Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

PESACH

Rav David Silverberg

The Rambam begins the seventh chapter of Hilkhot Chametz U-matza by describing the obligation of sippur yetzi'at Mitzrayim (telling the story of the Exodus): "There is a 'positive commandment' to tell of the miracles and wonders that were performed for our forefathers in Egypt on the night of the fifteenth of Nissan." This obligation, the Rambam indicates, requires telling only of what occurred "in Egypt." Seemingly, this excludes the miracles that accompanied Benei Yisrael immediately after their departure from Egypt, particularly the splitting of the Sea of Reeds. In the Rambam's view, we are to discuss at the seder only the miracles that occurred in Egypt, and not the momentous events that transpired during the week that followed.

Indeed, as Rav Soloveitchik zt"l observed (as cited by his grandson, Rav Eliyahu Lichtenstein, in Haggada Si'ach Ha-Grid), the splitting of the sea does not appear in the Rambam's text of maggid – the section in which we fulfill the mitzva of sippur yetziat Mitzrayim. In the text generally used today, we do, in fact, discuss the splitting of the sea, as we read the debate among the Tanna'im regarding the precise number of plagues that struck the Egyptians in Egypt and at the sea. The Rambam, however, omits this entire discussion from his text of maggid. Rav Soloveitchik explained that the Rambam follows consistently with his view, that the obligation of sippur relates only to the events of the Exodus itself, to the exclusion of those that unfolded in its aftermath.

To further clarify this distinction, let us consider for a moment the basic difference between the Exodus and the events that occurred in its wake, particularly the splitting of the sea. At the night of the Exodus, God instructed Benei Yisrael to remain the entire night inside their homes, onto which the paschal blood was placed. He indicates that this was necessary to save them from the plague that ravaged Egypt: "The blood on the houses where you are staying shall be a sign for you: when I see the blood I will pass over you, so that no plague will destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt" (Shemot 12:13). The plague appears to have targeted both the Egyptians as well as Benei Yisrael; only an extraordinary display of divine compassion spared Benei Yisrael, requiring them only to remain indoors and place the symbolic blood on their doorframes. Regarding the splitting of the sea, by contrast, there are indications that Benei Yisrael had to earn their redemption. Rashi, in his commentary to Parashat Beshalach (Shemot 14:19), notes that the Torah refers to the angel placed to protect the fleeing Israelites from the pursuing Egyptians with the term mal'akh ha-Elokim – the "angel of 'Elokim'." Generally, the reference to God as Elokim is employed when describing the divine attribute of justice, as opposed to the attribute of mercy. Rashi comments, "This teaches that they stood trial at that moment, as to whether to be saved or to be destroyed along with the Egyptians." As Benei Yisrael stood at the sea, God judged them to determine whether or not they were deserving of being rescued, and He decided upon a favorable sentence. This miracle, then, was something they earned by their own merit. Indeed, the Midrash (Shemot Rabba 21:9) famously tells that the sea "did not split until they entered it until their noses – and then it became dry land for them." Benei Yisrael here demonstrated their absolute faith in God's promise to Moshe, and thereby earned this miracle, whereas back in Egypt, on the eve of the 15^th of Nissan, Benei Yisrael were delivered only as a result of God's mercy and compassion.

With this in mind, we can return to the Rambam's position, as understood by Rav Soloveitchik. Although the festival of Pesach in general commemorates the entire week of the Exodus, including the splitting of the sea, at the seder we speak of only the night of departure itself. The mitzva of sippur yetziat Mitzrayim perhaps relates less to the miraculous nature of the Exodus than to God's immense compassion and love for Benei Yisrael manifest through the miracles.

