The Power of Voice: What Being a Woman Is To Me

The short film "A Song Without Words" is about nigunim and the power of wordless song.

This was one of those weeks where I wasn't sure what to write about until the eleventh hour, which ironically, I just learned is an expression that may have originated from the New Testament.

… but enough about the Christian Bible! I knew I wanted to write something related to International Women's Day, which is tomorrow. So, just like my single friends, I was looking for the perfect woman. (I’m feeling silly today, can’t you tell?)

Just kidding, all women are perfect. But I was on the hunt for an empowering story or woman to profile, and then Havurah's Jewish Short Film Festival provided.

The event, which took place on Wednesday at the Marlene Myerson JCC in Manhattan, featured nine short films created by emerging Jewish filmmakers from around the globe.

I loved the event so much (not just because it had free popcorn), I’m breaking this Drop into two parts: today’s will focus on a single short film, “A Song Without Words,” and part two will be about some other films I found moving.

Now, let’s get to the heart and soul of part one.

“A Song Without Words”

Director Shmulie Lowenstein introduces us to Chana Raskin, who grew up in Hasidic Crown Heights raised on the power of song. But it wasn’t until she suffers a brain injury that she truly connects to nigunim, humming along to the wordless, melodic tunes in Jewish tradition that are often sung in a communal or spiritual setting to get closer to G-d.

Photo: Shmulie Lowenstein

Chana now leads RAZA, a musical group dedicated to uncovering the spiritual essence of nigunim. Raza is an Aramaic word from the Zohar, Kabbalistic text, meaning “secret” or “hidden.” It comes from the line, “The secret of Shabbat is Shabbat herself.” Chills!

She is joined by several other female vocalists as they gather in a Brooklyn studio to sing old Hasidic songs, a Jewish rarity as these have typically been sung by only men. But they’re not just singing; they’re using harmony and vibrations to dig deep within their souls. In fact, Chana makes a point in the documentary that it’s not about singing; nigunim bring people to a place beyond time. They come together to command a space, to be a channel for the nigun.

One of those channels is Eleonore Weill, a woman from a small village in the South of France, where she and her family were the only Jews. She was not raised with much Jewishness, and one day discovers the exciting, fast-paced melodies of Klezmer. Eleonore also suffered from a traumatic head injury, and that’s when she learns about Chana’s project in Brooklyn.

Despite their different backgrounds, Chana and Eleonore have a shared purpose, one that transcends words, trauma, and even geography. The women find their voices in this male-dominated tradition, and so much more: friendship, healing, and spiritual release.

To me, this is what being a woman is: finding your power and strength through the soft and beautiful. Especially when Chana is encouraged by Joey Weisenberg, founder and director of Hadar’s Rising Song Institute, to teach nigunim and feels a sense of Impostor Syndrome because she doesn’t feel like “the expert” in the room. At first, she thinks the people with instruments are the experts. She then learns how to be her own expert and command a space.

It reminds me of the time I first heard nigunim, back in 2022. I was at a retreat for ex-Hasids (don’t ask how I ended up there) and was hanging out with a group of men and women around a picnic table. They started nai-nai-naing the same song and happily banging on the table to the beat, transitioning from one peaceful nigun to the next. I felt left out I didn’t know the tunes, but it didn’t matter because it was easy to catch on. I instantly felt community in this wordless space.

“A Song Without Words” — and Chana’s powerful testament to this tradition — also reminded me of how I used to sing. It’s been a while since I’ve performed and wrote songs. Maybe I stopped because I got busy, or maybe because I worried I wasn’t good enough in this city of extremely talented musicians. But this film reminded me that singing is the number one thing that wakes up my soul, like a runner’s high or climbing a mountain for other, more adventurous, people. I don’t need to be perfect or the expert; I just need to unlock that part of me again to feel something higher than myself.

The film inspired me to seek out opportunities to sing nigunim. I know they’re out there, just like I know there are more nigunim waiting for vessels like you or me to carry them into the world.

Listen to RAZA’s new album, Kapelya, the first full-length album of Hasidic nigunim sung by women:

Shabbat Shalom. May you find solace in song and celebrate a woman in your life,