Freedom. That is where we start this week’s parsha — with full freedom.
Paro attacks.
G-d responds.
We sing.
And now we are free.
But then what?
First things first — we travel three days into the desert and don’t find any water. That, of course, is a problem.
We travel further — to Marah — and we do find water. But we can’t drink it; it’s bitter. The problem persists. And we complain (וַיִּלֹּ֧נוּ): ‘What will we drink (מה נשתה)?’
As far as I can tell, this is a perfectly reasonable question. There is no indication that God, or Moshe, or anyone else is upset by it. And indeed, there is a solution.
Moshe davens.
God instructs — throw a certain tree into the water.
And we have water to drink.
Problem solved.
But it gets better.
We then arrive at Elim and find twelve springs of water.
At this point, we have clearly moved beyond crisis. This is no longer a story of scarcity or emergency. In the desert, water is life — and here there is abundance.
But of course, it seems like there is something more going on here than our technical needs being taken care of. After all, there are twelve springs. It is hard to read Chumash and come across the number twelve without taking note. That number carries meaning in the literary way God guides the Jewish people.
Something is being hinted at here.
And when we move beyond water into the world of food, that suspicion only grows stronger. For not only are there twelve springs of water — there are also seventy date palms.
Twelve and seventy.
Could this have anything to do with the twelve names and seventy souls that came down to — and were freed from — Egypt?
Let us recall:
וְאֵ֗לֶּה שְׁמוֹת֙ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל הַבָּאִ֖ים מִצְרָ֑יְמָה
אֵ֣ת יַעֲקֹ֔ב אִ֥ישׁ וּבֵית֖וֹ בָּֽאוּ׃
רְאוּבֵ֣ן שִׁמְע֔וֹן לֵוִ֖י וִיהוּדָֽה׃
יִשָּׂשכָ֥ר זְבוּלֻ֖ן וּבִנְיָמִֽן׃ דָּ֥ן וְנַפְתָּלִ֖י גָּ֥ד וְאָשֵֽׁר׃
וַֽיְהִ֗י כׇּל־נֶ֛פֶשׁ יֹצְאֵ֥י יֶֽרֶךְ־יַעֲקֹ֖ב שִׁבְעִ֣ים נָ֑פֶשׁ
וְיוֹסֵ֖ף הָיָ֥ה בְמִצְרָֽיִם׃
English translation:
And these are the names of the children of Israel,
who were coming into Egypt —
with Yaakov,
each man and his household came.Reuven, Shimon, Levi, and Yehudah.
Yissachar, Zevulun, and Binyamin.
Dan and Naftali, Gad and Asher.And all the souls who came forth from the loins of Yaakov
were seventy souls;
and Yosef was already in Egypt.
Indeed, let’s take this one step further — these dates trees were able to grow because of these springs of water. They literally drew water from these springs and used them to blossom.
So too, the seventy souls sprang up from the twelve sons of Yaakov. And just as the water of the streams are literally present within the fruit of the date palms, so too the 12 sons of Yaakov — and their 12 names — are themselves counted among the seventy souls who went down to Egypt.
Now, as compelling as this is — it’s worth noting that the Midrash Halacha (which Rashi brings down) has a different understanding of the significance of the number seventy — they hold that it relates to the seventy elders (presumably of the Sanhedrin).
Seems a bit out of left field.
For now, though, let’s just note that this does not seem to be a coincidence — there is clearly something going on with these twelve springs and seventy date palms. For some reason or other — right here, right now — at the beginning of our journey, we need to encounter these springs and these trees.
Why?
We don’t know — and hopefully I will someday be able to delve into this aspect of the story further. For now, we’ll note it and move on.
We travel from Elim and arrive in Midbar Sin — on the fifteenth day of the second month after leaving Egypt. In other words, on the day that will eventually become Pesach Sheni.
Is there any connection? I don’t know yet. I’m just reading and wondering.
Either way, we once again complain (וַיִּלּ֜וֹנוּ). But this time, it sounds anything but reasonable:
וַיֹּאמְר֨וּ אֲלֵהֶ֜ם בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֗ל
מִֽי־יִתֵּ֨ן מוּתֵ֤נוּ בְיַד־יְהֹוָה֙ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם
בְּשִׁבְתֵּ֙נוּ֙ עַל־סִ֣יר הַבָּשָׂ֔ר בְּאׇכְלֵ֥נוּ לֶ֖חֶם לָשֹׂ֑בַע
כִּֽי־הוֹצֵאתֶ֤ם אֹתָ֙נוּ֙ אֶל־הַמִּדְבָּ֣ר הַזֶּ֔ה
לְהָמִ֛ית אֶת־כׇּל־הַקָּהָ֥ל הַזֶּ֖ה בָּרָעָֽב׃
English translation:
And the children of Israel said to them:
‘Would that we had died by the hand of Hashem in the land of Egypt,
when we sat by the pot of meat,
when we ate bread to fullness;
for you have brought us out into this wilderness
to put to death this entire assembly in hunger.’