It is perhaps worth mentioning in this context the celebrated quip of Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, who noted that whereas we generally refer to this festival as "Pesach," the Torah often calls it "Chag Ha-matzot." Rav Levi Yitzchak explained that we try to focus on the "pesach" – the kindness God performs on our behalf, whereas the Almighty prefers to highlight the "matzot" – the mitzvot we faithfully and meticulously observe. We might add that the verses in Parashat Emor (Vayikra 23:5-6) strongly indicate that "Pesach" refers to the festival of the korban pesach – which begins on the afternoon of the 14^th of Nissan (what we call "Erev Pesach") and into that night, during which time the paschal offering may be eaten. The seven-day festival, beginning that same night and continuing through the following week, is termed Chag Ha-matzot. The festival of Pesach – which we celebrate by conducting a seder – commemorates the Almighty's compassion for Benei Yisrael and willingness to redeem them and take them as His people despite their unworthiness. The rest of the festival, which celebrates the week following the actual departure from Egypt, is named after the matzot, symbolizing the mitzvot we perform. During this period, we celebrate not only God's miracles, but also Benei Yisrael's spiritual development which rendered them worthy of these miracles. If on the first night we focus on the undeserved blessings God bestowed upon us, throughout the remainder of the festival we bring to mind our role in the redemption process, which culminated at the shores of the Yam Suf, where Benei Yisrael "saw the great power which the Lord had wielded against the Egyptians, and the people feared the Lord; they had faith in the Lord and His servant Moshe" (Shemot 14:31).

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The festivals of Pesach and Shavuot stand in sharp contrast to one another in several ways, particularly with regard to the issue of chametz. On Pesach, of course, chametz is forbidden in virtual any quantity, form, and manifestation. The Torah forbids not only the consumption of chametz, but also possessing it and deriving benefit from it. According to some views, there is even a Torah obligation of tashbitu, requiring the proactive destruction of chametz. Thus, the Minchat Chinukh considers the possibility that one who does not possess any chametz on the 14^th of Nissan must purchase chametz in order to fulfill this obligation. The extraordinary status of chametz is manifest in other halakhot, as well, including the particularly harsh punishment for eating it – karet – and the ineffectiveness of bittul, meaning, that even a tiny morsel of chametz renders an entire mixture forbidden for consumption.

On Shavuot, we find the precise opposite phenomenon. In Parashat Vayikra (2:11), the Torah explicitly forbids offering leavened grain as an offering to God, making exception for a korban reishit (2:12), literally, "an initial sacrifice." Rashi, based on Torat Kohanim, explains this as a reference to the korban shetei ha-lechem, the special Shavuot offering which included two leaven breads, as explicitly mentioned later, in Parashat Emor: "You shall bring from your settlements two loaves of bread…baked as leaven" (Vayikra 23:19). Thus, whereas on Pesach chametz is banned outright in every way, on Shavuot, we actually permit chametz even where it is generally forbidden all year round.

Another distinction between the two festivals may help us detect a broader pattern. On the second day of Pesach, a special offering is brought called the korban ha-omer, which consists of barley meal. Generally speaking, meal offerings were brought from wheat flour, rather than barley. Another notable exception to this rule is the minchat sota, the meal offering brought as part of the ceremony to determine the guilt of an adulterous woman, which was also made from barley. Rashi (Bamidbar 5:15), citing from the Gemara (Sota 12), comments, "She committed an animal-like act [adultery], so her offering is [from] animal fodder." Barley is perceived as primarily animal food, whereas humans eat mainly wheat products. Combining the barley theme with the strict prohibition of chametz, it emerges that on Pesach we express crudity and lack of sophistication. We eat only the simplest baked goods (matza), allowing no element of ingenuity, represented by leaven, and we offer a special offering from the lower category of barley. On Shavuot, by contrast, we accentuate the idea of sophistication and human ingenuity, by bringing a chametz offering made from wheat flour.

How might we explain the themes of crudity and lack of refinement on the one hand, and sophistication and elegance on the other, in the respective contexts of Pesach and Shavuot?

