Boulder Aish Kodesh

The pattern in Parshat B’shalach is so clear. Having experienced the cathartic exit from Egypt, Israel falls again into doubt as they find themselves sandwiched between the Sea of Reeds and a charging Egyptian army. Having crossed the Sea of Reeds through an unprecedented revelation of G-d’s transcending nature and becoming involved in human history, Israel falls again into doubt as they lack water. After having seen Moshe cast a piece of wood into bitter waters to make them sweet, Israel once again falls into doubt as they remember the meat they ate in Egypt. Having been given nourishment by miraculous providence of manna, they once again fall into doubt, refusing to adhere to even one of G-d’s commandments concerning the manna. And having been given the manna, Israel once again falls into doubt as they once again lack water. And having seen water miraculously drawn from a rock, Israel once again falls into doubt, asking, “Is G-d with us or not?” And then Amalek comes.

This is a pattern that seeks to generate אמונה. This word is usually mis-translated as faith. Faith implies blindness, a suspension of normal human intellectual faculties to accept something that is irrational. There are certainly times when this is necessary, but this is not אמונה. אמונה is etymologically related to the word אומן, which is a craftsman. Another extension of the word is להתאמן – to practice. The word אמונה implies a skill one can become good at, but which requires practice. It might perhaps be translated as ‘loyalty’. The pattern of acute Divine interaction followed by acute Divine withdrawal bespeaks G-d’s desire that we learn loyalty to G-d every time we experience that withdrawal. Having just experienced life-changing revelation after a feeling of abandonment, it is only right that, while feeling a sense of abandonment following that revelation, I would trust that another revelation is close at hand.

Perhaps it is all too easy to become mired in revelation when it comes – perhaps at those moments one is lulled into thinking that that is the way life should be all the time. And when the feeling of being provided for ends, we feel a new sense of abandonment that casts doubt upon the veracity of the experience of closeness we just had.

Rebbe Nachman discusses these two kinds of moments in relationship to Hashem. Independently, the moments of closeness and clarity are called רצוא, and the moments of separation are called שוב. Together, they are called הלכה – figuratively speaking, the body of Jewish law, and literally speaking, walking. The image of רצוא ושוב is taken from Yechezkel’s vision of the Divine chariot, where he sees angles called חיות – ‘those who live’ – going (רצוא) and returning (שוב). These angels, as Malbim describes, ‘run to do their task expediently, and return from their mission, like the flame of a fire that is seen for a moment and then immediately disappears.’ Rebbe Nachman sees these angels as exemplifying a proper model for service of G-d – they are in a constant state of flux between action and teshuvah. Teshuvah here does not only mean ‘repentance for wrongdoing’ – it implies a constant return to G-d in order to be ‘reassigned’, as it were. These angels do not have a life mission per se – their purpose is constantly recapitulated. Rebbe Nachman’s call to ‘be constantly attached to teshuvah’ is a call to mimic the movements of these חיות.

In order to achieve such a level, says Rebbe Nachman, one must be expert in fully succeeding in one’s momentary mission, and, when it is complete, in returning completely to the Source. Each of them involves a certain skill – to run off to fulfill one’s mission when that mission is clear is not a simple matter. It requires a sense of full investment in the moment with full knowledge that the moment will end. And to return completely when the mission is over is difficult as well, since it may unwind one’s sense of purpose altogether. Thus each of these areas of service of G-d requires training and concentration.

Thus it is quite understandable that Israel, when those moments of revelation end, forget that the revelation every happened. It was not, for them, just a moment – it was a lasting statement about who they were as people and as a nation. When it ends, that feeling of destiny ends, leaving a gaping void.

It seems that Hashem was trying to teach Israel a sense of הלכה – of ‘walking’. The rhythm of the חיות must be mastered. They must learn that all periods of light are followed by periods of darkness, just as day is followed by night. And the bridge that spans those stretches of darkness is אמונה.

The problem that faces us so squarely in this parsha is forgetfulness, which seems to be the opposite of אמונה. The most shocking line in the whole parsha is, after 10 plagues, after the splitting of the Sea of Reeds, after a cloud by day and fire by night, after manna and water from the rock, Israel still asks, “Is G-d with us or not?” And with that question comes Amalek.

It is not clear whether that question leaves an opening by which Amalek may enter, or whether that question is a manifestation of Amalek, who, once present in that form, enters in physical form. But the very essence of Amalek is tied to forgetfulness and memory. Here we find, once Yehoshua weakens Amalek, Hashem saying to Moshe, “Write this down as a memory in a book, and make Yehoshua hear it, that I will surely obliterate the memory of Amalek…(emphasis added).” And, again, in Devarim 25: “Remember what Amalek did to you… erase the memory of Amalek – do not forget!” And the way Amalek is fought is by אמונה: “And Moshe’s hands were אמונה until the setting of the sun.”