Whoa — what happened?
Why not simply ask, ‘What will we eat?’ — just as they earlier asked, ‘What will we drink?’ Why this extreme response?
And did they forgot that just a week or two ago they had no water — and that, in the end, they found not just water, but abundance: twelve springs of water?
Yes, it took a moment. But the problem was solved.
Why the doom and gloom?
Why the death wish?
Why the sense of no hope.
After all, lack of water is far more dangerous than lack of food. And yet here, in the desert, the (seeming) absence of food is perceived as a death sentence for the nation as a whole.
Why?
Clearly, they viewed this situation as significantly worse than the lack of drinkable — or any — water that they had experienced not long before. And interestingly, G-d’s response suggests that they may have a point.
Because this time, G-d does not lead to them to a place of bounty. He does not reveal a hidden resource. Instead, He bends — or suspends — the natural order itself and rains food down from the heavens.
Which suggest that, on some level, their assessment of reality was correct.
From a natural perspective, there was no way to bring an entire nation through this desert and have them survive. And from that perspective, the complaint has a certain logic to it. They were not interested in freedom for freedoms sake if the cost of that freedom was national suicide.
But I suspect that this was precisely the point.
G-d intentionally brought them into a place where logic, experience and reason all said: this cannot work.
And it was precisely there — in that arational space — that G-d introduces a test: whether or not we could walk in His Torah:
וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה
הִנְנִ֨י מַמְטִ֥יר לָכֶ֛ם לֶ֖חֶם מִן־הַשָּׁמָ֑יִם
וְיָצָ֨א הָעָ֤ם וְלָֽקְטוּ֙ דְּבַר־י֣וֹם בְּיוֹמ֔וֹ
לְמַ֧עַן אֲנַסֶּ֛נּוּ הֲיֵלֵ֥ךְ בְּתוֹרָתִ֖י אִם־לֹֽא
English translation:
And Hashem said to Moshe:
‘Behold, I am about to rain down for you bread from the heavens;
and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion on its day,
in order that I may test them —
whether they will walk in My Torah or not.’
Which brings us to the questions.
Why the need for a test at all?
Why is the test through food?
What is the connection between food and the Torah?
What is the connection between food and Shabbos?
And why now?
- Why not immediately create this test?
- Why wait until after Marah — after the twelve springs and seventy date trees?
I hope to deal with some of these questions this week (others will have to wait to another time).
And while we’re asking: what is the deal with Marah and the twelve springs and seventy date trees.
Those stories go almost as quickly as they come. A brief mention and that is it.
But — and this is an important but — let’s note what is hiding in plain site within those stories.
At Marah, there is Torah:
וַיִּצְעַ֣ק אֶל־יְהֹוָ֗ה
וַיּוֹרֵ֤הוּ יְהֹוָה֙ עֵ֔ץ
וַיַּשְׁלֵךְ֙ אֶל־הַמַּ֔יִם
וַֽיִּמְתְּק֖וּ הַמָּ֑יִםשָׁ֣ם שָׂ֥ם ל֛וֹ חֹ֥ק וּמִשְׁפָּ֖ט
וְשָׁ֥ם נִסָּֽהוּ׃וַיֹּ֩אמֶר֩
אִם־שָׁמ֨וֹעַ תִּשְׁמַ֜ע לְק֣וֹל ׀ יְהֹוָ֣ה אֱלֹהֶ֗יךָ
וְהַיָּשָׁ֤ר בְּעֵינָיו֙ תַּעֲשֶׂ֔ה
וְהַֽאֲזַנְתָּ֙ לְמִצְוֺתָ֔יו
וְשָׁמַרְתָּ֖ כׇּל־חֻקָּ֑יו
כׇּֽל־הַמַּחֲלָ֞ה אֲשֶׁר־שַׂ֤מְתִּי בְמִצְרַ֙יִם֙
לֹא־אָשִׂ֣ים עָלֶ֔יךָ
כִּ֛י אֲנִ֥י יְהֹוָ֖ה רֹפְאֶֽךָ
English translation:
And Moshe cried out to Hashem;
and Hashem showed him a tree.
