S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT BESHALACH

By Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI

We find in the Midrash (Shir Hashirim Rabba) an intriguing passage that discusses the spiritual state of Benei Yisrael at the time of the Exodus and during the months that followed.  Commenting on the verse toward the beginning of Shir Hashirim (1:5), “I am black and beautiful,” the Midrash claims that the nation exhibited conflicting characteristics during this early period of its history:

I am black in Egypt – “They rebelled against Me and did not consent to listen to Me” (Yechezkel 20:8); and I am beautiful in Egypt with the blood of the paschal sacrifice and the blood of circumcision.

I am black on the sea, as it says, “They rebelled on the sea at Yam Suf” (Tehillim 106:7); and I am beautiful on the sea, as it says, “This is my God, and I will beautify Him” (Shemot 15:20).

I am black at Mara, as it says, “The nation complained against Moshe, saying: What will we drink?” (ibid. 24); and I am beautiful at Mara, as it says, “He cried out to the Lord” (ibid. 25).

I am black at Chorev [Sinai], as it says, “They made a calf at Chorev” (Tehillim 106:19); and I am beautiful at Chorev, as it says, “All that the Lord has said, we will do and we will hear” (Shemot 24:7).

What message might the Midrash seek to convey, by noting the brighter and darker sides of Benei Yisrael at the time of the Exodus and during the experiences that occurred in the months thereafter?

Rav Yehuda Amital shelit”a (as recorded by a student, available at http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot/shemot/16-60besha.htm) explained that, quite simply, the Midrash instructs us against making overly simplistic, black-and-white assessments.  Chazal teach that if we ask the question, “Were Benei Yisrael ‘black’ or ‘beautiful’ at this stage in their history?” the answer will not be a simple one.  And neither will the answer be simple in most situations when we try to offer an assessment of individuals, institutions, concepts or circumstances.  Most people and things are both “black” and “beautiful.”  There are aspects that deserve criticism, but there are also those which deserve admiration and respect.  We cannot classify things in life as “black” or “beautiful.”  Generally, people and ideas must be classified under the complex category of “shechora ani ve-nava” (“I am black and beautiful”).

In the final verses of Parashat Beshalach, we read of Amalek’s unprovoked attack on Benei Yisrael as they traveled toward Sinai.  After Benei Yisrael successfully warded off the assault, God conveys a strong message to Moshe pledging to “eradicate the memory of Amalek from under the heavens” (17:14).  And later, of course, in Sefer Devarim (25:17-19), we read Moshe’s stern exhortation to Benei Yisrael prior to their entry into Canaan to wage a fierce battle against Amalek.  We might suggest that it is specifically because of the message of “shechora ani ve-nava,” the complexity with which we are to make assessments, that the Torah must command us in such strong terms to rid the earth of Amalek and its ilk.  The generally complex nature of human beings could potentially make it difficult for good people to recognize evil, and to recognize the need to confront it unrelentingly.  Because we are bidden acknowledge both the “black” and the “beautiful,” to appreciate complexity and refrain from simplistic classifications, we need the reminder (“zakhor”) to oppose the forces such as Amalek that are plainly “black.”  The critical message of “shechora ani ve-nava” must be tempered by the stern command of “Zakhor et asher asa lekha Amalek.”  Even as we insist on identifying both the “black” and “beautiful” aspects of the world around us, our response to Amalek must clear, straightforward and unequivocal.

SUNDAY

Parashat Beshalach begins with the words, “Va-yehi beshalach Pharaoh et ha-am” (“It happened when Pharaoh sent the nation”).  Chazal, in several Midrashic passages, homiletically explained the word “va-yehi” in this verse as an allusion to the word “vai,” an exclamation of grief or frustration.  We find in the Midrashim different views as to who in this narrative expressed these feelings by exclaiming, “Vai.”

            The Tanchuma Yashan ascribes these emotions to Pharaoh, who was struck by the sight of Benei Yisrael as a proud, independent nation:

To what may this be compared – to a person who had pieces of cedar and sold them for a low price.  The buyer then proceeded to make from them chests and towers and many objects.  That man who sold them went and saw those objects.  He began wailing, and said, “Woe unto that person [me] – what did he sell!”

Similarly, Pharaoh – the Israelites were subjugated to him amid cement and bricks, and they were not discernible as a nation.  Once they left Egypt and then became [a nation under] banners at the sea, Pharaoh went and saw that they were [under] banners.  At that moment he began crying, “Vai.”

