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Miriam's Song at the Sea and the New Creation

When the sea closed, Miriam took up her timbrel before anyone told her to. The rabbis called this proof that the women had always known the miracle was coming.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. She Did Not Wait to Be Asked
  2. What Midrash Tehillim Heard in the Word New
  3. Why the Women Already Had Their Timbrels Ready
  4. A New Song for a New Egypt

She Did Not Wait to Be Asked

The sea had just closed over the Egyptian army. The water was still settling. The shore was wet and strewn with evidence of what had happened. The men had sung their song, led by Moses, the long poem that became the Song of the Sea. And then Miriam the prophetess took up her timbrel and started to sing.

Not later, when the moment had been absorbed and reflected upon. Not after a discussion about what form the response should take. Now, in the middle of the astonishment, while everything was still raw and impossible and no one had quite figured out what to do next. She picked up the instrument and started.

What Midrash Tehillim Heard in the Word New

Midrash Tehillim, compiled in the land of Israel between the fifth and ninth centuries CE, opens its treatment of Psalm 149 with the divine command to sing a new song. The rabbis asked the question immediately: what makes a song new? Is it simply that no one has sung it before? That standard would drain the phrase of meaning, because every first performance of anything would qualify. Something else was required.

The midrash drew on Isaiah 43:18-19: do not remember the former things, do not consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing. The newness of the song corresponds to the newness of the event being praised. A new song is required when God does a new thing, and a new thing is an act of divine power on a scale and in a mode that has not happened before. Not a repetition. Not a variation. A genuinely new category.

The crossing of the Red Sea was that. Not merely a military escape or a fortunate shift in geography. A nation that had been slaves, who had believed they would die in the desert, walked through the split water and came out on the other side. The Egypt of their chains was drowned behind them. The world after was structurally different from the world before. A new thing required a new song.

Why the Women Already Had Their Timbrels Ready

Legends of the Jews records the detail that explains Miriam's readiness. The women had provided themselves with timbrels and flutes before they left Egypt. They had carried the instruments through the Exodus, through the desert, to the shore. They had done this because they had perfect faith that God would perform miracles. They were not bringing instruments because they expected to need music for entertainment in the wilderness. They were bringing them because they knew they would need them for a song they had not yet sung.

This is the faith that runs underneath the act. Miriam's immediate response after the sea closed was not spontaneous in the sense of unrehearsed. It was the expression of something she had been carrying since Egypt, an expectation held in the body in the form of a timbrel packed for a journey whose destination she had not yet seen. The instrument was the physical evidence of the belief. She picked it up the moment the belief was confirmed.

A New Song for a New Egypt

Midrash Tehillim 149:2, reading the command to sing a new song in the context of Psalm 149, extends the principle forward. Every act of divine renewal calls for a new song. The ingathering of the exiles will require one. The resurrection of the dead will require one. The messianic age will require the most entirely new song yet composed, because the event it praises will be the most entirely new thing God has done. Miriam at the sea established the pattern: when the world changes, you sing before you have time to compose, and the song that rises in the moment of astonishment is the right song because it corresponds precisely to the new thing it is answering.

She led the women in their own movement, separate from the men, their own voices and instruments and dance. The tradition of two simultaneous celebrations at the sea, one led by Moses and one led by Miriam, is preserved in the Torah itself. Two responses to one new thing. Two ways of saying: this has never happened before and we were ready for it anyway.

MiriamMusicCreationRed SeaExodus
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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Midrash Tehillim 149:2Midrash Tehillim

The mystics did, and they connected it directly to the Divine. how do we respond to new beginnings? With joy, with song, with dance! And according to the Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Psalms, this mirrors something profound about our relationship with God.

The prophet Isaiah (43:18-21) tells us, "Do not remember the former things… Behold, I am doing a new thing… This people I have formed for Myself." The Holy One, blessed be He, says, in effect, "Just as I create these new things, so too should you sing a new song to Me." It's a call to renewal, to celebrate the ever-present possibility of something fresh and beautiful emerging in our lives.

So why sing with joy? Because, as it says in Psalms (104:31), "Let God rejoice in His works." We see God and rejoice, revealing ourselves to the Divine. And in turn, God sees us, reveals Himself, and rejoices! "I will rejoice in Jerusalem and delight in My people," says God in Isaiah (65:19). It’s a reciprocal relationship of joy, a divine dance of mutual delight.

This idea of a divine dance… where do we see it? Well, the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) points us to the Exodus from Egypt. Remember when the Israelites crossed the Red Sea and were finally free? "Let them praise His name with dancing," says Micah (7:15), "as in the days of your exodus from the land of Egypt." We remember the story from Exodus (15:20) of Miriam the prophetess, leading all the women in dance and song, tambourines ringing out in joyous celebration. It wasn't just relief; it was a profound recognition of God's presence and intervention in their lives.

The Midrash Tehillim connects this very human, visceral reaction of joy and dance to something deeply spiritual. It suggests that our joy is not only a response to God's actions but also a way of connecting with the Divine, of participating in this cosmic dance of creation and renewal.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What "new song" are we being called to sing today? What joy can we express that will connect us more deeply to the Divine and to each other? Perhaps it’s time to pick up our own tambourines, metaphorically speaking, and join the dance.

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Legends of the Jews 1:71Legends of the Jews

What would your reaction be? Awestruck silence? Jubilant shouts?

Well, according to the legends, the Israelites had their answer ready and waiting at the Red Sea.

After the men finished singing their song of praise – a powerful anthem celebrating God's victory – the women, led by Miriam the prophetess, took center stage. Can you picture it? A sea of women, voices rising in harmony, accompanied by music and dancing. It’s a scene of pure, unadulterated joy.

Here's the truly fascinating part: they were prepared. The text in Legends of the Jews, as retold by Ginzberg, tells us that the Israelites had already provided themselves with timbrels (small hand drums) and flutes. They had these instruments ready and waiting! Why? Because they had perfect faith that God would perform miracles. They knew, deep in their hearts, that something extraordinary was about to happen.

It's an incredible detail, isn't it? It speaks to the unwavering belief of the Israelites, their absolute conviction that God would deliver them. They weren't just hoping for a miracle; they were expecting it. And they were ready to celebrate it with music and dance.

Then, Miriam, her voice ringing out, led the women in their song: "Let us sing unto the Lord, for strength and sublimity are His; He lords it over the lordly, and He resents presumption. He hurled Pharaoh's horses and chariots into the sea, and drowned them, because wicked Pharaoh in his presumption pursued God's people, Israel."

It's more than just a song of praise. It's a declaration of faith, a recognition of God's power, and a condemnation of Pharaoh's arrogance. It's a reminder that even the mightiest rulers are nothing compared to the divine.

So, what can we learn from this ancient scene? Perhaps it's the importance of faith, of believing in the impossible. Or maybe it's the power of music and dance to express our deepest emotions, our joy, our gratitude. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a reminder to always be prepared for the miraculous. You never know when you might need a timbrel.

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