Tonight I drove home to Boston with Debbie Friedman's memorial service streaming live on my phone. As the familiar, memorable melodies surged through the static, my mind kept returning to two experiences that, to me, represent her great impact on contemporary Judaism.

The first took place about 15 years ago, when I was staffing a summer teen trip to Israel. We spent an entire afternoon debating the details of how to do havdalah, the service that marks the end of Shabbat. This group of Americans from all over the denominational and geographical map could agree on almost nothing -- whether women could lead, which versions of the liturgy to use, who should hold what ritual items, what to use as the fragrant spice -- except, that is, that we should use what most of them referred to as "the traditional tune," by which they meant Debbie Friedman's melody.

This taught me two important lessons about ritual: that resonant music can overcome almost all divisive social moments, and that ritual change -- though it seems so hard to enact -- can be integrated so quickly. In less than one generation, a tune written by a woman became the standard, no longer even recognized as something innovative or new.

The second experience happened as I was working on JWA's online exhibit, Jewish Women and the Feminist Revolution, to which Debbie Friedman contributed (along with 74 other Jewish feminists). The exhibit includes an excerpt (which I watched more times than you can imagine) from a documentary about Friedman called "A Journey of Spirit." At the end of the clip, a chorus of elementary school kids sing "Miriam's Song," which celebrates how Miriam the Prophet led the Israelite women in dancing and singing with their timbrels after the miracle at the Sea of Reeds.

Aside from the almost unbearable adorableness of the little kids singing, what blew me away about this clip was realizing that for these kids, Miriam is probably what they will remember most about the story of the splitting of the sea (aside from, you know, the whole miracle thing). Debbie Friedman brought Miriam (among many other biblical women) to life, made her someone camps full of kids get up and dance about. She gave us back our heroines and gave us new ways to celebrate them.

Of course, she also did a lot more. Debbie brought the prayer for healing, Mishebeirach, back into daily use in synagogues across America and she practically created the notion of a "healing service." She gave many people who were totally alienated from Judaism new ways to access Jewish spirituality. She was incredibly generous with herself and her music, writing so many songs to mark important moments (including a song for JWA's event at the 2004 Lion of Judah convention commemorating the 350^th anniversary of Jewish life in America). She emphasized the value of every voice and the power of song to help us express ourselves and become our best selves, as she wrote for JWA's exhibit: "The more our voices are heard in song,the more we become our lyrics, our prayers, and our convictions." The woman who wrote the song that asks God to "help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing" herself modeled for us all what that looks like.

Listening to her music tonight, I came across "Mourning into Dancing," a beautiful interpretation of Psalm 30 that you can view below. Now is the time for mourning, but I am certain that Debbie's music will inspire years of dancing to come.