The stories of Yetziat Mitzrayim, the Exodus from Egypt, are stories filled with miracles.  The obvious miracles, like fire filled hail and tangible darkness, and the subtle ones, like Moshe and Aharon’s speaking with Paroh with impunity.  The culminating miracle, the Splitting if the Sea and the destruction of the Egyptian army, is the most audacious of them all.  Even without all the midrashic overlay, the simple reading of the text is awesome.  From the depth of despair to being so overwhelmed with relief and joy that an entire nation burst into song.  Walls of water, crushed enemies, fabulous wealth, and of course, sweet freedom.

One of the things I’ve always found fascinating about the story of the splitting of the sea is how the people are told that there is nothing that they can do to help.  The text makes it clear that their input was not needed.  In fact, they weren’t even able to pray for help.  Hashem tells the people, “Hashem will wage war for you and you shall be quiet!”  Unlike the Exodus they just experienced where they had been asked to mark their homes with the blood of the Egyptian god in this case they were told to be faithful and passive.  (And if you’ll ask me a question from the Midrash about Nachshon, I’ll tell you that his lone action was in fact and act of faith.  My point still stands.  There was no mitzvah, no act incumbent on the people to merit this salvation.)  The result of this passivity and deep faith is that they are saved.  And they burst into song.

The haftorah this week (the longest one BTW) is also filled with a song. In a time just a couple of generations after the Jewish people enter the land there is war. Devorah the prophetess gives commands the general and the people to gather to fight their enemies.  There is a battle and it is fierce.  And while it is true that the people had G-d on their side and they may have had miracles too, it is also true that they had to work for it.  When all is said and done, Devorah holds the tribes that could have helped their brothers in contempt. And the efforts of the lone and fierce Yael are the subject of much praise. The result of the actions of the Jewish people and their deep faith is that they are saved.  And they burst into song.

Sometimes miracles happen because we work really hard for them, and then we sing.  And sometimes they just happen and we sing.  I have often said that I think that parenting fits nicely into this dichotomy. Sometimes we work really hard to get our kids to do they regular things that make up civility and decent living; don’t leave your shoes where people will trip on them, put your plate in the sink if you are done, say please, stop sitting on your brother’s head, hang up your jacket, flush, that sort of thing.  We work really hard at it. And then the moment comes when your child goes to friend’s house for Shabbos and the report is that he/she was a perfectly polite human being.  And you say thank you, and of course you knew he/she would be, but inside privately, you burst into songs of thanks.

But then there are the moments that are totally unplanned.  When the child says or does something wonderful, something caring, mature, loving, or even just good natured and really funny. Those moments are like the splitting of the sea.  They are miracles that happen when we are passive and faithful.  When that happens, we give praise to the child and then we sing.  Some miracles we have to work really hard for and some are just a gift.  Miracles are funny things, you know.

I’m standing right now at the cusp of what feels like hard work that leads to a miracle.  This Saturday night I’m traveling with a team of teachers from my school in Baltimore (Beth Tfiloh Dahan Community School) to Budapest, Hungary.  Cool, right? This past summer we were contacted by an organization called SOS International that is dedicated to strengthening Jewish communities in Central and Eastern Europe. One of the ways they do that is by creating partnerships between Jewish school in the countries they work with and superior Jewish school in America.  (Yeah, that’s not very humble of me, but oh well.) So after a lot of work, by a lot of people, we were paired with the Scheiber Sandor Gimnazium and I’ll be going there to teach Torah to students in grades 6-13 (yes, 13) for a week. (Yes, they speak English.  At least I am told they do.) I just have to believe that so many people, working with such devotion for the good of the Jewish people, it just has to lead to something miraculous.  I hope I’ll know it when it happens.  I hope I’m sensitive enough to pick it up if it’s subtle of patient enough to see it fully blossom. I know that it might not be so easy to spot, since miracles are kinda funny things.