You Can Run – Parshat Beshalach 5775

you-can-run

I ran away from camp. Yes, I was that kid.

I went to summer camp every summer from the age of 8 until the age of 15, when it was no longer a yearly priority for me. Every summer I’d pack my bags and head to sleep-away camp. Jewish residential camp provided me the opportunity to be immersed in Judaism, to live a life filled with song, dance, art, swimming, gaga, and learning.

On paper, the idea was magical. In reality, the intense experience of living in close quarters with twelve girls in one cabin for eight weeks was often just a little too much for this introvert. Like clockwork, I’d find myself overwhelmed by the intensity of experiences and emotions, and I’d get the urge to run . . . away. I became known as the runaway camper because once every summer, when something overwhelmed me, I would bolt from my cabin down the dirt road, out the camp gate (before we had locked gates). I’d take off down the road, running as fast as I could until I could just barely see the camp sign. I was a counselor’s dream, as you can imagine. And every year my counselor would tell me, “You can run, but you can’t hide.” In other words, the thing that upsets you or bothers you won’t change just by running away from it.

There’s some comfort in knowing the Israelites tried to run away from their problems too. This week we read parshat Beshalach. 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 and moments of 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. Exodus, like a 40-year sleep-away camp, is a rollercoaster of emotions.

In Egypt, the life of the Israelites was harsh and exhausting. There was no independence and no possibility of change. When God and Moshe offer them the opportunity to leave this environment, they can’t get out fast enough. The Israelites were running from their “problem” of slavery. Once in the wilderness, they realize whether you’re free or enslaved, life is not without its problems. As the Baal Shem Tov, an 18th century Hassidic rabbi taught, “Often in life, we think we can escape our problems by running away, only to find our problems running after us.”

Did my escaping from camp solve anything or simply create new problems? Likely a little of both. Allow me to paint my fleeing from camp in a new light. Yes, it was a misguided solution that probably scared and annoyed my counselors, but it was also my way of removing some of the pent-up frustration so I could clear my head and return with fresh eyes and calmer emotions.

Even once the Israelites are out of reach of the Egyptians, perhaps in their minds they’re still fleeing. Perhaps the real “running away” is their use of a new, defiant voice that, for the first time, is able to make itself heard loud and clear.

The Long Road Home – Parshat Beshalach 5774

In the months preparing for the birth of our first child, I found myself drawn into several parenting books and blogs that offered suggestions for surviving the inevitable lack of sleep I’d soon be experiencing.  I asked my own mom how she comforted me when I was a baby in the hope that I would develop a foolproof strategy for getting the baby (and us) to sleep.  One of the most often suggested strategies was the road trip, even if it just meant circling the block a few times.  There is something about the way the movement of the car rocks a baby to sleep that feels like magic.  Of course, sometimes this means taking the long road home on purpose just to gain some peace and quiet.

The goal of a little peace and quiet is no different in this week’s Torah portion, parshat Beshalach, and interestingly the solution is similar as well.  This week we find the children of Israelon their journey out of Egypt into the wilderness.  The Egyptians run after them, but God stepsin and saves them.  Like life with a toddler, the Israelites’ journey is a mix between awe and wonder at the new, free world around them and temper tantrums directed at God for any particular hardship.  Witnessing this behavior, God realizes that a short “point A to point B” ride in the car (or trek in the desert) isn’t going to make them appreciate the Promised Land more, so the Israelites are sent the long way to get to Israel.

Ibn Ezra picks up on the new, longer route and suggests that the reasoning behind this is that God did not want the Israelites to arrive at the Promised Land too soon.  Having been slaves all their lives, they would not have been prepared to conquer Canaan until they had a lengthy experience of freedom.  Simply put, the Israelites needed time to stretch their legs; they’d been enslaved far too long to understand real freedom. Entering Israel too quickly would leave them without a true sense of the gift they had received.

On the other hand, Rambam takes this notion of a long arduous journey to mean that God was letting the Israelites cry it out. The long trek was God’s way of making them accustomed to the hardships they would encounter as they entered the land.

An earlier commentary found in the Babylonian Talmud in tractate Eiruvin suggests a combination of these two ideas.  “There is a long way which is short and a short way which is long.” The Talmud is saying that both philosophies, the soothing car ride and the long, fussy road, can both be beneficial.

Most importantly, learning that the Israelites took the long route teaches us that easy isn’t always better.   Had God led them hastily into the land, they would have become too complacent about their freedom and would immediately expect the next big, grand gesture from God.  In the end, the Israelites learned to better appreciate what God had done for them and how to recover from mistakes made along the way.  Ultimately, it isn’t about whether the road is long or short; it’s about making sure the journey means as much as the destination.