He cast it into the waters,
and the waters became sweet.There He set for them statute and judgment,
and there He tested them.And He said:
‘If you will surely listen to the voice of Hashem your God,
and do what is upright in His eyes,
and give ear to His commandments,
and guard all His statutes,
all the illness that I placed upon Egypt
I will not place upon you—
for I am Hashem, your healer.’
Here we see some sort of connection between water and Torah. Okay, it’s not food — but food and water are essentially two sides of the same coin. And we have already noted the (seeming) connection between the twelve springs and seventy date trees on the one hand and the twelve names and seventy souls that came down to Egypt on the other.
And now we note that it is the descendants of those twelve sons and seventy souls who are here, at this moment in this desert, being given this Torah.
They are the ones who are receiving the chok u’mishpat (חֹ֥ק וּמִשְׁפָּ֖ט).
They are the ones who G-d will test — to see whether or not they will walk in G-d’s Torah.
They are the ones who will soon stand at Har Sinai, hear G-d declare that He is Hashem, their G-d.
And they — or their children — will be the ones who fully receive the Torah at the end of forty years in the desert.
And it is here — at Marah and Elim, the first two post-Yam Suf stops in this forty-year journey — that we are given an introduction to the story of the manna, and to its test: whether we will walk in G-d’s Torah.
It all seems pretty connected to me.
The Torah connection we will have to explore another time — but just note, it is there and it needs to be understood.
For now, though, I just want to focus on the element of food.
And I would like to do so by first going back to the beginning.
The very beginning.
As in day one beginning.
The Heavens and the Earth
We all know that in the beginning, G-d created the heavens and the earth. But, interestingly enough — the Torah does not seem to be so interested in the heavens, just the earth.
For example, take a look at the second verse of the Torah (the one that follows in the beginning):
וְהָאָ֗רֶץ הָיְתָ֥ה תֹ֙הוּ֙ וָבֹ֔הוּ
וְחֹ֖שֶׁךְ עַל־פְּנֵ֣י תְה֑וֹם
וְר֣וּחַ אֱלֹהִ֔ים מְרַחֶ֖פֶת עַל־פְּנֵ֥י הַמָּֽיִם
English translation:
And the earth was tohu va-vohu,
and darkness was upon the face of the watery-depth,
and a G-dly wind hovered over the face of the waters.
Note the subject — the earth. The earth (ארץ) is tohu va-vohu (whatever that means). And the waters in this verse refer to the waters that are upon the earth (at least that is how Rashi reads it — and we’ll go with Rashi for now).
And speaking of the waters — they reappear in day two — when G-d splits them into the upper and lower waters. And those lower waters — they reappear on day three, when G-d gathers them into one place so that the dry land can appear.
But what about the upper waters? If we assume that they refer to the rain as the Ibn Ezra, Sforno, the Malbim (and perhaps also Rashi) do, then the upper waters are those waters which fall upon the earth.
In short, the Chumash starts out with a broad view and slowly and methodically moves towards the earth in the more limited sense of the word (aka dry land).
We start with (celestial) heavens and the (planet) earth.
We then move to just the planet earth.
We then move to just the dry land.
And now — with the dry land and the rain it needs firmly established, we narrow our focus again — to food.
וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֗ים תַּֽדְשֵׁ֤א הָאָ֙רֶץ֙ דֶּ֗שֶׁא
עֵ֚שֶׂב מַזְרִ֣יעַ זֶ֔רַע
עֵ֣ץ פְּרִ֞י עֹ֤שֶׂה פְּרִי֙
לְמִינ֔וֹ אֲשֶׁ֥ר זַרְעוֹ־ב֖וֹ עַל־הָאָ֑רֶץ וַֽיְהִי־כֵֽן׃וַתּוֹצֵ֨א הָאָ֜רֶץ דֶּ֠שֶׁא
עֵ֣שֶׂב מַזְרִ֤יעַ זֶ֙רַע֙ לְמִינֵ֔הוּ
וְעֵ֧ץ עֹֽשֶׂה־פְּרִ֛י אֲשֶׁ֥ר זַרְעוֹ־ב֖וֹ לְמִינֵ֑הוּ
English translation:
And God said:
‘Let the earth bring forth vegetation —
seed-bearing grasses,
and fruit trees producing fruit,
each according to its kind,
whose seed is within it, upon the earth.’