According to the Tanchuma Yashan, Pharaoh expressed his anguish upon seeing the quality of the people whom he had subjugated.  He had viewed them as subhuman “machines” to build his country’s buildings.  In Pharaoh’s eyes, Benei Yisrael were nothing more than cheap “pieces of cedar.”  After the Exodus, when the Israelites “left with their hands held high” (14:8), he saw them in an entirely different light.  They suddenly emerged as a proud, prestigious people embarking on a historical journey and mission.  The “pieces of cedar” were now turned into majestic towers.  A group of lowly slaves had become a remarkable nation, poised to march onto the stage of history.

            “Al tehi baz le-khol adam...ki ein lekha adam she-ein lo sha'a” (“Do not look upon any person with scorn…for there is no person who does not have his moment” – Avot 4:3).  Often, we associate people with certain unfavorable images, which are then cemented in our minds as the representations of those individuals.  Like Pharaoh, we, too, sometimes relegate people in our minds to a lowly stature, seeing them as mere “pieces of cedar.”  As the Mishna in Avot teaches, every person is eventually given the opportunity to shine, to excel, to distinguish himself or herself.  Even if somebody does not impress us at the present, that person can and will “have his moment.”  We should never make the mistake of overlooking any person’s potential for greatness, for every “piece of cedar” can, at some point and in some way, be transformed into a magnificent “tower.”

MONDAY

Parashat Beshalach tells the story of the splitting of the Sea of Reeds and Benei Yisrael’s subsequent experiences as they traveled toward Sinai.  Immediately following the miracle of the sea, the Torah writes, Benei Yisrael “went three days in the wilderness without finding water” (15:22).  The Mekhilta and the Gemara (Bava Kama 82) famously comment that the Torah refers here to more than a lack of water.  Drawing upon the well-established analogy between water and Torah, Chazal teach that after the splitting of the sea, Benei Yisrael spent three days of travel without exposure to Torah.  They experienced not only actual thirst for water, but also a “thirst” for spiritual sustenance.  The Gemara adds that it was at this point when Moshe established the institution of the public Torah reading, which ensures that communities will never go three days without learning Torah.

            We can perhaps gain further insight into this reading of the verse by applying it to the rest of this brief narrative.  The Torah relates that after three days without finding a water source, Benei Yisrael finally came upon water at Mara – only to discover that it was “bitter,” undrinkable.  In response to Moshe’s prayer, God miraculously “sweetened” (“va-yimteku”) the “bitter waters” so that the nation could drink from them.

            Torah is compared to water because just as water is necessary for physical life, Torah is necessary for a spiritual life.  It is what infuses our physical existence with meaning, substance and purpose.  A person’s body can function without Torah and mitzvot, but his spirit cannot.  Benei Yisrael’s experience in Mara, then, is perhaps symbolic of the experience of coming upon “bitter” Torah.  Sometimes, in looking to quench our thirst for meaning and purpose in life, we will find the “water,” we will engage in Torah and mitzvot, only to find that it does not have the desired “quenching” effect.  We remain feeling unfulfilled and empty.  Eventually, as in Mara, the “bitter waters” are “sweetened.”  With time, we discover that the “waters” of Torah life can, indeed, provide us with the vitality, gratification and sense of achievement that we seek in life.

            On the symbolic level of the Gemara’s analogy, then, the story of Mara demonstrates that Torah study and observance is not guaranteed to immediately satisfy our spiritual cravings.  Just as Benei Yisrael were initially unable to quench their thirst from the waters of Mara, similarly, we may not, in our first encounter with Torah, be able to quench our thirst for fulfillment.  But eventually the “bitter waters” are “sweetened,” and we are indeed able to find through Torah life the sense of fulfillment which we all seek.

TUESDAY

            The final sections of Parashat Beshalach tell of the miraculous provisions with which Benei Yisrael were sustained in the wilderness.  Their need for food was met through the manna, which fell from the heavens each morning, and their water needs were provided by a supernatural well.  As we read toward the end of the parasha (17:1-7), God instructed Moshe to provide water by smiting a rock with his staff.  The Sages teach that this well which Moshe opened with his staff miraculously accompanied Benei Yisrael throughout their travels, until Miriam’s death in the final year of journeying.