Don’t Just Sit There, Do Something – Parshat Beshalach 5773

I can tell when students aren’t really in the mood to tackle the learning at hand.  Distractions and tangents happen on occasion, and the students know I have a soft spot for encouraging and answering their questions about Judaism and religion.  The “why” questions are the exception and often my biggest challenge.  The problem comes when we have specific material to cover, and when one “why” question is asked, I can be sure ten more are on the way.  It’s inevitable that “why” questions lead to more questions, not to satisfactory answers.  If I’m feeling particularly creative, I’ll find a way to tie the answer to a why question back to what we’re learning, even if indirectly.  Ultimately, I want the students to understand that asking will only get them so far; eventually they need to take on the responsibility of doing.
This week’s parshahparshat Beshalach, begins the Israelites’ journey from the land of Egypt to their own land and their destiny.  We find a tired and hungry people, wanting to take more than they should when God provides manna, and a thirsty people when the water does not meet their standards.  Exodus is a roller-coaster of emotions; the Israelites are excited one minute and disappointed the next.  They long for their time in Egypt where slavery was harsh, but simple and predictable. 
On the third day of their journey, after the miraculous crossing of the Red Sea, the Israelites are thirsty, having had no fresh water since they left.  When they finally find a place with water, they are bitterly disappointed to find that the place is called “marah” (bitter) and that the water lived up to the name.  Frustrated, the Israelite people demand Moshe to find them water.  And Moshe, equally frustrated, calls out to God. 
The text explains that God tells Moshe to throw a piece of wood into the water, and it will be sweet.  However, a midrash explains the interaction differently.  The midrash envisions Moses asking God, “Why did You create brackish water in Your world, a liquid that serves no purpose?” God replies, “Instead of asking philosophical questions, do something to make the bitter waters sweet.”  Do something.  Take action to solve the problem.
The principles of activism have always played a large role in what makes us human, and we live in an age where the message of acting for a cause is prevalent.  We’ve seen it in the campaign to “Get out the vote,” the Occupy movement, and elsewhere.  We take a stand for our beliefs by writing letters to our representatives, boycotting or supporting certain businesses, and raising money for organizations.  Asking why is the first step, but we don’t just ask why.  We’ve learned we have to take action to solve the problem.
In parshat Beshalach, Moshe demonstrates the power of action.  The waters could not become sweet on their own; they needed a catalyst for change.  So too, we learn that our questions help us identify the space for change, but only our actions can take what’s bitter and make it sweet.
THIS TOO IS TORAH: “There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why… I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?”  Do you ask why things are the way they are? Or, like Robert Kennedy, do you dream big and ask why not? Is there merit to both?

Searching for More When You Need Less – Parshat BeShalach 5772

There’s no doubt about it – transitions can be scary.  A new job means new coworkers and an unfamiliar commute.  Transitioning from single life to married life brings questions like how to share a bathroom, who will do the dishes, when will I have private time.  The transition from lower school to middle school finds our students with all sorts of new anxieties about daily life, workload, and friendships, even when they’re already comfortable with the building and the teachers. 
In Sefer Shemot, the Book of Exodus, the Israelites are in constant transition: from slavery to freedom, from civilization to the desert, from known to the unknown.  In Parshat Beshalach, the Torah portion this week, we find the Israelites on their journey out of Egypt and ready to move on to the next phase in their live.  They have put an enormous amount of faith in God, a force they have yet to truly encounter as a community. 
The fear of the unknown is powerful within the Israelites, and as the journey continues, their fragility and tentativeness come to a head.  As the Israelites are camped out, Pharaoh’s army starts to approach.  Because the people are afraid that they will be captured again, they complain to Moses in chapter 14 verses 11-12 that they would have been better off staying in Egypt.  Even though we sing at Pesach every year, Dayeinu, freedom would have been enough; the Israelites have no sense of security yet. 
When Moses responds with faith, believing that God will protect them, the Israelites seem satiated for the time being.  They acknowledge they have been saved, but are still fragile.  But security isn’t the only human need.  As they journey on, they are thirsty and can only remember the sweet waters in Egypt, the plentiful liquid nourishment.  They complain again and finally receive water, but as I’m sure you can guess, quenching their thirst isn’t the end of the story.  The people feel the pangs of hunger, and they cry out that they require food and to know where their next meal will come from. 
As the people learn to embrace freedom, they also learn that part of freedom is the responsibility to speak up if your needs aren’t being met.  Abraham Maslow, a 20th century psychologist, suggests that individuals can only become self actualized if they have all their other levels of basic needs met.  This begins with physiological needs.  A basic sense that there will be food, water, shelter, and sleep.  The second level that must be fulfilled is that of safety – safety of body, resources, family, health, and property.  The hierarchy goes on to discuss belonging, esteem, and then finally self actualization.  These first two levels of the hierarchy must be met in order to move forward.  It makes sense that the Israelites complained at first.  Their basic needs and safety were not being met, and they didn’t know if they would survive.
But the grass is always greener.  Once these needs were met, the Israelites did not stop complaining and got stuck in the mindset of wanting more.  Water and mana were no longer enough.  They wanted meat, and they wanted more water, better water.  We can certainly relate.  Your laptop is barely a few months old, but that new model is so tempting.  And what’s wrong with buying just one more outfit while it’s in style? 
It comes as no surprise to any parent that has lived through a large transition like a move or a small one like switching to Daylight Saving Time that transitions show us the need for routine, schedule and security.  When the Israelites first left Egypt, they wanted to go back out of fear of the unknown, and it took renewing that sense of self and sense of place for them to put their trust in Moses and in God. 
The Israelites went through several phases of transition, and the story of the Exodus presents us with a choice for how we deal with our own transitions.  We can work to find ourselves by trusting in ourselves and in God, or we can continually find something that we feel is lacking, something that holds us back, or something that could always be better.  The question is how will you spend your journey? 
ללמוד  To Learn: ללמד  To Teach: One of the first things we learn about the Israelites’ journey is that God is going to take them on the long road out of Egypt rather than the most direct way. Why does God make this decision?
לשמור  To Keep:  לעשות  To Do:  Chapter 16, verse 23 teaches us that the Israelites needed to put food aside on Friday to eat during Shabbat.  The idea of setting aside food for Shabbat, or tzedakahbefore Shabbat reminds us that we have a responsibility to take care of ourselves and others at all times.  As a family, try to remember each Shabbat to set aside some time, money or necessities to be donated to help others. 

