When the Sea Splits and When It Doesn’t

In this blog, I will try to reflect on Miracles, Darkness, and the Mystery of God.

This week, we will mark the seventh day of Pesach—a day recalling high drama and spiritual revelation. It is the day when the Children of Israel stood trapped at the sea’s edge with nowhere to go. Pharaoh’s army surged behind them, the sea loomed ahead, and despair filled the air.

And yet, that very moment gave birth to one of the greatest miracles in Jewish history.

But not immediately.

The sea only split after one man—Nachshon ben Aminadav—stepped into the water, walking until it reached his neck. Only then did the miracle unfold.

This moment teaches us that miracles often come after human courage.

This week, we also read Shir HaShirim, the Song of Songs—a tender and mysterious love story between God and Israel. It speaks of longing, closeness, distance, and return. It reminds us that divine love is not always obvious. Sometimes, it hides. Sometimes, it hurts.

In this reflection, I want to explore:

• What is the nature of miracles?
• What is the opposite of a miracle?
• How do we make sense of October 7?
• And what can we learn from Shir HaShirim to give us hope in the face of silence?

The Mystery of Jewish History: Miracles and Darkness

Jewish history pulses with a rhythm that defies logic: deep suffering often precedes astonishing redemption.

• Slavery in Egypt gave way to the Exodus.
• The Holocaust, the darkest chapter in modern Jewish life, was followed just three years later by the miraculous rebirth of the State of Israel.
• In 1967, surrounded by hostile armies, Israel emerged victorious in six days—a modern-day miracle—reclaiming Jerusalem and transforming Jewish destiny.

These moments are difficult to explain with mere strategy or statistics. They feel like ruptures in reality, times when the laws of nature and history bent toward something higher.

But Jewish history is also filled with the opposite.

October 7: When the Sea Doesn’t Split

On October 7, 2023, our confidence was shattered. The fences meant to protect were breached. Innocent lives were massacred. Entire communities were thrown into chaos. It wasn’t just terror from the outside—it was failure from within.

How could this happen in the world’s most security-conscious state? How could such evil erupt again in our own land?

There are reports, investigations, and political reckonings, but none fully explain the depth of the pain.

And in moments like this, we return to the searing words of Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor and moral witness to the 20th century. In his book Legends of Time, he writes:

“Perhaps someday someone will explain how, on the level of man, Auschwitz was possible, but on the level of God, it will forever remain the most disturbing of mysteries.”

This is not heresy. This is a sacred protest—a cry born not out of rejection but out of the relationship. It’s the cry of someone who knows God—and feels abandoned.

The Opposite of a Miracle

So, what is the opposite of a miracle?

It’s not just a tragedy.
Not just suffering.
The opposite of a miracle is the moment when heaven goes silent. When the sea stays shut. When we call—and there is no answer.

And yet, that, too, is part of the Jewish story.

In Shir HaShirim, we read:

“I sought him but found him not; I called him, but he gave no answer.” (5:6)

This is the voice of Israel calling for her beloved, the voice of a people seeking God and finding only absence. And yet, the love remains.

The miracle is not always in the splitting of the sea. Sometimes, the miracle is in continuing to walk, in continuing to love, in continuing to sing—even when the sea doesn’t split.

Our Failure—and Man’s Evil

The Holocaust represented the brutality of man—a collapse of morality on an industrial scale. October 7 reminded us that evil is still real and that we are not immune, even with our own army, borders, and government.

But this time, we must also face a different truth:
We failed.
We failed to see, to respond, to prevent.

This adds a deeper layer of pain. Unlike the Holocaust, where we were powerless, this time, we had power—and it was not enough.

We cannot explain this tragedy solely through divine silence. We must also look within. Responsibility and soul-searching must be part of the response to October 7.

Shir HaShirim: Love in the Shadows

Yet in the heart of our tradition lies a book that whispers hope even through heartbreak.

Shir HaShirim tells the story of a lover who hides and returns, of a bond that is never broken even when it is tested. It is the story of a God who loves deeply—but whose presence is not always felt.

That, too, is part of the miracle:
That after pogroms, Crusades, inquisitions, and gas chambers,
we still believe.
We still love.
We still return.

Faith Without Certainty

We often misunderstand faith as certainty. But faith, in Judaism, is something deeper.

As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks taught:

“Faith is not certainty. Faith is the courage to live with uncertainty.”

Nachshon stepped into the sea not because he knew it would split,
but because he refused to stay frozen in fear.

That is our task now.
Even in the shadow of October 7,
Even when the miracle hasn’t yet come,
We step forward.

Conclusion: Between Despair and Redemption

So where does that leave us?

We live between miracle and mystery, between Song of Songs and silence, between the sea that split and the sea that stayed closed.

We mourn. We protest. We rebuild.
We remember Elie Wiesel’s cry.
We remember Nachshon’s courage.
We remember that even when love hides—it never disappears.

Perhaps the next miracle is already forming.
Perhaps it waits for us to take that first step again.

Featured Video

This week, I attended a tour led by Nachliel Selavan – the Museum guy https://www.themuseumguy.co.il  at The Israel Museum, which opened new exhibitions with fun connections to Pesach, Ancient Egypt, and beyond. I do his tour at least once a year, and he never fails to inspire. This year, there were many gems, and Nachliel even found hidden connections to the broader Egyptian-Jewish story in the “Lucid Dreams” exhibition and more.  Nachliel helped to uncover layers of the Pesach story and to connect them in new ways.

Some photos from the tour (taken by me)

About these photos

Photo of me looking serious with the grave cover, Nachliel with the Alter (see my blog with reflections on sacrifices), and Jewish Soldier Day dated 15 April 1941, which was coincidentally the same date as the tour)

Sacrifice for Purpose, Not for Pride

--

Footnote:

These reflections were inspired by the Biblical texts of Exodus and Shir HaShirim, the history of the Jewish people, and the moral and theological questions that continue to shape our identity. The ideas were written and shaped collaboratively—born from personal contemplation, historical memory, and enhanced with the help of ChatGPT as a tool for framing, refining, and articulating them.