Their sights now set on Sinai and the long awaited rendezvous with G-d, the Children of Israel were free at last – well on their way to a future of promise and reward. Or so it seemed.
Alas, in an unexpected turn of events, their hopes were dashed. The fledgling nation found itself, instead, caught between a rock and a hard place, or more accurately stated: between the extended swords of the advancing Egyptian army and the choppy waves of an unyielding sea.
The Weekly Sedra – Beshalach – Who Is Your Moshe?
A battery of devastating plagues, ten in total, worked wonders (no pun intended). They succeeded in shattering the resolve of the Egyptian tormenters; compelling them to release the Israelites from their evil clutches – ending thereby two harrowing centuries of exile and slavery.
Their sights now set on Sinai and the long awaited rendezvous with G-d, the Children of Israel were free at last – well on their way to a future of promise and reward. Or so it seemed.
Alas, in an unexpected turn of events, their hopes were dashed. The fledgling nation found itself, instead, caught between a rock and a hard place, or more accurately stated: between the extended swords of the advancing Egyptian army and the choppy waves of an unyielding sea.
Having experienced a complete change of heart, Pharaoh’s army – now in hot pursuit of its former slaves – was closing-in from behind. To add insult to injury, directly ahead, the fearsome waters of the Sea of Reeds were fast approaching.
Israel’s brief brush with freedom was slipping rapidly. Egypt – viable and daunting – was on the prowl. Griped by panic the newly formed nation reacts in hysteria to their first major crisis: “The Children of Israel raised their eyes and behold! – the Egyptians were advancing after them. They were very frightened, so the Children of Israel cried out to G-d. . .” (Exodus 14:10)
The Midrash purports that the Israelites – in proverbial Jewish tradition – were actually quarreling amongst themselves. Some said: “Let us throw ourselves into the sea.” A second group exclaimed: “Let us return to Egypt.” Others argued: “Let us wage war upon the Egyptians.” And yet a fourth camp advocated: “Let us pray to G-d.”
In an effort to restore order, Moshe declares: “Fear not, stand by and see the salvation of G-d which He will show you today; for as you have seen Egypt this day, you shall not see them again, forever. G-d shall fight for you, and you shall be silent.” (Exodus 14:13)
These words imply, asserts the Midrash, Moshe’s outright rejection of all four options: “Fear not, stand by and see the salvation of G-d,” says the Midrash, is Moshe’s response to those who had despaired of the Egyptian threat and wanted to plunge into the sea.
“As you have seen Egypt this day, you shall not see them again,” addresses those who advocated surrender and return to Egypt.
“G-d shall fight for you,” is the answer to those who wished to battle the Egyptians.
“And you shall be silent.” is Moshe’s rejection of those who said, “This is all beyond us. All we can do is pray.”
Yet, if all the stated opinions were wrong, what was Israel supposed to do during this life threatening crossroads? Moreover, all of the alternatives seem reasonable – solutions that at one occasion or another proved effective and even prescribed by G-d.
For example, Israel’s response to the attack on the part of the Amaleikites – related at the end of our very own Parsha – calls for the Jewish nation to “Go out and do battle with Amaleik” – an idea rejected in our situation. If this response was right then, why was it wrong here?
The other solutions have also proven valid on respective occasions. Esther, for example asked Mordechai to “Go and gather all the Jewish people and fast for me. . .” Why was fasting and praying correct then, but not now?
Neither is martyrdom without precedent in the annals of Jewish history. We are all familiar with the story of the ten martyrs and the legendary episode of Massada. In fact, wasn’t the binding of Yitzchok – G-d’s tenth test of Avraham – a call to martyrdom? Why then was the mitzvah of Kiddush Hashem ruled out here?
Moreover, if different crisis require different reactions, how are we to ever know which response is correct in any given circumstance?
The answer to these deserving queries is actually the point of our very narrative – the lesson of the legendary blunder at the banks of the Yam Suf.
“Speak to the Children of Israel,” G-d says to Moshe, in response to all their fussing, tell them “that they should go forward,” i.e., they should follow the directives which have been set forth. In other words: “let Me give the orders while you do the following and not the other way around.”
The multiple voices of the varied camps all committed the same error. They all based their opinions and suggestions on their own imaginations. Instead of looking to G-d and Moshe for direction, they turned to themselves. They never even thought to consider whether G-d had something to say about all this.
The voyage from Egypt to Sinai is emblematic of the perpetual voyage from exile to redemption – the ongoing assignment to transform humanity and the very world into a G-dly domain. At the very inception of the Journey we are taught a critical lesson. Man, in his service of G-d, must not be driven by his own logic, feelings and motives; he is rather instructed to seek the true will of G-d.
There is G-d’s will and then there is ours. While on the surface the two may seem as though they are one and the same, this is usually because we have not yet learned to tell them apart. As we grow in our understanding and service of G-d through Torah, we learn to distinguish and extricate G-d’s will from our own.
