“Ashir LaEl Ga’oh Ga’ah”

Words: Rabbi Moshe ha-Levi (Baghdad, 1827–1910)

Melody: Iraqi, Maqam: Housseini

Shabbat Shirah, the Shabbat of Parashat Beshalach, is named for

Shirat HaYam (The Song of the Sea), the triumphant hymn sung by the Israelites as they crossed the Red Sea—the first recorded song in the Torah. It is not merely a victory song; it is an act of faith, a declaration of life in the face of destruction, sung while still within the sea.



This moment of divine salvation has inspired rich musical traditions across Jewish communities reinforcing the power of song in prayer and spiritual life. Across time and geography, Shirat HaYam has remained central to Jewish liturgy, chanted with distinctive melodies that mark it as a song of transformation. In Ashkenazi congregations, it is often read standing in reverence, while in Sephardic and Mizrahi traditions, it is extended into Pesukei D’Zimra, framing the entire morning prayer with its redemptive power.



But Shirat HaYam is more than a biblical memory—it is an ongoing spiritual drama, re-enacted and relived in Jewish prayer. Throughout history, poets and communities have composed piyyutim (liturgical poems) that expand upon its themes, weaving the ancient song into new forms of devotion. On Shabbat Shirah, these piyyutim have historically taken center stage, drawing the prayer community into the experience of redemption through communal song.



Ashkenazi traditions incorporate piyyutim like Yom LaYabashah into the blessing of Ga’al Yisrael before the Amidah (on Shabbat Shirah and the seventh day of Pesach) while Moroccan congregations introduce additional piyyutim before Shirat HaYam, drawing from other biblical songs of deliverance. In many Sephardic and Mizrahi synagogues, Shirat HaYam is sung responsively, involving and immersing the congregation in the moment of salvation.



On Shabbat Shirah, the baqqashot*—devotional songs traditionally sung before dawn—take on a special character. While on other Shabbatot, these poetic songs center on personal supplication, on Shabbat Shirah, the focus shifts to praise and thanksgiving, mirroring the triumphant nature of Shirat HaYam. In North African and Syrian communities, baqqashot sessions extend from the dark of night into the morning prayers, reinforcing the bond between music, faith, and divine deliverance.





The piyyutim of Shabbat Shirah offer diverse entry points into the experience of Shirat HaYam. Some expand on the biblical text with Midrashic interpretations; others emphasize the communal and emotional aspects of redemption, turning memory into melody. These songs do not merely recount history but invite worshippers to immerse themselves in its unfolding significance. Among them, Ashir LaEl Ga’oh Ga’ah–an Iraqi piyyut written by Rabbi Moshe ha-Levi, Chief Rabbi of the Ottoman Empire in the late 19th century–stands out as a reworking of Shirat HaYam, distilling its themes of divine triumph, awe, and future redemption into a compact and accessible participatory liturgical experience. Its structure and refrain beckon singers to step into the moment of salvation, bridging past and present through sacred song. Through evocative imagery and participatory refrains, Ashir LaEl Ga’oh Ga’ah makes the Exodus not just a memory but a lived, unfolding moment, drawing worshippers into the ongoing story of faith and deliverance.

The singing of piyyut has endured across generations as a dynamic and communal act, transcending the religious meanings of its texts. It serves as a bridge between past and present, linking different geographical spaces and reinforcing the historical continuity of the Hebrew language. In this way, piyyut connects the ancient composers with those who continue to create and sing today.

Edwin Seroussi describes this phenomenon as "piyyut as embodied memory"—a communal performance that does more than preserve tradition; it actively creates continuity between past and present. As Haviva Pedaya observes, piyyutim do not merely preserve history; they expand and reshape it, embedding it within the lived experience of communal song ("An Introduction to Understanding the Piyut," Piyut and Prayer Website, National Library of Israel). But this is not merely literary artistry—it is theology in motion. The act of singing piyyut transforms our relationship with the Divine from concept to experience, making the past event of the Exodus an active and present reality.

