Though we had departed Egypt amid miracles, our liberation still hung in the balance
The night of the exodus had broken our chains, but it had not broken Egyptian arrogance. Enraged by the collapse of their empire and driven by wounded pride, the Egyptians chased us into the wilderness, pressing us against the raging sea.
They believed they could reclaim us, dragging us back to the world of shackles and humiliation. But they were racing toward their own annihilation, hurtling into a watery abyss and a deadly finale to their long and brutal oppression of our people.
Only as the ocean roared back to swallow the Egyptians did we finally exhale. The nightmare had ended. Their corpses washed ashore like broken remnants of a bygone tyranny. Only then did we realize: We were free – not just from servitude but from fear.
It was a moment of great exhilaration, deep faith, and soaring hope. The Torah captures this surge of belief: “The Children of Israel beheld the great hand of God with which He struck the Egyptians, and they feared God and believed in Him and in His servant Moshe.”
Throughout the exodus, we remained cautious and hesitant. But at last, that moment arrived – when a doubtful nation surrendered its disbelief and placed its faith in God. The splitting of the sea, which we commemorate on the final day of Passover, marks the first moment in Jewish history when an entire nation stood together in enduring faith.
When the sea stays closed
We are living through a national and historical crisis that is testing the depth of our faith. Unlike our ancestors at the sea, we have not yet witnessed a final and resounding miracle to steady our belief. Until that moment arrives, what can we draw upon to strengthen and anchor our faith?
Historical perspective
Faith demands historical perspective – placing our current crisis into its proper context. Faith requires us to situate this moment within the long arc of Jewish history, both in its sweeping, generational journey and in the more immediate unfolding of recent events.
The long view of Jewish history compels us to recognize that there has never been a better time to be a Jew. Passover was once a season of fear, when we would barricade ourselves indoors dreading the inevitable Easter pogroms, incited by sermons that either vilified Jews or launched outright blood libels. Thank God we now live in a sovereign Jewish state dedicated to protecting us from the horrors we endured for two millennia.
Even outside of Israel – despite the disturbing rise in antisemitism – Jews are, for the most part, protected by their local governments. Though we are enduring a devastating tragedy, and though our hostages and their families continue to suffer deeply, the Jewish people have never lived in more secure and dignified conditions.
Faith also demands that we uphold a proper perspective, even on the most recent chapters of our history. Though the trauma persists and a decisive victory remains elusive, we have witnessed miracles and achieved remarkable successes throughout this long struggle.
Many of our enemies have been humbled, and some have been eliminated. With God’s help – and through the extraordinary technology He enabled us to discover – we have thwarted countless missile attacks and defended our people from devastating harm.
Faith does not panic; it sustains a steady confidence in Jewish destiny. By reminding ourselves of how much our condition has improved compared to past generations – and even reflecting on our achievements over the past year – we strengthen our faith.
Faith is a duty
Historical perspective also transforms faith from a hopeful wish into a moral duty. Reflecting on past generations who endured profound suffering and relentless persecution – often without the hope we now have – we are humbled to be part of our shared destiny.
Likewise, we owe it to those who continue to struggle so valiantly not to relinquish our faith. We owe it to those who, even now, face immense hardship and uncertainty to remain steadfast in our own belief. Out of moral responsibility to those who bear more than we do, we must keep our own faith whole. Faith isn’t just a condition we find ourselves in – it is a choice we make, a decision to believe.
Faith and questioning
Faith doesn’t mean we are untroubled by questions. On the contrary, deep and authentic faith invites questioning.
If we truly believe in God’s presence in history, in His promises to our people, and if we genuinely care about Jewish destiny, how can we not confront the agonizing questions that have haunted us since Oct. 7? Why did it happen? How could God allow such horror? These aren’t signs of spiritual weakness – they are expressions of faith. To ask these questions is to affirm our belief in a God who is supposed to care, and to voice our deep anguish and shared suffering and hope.
Abraham already taught us that faith provokes questions – it doesn’t silence them. When pleading for the wicked citizens of Sodom, he boldly challenged divine justice: “Shall the Judge of the entire Earth not perform justice?” Abraham was the first to raise such questions, but certainly not the last. Many prophets followed his path, demanding to understand why the Jewish people suffered so deeply. Strikingly, those prophets who challenged God were often praised, while those who passively accepted the decline of Jewish destiny and blamed it entirely on our own failures were rebuked.
Faith demands that we raise questions. But it also demands intellectual humility – the awareness that some historical enigmas may remain beyond human grasp. When no answers surface, we submit – quietly and faithfully – to God’s higher wisdom. Asking is not betrayal. It is an essential part of believing.
‘You are with me’
Ultimately, faith is not only about seeking answers – it is about seeking something deeper and more primal: the presence of God. When King David voices his timeless declaration of faith, he does not speak of understanding or clarity. He yearns for something simpler, more essential: “Even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will not fear, for You are with me” (Psalms 23:4). The comfort lies not in explanations but in presence. David doesn’t steady himself through knowledge; he draws strength from knowing that he does not walk alone.
Faith isn’t built on certainty or insight – it is built on closeness. If we must endure darkness, at least we do so accompanied by God. That awareness, more than answers, is what anchors the believing heart.
We have not yet arrived at a moment illuminated with the dazzling clarity of the sea’s splitting. We still walk through shadows, navigating a world clouded by confusion and unanswered cries. In these historically murky times, faith is sustained not by answers and certainty but by perspective – by recognizing where we stand in the long arc of Jewish destiny and not overlooking the quiet miracles and subtle victories we have already witnessed.
We must continue to ask the hardest questions rather than retreat from them. Faith isn’t about finding all the answers – it’s about having shoulders wide enough, and spirits deep enough, to carry the weight of the questions.
And perhaps most of all, faith is about sensing God’s presence in our darkness, in our pain, and in our most uncertain moments – trusting that even when we can’t see the path ahead, we are not walking it alone. ■
The writer, a rabbi at the hesder pre-military Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, has a master’s degree in English literature. His books include the recent To be Holy but Human: Reflections upon my Rebbe, HaRav Yehuda Amital (Kodesh); in bookstores and at www.mtaraginbooks.com.