DeMille’s presentation of the sea split might not have felt so miraculous.
On a recent Saturday morning at Congregation Rodeph Sholom on Manhattan’s Upper West Side (at 7 W. 83rd St.), guest speaker Anna Kislanski suggested that contemporary Jews, too, might question the true marvel of this familiar story. Kislanski, CEO of the Jerusalem-based Israel Movement for Reform and Progressive Judaism, an organization that unites all Reform congregations in Israel, led the “d’var Torah” (“word of Torah”) portion of the Shabbat service, a talk based on the weekly Torah reading.
This week’s reading from the Book of Exodus describes how Moses, with a flourish of his arm, and backing from God, divides the waters of the Red Sea, creating a safe, dry route for the Israelites, water suspended beside them on each side like giant cascading curtains. When the Egyptians attempt to follow, Moses sends the sea crashing back down, drowning the entire army.
Kislanski said the Israelites were likely so scared out of their minds during this experience that they might well had missed the miraculous vibes. “At any moment, the walls of water could collapse and bury the frightened people beneath them,” she said.
When the Israelites reached the other side, Kislanski continued, they briefly stopped their journey of fear to participate in “The Song of the Sea,” a joyful chorus of praise as recounted in Exodus. But their praise was short-lived. The Bible goes on to tell how the Israelites soon returned to grumbling about their predicament, and in particular about the lack of decent food and drink.
Kislanski was not criticizing the Israelites, however, and understood their frustration. She compared their fluctuating feelings of delight and despair to the emotional swings felt by Jews today as they experience a series of historical moments: the weekly return of Israeli hostages from Gaza as part of a ceasefire in the latest war between Israel and Hamas.
“In these moments of liberation, we are full of gratitude and fill our mouths with song,” Kislanski said, “yet immediately afterward, we … feel just like the Israelites on the edge of the Red Sea, with great hope, but also unsure whether we will make it to the other side, whether the ceasefire will hold, whether we will all finally return to our lives of peace and prosperity.”
During a Torah study after the service, a more informal gathering attended by about 25 congregants, Kislanski introduced a poem to elaborate. She first asked a congregant to read one sentence from the Torah reading, Exodus 14:22: “And the children of Israel went into the midst of the sea upon the dry ground; and the waters were a wall unto them on their right hand, and on their left.”
She then read an excerpt from Israeli poet Yehudah Amichai’s “Miracles” (translated from Hebrew):
From a distance everything looks like a miracle
but up close even a miracle doesn’t appear so.
Even someone who crossed the Red Sea when it split
only saw the sweaty back
of the one in front of him
and the motion of his big legs
and at most, a hurried glance to the side,
fish of many colors in a wall of water,
like in a marine observatory behind walls of glass.
Suddenly, the miraculous crossing seemed more … mundane, with all the messiness of any hurried mass of people blundering together and mingling bodily fluids. And when speed is of the essence, who has time to ogle gloriously hued fish or improbable walls of water?
“When you're afraid of the world, running from the Egyptians,” Kislanski said, “you're afraid that the world will collapse. You're not thinking of it as a miracle.”
That does not mean, however, that people should give up hope, she said, or forget to sing, even if they register the miracle for only a brief time. Kislanski said she’d woken up that day to news of three more hostages released to Israel.
“It's a miracle they're able to return, that they were able to survive,” she said. “We're able to see them back with us.” After a pause, she added, “And we realize that it's also a very, sad, sad moment.”
The miracle’s close-up had ended — for now.
Day Four: The Road to Londonderry: Physical, Political, Spiritual
LONDONDERRY — When Nobel Prize–winning Irish poet Seamus Heaney traveled from Belfast north to Londonderry on Wednesday, Feb. 2, 1972, the day was bleak and dreary. He wrote in his poem “The Road to Derry” of the “wet wind in the hedges” and “dark cloud on the mountain.” Heaney then described the “flags like black frost / mourning that the thirteen men were dead.”
Heaney was on his way to the funeral of civil rights protesters killed by British soldiers in Londonderry (also called Derry, a controversy to be addressed later) on Jan. 30, known as Bloody Sunday.