Rav Herschel Shachtar (www.torahweb.org/torah/2000/moadim/rsch_pesach.html) suggested that these distinctions correspond to the broader themes of Pesach and Shavuot. Among the central themes of Pesach is that of emuna – sincere faith. The narrative of the splitting of the sea, which marks the culmination of the Exodus process, concludes (as we cited yesterday) with Benei Yisrael's attainment of complete faith in God and Moshe: "the people feared the Lord; they had faith in the Lord and His servant Moshe" (Shemot 14:31). Numerous times throughout the story of the ten plagues, God emphasizes His objective that "Egypt shall know that I am the Lord," a goal which He applies to Benei Yisrael, as well – "And I will take you to be My people…and you shall know that I, the Lord, am your God" (Shemot 6:7). The Exodus was aimed at not only freeing an oppressed nation, but also demonstrating the existence and supreme power of the Almighty. Shavuot, of course, commemorates our receiving of the Torah, and our ongoing commitment to studying, probing and applying its laws.

If so, Rav Shachtar suggests, then we can perhaps understand the significance of the "unrefined" nature of Pesach as opposed to the "elegance" of Shavuot. The Torah perhaps seeks to convey the message that our faith should be characterized by simplicity and lack of sophistication, rather than rigorous analysis and philosophizing. The proper context for chametz – ingenuity, sophistication, and depth – is "Shavuot," in the pursuit of Torah knowledge and its observance. It is here when one must strive for only the very highest intellectual standards and apply himself tirelessly to acquire comprehensive knowledge and in-depth understanding. In the realm of emuna, however, the Torah establishes matza as the primary symbol, representing simplicity and innocence.

Thus, Pesach and Shavuot represent the delicate balance between simplicity and sophistication, and the proper compartmentalization of these two approaches. Simplicity is appropriate for "Pesach" – with regard to the basic tenets of Jewish faith, while sophistication and depth is required on "Shavuot" – in the realm of Torah study and practice.

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As we mentioned yesterday, the Torah requires bringing a special offering on the second day of Pesach, called the korban ha-omer: "When you enter the land that I am giving to you and you reap its harvest, you shall bring the first omer of your harvest to the kohen. He shall elevate the sheaf before the Lord for acceptance on your behalf…" (Vayikra 23:10-11). The Sefer Ha-chinukh (302) explains this obligation as an expression of gratitude to God for the successful harvest. As the Torah commands several verses later (23:14), one may not partake of the year's grain until the offering of the korban ha-omer. One must first express gratitude to the Almighty for the crop before partaking of it. In a sense, then, this mitzva resembles the requirement of birkot ha-nehenin – to recite a berakha before partaking of any food.

The Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 28:3), however, appears, at least at first glance, to provide a different, more specific, explanation of this mitzva. Noting that the uncommon word omer, which refers to a small measurement of volume, appears as well in the context of the manna (see Shemot 16:16,18), the Midrash writes that the Almighty said to Moshe, "Go tell Israel: When I gave you the manna, I would give an omer to each and every one of you… But now, when you give Me the omer, I receive only a single omer from all of you; what more, it is from barley [which is considered an inferior grain]." One might understand this Midrash to mean that the korban ha-omer serves as a commemoration of, or expression of thanksgiving for, the manna that fell in the wilderness. We show our gratitude for the omer of manna provided for each individual by offering an omer of grain in the Temple. In this passage, the Midrash expresses the point that we can never truly "repay" the Almighty for the many "omerim" that He provided for the two million or so people He led through the wilderness. Nevertheless, it appears that the korban ha-omer constitutes a symbolic gesture expressing our gratitude for this particular act of kindness.

Upon further reflection, however, it may very well be that the Midrash, like the Chinukh, sees the korban ha-omer as expressing gratitude for the annual crop, rather than the one-time phenomenon of the manna. According to the Midrash, perhaps, we are to perceive our sustenance and livelihood as "manna," as nourishment that descends from the heavens on a daily basis to sustain us. Even after tilling the land and reaping its produce, we bring an offering to God of an omer – symbolizing the manna. In this way, we demonstrate our awareness of the fact that even "when you enter the land…and you reap it harvest," we are, in effect, partaking of heavenly manna, we are sustained directly by the God's mercy and grace.