It is the very forgetting of the way things go, of the very pattern of how life works, that allows Amalek to enter. Amalek is not the darkness itself – it is the dread we feel in that darkness. And אמונה is the way we traverse that darkness without feeling that dread, as Rebbe Nachman discusses (L.M. II:19).

What we find, then, is that periods of darkness are inevitable – necessary, even - and they require אמונה to be navigated safely. Light, or day, or רצוא, may be understood as a period when we know what we must do, and we therefore have the confidence to do it. That certainty, equivalent to the elimination of doubt, paves the way to success. Night, however, is marked by a sense that we do not know what will happen as a result of our actions. It is not a time of confidence per se. But there are really two types of confidence – light-confidence, or confidence backed by clear knowledge, and dark-confidence, or confidence backed by אמונה. Light-confidence is almost axiomatic – I know what to do, so I will do it. Dark-confidence is different – I do not know what to do per se, but I am confident that what I choose will turn out right because it always has in the past.

Thus the period of darkness becomes far more dynamic than the time of light. In periods of light, I already know what to do. The range of effects of my actions has everything to do with how well I do what I know I must do. But periods of darkness are marked by a lack of sense of ‘what to do’. That question is still open. Therefore, the range of effects of my actions is still dependent on what I do as well as how I do it. It is for this reason that Rav Avraham Yitzhak HaCohen Kook wrote that the evening prayer is “a spiritual experience beyond the level to which the soul is accustomed - that is the special quality of the evening prayer. The night is a time of solitude and stillness. It is a time especially receptive to extraordinary elevations of the soul, including prophecy and levels close to it (adapted from Ein Aya vol. I, p. 109, Olat Riyah vol. I, p. 409).

Thus, night can be a time of fear and doubt, or a time of dynamic possibility – the deciding factor is confidence. We are called upon to step, though it is dark. The very nature of that step is that its instructions do not come from G-d. This step is the moment of reckoning as to whether we have integrated G-d’s instruction into ourselves. Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzato writes in his book The Way of G-d that Hashem seeks to give us ultimate goodness, that being G-d G-d’s self. But the ultimate goodness is goodness that is not dependent on another, just as G-d’s goodness is not dependent on another. Therefore, G-d gives us the opportunity to choose to receive G-d’s goodness, so that we may really claim it as our own. Thus, the very demonstration of having truly heard G-d, of having truly integrated G-d’s message, is our capacity to genuinely apply that message in a new situation. This very power is embodied in the Oral Torah – there, we find our Sages applying the principles of the Written Torah in ways that are not at all explicit in the Torah itself.

How will we know if we have truly integrated G-d’s message? What if I thought I had integrated G-d’s message, but had actually integrated my own fiction? Therein lies the most important question. One may dwell on this question forever, and never take a step. Or one may decide to step anyway, despite not knowing what the outcome will be.

At some point in a person’s life, that person must have confidence in his or her feelings, perceptions, and intuitions. At that point, one should say, “I’d rather act, and be wrong, and know where I stand, than be stuck here, wondering forever whether I can trust myself.”

And it may be some time before we know that our decision was the ‘right’ decision. After all, we find Nachshon ben Aminadav having walked into the Sea of Reeds up to his nostrils before the waters parted.

When a person is able to step confidently through darkness, the very nature of relationship to G-d changes dynamically. Rather than lead to a ‘light’ that awaits at the other side, such a move can lead to a dissolution of the split between darkness and light altogether. At those moments, the darkness is inverted to a light that is deeper than what was thought previously to be light. In Ecclesiastes, it is written, “I have found that wisdom is superior to folly, just as light is superior to darkness.” In the Zohar, III:47b, it is written that the truest light is that which comes out of darkness.

There are darknesses that have been walked by others before us. These are, in many ways, not truly darkness, for we have heard report of positive results from the other side. But the most difficult steps we have to make are those that are unique to our own paths. When I must step into a place where no one has stepped, armed only with the strength of my convictions, this requires true אמונה.

And if we are true to ourselves, we will inevitably reach that moment, for we each have a שליחות, a mission, that only we can fulfill. Each of us, being in the image of G-d, is responsible for revealing one facet of G-d. And that journey will inevitably lead us to some crucial point where we must strike out on a path that has not been well paved, where there are no signposts, as if through an ocean of possibilities. At that crucial moment we are alone. Many of us stand at that brink forever, waiting for a sign. And some among us take that step and redefine G-d in the world, saying aloud, “This is my

G-d, and I will make G-d beautiful!”