Are We There Yet? – Parshat BeShalach 5771

This past summer, my husband and I made the trek driving from Los Angeles to Dallas in preparation for my work here at Levine Academy.  We got in the car early Monday morning with our TripTik in hand, counting down the maps and miles.  The drive east out of California was beautiful:  the magnificent scenery of the desert, the grandeur of the mountains, until we reached . . . boredom.  Then I think back to the fifth grade trip I took earlier this school year to Sky Ranch.  In comparison, that drive was only about 2 hours, but 20 minutes in I heard the all-too-familiar question, “Are we there yet?” 
It is only natural when we’re on a journey, whether or not the destination is determined, to want to know when the next rest stop or the end point is coming.   This week’s Torah portion, parshat Beshalach, finds us at the beginning of a journey which will last 40 years for the Israelites as they travel away from Egypt.  Of course even when walking, the entire trip does not need 40 years, but God, as the driver, makes a few executive decisions.  After all, it is important on a road trip to carefully map out your rest stops, tourist attractions, and any construction along the way.  God knew the passengers well and how easily they were scared, so perhaps taking short cuts through the warring lands was not in their best interest.  Instead, God the navigator decides to take the long way.  While not as direct, God hoped this path would lead the Israelites to strengthen themselves individually and as a community along the way. 
But like all groups of travelers whose trips seem to drag on forever when the scenery is boring or when construction adds an hour or two, the Israelites complain over and over and over again.  The whiny, bored chant of “Are we there yet?” begins to weave its way through the Israelite nation.  The people left Egypt where they had food, water, shelter, and work to journey in the wilderness without any clue as to what would happen next.  They haven’t yet felt the freedom of the wilderness or experienced the manna, the dew-like, magical food from God.  The people are terrified and fragile, and they complain incessantly throughout this journey. 
Then suddenly in chapter 15, as the Israelites are in the throes of one of their kvetching rants and wishing to go back, God surprises them.  God parts the sea and the people move through to safety.  And for the first time in their existence since Egypt, the first time for them as a whole, they see the miracle of God, they see the sea split and their lives saved.  In this moment, the whining, the nervous frustration, and the fear seem to melt away as they sing “Ozi V’zimrat Ya, Vayehi Li Lishuah.”  Adonai is my strength and my song, He will be for me deliverance.
While this is only a momentary pause for celebration in the Israelites’ arduous journey, the change from “are we there yet” to a song of praise is rather refreshing.  Like the Israelites, we often get caught up in asking, “are we there yet.”  We’re easily pulled into the mentality of needing to know and not able to recognize the moments of strength, beauty, and good in our world.  When we go on our individual journeys, we may not see the sea split per se, but we have the ability and even the obligation to call out in song, and just for one moment allow the “are we there yet” to be “wow, I’m here.”
Family Discussion Questions:
  1. Our ‘ethical covenant’ reminds us that we have an obligation towards creating holiness in our world.  As a family, how can you remember to stop and say “I’m Here”?  what effect to you think this act might have on our society?
  2. The Israelites called out Ozi V’zimrat Ya, what is your song?