This is the d’var Torah I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on January 30, 2026.

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There are weeks when the Torah feels like a metaphor, and there are weeks when it feels like a live news feed. This is a live news feed week. Shabbat Shirah arrives just as we mark the return of the final hostage, and suddenly the word “unprecedented” feels laughably insufficient. Crossing the sea didn’t come with a user manual, and neither did living through this moment. Being Jewish right now. At the same time, honestly, it’s a very Jewish moment – the kind where you want to sing, cry, and ask God a few pointed questions, probably in that order. 

Parshat Beshalach gives us the dramatic climax of the Exodus story. The Israelites stand trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the sea. Panic sets in. Complaints fly. Moses prays. God responds, somewhat tersely, “Why are you crying out to Me? Tell the people to move forward.” The sea splits, the people cross, and only after they are safe do they break into song: Shirat HaYam, the Song at the Sea. This is not a calm or tidy redemption. It is loud, emotional, and deeply human. 

Shabbat Shirah teaches us something essential about Jewish song: it does not come before the danger, but after survival. The Israelites don’t sing as a plea while the Egyptians are still chasing them. They sing once they reach the other side, shaken, stunned, and alive. And even then, the song is complicated. It holds awe and fear together, relief and disbelief in the same breath. 

Miriam leads with timbrels because, apparently, she packed musical instruments while fleeing slavery. Faith, it turns out, sometimes looks like irrational optimism and emotional overpacking. The midrash suggests she believed there would be something worth singing about, even if she couldn’t yet imagine how. 

This week, as the final hostage is returned, we are standing in that same in-between space. Not healed. Not finished. But on the far shore of something that felt endless. Like the Israelites, we didn’t know how this would end. And like them, we discover that survival doesn’t erase fear; it teaches us how to carry it differently. 

So on this Shabbat Shirah, we sing. 

Not because everything is resolved. 
Not because the world feels safe. 
But because we reached this moment together. 

We sing because silence would be dishonest. 
We sing because gratitude and grief can coexist. 
We sing because Jewish history reminds us that even after miracles, there is still wilderness ahead, and we don’t walk it alone. 

May we keep finding our voices. 
May we keep walking forward, even when the path is unclear. 
And may we always have our instruments with us, forever hopeful that eventually we will sing our song: imperfect, emotional, and real. 

Imagine the scene—towering walls of water, dry land underfoot, and an entire nation walking through the sea as if it were a pedestrian footpath. It’s no wonder that this miraculous event is considered one of the foundational moments of Jewish history.

In this week’s parshah, Beshalach, we encounter one of the most awe-inspiring moments in the Torah: the splitting of the Red Sea (or Yam Suf in Hebrew, often translated as “Sea of Reeds”).

After crossing to safety and witnessing the Egyptians’ defeat, the Israelites burst into song, praising God for this incredible act. The Shirat HaYam, the Song of the Sea, is filled with imagery that celebrates God’s power over nature. It’s a Wow! moment if ever there was one.

These days, we don’t often see seas splitting or manna falling from heaven. But that doesn’t mean the wonders of creation are any less miraculous. In fact, Jewish tradition gives us a tool to recognize these everyday marvels: the blessing Oseh Ma’aseh Bereshit or “[Blessed is God] who makes the works of Creation.”

This blessing reminds us to pause and appreciate the beauty and wonder in the world around us. It’s typically recited when we see something extraordinary in nature, like a majestic mountain range, a stunning sunrise, or a rainbow after a storm.

But here’s the catch: What counts as “extraordinary”? If you think about it, the splitting of the sea wasn’t the only miracle in Beshalach. God provided manna, a food that appeared out of nowhere. The Israelites received fresh water from a rock. Even the way nature was manipulated to allow their survival in the wilderness was miraculous. Yet, the Torah teaches us that recognizing miracles isn’t just about seeing the extraordinary; it’s about noticing the divine in the ordinary.

Was the splitting of the sea just about the moving water? Or was it also about the Israelites having the courage to step into the unknown, trusting that the path would open before them? Perhaps the real miracle wasn’t just in God’s actions, but in the partnership between God’s actions and human faith.

When we recite Oseh Ma’aseh Bereshit, we’re invited to cultivate this same perspective. It’s not just for grand spectacles; it’s for the small miracles too. The chirping of a bird, the smell of rain, or even the crunch of snow underfoot—all these moments are invitations to marvel at the works of creation.

“Baruch dayan ha’emet.” Blessed is the true judge. These are the words that we’re told to speak upon hearing of a death. It’s a short, quiet prayer that simultaneously notes that life is fleeting and often not in our own hands, and at the same time, asks for blessings upon the life that has ended. From there, our tradition teaches us that there are steps to take in order to fully honor and respect the body and spirit of the one who has died.

As Jews, we simultaneously take the time to acknowledge our grief as we step into the ritual actions of burial. This is a call to both pray and to act. This one mitzvah (commandment) sums up so much of Judaism; we are people of prayer and we are people who must work to bring forth change. However, when you consider the breadth of our narrative and our subsequent legal texts, those two verbs aren’t necessarily in the same order every time.

Moses learns this lesson in our Torah portion this week. Parshat Beshalach is notable for showing the power of song. We find the children of Israel on their journey out of Egypt into the wilderness. The Egyptians go after them, but God intervenes and saves them. The Israelites continue through moments of bliss and wonder at the new, free world around them as well as moments marking the occasional temper tantrum at God because the journey through the desert isn’t perfect. God provides manna, and the people want more. God provides water, and the people complain that it doesn’t meet their standards.