In Parashat Eikev, Moshe urges Benei Yisrael to "remember the long way that the Lord your God has made you travel in the wilderness these past forty years… He subjected you to the hardship of hunger and then gave you manna to eat" (Devarim 8:2-3). Later, he warns that after the people settle and develop the land, they must "give thanks to the Lord your God for the good land which He has given you" (8:10), and must not "forget the Lord your God" (8:11) and say, "My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me" (8:17). Personal productivity often blinds a person to God's role in providing his needs. Benei Yisrael are bidden to overcome this tendency by recalling the manna in the wilderness, which demonstrates our dependence on Him for our very survival. The korban ha-omer, too, which brings to mind the omer of manna provided daily for the nation's sustenance in the wilderness, is to remind the farmer of his limited self-sufficiency. Before partaking of the fruits of his labor, he must first remind himself of the manna – of man's complete dependence on the Almighty for even his most basic needs.

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Earlier this week, we discussed the fundamental difference between the two central events commemorated during the seven-day festival of Pesach – the departure from Egypt, which occurred on the first night, and the splitting of the sea, which took place on the night of the seventh day. (Rashi outlines the basic sequence of events during the week of the Exodus in his commentary to Shemot 14:5.) Whereas the actual Exodus itself constituted an act of divine mercy, which Benei Yisrael did not truly deserve, the miracle of the Yam Suf they had earned, by demonstrating faith in God's promise that He would rescue them.

The Chatam Sofer enlists this distinction to explain an intriguing nuance in our daily prayer service. Each evening, in the paragraph following shema, we recount both the departure from Egypt and the splitting of the sea. The Chatam Sofer notes a subtle distinction between the references to Benei Yisrael in the various contexts of this liturgical passage. In describing yetziat Mitzrayim itself, we recall, "va-yotzei et amo Yisrael mi-tokham li-vrit olam" – "and He released His nation, Israel, for an eternal covenant." Here, we refer to Israel as amo – His nation. In the very next sentence, however, as we turn our attention to the miracle of the Sea of Reeds, we declare, "ha-ma'avir banav bein gizrei Yam Suf" – "who brings His children through the sections of the Sea of Reeds." Suddenly, we no longer refer to the Israelites as God's "nation," but rather as His "children." According to the Chatam Sofer, this subtle transition in syntax corresponds to the fundamental transition in stature Benei Yisrael underwent at the shores of the sea – from an ordinary "nation," from slaves who left the service of one master and entered that of another, into "children" – the king's princes.

How might we explain more precisely the distinction between "subjects" and "children" in this context?

Perhaps the difference here is between conditional and unconditional loyalty. The subject-ruler relationship is generally a practical arrangement, accepted by both parties for their direct benefit. The ruler receives power, wealth and prestige in exchange for providing the basic needs of his subjects. If the nation becomes dissatisfied with the ruler's policies or the effectiveness of his authority, he loses their trust and support, and they will likely revolt. Children, by contrast, generally retain their loyalty to their parents and continue supporting and obeying them, even when they disapprove of their parents' decisions. The parent-child relationship extends well beyond mutual benefit, and is characterized by unconditional loyalty and love.

For this reason, perhaps, our liturgy speaks of Benei Yisrael as God's "nation" at the Exodus, and His "children" at the sea. Benei Yisrael followed the Almighty out of Egypt as His redeemed subjects, seizing the opportunity to leave Egyptian bondage and accept upon themselves what they hoped would be a far more pleasant slave-master arrangement. Understandably, then, the moment this arrangement seemed headed towards catastrophe, they sought to revoke it: "They said to Moshe: Was it for want of graves in Egypt that you brought us to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, taking us of Egypt?" (Shemot 14:11). Ultimately, however, the nation placed their trust in Moshe's promise – "Stand by, and witness the deliverance which the Lord will work for you today" (14:13) – and decided to obediently follow God, despite the apparent hopelessness of the situation.