Jewish mystical teachings emphasize song as a vehicle for spiritual ascent. Hasidic masters taught that all spiritual elevation on Shabbat occurs through music, making Shabbat Shirah uniquely powerful. But beyond this Shabbat, piyyut itself serves as a gateway to transformative prayer—an immersive experience that weaves melody, theology, and communal memory, drawing us into the depths of faith and history.

To sing a piyyut is to step into a sacred current, one that carries the voices of generations and binds past, present, and future in a single breath. Ethnomusicologist Kay Kaufman Shelemay, in her study of Syrian pizmonim and piyyutim, describes sacred communal song as a living chain of transmission, where each generation does not merely recall the past but inhabits it through melody and ritual. Laura S. Lieber, a scholar of Jewish liturgical poetry, highlights that piyyutim are not merely recited but performed, their refrains and shifting voices drawing the congregation into a sacred act of participation. The poet does not simply describe redemption—they call it into being, summoning divine presence through the collective voice of the community in song.

Jewish prayer is a meeting place of the finite and the Infinite, where divine truths become tangible. Piyyut serves as a gateway into lived theology, where poetic and musical elements transform abstract ideas into embodied, prayerful experience, where divine truths become tangible through breath, rhythm, and voice. More than recounting history, it creates a bridge between past and present, inviting worshippers to step into the emotional reality of redemption.

Ashir LaEl Ga’oh Ga’ah exemplifies this dynamic power of piyyut bridging sacred history with contemporary spirituality. Its evocative imagery and communal refrains transform theological reflection into embodied experience, where past salvation fuels hope for future redemption—both collective and personal. Singing piyyutim on Shabbat Shirah is not merely an embellishment to prayer but an act of participation in the ongoing drama of redemption. It collapses time, inviting worshippers to step into deliverance and feel its reverberations in their own lives.

Yet shirah is not only the song of joy triumph—it is also the song sung in uncertainty. As some commentators assert (e.g., Ramban and R' Bahya), the Israelites did not wait for safety; they sang while still in the midst of the sea. Dr. Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg describes Shirat HaYam as the song of those standing at the edge of existence, between life and death, fear and faith. She urges us to imagine the Israelites moving through "that rather menacing corridor," aware that the sea has already collapsed behind them (The Particulars of Rapture: Reflections on Exodus). Their song is not simply a celebration—it is an insistence on breath, on presence, on divine possibility, even before redemption is fully realized.

On Shabbat Shirah, as our voices rise, we do not just recall redemption—we enact it. Like our ancestors at the sea, we stand at the threshold of possibility, singing our way toward hope. But this is not only true for one Shabbat a year. Every time we engage with piyyut—whether in communal prayer, personal devotion, or spontaneous song—we step into the sacred current that carries us through the dreams and resilience of our ancestors, through the triumphs and struggles of our people’s story.



Ashir LaEl Ga’oh Ga’ah is one beautiful articulation of this power that stands among many. From Yom LaYabashah to

Melekh Go’el u’Moshia, generations of paytanim have added their voices to this sacred chorus, shaping and reshaping the language of redemption through song. Each piyyut gives us a new entry point, another path into the timeless experience of shirah.



To sing is to choose life. It is to proclaim that renewal is always possible, that the gates of redemption are always opening. This is the power of piyyut—lifting our voices not only in certainty but in the midst of our unfolding journey. It is the sound of our ancestors at the sea, the sound of generations who refused to be silenced by despair, the sound of every soul reaching toward the Infinite. Even when words fail, when exile—personal or collective—threatens to still us, song rekindles the spark within. Piyyut is sung at the threshold, where past and future meet, holding onto the possibility of renewal, reminding us that change is already unfolding.



Ashir LaEl Ga’oh Ga’ah mirrors the structure of Shirat HaYam, following its progression through divine victory, the awe of surrounding nations, and a vision of future redemption:

Just as Miriam invite Israel into the song with their voices and bodies, introducing responsive singing to the shirah at the sea and inviting Israel to dance as they sang, The refrain—“Then Moses and Israel sang this song to God”—calls upon the singer to step into the moment of salvation.