And it was so.And the earth brought forth vegetation —
seed-bearing grasses according to their kinds,
and trees producing fruit
whose seed is within it, according to their kinds.
We are focused on plant life. But notice the focus — grasses (עֵ֚שֶׂב) and fruit trees (עֵ֣ץ פְּרִ֞י). And then let’s fast forward to the sixth day — and to G-d’s blessing to man:
וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֗ים
הִנֵּה֩ נָתַ֨תִּי לָכֶ֜ם אֶת־כׇּל־עֵ֣שֶׂב ׀ זֹרֵ֣עַ זֶ֗רַע אֲשֶׁר֙ עַל־פְּנֵ֣י כׇל־הָאָ֔רֶץ
וְאֶת־כׇּל־הָעֵ֛ץ אֲשֶׁר־בּ֥וֹ פְרִי־עֵ֖ץ זֹרֵ֣עַ זָ֑רַע לָכֶ֥ם יִֽהְיֶ֖ה לְאׇכְלָֽה׃וּֽלְכׇל־חַיַּ֣ת הָ֠אָ֠רֶץ
וּלְכׇל־ע֨וֹף הַשָּׁמַ֜יִם
וּלְכֹ֣ל ׀ רוֹמֵ֣שׂ עַל־הָאָ֗רֶץ אֲשֶׁר־בּוֹ֙ נֶ֣פֶשׁ חַיָּ֔ה
אֶת־כׇּל־יֶ֥רֶק עֵ֖שֶׂב לְאׇכְלָ֑ה וַֽיְהִי־כֵֽן׃
English translation:
And God said:
‘Behold, I have given you every seed-bearing grass
that is upon the face of all the earth,
and every tree in which there is the fruit of a tree, bearing seed —
to you it shall be for food.And to every beast of the earth,
and to every bird of the heavens,
and to everything that creeps upon the earth in which there is a living soul,
every green grass for food.’
And it was so.
What an interesting connection. G-d tells man that he has given him for food
Every seed-bearing grass (עֵ֣שֶׂב ׀ זֹרֵ֣עַ זֶ֗רַע)
And every tree that bears fruit (כׇּל־הָעֵ֛ץ אֲשֶׁר־בּ֥וֹ פְרִי־עֵ֖ץ)
Which is exactly what was mentioned on day three. Take a look.
GRASSES:
Day three: seed-bearing grasses (עֵ֚שֶׂב מַזְרִ֣יעַ זֶ֔רַע)
Day six: seed-bearing grass (עֵ֣שֶׂב זֹרֵ֣עַ זֶ֗רַע)
FRUIT:
Day three: trees producing fruit (עֵ֧ץ עֹֽשֶׂה־פְּרִ֛)
Day six: every tree in which there is the fruit (כׇּל־הָעֵ֛ץ אֲשֶׁר־בּ֥וֹ פְרִי)
Of course, in the plant world — there is much more than just grasses (read vegetables) and fruit. There are bushes and flowers and more. But that is not the focus of the Chumash. The Chumash focuses solely on food (including the food that the animals eat).
And that is interesting. It’s almost as if we are slowly zooming in and moving towards food. In the beginning, G-d worked towards creating food!
A Slight Tangent
Before continuing, I’d like to go on a tangent — a short one, but a tangent nonetheless.
I’ve just argued that the first three days are essentially about setting up the conditions for food. The vegetation created on day three is precisely what G-d later tells man He is giving him to eat.
But what about the other days?
I don’t yet have an answer for day four — the sun, the moon, the stars. That will have to wait.
But days five and six? Those are about creating animal life: fish, birds, land animals — and then man. And here, too, we see the same pattern. The Torah is not giving us a comprehensive catalog of creation. It is telling us about creation in relation to man.
Let’s trace it through.
Before G-d speaks to man about food, He speaks to him about dominion.
In verse 26, before G-d actually makes man, He clearly articulates what man’s position will be in the creation vis-a-vis the other animals:
וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֔ים
נַֽעֲשֶׂ֥ה אָדָ֛ם בְּצַלְמֵ֖נוּ כִּדְמוּתֵ֑נוּוְיִרְדּוּ֩ בִדְגַ֨ת הַיָּ֜ם
וּבְע֣וֹף הַשָּׁמַ֗יִם
וּבַבְּהֵמָה֙
וּבְכׇל־הָאָ֔רֶץ
וּבְכׇל־הָרֶ֖מֶשׁ הָֽרֹמֵ֥שׂ עַל־הָאָֽרֶץ
English translation:
And G-d said:
Let us make man in Our image, after Our likeness,and they will rule over the fish of the sea,
and the birds of the heavens,
and the domesticated animals,
and all the earth,
and every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.