Our road trip from Belfast to Londonderry on a Wednesday in 2025 couldn’t have been more different. But by the end of the day, we knew a lot more about those dark, troubled times in Northern Ireland’s second largest city.
Prayer, Music and Sheep
Our bus voyage began, appropriately for reporters in a Covering Religion class, with a prayer. The Rev. Karen Campbell, our host for this leg of the journey, read a passage from Isaiah 32:1-8 that described rulers who lead with righteousness and justice. The result of their wise leadership?
Then the eyes of those who see will no longer be closed.
and the ears of those who hear will listen.
Solid advice for a group of journalists.
Unlike Heaney, we had clear skies, wispy white clouds, and plenty of fluffy sheep chewing emerald-grass grass in verdant pastures to gaze at during our two-hour trip to Londonderry. Professor Ari Goldman pulled out his harmonica and soon had a group of students in the back of the bus singing campfire songs like “You Are My Sunshine” and “Morning Has Broken.”
What’s Its Name?
Our introduction to Londonderry, or Derry, or Derry/Londonderry, was a sign welcoming us to “The Walled City,” one of the city’s nicknames; other monikers include “the Maiden City” and “Stroke City.” Confused? So were we. Our guide on an afternoon walking tour explained the controversial name origins. Back in the sixth century, the site was known as Doire Calgaigh. “Doire,” Irish for oakwood, morphed into Derry. After King James I of England planted English and Scottish settlers there in the 1600s, and London investors financed a new town, the city’s charter added “London” to the beginning (i.e., medieval naming rights). Over the years, and especially after the Troubles erupted in Northern Ireland in the 1960s, unionists/loyalists have preferred Londonderry, while republicans/nationalists favor Derry.
“Walled City” refers to the fortifying stone walls built around the city center in the 1600s. The “Maiden City” comes from the walls’ “never been breached” status, even during a 105-day siege by King James II in 1689. “Stroke City” refers to the slash punctuation mark (called a “stroke” in the U.K.) in London/Londonderry. After much dispute, including a court case, a judge said he didn’t want to get involved, so pick your preferred name.
Before our tour along the ancient stone walls, however, we visited a part of Londonderry outside those walls that for many years was close by, yet worlds apart: the Bogside. This neighborhood down the hill, originally underwater until it became marshland, was home to a mostly Catholic population for hundreds of years while Protestants lived inside the city walls.
Remembering the Humans of Bloody Sunday
Our first stop was a visit to The Museum of Free Derry, which tells the story of the area’s history from 1921, when the U.K. split Ireland into the Irish Free State and Northern Ireland, leaving a Catholic minority in the North governed by Protestants loyal to England. In Londonderry, however, even though Catholics were a majority of the population, they had no political power. Gerrymandering, internment without trials, and voting rules that stated only property owners could vote led to oppression, poverty and a civil rights movement. The concept of “Free Derry” came from a slogan written on a gable wall in 1969 that read “You are now entering Free Derry,” which in turn came from a similar sign at the University of California at Berkeley.
On Jan. 30, 1972, 15,000 marchers in the Bogside who planned to protest their treatment were shot at by a British elite military regiment. Thirteen men were killed and 15 people wounded (one later died).
The museum humanizes this incident by highlighting the victims and march participants. As we walked through the exhibits, we heard their voices on speakers, singing “We Shall Overcome” and describing the carnage they witnessed. Video footage taken that day shows the violence and its bloody aftermath in fuzzy but frightening black-and-white detail.
One object was particularly haunting: a coat worn by one of the men killed, 20-year-old Michael McDaid. Just below the rear right sleeve of the olive-green and blue plaid sporty jacket was the exit hole of the bullet that hit him — the size of a dime, but as large as a half-dollar taking into account the shreds and tears. A photo of McDaid wearing the coat just before he was shot is shown next to the coat.
A photo of the funeral that Heaney attended for the victims shows all their coffins lined up at the front of a church; Heaney mentions the coffins in his poem.
The museum also explains the aftermath of Bloody Sunday, with a British judge declaring three months later that the soldiers had done nothing wrong. Prime Minister Tony Blair announced a new inquiry in 1998 that lasted all the way until 2010 and found that none of the victims had done anything wrong, a huge victory for their families. Prime Minister David Cameron at the time said the killings were "unjustified and unjustifiable."
