Singing about freedom

When I was in high school, I sang in a large choral group led by a human dynamo that probalby stood no more than five feet tall. Her passion for music was contageous. When we performed, we filed in and placed ourselves on tri-level risers, girls unaccostomed to balancing in (freshly polished) three inch heels, boys perpaps a bit self-conscious about wearing long robes. We shifted and adjusted ourselves, cleared our throats, then turned our attention to the front where she stood waiting patiently, expectantly. We knew all about what she expected of us: our best. And even if they wouldn’t have admitted it, not a single soul wanted to disappoint her.

Once we got settled, the altos, second sopranos, sopranos, the bass, baritone and tenors, all of us quiet and watchful, she raised her hands and held them there until she could see that every one of us were truly ready. All those practices would not hold a candle to the real performance, and we knew it. Her eyes found each face, she smiled with encouragement, then finally, she nodded, moved her hands, and we sang. When we sang for her, we did so with earnest and deep belief in the message of the song. Sometimes tears escaped from my eyes and the eyes of my fellow choir members. We were many youngsters who lifted our voices as one to the last chord, when she dropped her hands.

Can I say, it was magical? There is so much about high school that I have no memory of, but to this day, I can still hear that sound. Feel that moment.

“You’ll Never Walk Alone,” of course, was special and goose-bump worthy, but one of her/our favorites was a song adapted directly from Emma Lazarus’s famous 1883 poem, The New Colossus, which is (still) inscribed on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty.

When we sang, “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” We didn’t just sing it; we poured every ounce of our selves and our belief in our country into those words.

Because, see, at that time, it hadn’t been too long since our fathers, and perhaps older brothers, had gone to war to defeat fascism. We had joined with the rest of the free world to save those masses who yearned to breathe free and we thought we knew how precious that freedom was. Our country knew sacrifice and bore it proudly. Part of that pride was allowing—rather inviting—those seeking refuge to come here, to join with us and build our nation. To bring new customs and beliefs with them, share them with us, and to learn from ours.

And they came.

And, I would argue, we are richer for it.

Maybe someday we’ll remember what we stand for.