Learning to See Like We Did at the Sea

I was always bothered by the midrash cited in regards to the splitting of the Red Sea: 

רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶזֶר אוֹמֵר: מְנַיִן אַתָּה אוֹמֵר, שֶׁרָאֲתָה שִׁפְחָה עַל הַיָּם מַה שֶּׁלֹּא רָאוּ יְשַׁעְיָה וִיחֶזְקֵאל?

Rabbi Eliezer said: From where do you derive that a maidservant at the Red Sea saw what the prophets Yeshayah and Yechezkel did not?

At first glance, the principle seems preposterous: how could it be that a lowly maidservant– without any particular mental or spiritual preparation (certainly not by Rambam’s standards)– experience a greater level of revelation than a prophet chosen by G-d? Moreover, if it were a nevua-driven experience, how could it have failed to transform the entirety of the Jewish nation so completely that would never have been susceptible to the sin of the Golden Calf?

The experience was transient; hence, the effect did not last. Still, the question lingers: what was it that the maidservant experienced that was so clear that even Yeshayah and Yechezkel were not able to see?

I would like to suggest that the answer lies in the physical sensation of walking through the sea. The midrashim richly fill in the experience based on the pesukim: the waters stood still like walls, yet were teeming with fish. The ground was solid and dry, rather than wet and muddy. The sea did not vanish, but accompanied the Jewish people as they walked through. For a nation that was just yesterday experiencing the whip of the Egyptian taskmasters, this tangible presence of water and unfathomable depths was coexisting at the same time as a safe, well-lit passage appeared.

The normal human response would have been to recoil from such a journey. We, as the readers, know that the Jewish people walked through and came out unscathed. Moreover, the pursuing Egyptians drowned not due to the miraculous crashing of the waters, but rather because the sea returned to its natural state. Yet none of this was obvious as the steps traced a new path on the sea bed.

I want to argue that the Jewish people at the Red Sea achieved a unique ability to hold onto two truths at the same time without needing to compartmentalize them. The nation was able to walk through the sea and experience it as a safe, dry and protective passage while not letting go of the very clear reality that the waters were right there, teeming with sea life, and ready to crash at them at any moment. This level of ability was Divine, in the way that even the least significant of the people recognized the significance of the moment and was able to point: This is my G-d, who enabled me with such a way of perception.

In contrast, the pursuing Egyptians lived in the binary: either the sea was a dry road, wide open to the pursuit of the runaway slaves, or it was wet death trap. When the Egyptians charged in, they disregarded the danger lurking in the towering watery walls. The erasure was enough: the sea returned to its natural state, becoming the muddy grave.

To underscore the unique essence of this revelation, I turn to a different midrash: when the Egyptians drowned, the ministering angels wanted to sing the songs of praise to G-d. In the angels’ mission driven-world,  the equation was simple: the pursuers were destroyed, the oppressed were saved–this is “good”, and therefore a moment for song. Hashem silenced the angels: “My handiworks are drowning in the sea, yet you want to sing the songs of praise!” In the realm of the Divine, there are complexities that are not simply reduced to the binary of “good” and “bad”. Complexity does not disappear even in the moments of justice.

Last week, a disturbing report emerged of a car that crashed repeatedly into the Chabad Lubavitch headquarters. In the simplified world, it would be easier–perhaps even comforting–to fold the story into the familiar binary of “good” and “bad”. Chabad is “good”, car crashing is “bad”, therefore, the person who crashes the car is “bad”, and the way to make the person ultimately “bad” is to invoke antisemitism.

However, a more complex picture has emerged: the man who was behind the wheel sought to convert to Judaism, was rebuffed, suffered from mental health issues, and was likely not in a normal state of mind when he undertook his action.

With these details, it is easy to jump to the opposite conclusion: there was no antisemitic motivation, it is simply a matter of a misunderstood individual, lack of resources for mental health is to blame, Jews and Chabad had nothing to do with it, and why do the Jews always invoke antisemitism as a knee-jerk response?

As we enter this Shabbat, I ask each of us to reach for the level of complexity that the Jews achieved at the Sea and find space within us to hold both truths at once: crashing cars into the synagogues is wrong–and, mental health issues cause people to commit irrational, violent acts. Refusing the binary takes us one step further out of Egypt and towards imitatio Dei.