In short, G-d notes that man will be made in the “image of G-d” (b’Tzelem Elokim — בצלם א-לקים) — and that because he will be made in Tzelem Elokim, he will rule over these creatures.
All this G-d stated before He made man. And then, once He actually made man, he essentially repeated this point — but this time He articulated it to man himself:
וַיְבָ֣רֶךְ אֹתָם֮ אֱלֹהִים֒
וַיֹּ֨אמֶר לָהֶ֜ם אֱלֹהִ֗יםפְּר֥וּ וּרְב֛וּ
וּמִלְא֥וּ אֶת־הָאָ֖רֶץ
וְכִבְשֻׁ֑הָוּרְד֞וּ בִּדְגַ֤ת הַיָּם֙
וּבְע֣וֹף הַשָּׁמַ֔יִם
וּבְכׇל־חַיָּ֖ה הָֽרֹמֶ֥שֶׂת עַל־הָאָֽרֶץ
English translation:
And G-d blessed them,
and G-d said to them:Be fruitful and multiply,
and fill the earth
and conquer it,and rule over the fish of the sea,
and the birds of the heavens,
and every living thing that moves upon the earth.
Now, notice the parallelism.
On day five, G-d creates first the fish, then the birds.
And then — on day six — the land animals.
In short — the animals that G-d created on days five and six are the animals that He gives man dominion on when He blesses him. Just like He gave as a gift to man the food that He created over the first three days of creatin.
The parallelism is quite noticeable.
So what is going on here?
According to this reading, the Torah is not attempting to explain or catalog every facet of G-d’s creation — nor is it trying to answer some deep or mysterious philosophical questions.
Rather — the narrative focuses on those things which relate to man.
The animals that man will have dominion over.
The food that man (and those very same animals) will eat.
But more than that — in terms of food — the narrative notes that G-d gave us our food:
And more than that, G-d went out of His way to tell us that:
וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֗ים הִנֵּה֩ נָתַ֨תִּי לָכֶ֜ם
English translation:
And G-d said: take note, I have given all of you…
From Creation to the Garden
So we’ve just finished the story of creation. The heavens and the earth, the vegetation and the animals, the gift of food and the blessing of dominion — all of it building toward man, and all of it given to him.
And no sooner do we finish than the Torah seems to start again. A second creation story. The story of Gan Eden.
And here, something shifts.
Creation is about the natural order. Hashem sets up a world that works — sun and rain, seeds and soil, animals and plants — and gives man access to all of it. It’s a gift. And Hashem wants us to know it’s a gift.
Gan Eden is different.
Gan Eden is not about the natural order. It’s about a garden.
What is a garden? A garden is an act of love. Someone plants it, tends it, cultivates it. A garden is not wild nature. It’s nature shaped by care.
And in this garden, Hashem places man. Not to survive. To enjoy.
וַיַּצְמַח יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהִים מִן הָאֲדָמָה כׇּל עֵץ נֶחְמָד לְמַרְאֶה וְטוֹב לְמַאֲכָל
And Hashem G-d caused to grow from the ground every tree that is pleasant to look at and good to eat.
Pleasant to look at. Good to eat. This is not just sustenance. This is beauty. This is pleasure. This is experience.
And then Hashem says to man:
מִכֹּל עֵץ הַגָּן אָכֹל תֹּאכֵל
From every tree of the garden you may surely eat.
Eat. Enjoy. Experience the goodness of My world.
There is, of course, one exception — one tree that is off-limits. We know how that story ends. But for now, let’s just note the setup: Hashem creates a place of beauty and pleasure, fills it with food, places man inside, and invites him to enjoy it.
And more than that — Hashem is there. In the garden. With man.
This is not just provision. This is relationship.
Think about it. When you remember the food your grandmother used to make — the cookies, the soup, whatever it was — what do you remember? The recipe? The ingredients?
No. You remember the love. You remember her. The food was an expression of care, of relationship, of wanting to give you something good. The love was baked into it.
That’s what Gan Eden is. Hashem and man, together in a garden, with food as the medium of relationship. Not just “here are resources, use them as you wish.” But “I made this for you. Enjoy it. I’m here with you.”
