Confusion, Division, and the Danger We Invite
Confusion, Division, and the Danger We Invite
This week’s Torah portion, Beshalach, is relevant to us today. This isn’t just a story of the past — it’s a story of the present. In 5784, Hamas attacked Israel, taking hostages and terrorizing communities. Experts noted that this attack came at a time of internal dissension, harsh words, violent demonstrations, and vituperative speech among Israelis. Just as Pharaoh saw the moment to strike Bnei Yisrael when they were divided, today’s enemies look for openings created by confusion and division. When Jews stop caring for one another, they become vulnerable. This is the lesson of areivut — the responsibility Jews bear for each other, morally, practically, and emotionally.
After the Jewish people left Egypt, the Torah tells us how Pharaoh saw the situation:
“וְאָמַר פַּרְעֹה לִבְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל נְבֻכִים הֵם בָּאָרֶץ”
“Pharaoh said about the Children of Israel: They are confused in the land.”
(Shemot 14:3)
Rashi explains that Pharaoh was not speaking to the Jews, but about them:
“נבוכים – נבוכים הם, ואינם יודעים לצאת.”
“They are confused; they do not know how to go forward.”
The Jews were not lost geographically. They were confused in thought, unsure of direction, and not acting together. Pharaoh saw this confusion, dissension, and division and believed it was the moment to pursue them.
The Targum Yonasan
The Targum Yonasan ben Uziel (1st century CE) explains that when Pharaoh said, “They are confused in the land,” he was speaking specifically to Datan and Aviram, two Jews who had not yet joined the Exodus. Pharaoh, seeing the hesitation, confusion, and division among those leaving Egyp,t said to Datan and Aviram that he believed it was the moment to strike.
We usually think of Datan and Aviram as villains. And for most of their lives, that is true. They caused arguments, provoked fights, and spoke harshly. But Chazal tell us something unexpected: during the plague of Darkness (Makkat Choshech, Nisan), many Jews who had cut themselves off from the nation died — yet Datan and Aviram survived. How? Because even they had moments when they did not turn away from the suffering of another Jew. This was not one act — it was a pattern of responsibility and care, areivut in practice.
The Maharil Diskin (Rav of Yerushalayim, 5578–5638) explains that this merit saved them during the plague. Sustained responsibility for another Jew can protect a person, even at life-threatening moments. Datan and Aviram, despite their faults, had shown that carrying the burdens of others safeguards the nation.
The Lesson of Rabbi Baruch Taam
This principle is also seen in the story of Rabbi Baruch Fränkel-Teomim (Baruch Taam, 5520–5588). When arranging a shidduch for his son, he appeared unusually worried. His mechutenet — the mother of the girl his son was to marry — asked him why he was looking upset:
Rabbi Baruch explained that the town’s poor water carrier, who carried heavy loads every day, was very ill. His suffering weighed heavily on Rabbi Baruch’s heart, even during the engagement.
The mechutenet responded sharply “Why are you upset about the water carrier? What does it have to do with you?”
On hearing the mechutenet’s response, Rabbi Baruch ended the shidduch.
Rabbi Baruch understood that a family that cannot feel the pain of another Jew lacks the fundamental quality of being part of Klal Yisrael. This story shows that true Jewish life depends on sensitivity, care, and responsibility for others — the principle of areivut, more important than wealth, status, or social standing.
The Modern Connection
The lesson of areivut applies to us today. Soldiers leave families behind, parents swallow fear so children can feel safe, communities help the wounded, displaced, and bereaved. These acts of mutual responsibility — small and large — protect Klal Yisrael in ways no weapon can.
Even Datan and Aviram, whose names we associate with villainy, were saved because they repeatedly acted for the good of others. If they could be protected through areivut, then every act of standing with another Jew matters.
In 5784, Hamas attacked precisely because they saw cracks among us — internal division, harsh words, violent demonstrations, and vituperative speech. Just as Pharaoh calculated the moment of weakness in the desert, enemies today look for gaps in our unity. When we turn on each other instead of standing together, we invite danger.
We may be different people, with different thoughts, beliefs, and ways of living, but every single one of us shares one thing: a pintel Yid — a living Jewish soul. When we remember that, we can walk forward together, united and responsible for one another.
Rabbi Eliezer Simcha Weisz