January 18th, 2019
12 Shevat, 5779
K’riyat Yam Suf (the splitting of the sea), when the Israelites went out from Mitzrayim, is one of those fantastical moments in the Torah. It’s grand and momentous and pretty unbelievable. So unbelievable, in fact, that many people question the historicity of it. Often, when I’m in conversation with individuals that understandably question the relevance of Torah based on various understandings of biblical authorship, K’riyat Yam Suf, which we read in this week’s parashah, is often brought up as the example. “You can’t possibly believe that the sea split and the Israelites crossed, right?”
For me, this is one of those moments where faith is not about historical accuracy or academics. Because, to be honest, it doesn’t matter to me whether it happened or not. I can believe that K’riyat Yam Suf is a part of my story, a part of my spiritual history, even if I can’t prove that it happened, and even if sometimes I am unsure. When we incorporate this story into our faith, into our people, we allow ourselves to connect to a certain type of hope. Hope and faith are both about believing that something is possible, even if we don’t have a guarantee. This is what allows us to cross, metaphorically, from one side of the sea to another.
Since I heard yesterday that the great poet Mary Oliver died, I’ve been thinking about one of her poems in particular, Watering the Stones. In this poem, she explores what faith means. She gives herself hope, gives herself permission, really, to believe something that others might question, that others doubt, because that faith fortifies her. Our questions, in Judaism, are invaluable; we wouldn’t be Jews without them! We pair those questions, all of them, with a faith, even a faith mixed with uncertainty. It’s not a faith in a God that I know for sure will split a sea for me when I’m in a rough place. But it’s faith in the unknown. Faith in possibilities. Faith that there might be a way to cross over to something different. And that I give myself permission to believe.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Sarit
WATERING THE STONES
Every summer I gather a few stones from
the beach and keep them in a glass bowl.
Now and again I cover them with water,
and they drink. There’s no question about
this; I put tinfoil over the bowl, tightly,
yet the water disappears. This doesn’t
mean we ever have a conversation, or that
they have the kind of feelings we do, yet
it might mean something. Whatever the
stones are, they don’t lie in the water
and do nothing.
Some of my friends refuse to believe it
happens, even though they’ve seen it. But
a few others—I’ve seen them walking down
the beach holding a few stones, and they
look at them rather more closely now.
Once in a while, I swear, I’ve even heard
one or two of them saying “Hello.”
Which, I think, does no harm to anyone or
anything, does it?