            A quick analysis of these two miracles – through which God provided Benei Yisrael with the human being’s two most elemental needs – reveals a certain “role reversal” during these forty years of travel.  Namely, the provision that normally comes from the heavens was extracted from the earth, and the provision that normally comes from the earth descended from the heavens.  We ordinarily receive our water supply from rainfall, and produce bread from the earth.  Thus, for example, we describe the Almighty in our daily prayers as “morid ha-geshem” (“He who brings down rain”), and in the berakha recited over bread we speak of Him as “ha-motzi lechem min ha-aretz” (“He who brings forth bread from the earth”).  In describing the manna, God proclaims, “Hineni mamtir lakhem” (16:4) – employing the verb m.t.r., which is generally used in reference to rain.  And later, in Sefer Devarim (8:15), Moshe speaks of God as “ha-motzi lekha mayim mi-tzur ha-chalamish” (“who brings forth water for you from the dry rock”) – employing the term “ha-motzi,” which we normally find in reference to bread (as in “le-hotzi lechem min ha-aretz” – Tehillim 104:14).  Whereas under normal circumstances we receive water from the heavens and bread from the ground, Benei Yisrael received their water in the wilderness from the ground and their bread from the heavens.

            What might be the significance underlying this reversal of the heaven and earth’s roles in sustaining human life?

            On the simplest level, it would seem, this reversal demonstrates the extent of the miraculous nature of Benei Yisrael’s existence during this period.  God’s sustaining the Israelites through the uninhabitable desert for forty years was intended to show His unlimited capability to nourish under any circumstances.  To this end, He went so far as to demonstrate how bread can come from the heavens and water can come from the ground.

            Furthermore, the reversal of heaven and earth perhaps reveals the nature of God’s relationship with Benei Yisrael during their period of travel.  Ever since the second day of creation, when God separated between heaven and earth, the two domains remained distinct and distant realms.  One aspect of the human being’s responsibility is bridging the gap between heaven and earth, connecting with the Almighty even while living an earthly existence.  This is accomplished through the study and observance of the Torah, which was given to us from the heavens, such that its successful implementation on earth achieves the goal of merging the two realms.

            The extreme manifestation of this merging occurred during Benei Yisrael’s travels in the wilderness, as they were accompanied by the Divine Presence in the Mishkan and lived a supernatural, “non-earthly” existence.  This experience represents, in the extreme, the possibility of living a “heavenly” existence here on earth.  Thus, for example, on Sukkot, which commemorates this period of travel, we make a roof out of vegetation, demonstrating this blurring of the lines between heaven and earth.  This theme may also underlie Chazal’s famous depiction of the ananei ha-kavod (“clouds of glory”) which surrounded Benei Yisrael as they traveled and included a layer of cloud beneath their feet.

            Similarly, as heaven and earth merged into a single domain, it became possible to receive bread from the heavens and water from the earth.  More accurately, both the bread and the water came from the single realm of “existence,” which included both heaven and earth.  There was no longer any difference between heaven and earth, because they both came together to form a new reality of closeness between Am Yisrael and God.  God provided bread from the sky and water from rocks to demonstrate that Benei Yisrael would spend this period in close proximity with Him, as the lines separating between heaven and earth had been eliminated.  This reality is thus symbolic of our lifelong mission to bridge the gap between the earthly and heavenly realms, to constantly see ourselves in the service and presence of God even as we go about our worldly affairs here on earth.

WEDNESDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Beshalach tells of the manna which descended from the heavens each morning to feed Benei Yisrael in the wilderness.  We read that the manna remained on the ground outside the Israelite camp until “the sun became hot, and it melted” (16:21).  The Mekhilta comments that the Torah refers here to the time when sunlit areas are hot, but shady areas are still comfortably cool; more specifically, the Mekhilta writes, this refers to the fourth hour of the morning.

            The Gemara famously cites the Mekhilta’s comments in Masekhet Berakhot (27a), amidst its discussion of the final time for the morning prayer service.  This issue is subject to debate among the Sages which is recorded by the Mishna there in Masekhet Berakhot.  Rabbi Yehuda required praying by the end of the fourth hour of the day, whereas the other Sages allowed praying until midday.  Underlying this debate is the question of how to precisely define the word “boker” (“morning”) used by the Torah in reference to the morning tamid sacrifice offered in the Temple, which we commemorate through the morning prayer service.  Rabbi Yehuda defined “boker” as the period from sunrise until the end of the fourth hour, while the majority view extended this period until midday.  The Gemara notes that the Mekhilta, which claims that the manna had to be collected before the fourth hour, appears to follow neither view.  After all, the Torah (16:21) describes the collection of manna as taking place “ba-boker,” which, according to Rabbi Yehuda, means through the end of the fourth hour, and according to the majority view, means until midday.  The Mekhilta, however, wrote that the collection took place only until the onset of the fourth hour.

