Miracle of the Undone: A Drash on Parshat B’shalach

I love Parashat B’shalach because it offers one of Torah’s most iconic moments: the crossing of the Sea of Reeds and the ensuing Song of the Sea. Whenever I study this passage, I’m drawn to the so-called “miracle” itself. Do I, as a rabbi, have to believe in a supernatural parting of the waters? In my view, Judaism doesn’t require a rigid belief in miracles as divine interventions that suspend nature. Rather, we are encouraged to see wonder—the awe within nature itself, and the meaning it conveys to us when we are open to recognizing it.

I find tremendous wisdom in the idea that Hebrew uses the word nes (נס) to mean both “miracle” and “sign or wonder.” It reminds me that a miracle can be as simple as being in the right place at the right time—like a fierce wind blowing over shallow marshes so that the Israelites can cross. Whether or not God literally split the sea misses the deeper point: can we, in our lives, sense those moments where nature and timing converge so profoundly that they feel like a sign of something greater?

In my experience, Judaism is not about passive belief in unchanging answers; it’s a tradition of wrestling and effort. When we read the text describing Moses stretching out his hand and the waters receding, we are not bound to accept that as a historical fact if that doesn’t resonate with us. Instead, we honor it as our story and use it as a platform for deeper questions: What does it mean to experience the miraculous—or at least the wondrous—in a world where tragedy and difficulty are constant realities? We ask, we probe, we study—not to find some final verdict, but to learn how to recognize God’s potential in the everyday.

For me, one of the greatest lessons in B’shalach is the idea that creation remains unfinished, and that God grants us the raw materials to shape the world for good. Just as wheat must be harvested and kneaded into bread, or as shallow waters must be recognized as a safe passage, so too do I believe we have a responsibility to partner with God by completing the act of creation in our own time. I’ve come to realize that I do not want to waste the raw materials put in front of me—whether that’s physical resources, communal energies, or my own insights and experiences. Each resource we have—be it nature’s bounty, a supportive community, or our capacity for empathy—is a chance to bring more wholeness and hope into the world.

When we pause to notice the wonders around us, when we stop and witness a community rallying in the wake of disaster, or the steadfast love we show each other—those moments become our splitting of the sea. They’re the nes, the sign, that we are partners with God in an ongoing act of creation. May we all, in our own way, open our hearts to the marvels before us, take the raw materials we have, and shape them into blessings for ourselves and for the world. Shabbat shalom.