Thus, Benei Yisrael transformed from subjects – whose acceptance of authority is contingent upon the direct, tangible benefit yielded – into children, who show their parents unconditional love and support, regardless of any direct, practical benefits involved.

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The Torah tells that when Benei Yisrael left Egypt, "God led the people roundabout, by way of the wilderness at the Sea of Reeds" (Shemot 13:18). Commenting on the word va-yasav ("led roundabout"), the Midrash (Shemot Rabba 20:18) associates this term with the concept of heseiba – the requirement to recline during the Pesach seder. The Midrash writes, "On this basis the Sages said: Even a poor man in Israel shall not eat until he reclines."

Many different explanations have been offered as to the connection between this verse and the requirement of heseiba. The Chatam Sofer explains that in this verse, the Torah tells that God led Benei Yisrael into the wilderness, far away from civilization, and even far away from the standard travel route. In the preceding verse, we read that God specifically chose not to lead the people to Canaan through the regular road, "by way of the land of the Philistines," and instead took them along a dead end route – through the wilderness and towards the sea. According to the Chatam Sofer, God chose this path in order to free Benei Yisrael from an exaggerated sense of dependence upon, and preoccupation with, material wealth. He sought to accustom them to life without the endless pursuit of wealth, where they could focus on only loftier concerns. This would set them in the proper direction once they enter the land and begin developing it agriculturally and industrially; they will have learned the importance of limiting one's preoccupation with financial gain, and focusing one's energies on moral and spiritual excellence.

Herein, the Chatam Sofer suggests, lies the point of connection between this verse and the halakha requiring "even a poor man in Israel" to recline as a symbol of nobility at the seder. The obligation for even the poor and downtrodden Jew to conduct himself in a regal, aristocratic manner conveys a very powerful message to himself and to the nation at large: nobility and royalty are not determined based on financial status. In Jewish tradition, man malki – Rabanan; those who achieve excellence in Torah and mitzva observance are the ones deemed "regal." The everlasting legacy of the desert route taken by Benei Yisrael upon achieving physical freedom is the importance of "freedom" from the lure of luxury, the ability to afford value not to material goods, but to the eternal truths and commandments of God's Torah.

Unfortunately, as the Chatam Sofer notes, this lesson was soon to be forgotten. The Midrash, cited by Rashi in his commentary to Parashat Beshalach (Shemot 15:22), tells that Benei Yisrael were reluctant to leave the shores of the sea after crossing, preferring instead to collect as much of the Egyptians' spoils as possible. Moshe had to "drag" them from the sea into the wilderness, as indicated by the Torah, which tells that Moshe "caused Israel to set out from the Sea of Reeds." The nation was not interested in subjecting themselves to the austerity of life in the wilderness, and preferred instead to indulge in the spoils of the sea. It took considerable effort on Moshe's part to restore the people's priority scale and perspective, to refocus their attention on the mission for which they departed Egypt, which necessitated their sojourn through the desert, where they would occupy themselves with the acceptance of the Torah, rather than with the spoils of Egypt.

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On Yom Tov, Chol Ha-mo'ed and Rosh Chodesh, we add the ya'aleh ve-yavo paragraph in both the shemoneh esrei prayer service and birkat ha-mazon. Although common practice is to recite the precisely same text in both contexts – shemoneh esrei and birkat ha-mazon – the Avudraham was of the opinion that one word must be omitted from the standard ya'aleh ve-yavo text during birkat ha-mazon. In the final phrase of this paragraph, we refer to the Almighty as "Melekh chanun ve-rachum" – a "gracious and compassionate King." According to the Avudraham, one must omit the word Melekh – "King" –from this phrase when reciting ya'aleh ve-yavo during birkat ha-mazon.