            The Gemara concludes that in truth, the Mekhilta’s comments could easily be reconciled with both opinions.  The Torah describes Benei Yisrael’s collection of the manna with the repetitious phrase, “ba-boker ba-boker.”  Rabbi Yehuda might interpret the otherwise redundant clause as indicating that the collection occurred until one hour earlier than the word “ba-boker” would normally denote.  As for the majority of Sages, they perhaps understood “ba-boker ba-boker” to mean, “the middle of the two mornings,” indicating that Benei Yisrael collected the manna until the middle point of the morning – meaning, the end of the first three hours.

            Other sources, however, explain the Mekhilta differently.  As Rav Menachem Kasher cites in his Torah Sheleima (note 115), the Talmud Yerushalmi and Midrash Lekach Tov clearly understood the Mekhilta as reflecting specifically Rabbi Yehuda’s position.  According to these sources, both Rabbi Yehuda and the Mekhilta refer to the same point in the morning; it was at this point that the manna melted in the wilderness, and it is by this point that the tamid offering was sacrificed and, by extension, the point by which one must recite the shacharit prayer.

            Thus, while the Talmud Bavli understood that the final time for collecting the manna bears no connection to the final time for the tamid, the Yerushalmi and Midrash held that these two issues are indeed correlated, according to Rabbi Yehuda.

            The question arises as to whether there is perhaps a fundamental connection between these two “deadlines” which, according to Rabbi Yehuda coincide – the final time for collecting the manna, and the final time for offering the tamid.  Are these two contexts linked only tangentially, by virtue of the common term “boker,” or might there be a more substantive connection between them?

            On one level, perhaps, the association drawn between the manna and the tamid reflects the fact that we “feed” the Almighty at the same time when He “feeds” us.  The offering of the tamid sacrifice resembled the offering of food to a king in his chamber by his servants.  The kohanim, representing the king’s “butlers” and servants, symbolically brought “food” to the Almighty in his “home,” the Beit Ha-mikdash.  (Indeed, God Himself refers to the tamid sacrifice as “My bread” – Bamidbar 28:2.)  God fed us manna in the wilderness in the hours within which it is customary to eat one’s first meal of the day, until the fourth hour, and it is therefore by this point when we must bring God His “food” when we serve Him in the Beit Ha-mikdash.

            We might note an additional point of connection between the two contexts, as well.  Manna was heavenly matter that was transformed into a means of physical sustenance.  Conversely, the institution of sacrifices means taking physical matter and transforming it into something spiritual.  The correspondence between the manna and the sacrifices thus perhaps reflects upon the nature of avodat Hashem, our obligation to serve a non-physical Supreme Being while living an earthly, physical existence.  Just as He converted non-physical matter into food, similarly, we are enjoined to convert the physical elements of our existence into spiritual matter, by using them for a higher purpose.  We serve the Almighty in the reverse manner in which He “served” us in the wilderness, taking our material possessions and utilizing them for the purposes of Torah and mitzvot.

THURSDAY

            Several of the halakhot and customs relevant to the Shabbat meals serve to commemorate the manna, the heavenly food with which God sustained Benei Yisrael throughout their forty years of travel in the wilderness.  The Gemara in Masekhet Shabbat (117b), for example, establishes the obligation to recite the berakha over two loaves of bread on Shabbat on the basis of the “lechem Mishneh” – the double portion of manna that fell each Friday in the wilderness (see 16:22).  Likewise, the Gemara there infers the obligation to eat three meals on Shabbat from Moshe’s comment to the people on the first Shabbat after the manna began to fall: “Eat it today, for today is Shabbat for the Lord; today you will not find it in the field” (16:25).  The word “hayom” (“today”) appears three times in this verse, alluding to the three meals which one must conduct on Shabbat.  And, according to many Rishonim, the bread over which one recites the berakha on Shabbat must be surrounded by some material on top and on bottom, in commemoration of the manna which, as the Torah describes (16:14), was surrounded on top and on bottom by layers of dew.  Among the Rishonim who draw this connection between covering the bread on the manna are Tosefot (Shabbat 103b), Semag (mitzvat asei 30) and Shibolei Ha-leket (Shabbat 68).  (See Torah Sheleima, note 85.)

            Why do we commemorate the miracle of the manna on Shabbat?  What might the connection be between our observance of Shabbat – particularly the special meals eaten on Shabbat – and Benei Yisrael’s supernatural sustenance in the wilderness?

