HAFTARAT PARSHAT BESHALACH - From Fear to Song
Save
Copy
Add to Collection
Export to Google Docs
ShareEven with all the grief and fear, glimpsing a possible end to this war allows us to begin reflecting – on how we got here, how we traversed this journey together, how we remember those who have fallen, how we help those who have been injured, and how we wish to move forward.
Relieved and reassured, the Jewish people burst into song. Just hours before, they had faced their fate with panic, as Pharaoh and his legion of cavalry rushed towards their position on the banks of the Red Sea. With nowhere to flee between the oncoming army and the watery depths, they cried out to God in their moment of crisis.Yet here they were, miraculously saved by the pathway God laid out for them through the sea. As they catch their breath, they sing a song, looking back on their fears, out upon the miracle, and onwards to the bright future of freedom ahead.This emotional redemption at the splitting of Yam Suf is highlighted by the Baal Haturim in his commentary on Parshat Masei. In the recounting of the sojourns of the Jewish people, the Torah tells us that the Jews journeyed from ‘Charada’ to ‘Makhelot’ (Bamidbar 33:25). Rather than reading these as two place names, the Baal Haturim sees in this verse a reference to the splitting of the sea, when the Jews transitioned from terror (‘charada’) to collective singing (‘makhelot’). This shift in mindset is itself an element of redemption – the transition from the mode of panic and survivalism into one of recollection, reflection, and rejuvenation.No less emotionally charged is the song of Devorah in our Haftarah, sung at the completion of the war with the Canaanites at Har Tavor. Years of hostilities finally draw to an end with this decisive victory, marking the start of forty years of geopolitical quiet in ancient Israel. Finally, Devorah can reflect upon what has taken place.Like those who sang the Song of the Sea, Devorah, too, is now able to detect God’s hand in the story, a perspective that couldn’t be seen in the real-time thick of battle. She takes note of which tribes took part in the conflict and which failed to show up – offering praise and criticism, respectively, where they are due.Devorah even closes her song with a reflection on the emotional cost felt across enemy lines, thinking of Sisera’s mother awaiting his return home – a poignant vignette that lives on in our ritual practice through the one hundred blasts of the Shofar on Rosh Hashana (Tosafot s.v. “shiur teruah”, Rosh Hashana, 33b). All of this taking stock occurs not during the war, but after its conclusion, when the newfound quiet began to set in.We, too, stand at a moment that offers the hope of quiet. With a fragile cessation of hostilities holding for now, we feel just about ready to lift our heads and hearts from the emotional drain of wartime. The murdered and fallen will not return, the wounded are still healing, devastated communities are still rebuilding, and the hostages have not yet all been returned home. Yet, even with all the grief and fear we are still holding on to, glimpsing a possible end to this war allows us to begin reflecting – on how we got here, how we traversed this journey together, how we remember those who have fallen, how we help those who have been injured, and how we wish to move forward. Our current relative quiet may not be the victorious relief felt by our ancestors at the Yam Suf or at Har Tavor. But it is nonetheless a moment to embrace, a moment to catch our breath, individually and collectively, and to regain our bearings on our national journey. A journey of faith, resilience and responsibility to build our national homeland. A journey that has carried us through the generations.