In order to understand the reasoning behind the Avudraham's ruling, we must acquaint ourselves with a discussion in the Gemara (Berakhot 49a) concerning the text of the third and fourth berakhot of birkat ha-mazon. As we know, only the first and fourth berakhot begin with the standard introduction of, "Barukh Ata Hashem Elokeinu Melekh ha-olam." (The first berakha continues, "ha-zan et ha-olam kulo," whereas the fourth reads, "ha-Kel avinu malkenu…") The Gemara explains the omission of this introduction from the second and third berakhot based on the rule of berakha ha-semukha la-chaverta. Meaning, when multiple berakhot are placed adjacent to one another in a given service, only the first requires the introductory formula of Barukh Ata Hashem. Thus, for example, in the shemoneh esrei prayer, only the first berakha begins with this introduction, as all the others are viewed as continuations of this opening passage. Likewise, in birkat ha-mazon, once the first berakha begins with the standard required formula, it is omitted in the subsequent berakhot. Nevertheless, the fourth berakha indeed begins with Barukh Ata Hashem, since, as the Gemara explains, it is not essentially part of birkat ha-mazon. This berakha was added much later, after the fall of the Bar-Kokhba revolt, and hence comprises an independent unit of sorts. As such, it requires its own introduction, and cannot be included under the Barukh Ata Hashem heading of the first berakha.

The Gemara notes that this arrangement raises a problem regarding the text of the third berakha, in which we beseech God to restore the Davidic dynasty and rebuild the Temple. Since we omit the introductory phrase of "Barukh Atah Hashem Elokeinu Melekh ha-olam" in this berakha, it ends up mentioning the kingship of David and his descendants ("ve-al malkhut beit David meshichekha"), while omitting any reference to divine kingship. In order to compensate for what would otherwise amount to an infringement on God's honor, Chazal added an additional reference to divine kingship in the fourth berakha. In addition to the reference in the introduction ("Elokeinu Melekh Ha-olam"), we speak of God as king again just several words later ("avinu malkenu adirenu…"), to compensate for the missing word melekh in the previous berakha. The question, of course, arises as to why Chazal couldn't simply make an exception and require the introductory phrase of "Barukh Ata Hashem…" at the beginning of the third berakha, despite its being covered by the introduction at the beginning of birkat ha-mazon. The Rosh explains that a reference to divine kingship in a berakha in which we speak of the Davidic dynasty might suggest an equation between the two, which Chazal sought to avoid. They therefore chose to highlight the difference between human and divine kingship by transferring our reference to God's kingship to the next berakha.

It emerges, then, that we should not make any reference to God as king in the third berakha of birkat ha-mazon, since it already speaks of the kingship of the Davidic line. Accordingly, the Avudraham ruled that when we insert ya'aleh ve-yavo in this third berakha of birkat ha-mazon, we must omit the term melekh, which describes God as our King.

As mentioned, common practice is to include the term melekh, despite the Avudraham's concern. How do we permit calling God melekh in this berakha, if Chazal were so adamant about avoiding such reference in this context? The work Kelei Gola (vol. 1, p. 433) is cited as distinguishing between a plain reference to God as melekh and the expression used in ya'aleh ve-yavo, which speaks of God as a "gracious and compassionate King." Generally speaking, a Jewish king is not permitted to forego on his royal honor, since his royal stature is representative of the Almighty's. Thus, the very fact that God is "gracious and compassionate," that He forgives violations of His word and overlooks infractions on His honor, necessarily sets Him fundamentally apart from a human king. The adjectives "gracious" and "compassionate" used in conjunction with the reference to God as melekh thus automatically provide the required distinction between divine and human kingship, as only He is truly a ruler in the full sense of the term, as reflected by the fact that only He has license to forego on His honor and treat His subjects with forgiveness and forbearance.

