This is the essence of the Exodus narrative. It is focused on the desire of individuals and then a people to be pulled from a bondage that has held them captive towards a freedom that will allow them to be the “masters of their fate” as Henley wrote. Exodus begins mired in one more famine that has led our people to once again return to the fabled storehouses of Egypt. Maybe the first message should be that our future will not be found in the Kings and Queens, the Pharaohs and Princes of this world. It will only be found when we look beyond our base human needs for immediate gratification and focus on the path of life and the Human/Divine connection that we can forge.
Nevertheless, Exodus begins with a familiar note in history. A new king arose who did not know Joseph. Our storied past as the recorded saviors of the world had been forgotten. We were once again strangers in a strange land with practices and beliefs that challenged the leadership and the society. We were outcasts in a society that were it not for our accomplishments, would have ceased to exist generations earlier. A child is born into the world and is set on a path that would lead him and our people to glory. Through the usual accounting of pseudo-miracles, Moses, the Hebrew Child, suddenly finds himself the play thing of the daughter of Pharoah, the very man who ordered his drowning in the river. From the river he emerges, ma-sha-ch, drawn out as if to say according to our own customs that he has entered the mikvah of his time and emerged cleansed (of Egypt) and ready to forge a new spirituality.
Hayim Nachman Bialik, the great Hebrew poet, wrote these words which speak to the quiet eloquence of the man, Moses.
May my portion be among you,
ye meek of the world,
ye speechless of soul,
Who embroidered your lives in secret,
retiring in word and deed,
Hidden dreamers, small of speech, but great in glory…
Lords of the spirit, and you knew it not,…
artists of exquisite silence,
priests of the stillness of God…
you met, unchanged, all that befell you:
great things and mean, justice and wrong alike.
Softly, as if on tiptoe, did you pass along the paths of life,
Your hearts awake, your ears attentive,
your eyes ever watchful,
And such was the soft gentle message of his gift to our people. Softly, gently, as if on tiptoe we moved from the crucible of bondage in Egypt towards the redemptive freedom of Sinai.
But before we continue with this story, there is a story within that bears discovery. It centers on the collateral damage from our own journey through life. It marks us as unique amongst the creatures of the world. It is what defines us as a covenantal people and in it is a lesson for our lives today. We stand on the liminal, that moment between what was and what will be. For us to step forward there will be casualties. To return means giving up. So step we do, into the midst of the sea. Moses holds the staff out over the waters. I like to think that it was that staff taken from the bush he found in Sinai so many years prior. It has become an extension of him. Into that staff flows the spirit of this man and from it flows the providence of God. As he holds it aloft, the sea parts, exposing a sea bed dry and free of obstacles. And so following Moses we step forward. It is a long and difficult journey. Water splashes us on each side, it is our mikvah. The cleansing waters of the sea surround us and in many ways washes the past away. We are no longer who we were when we first stepped foot into those waters. We are dry, but the tears of joy run down our faces as a far bank appears just beyond the long column of people. Step by step we traverse the dry ground now soaked with the tears of our brothers and sisters. We left the tears of slavery behind to weep copious tears of joy at this moment.
But from behind, far behind those in the front of the line, dust swirls and horses pull at their bridles as the instruments of Pharaohs wrath charge forward. Their faces are filled with rage as they picture the first born of their households lying in shrouds surrounded by scores of crying women and children. They begin their murderous run past the cloud of God which blocked their way and down into the sea, ignoring the majesty of the moment. As they found their path to the sea bed, they caught sight of the last of the column, the weakest and slowest of the Israelites and they drew their swords and gnashed their teeth and readied themselves for the slaughter that would give them solace. But, before they could reach their targets, the walls of water on each side gave way and a tidal wave of water covered them and their horses and chariots. Weighed down by battle armor and unwilling to release their hold on their weapons and horses, down into the sea they plunged never to rise again.
The Israelites emerged on the far banks of the sea, winded and tired, and witness to the greatest act of divine intervention seen so far. The text tells us that Miriam and the women took their timbrels in their hands and danced to a song they sang about God’s deliverance. “Horse and rider God threw into the sea…” Over and over they sang. Could that be the message?
The rabbis recoiled at the joy shared at such a sobering moment. Yes the Israelites were saved, but at what cost. What was the real message here in the moment of greatest redemption? In the midrash, a Bat Kol (Divine Voice) called down from above in anger. Stop this dancing! Are not the Egyptians part of my created world? How dare you dance at the death of my creations! The ground shook and the dancer’s hearts skipped beats as the voice reverberated through the valley. People fell to their knees and covered their ears to mask the power of this voice. There is a deeper message here. Our redemption cannot and should not be at the expense of others. And when it happens, and we are free, we must not rejoice over those who are left behind or those who gave their lives for our future. Remember we must, and honor all creation with our lives.
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