You can imagine the fear of the former slaves as they fled toward the wilderness, toward the desert of Sinai.
Risking what little they had in Egypt, facing a precarious and dangerous future, these brave men, women, and children were driven by desperation, by a faith in God, and by a passionate rejection of human domination. Determined to meet their destiny with dignity, they packed their belongings and proceeded to flee from Egypt.
Of course, the Egyptians pursued after them. The traditional commentators notice that the Torah uses a peculiar verb form to describe the mobilization of the Egyptians--saying that "the Egyptians marched (singular) after them." According to Rashi, the reason the verb is in the singular form is to tell us that they marched "with one heart, like one man."
The Egyptians were united in their purpose--maintaining the power and supremacy of Egyptian might and wealth. That purpose continues to motivate many of the nations of the world to this day, lending unity and purpose to the pursuit of national interest.
What provided unity and purpose to Israel, our hearty ancestors fleeing toward freedom.
The Torah records they faced this Egyptian ruthlessness with an approach quite distinct from the Egyptian reliance on military might: "Greatly frightened, the Israelites cried out to the Lord.
Lest you think this recourse to prayer is merely a panic--a spontaneous surrender to terror, Rashi clarifies that "they seized upon the occupation of their ancestors. Regarding Abraham the Torah records: `to the place where he stood [in prayer](Genesis 10:27),' of Isaac, it says: `to pray in the field (Genesis 24:63),' and for Jacob, it says: `he entreated in that place (Genesis 28:11).'"
Rashi understands the news that the Jews cried out to God not as some blind act of terror, but as a return to our essence, our true calling in the world. He points out that each of the three Patriarchs were exceptional precisely in their attention to matters of spirit, piety, and faith. All three ancestors turned to God as their center and their core.
In the inferno of Egyptian slavery, the Jews had forgotten their own true purpose, thinking instead that they were to be a people like any other. But in the drama of their liberation, they rediscovered what it has always meant to be a Jew: a people who can cry out to God, a people whose emotional orientation is toward heaven.
Throughout the millennia, Jews survived, not by ignoring the reality of life, not by escaping from the often cruel and disappointing events of everyday, but instead, our ancestors were able to endure and to thrive by tapping into wells of supernal strength, linking themselves to God by elevating their own perspective beyond their own limitations.
Jews learned to measure their lives with a divine yardstick, to seek comfort by living in accordance with God's way.
We, too, have forgotten our true vocation; have grown indifferent to the stunning task handed to us in days of old. To be a Jew, says Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, is to be a messenger.
To be a Jew is to cry out to God.
Shabbat Shalom