On their way out of Egypt, the Israelite people are understandably scared. They see the Egyptians following them, there is a sea in front of them, and they freeze in fear. Moses begins to pray, but God stops him. Why? God explains to Moses that there is a time to act and a time to pray. This moment at the sea is a time of action, not prayer. And we know what Moses does: he lifts his arms, and the sea parts. It is only after he takes direct action that it is the appropriate time to pray. It wouldn’t have worked the other way around. 

How many times do we see people offering “thoughts and prayers” after tragic events? The Torah this week reminds us that perhaps it should be “actions and prayers.” Yes, we can have both a belief in something greater than ourselves and the imperative to take action to create a world that is a picture of justice and mercy. 

As clergy, I do a lot of supporting other people. It might be through a lengthy phone call, a quick text, or an email exchange. It might come in the form of a hug or a gentle hand on the back. Support comes in the form of MealTrains and coffee dates, walking and talking. To be supported at a basic level means being seen. But as any leader will tell you, the support provided by the leader can only happen if the leader is in turn supported. Exhaustion is not a badge of honor. When I’m worn out and in need of rest, Duncan is there to pick up the slack. At various times, I’ve had generous offers of meal deliveries when I’m stressed, or a bag of chocolate to brighten my mood. 

Returning from a month of sabbatical, I’ve been blessed to be supported by others during this time away. From service and lifecycle duties, to program coordination, to even just remembering that I’ve been officially “offline,” colleagues, congregants, and friends have helped me make the most of this rejuvenating time by lifting me up in various ways.

It’s fitting that we see this in our Torah portion this week, as Moses tirelessly leads the Israelites across the sea. Parshat Beshalach is notable for showing the power of song. We find the children of Israel on their journey out of Egypt into the wilderness. The Egyptians go after them, but God intervenes and saves them. The Israelites continue through moments of bliss and wonder at the new, free world around them, as well as moments marking the occasional temper tantrum at God because the journey through the desert isn’t perfect. God provides manna, and the people want more. God provides water, and the people complain that it doesn’t meet their standards.

After the Israelites cross the sea, they end up in a battle with Amalek near Rephidim. The text conveys that every time Moses lifts his arms, the Israelites are successful in their battle, and every time he puts them down, they’re taken over by Amalek. As you can imagine, Moses’s arms get tired. Aaron and their companion Hur from the Tribe of Judah notice this; they see his exhaustion and help him rest on a rock. When that isn’t enough, they even hold his arms up to support him. 

Is there any more relevant connection to what dedicated leadership looks like? I feel for Moses, being put through so much for the sake of community without the ability to really rest, but of course that’s the work of so many leaders. And like other leaders, Moses relies on the support of those around him to hold him up while he serves others, albeit literally in his case. While I’m certainly not Moses, I do feel the strong support of those around me when you hold up my arms to allow me to carry on, and I’m grateful for it every day.

As some of you may know, hiding my feelings on any topic doesn’t come naturally. When I’m passionate about a cause, a belief, a topic, I tend to go all in. It’s been a life-long process learning how to hold back the fire, while allowing the passion to come through and be heard. So far, the benefits are clear. I get so much closer to my end goals when I’m able to keep the big emotions in check and channel my energy into calm, well reasoned arguments, while keeping my listening ears open.  Maybe you’ve found this to be true too, that simply stepping back and allowing others voices to be heard often gets you further than impassioned pleas ever will.

The Israelites also had to learn this lesson on their life-changing journey out of Egypt. Parshat Beshalach, which we read this week, is notable for showing the power of song. We find the children of Israel on their journey out of Egypt into the wilderness. The Egyptians go after them, but God intervenes and saves them. The Israelites continue through moments of bliss and wonder at the new, free world around them, as well as moments marking the occasional “temper tantrum” at God because the journey through the desert isn’t perfect. God provides manna, and the people want more. God provides water, and the people complain that it doesn’t meet their standards.

As the Israelites are leaving Egypt and approaching the sea, they find themselves in a panic. The Egyptian army is behind them, water in front of them, and they’ve never been in this situation before. They scream and complain and channel all their anger at Moses, pleading with him to just stop the journey and let them go back and do their own thing. While they rage, Moses remains calm and says to the entire stressed out nation, “Have no fear! Stand by, and witness the deliverance which the Lord will work for you today; for the Egyptians whom you see today you will never see again. The Lord will battle for you; you hold your peace!”

Can you hear the powerful reassurance in that final verse? Moses is explaining, “God has got you, take a breath.” The Israelites, who had never heard FDR say the only thing they had to fear was fear itself, needed to learn that their reaction to the stressful situation was actually going to cause more harm. Moses imploring them to take a breath and let God do the fighting was his way of reminding them that quiet action is usually more powerful than noisy reaction.

Parshat Beshalach is a lesson that still carries merit today. Staying cool in the face of any situation is made that much harder when things are out of your control, and there’s nothing you can really do to change it. The pandemic has given us plenty of examples of this, when we needed to make plans to move forward but every obstacle was being put in the way. When we’re too emotionally charged, sometimes taking a breath and trusting in the process gets you across the gaping sea and onto safe, dry land much faster.