Rabbi Simon, in the ancient collection of homiletic interpretations known as Midrash Tehillim, sheds light on this very idea. He suggests that simply reciting poetry doesn't make one a poet. The true poet, he argues, is the one who witnesses a miracle and then sings. And the act of singing, of giving voice to that awe and wonder, holds an extraordinary power: forgiveness.

Think about it. Isn't there something inherently cleansing about expressing profound emotion? Rabbi Simon goes on to say that when the Israelites experienced the miracle of the parting of the Red Sea, and then sang their hearts out in the Song of the Sea (Exodus 15), all their sins were forgiven. As it says in Exodus 15:22, "And Moses led Israel away from the Red Sea." The Midrash understands this not just as a physical leading, but a spiritual one, a leading away from the burden of their wrongdoings. The Red Sea, the very site of their rebellion, as we find in Psalm 106:7 – "And they rebelled against the sea at the Red Sea" – became the place of their redemption.

But was this a one-time deal? A special dispensation just for the Israelites at the Red Sea? Not at all.

Consider Deborah and Barak. After their victory, they, too, sang a song. "Then Deborah sang," we read in Judges 5:1. And how do we know that their sins were forgiven? The Midrash cleverly infers this from the verse that follows in Judges 6:1: "And the children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the Lord." The reasoning? Their past sins must have been forgiven, otherwise, why would the text emphasize them doing evil again? God forgave them when they recited poetry, offering a clean slate.

And what about David, the sweet singer of Israel, the author of so many of the Psalms? He, too, experienced miracles and poured his heart out in song. How do we know his sins were forgiven? The Midrash Tehillim points us to 2 Samuel 23:1, "Now these are the last words of David." This, the Midrash explains, indicates that his past sins were forgiven.

So, what are we to make of all this? Is it simply a historical observation about the power of song in ancient times? Or is there something more profound at play? Perhaps the act of singing, of expressing our deepest emotions in the face of the miraculous, is a way of connecting with the divine, of opening ourselves up to forgiveness and renewal. Perhaps it's a reminder that even after we stumble and fall, a heartfelt song can help us rise again, cleansed and ready to begin anew.

What "song" do you need to sing today? What miracle, big or small, has touched your life, waiting to be expressed? Maybe, just maybe, the act of giving voice to that experience will not only be a gift to the world, but a balm for your own soul.