On the seventh and eighth days of Passover, we commemorate the dramatic and defining crossing of the Sea of Reeds. This pivotal event encapsulates the heart of Jewish faith—not just as a passive belief, but as an active, courageous decision. As the Israelites stood at the shoreline, trapped between the raging Egyptian army and seemingly impassable waters, their situation was dire. It was here, in this perilous moment, that divine promise required human courage.
A striking midrashic tradition provides deeper insight into this transformative moment, teaching that many Israelites, in fact, never left Egypt. They chose—or perhaps felt compelled—to remain, bound by chains more powerful than those forged from iron. These chains were fear, assimilation, comfort, and the paralyzing inability to envision a life different from the familiar confines of Egypt.
The fear of the unknown was perhaps the strongest shackle. Freedom is exhilarating but also deeply unsettling. To leave Egypt required facing profound uncertainties—food, shelter, security, a path forward. Those who stayed behind, as the midrash suggests, were driven by the logic of fear: the misery they knew felt safer than the uncertainty they could not fathom. This fear was not irrational; it was profoundly human, understandable, and relatable.
Assimilation posed another powerful reason to remain. Over generations, many Israelites had gradually absorbed Egyptian values, customs, and identities. They had grown comfortable—even successful—within Egyptian society. Their Hebrew heritage became peripheral, perhaps even negligible, in their daily lives. For them, leaving Egypt was inconceivable because their sense of identity was intimately tied to their captors’ culture. Freedom meant losing the comforts and identities they had painstakingly constructed, even if built on foundations of bondage.
Additionally, there were Israelites who lacked the courage to envision alternatives. Egypt’s predictability, despite its harshness, was easier to accept than the vast uncertainty that freedom required. Courage involves not just confronting external threats, but also internal doubts. It demands action despite anxiety, movement despite hesitation. For those who stayed, courage was a step too far—a leap into the unknown they simply could not make.
However, Passover’s profound message is embedded not only in liberation itself but in the courage required to claim it. The Sea of Reeds did not split spontaneously. According to the midrash, it took the audacious step of Nachshon ben Aminadav, who plunged into the sea while the waters were yet undivided. His action embodies Judaism’s powerful intersection of faith and action: belief is never passive; true faith is always transformative, requiring active engagement and boldness.
This narrative is not simply ancient history but a living, breathing metaphor for our own lives. Each of us faces our own “Egypts,” our own oppressive situations that we are reluctant, fearful, or unable to leave. These may be tangible circumstances—unfulfilling careers, destructive relationships, harmful habits—or intangible psychological states such as self-doubt, anxiety, complacency, or a paralyzing fear of change. Like the Israelites at the shore, we confront situations that demand active choices. We must decide whether to remain bound to the familiar or courageously step into uncertainty and liberation.
The Exodus teaches that liberation is never merely an external phenomenon; it is fundamentally internal and deeply personal. Freedom is not something handed down from above; rather, it must be actively chosen. Our tradition emphasizes that real faith requires both belief in the divine promise and tangible action to realize that promise. Liberation becomes real when we act upon our deepest convictions, stepping forward even when outcomes are unclear.
Indeed, it is often easier to remain stuck. Comfort in familiarity, even painful familiarity, is a powerful force. The Israelites who chose to remain in Egypt, according to the midrash, offer a potent reminder of how easy it is to rationalize our bondage, to see our chains as safe rather than oppressive. The legacy of those who stayed behind serves as a warning about the dangers of complacency and the cost of inaction.
Yet, the narrative also celebrates those who moved forward, whose faith translated into decisive action. Their courage is Judaism’s eternal call: to embrace uncertainty, risk failure, and trust that divine providence meets human effort. The story of the Israelites who crossed the Sea of Reeds is a profound affirmation that the most transformative acts often occur precisely at moments of greatest uncertainty.
Today, as we revisit this powerful narrative, we are compelled to ask ourselves: Where am I stuck? What are the Egypts I must leave behind? What fears, comforts, or assimilations hold me captive? These questions are not rhetorical. They are the essence of the Passover experience, urging each of us to reflect honestly on the areas in our lives that demand faith and decisive action.
The final days of Passover remind us that freedom is inherently risky, uncertain, and uncomfortable. Yet, they also reassure us that the first step is the hardest—and also the most essential. When we step forward, we discover strengths we never knew we possessed, resources we never imagined, and outcomes we never dreamed possible.
The courage to leave our Egypt requires deep faith—not in certainty of outcome, but in the value of freedom itself. This courage acknowledges fear but refuses to be controlled by it. It recognizes comfort but refuses to be confined by it. It sees assimilation clearly but refuses to surrender identity and purpose to it.
As we celebrate the seventh and eighth days of Passover, let us honor those Israelites who took that bold, courageous step into the sea. Let their legacy inspire us to confront our own hesitations, to identify clearly the Egypts that hold us captive, and to take the necessary steps toward freedom. In doing so, we honor our ancestors’ legacy and fulfill the deepest promise of Passover—the promise of liberation, now and always.
Leave a Reply