The repeated imagery—“They sank like a stone” (Exodus 15:5), “They sank like lead” (15:10), and “They are still as a stone” (15:16)—emphasizes Egypt’s downfall and the surrounding nations’ reverence. This poetic structure deeply influenced both this and other piyyutim, inspiring liturgical compositions that balance biblical spontaneity with theological depth.



Ashir LaEl Ga’oh Ga’ah builds on Shirat HaYam, creating a vivid and participatory liturgical experience. It collapses the distance between past and present, allowing worshippers to witness divine intervention anew. The refrain—“Then Moses and Israel sang this song to God” (אָז יָשִׁיר מֹשֶׁה וּבְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת הַשִּׁירָה הַזֹּאת לַה׳)—calls upon the singers to see themselves as participants in the Exodus, fulfilling the Mishnah’s teaching (Pesachim 10:5): “In every generation, one must see themselves as if they personally left Egypt.”



The piyyut concludes by echoing Shirat HaYam’s shift from historical memory to hope for a future redemption:



“Mighty One, restore Your Presence to Mount Zion, Your chosen dwelling.”

(חָזָק הָשֵׁב שְׁכִינָתְךָ עַל הַר צִיּוֹן נַחֲלָתְךָ)

On Shabbat Shirah, as our voices rise, we do not just recall redemption—we enact it. Like our ancestors at the sea, we stand at the threshold of possibility, singing our way toward hope. With the tool of piyyut, we join the timeless chorus of redemption, affirming that the song of salvation is never finished. It continues in every generation, calling us forward, urging us to believe, and inviting us to sing our way toward the promise of redemption to come.



But this power of piyyut is not limited to Shabbat Shirah—it is woven into all prayer throughout the year. Piyyut shapes language and melody to reconnect us to the Source of Life, holding the full spectrum of human experience: longing and gratitude, sorrow and exultation, despair and renewal. Song transforms fragmentation into wholeness, distance into nearness, despair into possibility.



Each time we sing, we step into a sacred current that carries us through time and across generations. The piyyutim we sing today were once lifted by the voices of those who came before us, and they will be carried forward by the voices of those who follow. This song of redemption is never finished. It began at the sea, and it will continue—sustained by our voices, woven into our prayers, shaping our journey toward redemption in every generation to come.

Translation: Yosef Goldman

אָשִׁיר לָאֵל גָּאֹה גָּאָה הֶרְאָה יָדוֹ הַנִּפְלָאָה

עַל צַר לְפָנָיו הִתְגָּאָה וְאָמַר מִי הוּא יהוה:

I will sing to the Lord, exalted and triumphant,[1] Who revealed a wondrous hand. Against the oppressor, God asserted His majesty and declared: “Who is Adonai?”[2]

אָז יָשִׁיר מֹשֶׁה יִשְׂרָאֵל הַשִּׁירָה הַזֹּאת לַיהוה:

Then Moses and Israel lifted their voices in song.[3]

מַרְכְּבוֹת פַּרְעֹה וְחֵילוֹ בְּמֵי אַדִּירִים צָלְלוּ

שָׁמְעוּ עַמִּים אָז נִבְהֲלוּ וְאָמְרוּ אֵין אֵל כַּיהוה:

Pharaoh’s chariots and his army sank into the mighty waters,[4]

The nations heard and trembled,[5] saying: “There is no god like the Adonai.” [6]

אָז יָשִׁיר מֹשֶׁה יִשְׂרָאֵל…

שַׁוְעַת עַמְּךָ הִקְשַׁבְתָּ וְיַם סוּף לָהֶם בָּקַעְתָּ

וְרוֹדְפֵיהֶם בּוֹ טִבַּעְתָּ נִלְחַמְתָּ לָהֶם יהוה:

You attended to the cries of Your people,[7] And the Sea of Reeds parted before them, While their pursuers were cast into the deep.[8] You fought for them, O Adonai.[9]

אָז יָשִׁיר מֹשֶׁה יִשְׂרָאֵל…

הִגְדִּילוּ מַהֲלָל לִשְׁמוֹ מֹשֶׁה וְיִשְׂרָאֵל עַמּוֹ

עַל סוּס רוֹכְבוֹ יָם כִּסָּמוֹ אָז שָׁרוּ שִׁירָה לַיהוה:

Their shouts of praise swelled,[10] from Moses and Israel, Your people. For the horse and its rider were swallowed by the sea,[11] and they sang a song to the Adonai.