The former soldiers’ names remain anonymous (in public), and none of them have been convicted. A museum employee, however, told us of a surprising development: On Friday, it will be announced whether one such Bloody Sunday veteran, known as Soldier F, will face charges of murder and attempted murder (stay tuned for a longer story on the decision by student Nichole Villegas).
As in Belfast, murals, signs and graffiti around the Bogside indicated solidarity with Palestine. Someone had spray-painted the bottom of a giant “You Are Now Entering Free Derry” sign with the words “Show Israel the Red Card,” in reference to calls for FIFA, the international soccer body that holds the World Cup, and the Union of European Football Associations to expel the state (“Israel” was painted in red like dripping blood and a bloody soccer ball was depicted at the bottom).
Derry Girls and Walls
After a lunch break, we went on a two-hour walking tour of the Derry Walls with guide Sorcha Bonner of Martin McCrossan City Walking Tours. We started on a light note at a giant “Derry Girls” mural on the site of Badgers Bar and Restaurant (16-18 Orchard Street) that has become a huge tourist attraction thanks to the hit Netflix series about a group of teens growing up in Londonderry during the Troubles. We took a group photo in front of the mural, which depicts the show’s five stars.
We then moved up a set of stairs to the top of the Derry Walls for a 1-mile walk around the elevated ramparts. Along the way we saw St. Columb’s Cathedral, an Anglican church built in 1633, and the first cathedral in the British Isles built after the Reformation. Our guide told us the cathedral’s school is being transformed into an arts center that will include yet another school—for teaching circus skills.
The circus revelation led to a discussion of Londonderry’s status as a creative arts city. Bonner also lauded a few famed Londonderry artistic giants, including poet Heaney, who attended St. Columb’s College, as did playwright Brian Friel, known for his Tony-winning play “Dancing at Lughnasa.” Even Taylor Swift has connections to Londonderry, with ancestral ties to the town.
Innocence Lost
The walk around the walls, which included a lot of history about English people named James and William, and Derry’s former status as a shirt-making industry behemoth, ended where we had started the day: looking out at the Bogside. We saw the neighborhood's murals from high above, which somehow made them stand out even more.
A wall painted with the Palestinian and Ireland flags side-by-side read “Two Nations: One Struggle.” The wall was beneath a newly unveiled mural on the side of a building in honor of Nell McAfferty, a famous Bogside journalist who wrote about women’s rights. “Goodnight Sisters,” painted on the mural, refers to a phrase that McCafferty, a journalist who wrote about who died in 2024 at age 80, used as a slogan to end her appearances on broadcast radio.
Bonner pointed out a mural featuring 14-year-old Annette McGavigan, described as the first child to die during the Troubles. In 1971, she was shot in the head in the Bogside during riots. The mural, titled “The Death of Innocence,” portrays Annette in a green school skirt and tie and white shirt. Next to her is a broken rifle, and a butterfly flutters above her head. But the mural also contains signs of hope. When it was originally painted, the gun was larger. black and fully intact, and the butterfly was unfinished — just like Annette’s life. In 2006, after the Good Friday Agreement, the artists broke the gun and finished the butterfly to signify peace in Northern Ireland.
Heaney, in his poem “The Road to Derry,” ended with five lines equally full of futility and hope:
I walked among their old haunts.
the home ground where they bled;
And in the dirt lay justice like an acorn in the winter.
Till its oak would sprout in Derry
where the thirteen men lay dead.
Photo at top: Londonderry’s Bogside neighborhood includes the mural “The Death of Innocence,” which portrays 14-year-old Troubles victim Annette McGavigan, who was shot by British soldiers in 1971. (Photo by Karen Lindell)
Hearing the Shema Prayer in a New Way
NEW YORK — “Hear” as a command conveys one meaning.
“Pay attention” signifies yet another idea, one that goes beyond the ear canal.
Especially to a Deaf person.
During a recent “ReSoul” Saturday morning Shabbat service at Congregation Rodeph Sholom on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, most of the song and prayer lyrics were projected on a wall of the Reform synagogue’s sixth-floor chapel in three forms. Congregants could follow along in Hebrew, transliterated Hebrew and English.
