Frume Sarah's World

Music can be incredibly powerful. evoking visceral reactions and connecting us to past experiences. And sometimes a single song can call to mind a a variety of emotions…

Camp Komaroff c. 1980
After Shabbos dinner, we’d all gather under the stars for Rikudei Am. It was led by a girl from our shul and I thought she was sooooo cool. I learned a lot of dances that summer but the song that has always stood out is Shir LaShalom.

The dance is simple and the melody catchy. But there are many simple dances and many catchy tunes. Perhaps it was the words and their desparate hope for peace.

SHIR LASHALOM
Tnu lashemesh la’alot
laboker le’ha’ir
Hazaka shebatfilot
otanu lo tachzir
Mi asher kava nero
u’ve’Afar nitman
Bechi mar lo ya’iro
lo yachziro le’chan
Ish otanu lo yashiv
mibor tachtit a’fel –
kan lo yo’ilu –
lo simchat hanitzachon
Velo shirei hallel
Lachen rak shiru shir lashalom
al tilhashu tfila
lachen rak shiru shir lashalom
bitze’aka gdola
Tnu lashemesh lachador
miba’ad laprachim
al tabitu le’achor
hanichu la’holchim
S’u eina’yim betikva
lo derech kavanot
shiru shir la’ahava
velo lamilchamot
Al tagidu yom yavo
havi’u et hayom –
ki lo chalom hu –
uve’chol hakikarot
hari’u rak shalom

Saturday, Movember 4, 1995


My dad met me at the door to deliver the horrific news. Yitzchak Rabin had been assassinated at a peace rally in Tel Aviv. Moments before his murder, he stood on the dias and with pop star, Miri Aloni, sang these words:

SONG OF PEACE
Let the sun rise
light up the morning
The purest of prayers
will not bring us back
He whose candle was snuffed out
and was buried in the dust
bitter crying won’t wake him up
and won’t bring him back
Nobody will bring us back
from a dead and darkened pit
here,
neither the victory cheer
nor songs of praise will help
So just sing a song for peace
don’t whisper a prayer
Just sing a song for peace
in a loud shout
Allow the sun to penetrate
through the flowers
don’t look back
let go of those departed
Lift your eyes with hope
not through the rifles’ sights
sing a song for love
and not for wars
Don’t say the day will come
bring on that day –
because it is not a dream –
and in all the city squares
cheer only for peace!

The seemlingly-prophetic words still in his coat pocket as the assasin’s bullet stole him from us.

What should have been one of the happiest nights of my life was marred by this terrible tragedy. Such an awful, awful night. For me and my family, it was so surreal as we numbly maneuvered through a group of oblivious partygoers.

5 Iyar 5768/9 May 2008
In anticipation of Israel’s 60th, I started listening to music that I have long associated with our Homeland and of course Shir LaShalom was among the melodies. For the first time in nearly 13 years, I was finally able to listen without pangs of sadness. And though peace seems less possible today than it did on November 4, somehow we must continue to hope and to cheer for that peace.

Last year, the United Nations, referring to a completely different moniker issue, stated “individual countries could not impose specific names on the international community.”

Um…why not? Thirty-seven some odd years ago, two people selected a name that I now carry. Though they chose the name, do they retain some sort of naming rights? Hardly. As the name owner, I have every right to change the name if I am unhappy with the original name. And to some extent, I have done just that. As a kid, I was known by the pet form “Frummie.” I detested it. Despised it. Railed against it. And finally, in the 6th grade when I moved to a new school, changed it to the full version “Frume.” It worked. Sort-of. I was known to the kids at the new school by my preferred name. But when I returned home at the end of the day? Old habits are hard to break.

The following year saw me at another new school (a story for another day) but this time, people already knew me AND my despised name. Tried again in high school, but it wasn’t until I left for college — on the OTHER COAST — that my name change (name evolution, more accurately) finally stuck. With the exception of the one person who I had known prior to college who insisted on using my prior name, NO ONE at school even considered using it. So that eventually the only ones who use “Frummie” are people who have known me for a long time and feel entitled to use it.

Like Myanmar. You know…the country formally known as Burma? Or currently known as Burma, depending on whom you ask. Or “Myanmar also referred to as Burma” or “Burma/Mynamar.”

Really.

I won’t go into the hows or whys — look here for the messy details. What troubles me, however, is when the international community feels that it can determine the name of a place.

Or, in our case, the capital of a country.

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