אָז יָשִׁיר מֹשֶׁה יִשְׂרָאֵל…

הַלְוִיִּם שָׁרוּ בִמְחוֹלוֹת כִּי מִצְרַיִם בָּא בִמְצוֹלוֹת

וַיְכַסּוּמוּ הַתְּהוֹמוֹת אָז הֶאֱמִינוּ בַיהוה:

The Levites sang and danced,[12] For Egypt had fallen into the depths, The abyss closed over them,[13] Then they had full faith in Adonai.[14]

אָז יָשִׁיר מֹשֶׁה יִשְׂרָאֵל…

חָזָק הָשֵׁב שְׁכִינָתְךָ עַל הַר צִיּוֹן נַחֲלָתְךָ

מָקוֹם מָכוֹן לְשִׁבְתְּךָ כּוֹנְנוּ יָדֶיךָ יהוה:

Mighty One, restore Your Presence to Mount Zion, the sacred inheritance. [15] A dwelling place prepared, A sanctuary shaped by Your own hands, Adonai.

[1] A paraphrase of the opening line of Shirat HaYam (the Song of the Sea) Exodus 15:1: “Ashirah LAdonai ki ga’oh ga’ah…” (“I will sing to the Lord for he has triumphed gloriously…”) The poet expands on this theme of divine majesty and sovereignty.

[2] The poet is contrasting Pharaoh’s arrogance with divine transcendence with a reference to Pharaoh who said in Exodus 5:2: "Mi Adonai asher eshma‘ bekolo leshalach et Yisrael, lo yadati et Adonai" (“Who is the Lord that I should obey His voice to let Israel go? I do not know the Lord”). It this context, it also invokes the exclamation later in Shirat HaYam (Ex. 15:11) of "Mi khamokha ba'elim, Adonai?" ("Who is like You among the mighty, O Lord?")

[3] A shortened version of the introductory line of Shirat HaYam (Ex. 15:1).

[4] Echoing Ex. 15:4-5, where the Egyptians sink like lead in the Red Sea.

[5] A paraphrase of Ex. 15:14-15: "Shame’u ammim yirgazun, hil ahaz yoshevei Pelashet. Az nivhalu alufei Edom" ("The peoples heard and trembled; the inhabitants of Philistia were seized with fear. The chiefs of Edom were dismayed").

[6] Inspired by "Mi kamocha ba’elim, Adonai?" (Ex. 15:11). Unlike Shirat HaYam, where this phrase is part of Israel’s praise, here the poet attributes it to the astonished nations.

[7] “Shave’at” means a desperate outcry, emphasizing the responsiveness to Israel’s suffering, as in Ex. 2:23 when God hear's Israel's outcry, marking the very beginnings of the redemption from Egypt.

[8] Echoes the blessing after the Shema of Ge'ulah, which describes the events of Keriyat Yam Suf, the parting of the Sea of Reeds.

[9] A paraphrase of Exodus 14:13-14, when Moshe says: "Adonai yilachem lachem v’aatem taharishun" ("The Lord will fight for you, and you shall remain silent").

[10] I.e. they praised abundantly.

[11] Another reference to Exodus 15:1

[12] Likely referring to Moses and Miriam, both from the tribe of Levi. Miriam is explicitly described leading the women in dance (Exodus 15:20-21).

[13] Inspired by Exodus 15:5: "Tehomot yekhasiyumu, yaredu bimetzolot ke’mo aven" (“The deep covered them; they went down into the depths like a stone”).

[14] According to Ex. 14:31, following the deliverance, Israel believed in God and Moses.

[15] Like Shirat HaYam does, this piyyut concludes with a hope for future redemption, echoing the former's closing lines.