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Rashi, in his commentary to Parashat Beshalach (Shemot 14:5), tells that it was on the seventh day of Pesach when the miracle of keri'at Yam Suf (the splitting of the Sea of Reeds) occurred, at which point God drowned the Egyptians in the sea, thereby saving Benei Yisrael. In commemoration, we read on this seventh day the section from the Torah narrating this momentous event.

The Torah tells of the profound impact this miracle had upon the hearts of Benei Yisrael: "The Lord delivered Israel that day from the Egyptians. Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the shore of the sea. Israel saw the great power God had wielded in Egypt; the people feared the Lord, and they believed in the Lord and in Moshe, His servant" (Shemot 14:30-31). At first glance, it appears that keri'at Yam Suf demonstrated to the people beyond doubt the stature of Moshe as God's "servant." Such a drastic and spectacular reversal of nature, which Moshe himself brought about by raising his staff (see Shemot 14:21,27), eliminated any doubts the people may have entertained concerning Moshe's status as God's prophet.

Seemingly, these verses call into question a theory strongly advanced by the Rambam (Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah, chapter 8) regarding Benei Yisrael's belief in Moshe's prophecy. The Rambam states unequivocally that Benei Yisrael's faith in Moshe did not result from the miracles he performed for them. Nothing, the Rambam argues, can be proven irrefutably through wonders and miracles, since people can always attribute "miracles" to other forces, such as magic or witchcraft. Only firsthand testimony can provide clear, undeniable evidence to an alleged prophet's authenticity. In the case of Moshe, the Rambam writes, Benei Yisrael acquired firm belief in him as God's prophet only at Ma'amad Har Sinai (the Revelation at Sinai), where they saw with their own eyes and heard with their own ears God's voice summoning Moshe to the mountaintop to receive the Torah. Only God's explicit designation of Moshe at Sinai provided the people with complete confirmation of his role; the miracles he performed until that point left room for skepticism and doubt.

The question, then, arises, what does the Torah mean when it speaks of Benei Yisrael's faith in "the Lord and in Moshe, His servant" in the wake of the splitting of the sea? If this "belief" fell short of complete, resolute faith, why is it mentioned here at all?

One answer emerges from the Rashbam's characteristically brief remarks in his commentary to this verse. The Rashbam writes that "they believed" refers to the people's confidence in following Moshe into the desolate, searing wilderness, trusting that God would somehow provide their needs.

In light of this comment of the Rashbam, we might distinguish between Moshe's two roles: leader, and lawgiver. The splitting of the sea confirmed for Benei Yisrael that Moshe was indeed sent by the Almighty to deliver them from slavery and lead them towards a new future and national destiny. Prior to the miracle, as Benei Yisrael found themselves trapped against the sea, they complained to Moshe, "Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, saying, 'Leave us, and we will serve the Egyptians, for it is better to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness'?" (Shemot 14:12). This verse reveals that the nation was haunted all along by a degree of uncertainty as to whether they should bother to go along with Moshe's campaign for freedom. These doubts were resolved with the splitting of the sea, when "Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the shore of the sea," when God's ability to overpower the Egyptian empire – through Moshe – was confirmed. They therefore felt confident in continuing to follow Moshe into the wilderness, firmly believing that He was indeed sent to bring them to the Promised Land.

The Rambam, however, spoke of an entirely different role of Moshe – that of lawgiver, as the conduit through which God conveyed His law to Benei Yisrael. In order to establish Moshe's eternal, undisputed supremacy in this regard over any other future, alleged prophet who seeks to abrogate the Torah, it was necessary for Benei Yisrael to witness firsthand his designation for this role. Although Benei Yisrael accepted Moshe as their deliverer and leader even prior to Ma'amad Har Sinai, the everlasting integrity of the Mosaic Law required more definitive proof to his role as exclusive lawgiver, proof that God provided when He revealed Himself to the entire nation at Sinai.