Now, as then, we are faced with multiple choices at every crossroads in our personal journey from Egypt to Sinai and beyond. And now, as then, there are many voices – inner as well as outer – that are eager to share their opinions on when and how we ought to proceed.
The first thing we must know is that not all voices are those of G-d. This is the premier message to the newborn nation of Israel upon the onset of its journey. It is likewise the premier lesson for every Jew in his personal spiritual journey.
But how are we to know which voice is from G-d and which is from elsewhere? This can obviously not be learned while standing on one foot. It is perhaps the most essential skill taught by Judaism. In fact, much of Chassidic philosophy is designed to help accomplish this very task.
There is one inevitable principle however, without which it is virtually impossible to overcome this obstacle: We must recognize and follow the guidance of Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses our teacher). In absence of a Moshe there is no Judaism and there is no knowable G-d.
What this means, in more practical terms, is that a Jew cannot go-it-alone. A Jew cannot rely on himself to determine and decipher the credibility of every voice – he cannot trust himself to navigate every fork in the road. This is precisely what our sages meant when they say: “Make for yourself a teacher and free yourself from doubt.” – Avos 1:16
Making for oneself a teacher, however, should not be confused with “teacher hopping,” or “teacher shopping.” The latter is a common syndrome, which involves people who are new to Torah observance but refuse to follow an established path in their approach. They rather glean a little here and a little there, and the rest they make up themselves.
For some the internet has become the new Moshe. They consult various websites etc. and pick and choose from each that which they like, and leave that which they don’t.
Now, there is nothing wrong with the Internet as a source of raw knowledge, but by no means does it provide a reliable path and approach to the service of G-d – by no means does it take the place of a teacher and mentor.
As Jews we must always remember the lesson from that fateful experience on the banks of the Red Sea. And G-d said to Moshe…. “Speak to the Children of Israel, that they should go forward.” We must look to the Moshe in our lives and discern between the voice of G-d and the voices that wish to present themselves as G-d, be it from within or without. Only then can we be certain that our ideas and ideologies are not rooted in one of the four camps which entirely missed the mark, good as their intentions were.
yasher koyach
amazing article, superbly written
S. Neubort
Again, a very well written synopsis of a sicha. Thank you.
I would suggest, however, that you re-think the following paragraph:
Neither is martyrdom without precedent in the annals of Jewish history. We are all familiar with the story of the ten martyrs and the legendary episode of Massada. In fact, wasn’t the binding of Yitzchok – G-d’s tenth test of Avraham – a call to martyrdom? Why then was the mitzvah of Kiddush Hashem ruled out here?
First, it is entirely unclear whether the mass suicide at Masada was a kidush Hashem. Many write that it was in fact a chilul Hashem, in which case, it would not be, by definition, an act of mesiras nefesh.
Josephus recounts the speeches made by the general, Eliezer, of Masada to provoke the mass suicide — as testified to by the only two adult survivors. At first, Eliezer did urge the people of Masada to kill themselves so that they would not be forced by the Romans to abandon their religion. It appears from the narrative, however, that he was unsuccessful in convincing the majority at Masada with that speech.
Later, he urged them to kill themselves so that they would not be enslaved and their women and children molested.
Still later, in another speech, he cajoled them to kill themselves to show their bravery (he taunted them, calling them cowards and not the warriors he had believed them to be). Thus, it is entirely unclear from the narrative whether their suicide was motivated by notions of kiddush Hashem (mesiras nefesh) or was motivated by a desire to avoid the consequences of losing to the Romans, or was motivated by a desire to prove their bravery.
Moreover, according to the narrative, the men killed the women and children, then the men killed each other, and only the last man killed himself. Thus, technically it was not suicide but murder. Indeed, presumably the children did not consent to being killed, and thus their deaths were not suicide at all (even by proxy) but murder (albeit, in their minds, mercy killings). Moreover, it is likely that a significant minority of the adult population did not meet their deaths willingly either.
Furthermore, there is a division among the poiskim about whether one may actively commit suicide to avoid, at some future point, being forced to commit one of the three cardinal sins that require mesiras nefesh (yaharog v’al yaavoir). Rabeinu Taam permits it — and some, acted upon that ruling during the Crusades, including Rabbi Yehudah, the son of the Rosh. Others, however, prohibit it, especially the killing of others, even with their will.
Second, the evidence that there was in fact a mass suicide at Masaada is shaky. Flavius Josephus is the historical source for this episode. Josephus lived during the siege of Masada, so it is likely that some of what he wrote is true — but Josephus was not writing as an unbiased observer of history and the accuracy of his accounts are questionable.
Third, there are better examples of mesiras nefesh, such as the story of Rabbi Akiva.
In sum, I do not write to cast aspersions on the people of Masada — about whom I prefer to believe were motivated by thoughts of Kiddush Hashem — but rather to urge the use of a clearer and uncontroversial case of mesiras nefesh as an example.