Halfway through the service, one Hebrew prayer didn’t need a projected translation because the congregants knew it by heart: the Shema. This prayer, which many Jews learn as children, begins with the line “Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad,” which means, according to most translations, “Hear, Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”
Cantor Shayna De Lowe and Rabbi Ben Spratt, who led the service, at times swayed to the music, accompanied by piano, drums and guitar. But as they began to sing the Shema, they moved their arms in a more deliberate, dramatic way: They used American Sign Language.
Nearly everyone in the congregation knew the ASL signs, too, although a few stumbled over the finer gestural details. No matter. All who attempted the ASL smiled as they signed.
The full Shema prayer is actually in three parts. At Congregation Rodeph Sholom (7 W. 83rd St.), only the line mentioned above and the one that follows are signed. The words to the entire Shema come from three different Torah verses in Deuteronomy and Numbers. The first line, from Deuteronomy 6:4-9, in just a few words distills ideas that are key to Jewish beliefs.
The Shema, “one of our central prayers, is our statement of monotheism, that we believe in one God,” De Lowe said. “We say it at every service, and any time we gather,” and many Jews say it twice a day, in the morning and evening, whether at a service or at home. Using sign language to express the prayer is an innovation, something not found in most congregations.
“What it’s really saying,” De Low said, is “‘Pay attention, Israel: This is our God, and it’s one God, and that’s our God.’” The opening word “Shema,” she said, is often translated as “Hear.” “But members of our Deaf community told us that’s very excluding for them.” Even the ASL sign for “hear” — holding a cupped hand up to one’s ear — can leave out Deaf people. So to be more inclusive, “instead we do this,” De Lowe said, and she held up both hands to either side of her head, palms facing each other, the ASL sign for “Pay attention.”
De Lowe, who has a Deaf son, echoed the words of Rabbi Darby Leigh of Congregation Kerem Shalom in Concord, Massachusetts, a Deaf man who describes in a YouTube video how he translates the Shema using ASL — and in turn interprets the meaning of the prayer at a deeper level.
Leigh says he doesn’t translate “Shema” as “Hear,” “because as a Deaf person I don't feel comfortable. It doesn’t make sense to sign Shema as related to the ear, and the real meaning of the prayer, in my opinion, is to pay attention.”
ASL also brings out the deeper meaning of other words in the first line.
Leigh explains his sign for the second word, “Israel.” First, he shows how to sign “Israel” in ASL: He puts his little finger on one side of his chin and moves it down, then repeats the motion on the other side of his chin.
“But this sign alone isn’t enough because this is the sign for Israel the place, and the Shema is talking to Israel the people,” he says, “so I've added to ‘Israel’ ‘the gathering’ of all the people before me.” Leigh holds up his arms horizontally to the sides of his body, then scoops his hands together in a forward collective motion.
At the Congregation Rodeph Sholom service, the Shema ASL signs for “the Lord is our God, the Lord is one” were particularly eloquent.
The ASL sign for “one” is simple: Point the index finger upward with the other fingers folded down. “For a more spiritual interpretation I like to show ‘many’ and then change it into ‘one,’” Leigh says. In one fluid motion, he wiggles his fingers open on one hand, palm down, then sweeps his index finger up in the sign for one.
That ASL sequence, so vivid at Congregation Rodeph Sholom, was packed with meaning, pulling together the many under one God.
Naomi B. Sokoloff, a professor of Hebrew at Washington University, wrote in an essay, “Reading the Shema,” that those who are not Deaf can learn from ASL how to reread or rehear the phrase “Shema Yisrael”: “As the Shema calls on Jews to recognize and acknowledge the diverse manifestations of one God, ASL renditions of the Shema serve as a pointed reminder to honor diversity.”
At the Saturday service at Rodeph Sholom, a vision-impaired woman with a tiny dog — the pup wore a red vest embroidered with “Vision Service Dog — Full Access,” joined in on signing the ASL prayer.
Pay attention, the congregation seemed to be saying loud and clear: All eyes and ears are welcome.
Photo courtesy of Congregation Rodeph Sholom