It was the summer of 1984. The sun shone bright upon Western Maine's Sebago Lake as we, the Water Team, took our place next to our opponent, the Land Team, for the final song competition. "The land needs the water and the water needs the land. You know they go together, hand in hand. One by itself would never do. That's why God created both the two." We were appealing to the judges' sense of good sportsmanship. Hoaky? Sure. Nonetheless, there's a deep truth in those words that David M. pointed out to me this week. When we came through the Reed Sea, the real miracle wasn't that we were walking on dry land, we do that every day. The real miracle was that we entered the sea.
Fleeing through the desert, a pillar of cloud led us by day and a pillar of fire by night. What kind of message did God intend them to convey? The Ishbitzer Rebbe teaches that at night, when darkness comes, inner strength and security often vanish. When the world around us says "go to sleep…enough already…you've lost your chance," that pillar of fire stands as a testament to our deep convictions. As long as we want to walk the path toward our goals, there will be a light for us. In the day time, though, it's clear what we have to do. We lay out a path for ourselves and we march…straight toward what we know is right. Right? Well…maybe we don't really know. I want to find my path so badly, I invent ways to justify my actions to convince myself that I'm doing all I can to get there. On days like that, I become so sure of myself, that I could trip over a piece of loving advice from a friend and I wouldn't even recognize it. That cloud was there, smack in front of our faces everyday. "You think you know the truth?" "You think you've got it all figured out?" it beckoned. "Well, why don't you try mixing it up a little bit. Life, God, your path…none of those are crystal clear, so don't fool yourself into thinking they are. Be alive in that cloud and you'll find your way."
More than a balance, to live life in search of truth, in search of connection, means having both the fire and the cloud side by side always. That's the way the water and the land hold hands. In the whirling, churning waves of the sea lurk serious fear of what's beyond us, serious humility towards what we don't know. After centuries in slavery, we needed to go through that mikvah of the sea to wash off that dry land mentality that security is the best policy. All through the trip into the desert, we opted to return to Egypt. We would again be slaves, but we wouldn't have to wonder where our next meal would come from, or when we'd finally get to rest our feet. Even today, it's often tempting to take the "tried and true" over the "what could be."
I have to believe that if God wants us to go through that ocean of doubt, if God wants us to challenge what we always thought was a given, then God also wants to help us process whatever realizations we arrive at. That's where prayer comes in. "The Children of Israel went on dry land in the midst of the sea…Then Moshe and the Children of Israel sang…" (Ex 14:29-15:1) That's prayer. We still sing this song today, during the morning davening. When we sing, when we cry, when we share our story, when we make the waters cloudy digging up the dirt of the dry land…that's also prayer. God hears prayer, and God answers. God heard our moaning and we were freed from Egypt. Our ability to sing in those few moments that we were being washed free of that dry land was the answer to our cry. On this Shabbat Shira (Shabbat of Song) may we all sing out to God, in the midst of the sea, from the depths of our soul.