            Among the obvious and most prominent features of the manna is the effortlessness with which it was obtained.  Benei Yisrael’s existence in the wilderness did not require exertion, creativity, labor, industriousness or pressured work.  They simply walked outside the camp and collected their daily rations of food.  Once they entered Eretz Yisrael, of course, the situation changed, as they began tilling the land and developing a national economy.  But the experience of the manna, as Moshe discusses at length in Sefer Devarim (chapter 8), was to convey the message that despite our efforts, it is ultimately God who provides us with our livelihood.  Even as we go out each day to earn a living, we must remain cognizant of the fact that we are sustained by the Almighty: “You shall remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you the ability to amass wealth” (Devarim 8:18).

            This is likely one of the purposes served by the observance of Shabbat.  While during the workweek we are busy with the pressures of earning a livelihood, investing considerable time, effort, energy, skills and creativity in an effort to accumulate wealth, on Shabbat we are to view our material possessions as coming directly from the heavens.  When we sit to eat our meals during the week, we are entitled to feel a degree of pride as we partake of the fruits of our labor.  But as we sit down to the Shabbat table, we look upon the two loaves of bread, covered on both sides, and think of the manna which sustained our ancestors in the wilderness.  On Shabbat, we are to feel as though we partake not of the fruits of our hard work, but rather of the gifts graciously showered upon us by the Almighty.

            There may be yet another point of connection between the Shabbat experience and manna, namely, the quality of histapkut (contentment).  The Torah emphasizes that regardless of how much manna a person collected each morning, when he arrived home he found precisely an omer’s worth for each member of the household (16:18).  The manna thus represents one’s minimum sustenance, subsisting upon the barest necessities without seeking luxuries and excess.

            During the week, we are entitled to, within reason, pursue a respectable livelihood even beyond the bare minimum requirements of survival.  Judaism does not glorify poverty as an ideal condition, and the Talmud indeed tells of several wealthy Sages, such as Rabbi Tarfon and Rabbi Yehuda Ha-nasi.  (Of course, there were also some Sages who chose to live in poverty, such as Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa.)  On Shabbat, however, we must feel perfectly content.  While during the workweek we are entitled to place upon ourselves the pressure of increasing our assets, on Shabbat we are to look upon our possessions just as Benei Yisrael looked upon their portion of manna – as our allotted share determined precisely by God.  When Shabbat arrives, there is no longer any need to feel pressured, disappointed, dissatisfied or discontent.  One day a week, we have everything we could possibly need or ask for.  Just as each member of Benei Yisrael always had precisely the right portion of manna, similarly, on Shabbat we each have exactly what we need and what we want, and thus have no need to aspire for any more.

FRIDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Beshalach briefly tells of Benei Yisrael’s experiences in Mara several days after crossing the Sea of Reeds.  After traveling for three days without finding any water source, Benei Yisrael finally came upon water in Mara, but it was foul-tasting.  God miraculously had the water transformed into fresh, sweet drinking water, and there in Mara Moshe taught the people “statutes and laws” (15:25).  The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (56a) explains this to mean that Benei Yisrael were taught in Mara the mitzvot of Shabbat, honoring parents and dinim (establishing a civil court system).

            Various theories have been proposed to explain why specifically these three precepts were selected as Benei Yisrael’s first “taste” of Torah commandments.  One possibility, perhaps, is to view these mitzvot as representative of the three basic categories of Torah obligation, namely, one’s responsibilities to God, to family, and to society.  Honoring parents, of course, reflects the Torah’s strong emphasis on the family unit and connectedness to one’s family heritage.  And quite obviously the institution of dinim expresses the importance of maintaining a society governed by an enforceable legal system, whereby each citizen is held accountable for his conduct as a member of society.  Finally, the observance of Shabbat requires a person to take time from his daily routine, and particularly from his pursuit of wealth, for the purpose of nurturing his relationship with God.  Shabbat reminds us that life is ultimately not about serving ourselves, but rather about serving the Almighty.

            Thus, the institutions of Shabbat, honoring parents and dinim encapsulate the basic responsibilities and obligations of a committed Torah Jew.

            Like the waters of Mara, religious responsibility can at first taste “bitter.”  Living with so many commitments can, at times, feel overwhelming and overburdening.  Ultimately, however, we enjoy the “sweetness” that results from a life of family, community, and spirituality.  It may indeed be difficult at times to juggle these responsibilities, to invest time and energy into one’s personal avodat Hashem, family and community.  The experience of Mara perhaps reminds us that these occasionally “bitter” investments ultimately yield “sweet” dividends, providing us with genuine gratification and a sense of meaning and purpose.