Man has a job in the garden, of course. L’ovdah ul’shomrah — to work it and to guard it. There is responsibility. But the responsibility exists within a framework of love and gift.
In the first chapter of Bereishis, the story of creation ends with Hashem telling man: I have given you the food of the natural world.
In the second chapter, the story continues — but now it’s not about all the food in the world. It’s about a special place. A garden. Where enjoyment and responsibility come together. Where Hashem and man dwell together. Where food is not just sustenance, but relationship.
Keep that in mind. We’re going to need it.
The Food Hidden in Shabbos
We might think we’re done with creation and food. After all, once G-d makes His declaration to man, the Chumash lets us know:
G-d saw everything that He had made, and behold — it was very good. And it was evening and it was morning, the sixth day.
And then:
וַיְכֻלּ֛וּ הַשָּׁמַ֥יִם וְהָאָ֖רֶץ וְכׇל־צְבָאָֽם
The heavens and the earth were completed, and all their hosts.
Creation is over. The story of creation and food must be over as well.
But we have to look a little further.
וַיְכַ֤ל אֱלֹהִים֙ בַּיּ֣וֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִ֔י מְלַאכְתּ֖וֹ אֲשֶׁ֣ר עָשָׂ֑ה וַיִּשְׁבֹּת֙ בַּיּ֣וֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִ֔י מִכׇּל־מְלַאכְתּ֖וֹ אֲשֶׁ֥ר עָשָֽׂה וַיְבָ֤רֶךְ אֱלֹהִים֙ אֶת־י֣וֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִ֔י וַיְקַדֵּ֖שׁ אֹת֑וֹ כִּ֣י ב֤וֹ שָׁבַת֙ מִכׇּל־מְלַאכְתּ֔וֹ אֲשֶׁר־בָּרָ֥א אֱלֹהִ֖ים לַעֲשֽׂוֹת
And G-d completed on the seventh day His work that He had done, and He ceased on the seventh day from all His work that He had done. And G-d blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because on it He ceased from all His work that G-d created to do.
Two words stand out: blessing and sanctification. Vayevarech and vayekadesh.
What does it mean to bless a day? What does it mean to sanctify a day? How does one take a period of time and make it blessed? Make it holy?
And what does any of this have to do with food?
To find out, let’s take a look at Rashi.
Rashi picks up on these two words — vayevarech and vayekadesh — and says something striking:
He blessed it with the manna. He sanctified it with the manna.
The manna from our parsha. The manna that is falling right now in the story.
How did He bless it with the manna? Rashi explains: All the days of the week, manna fell in the amount of one omer per person — the same amount for everyone. But on the sixth day, a double portion fell. That is the blessing.
How did He sanctify it with the manna? Because the manna didn’t fall at all on Shabbos. That is the holiness.
And then Rashi adds something important: u’mikra katuv al ha’atid — the verse is written about the future. The pasuk isn’t saying that G-d, at the moment of creation, actually made Shabbos blessed or holy. Rather, Shabbos was prepared from creation for this future purpose — but the actual blessing and sanctification happened later. In our parsha. When the manna fell.
Are you with me so far?
I hope only partially. Because this Rashi, as beautiful as it will turn out to be, right now doesn’t make sense. And I hope you’re noticing that.
If not, let me help.
Before we can see the problems clearly, we need working definitions of bracha and kedusha.
The word bracha, as I understand it, means to give more. And that intuitively makes sense. When we bless someone, we mean more of the good things — health, sustenance, security. More of what makes life stable and allows us to flourish. Adding more of that is a bracha.
Kedusha — holiness — is different. Something is holy when it is set aside entirely for connecting to HaKadosh Baruch Hu.
A Sefer Torah is holy. Its sole purpose is to capture the word of G-d.
A Beis Knesses is holy. You enter that space to think about G-d, to relate to G-d, to speak to Him.
Tefillin and mezuzos are holy. They exist to help you remember and connect to G-d. They are G-d-centered objects.
And there’s one more element. It’s not simply that I decide to make something focused on G-d. It’s that G-d commands it, I respond, and then I create it with the intention that it be entirely for Him. The holiness emerges from that combination.
Now, these are objects. But evidently, G-d can also make time holy — setting aside periods that are designated for thinking about and relating to Him.
With those definitions in mind, let’s go back to Rashi.
Problem one: The blessing.
The Chumash tells us that G-d blessed the seventh day — vayevarech Elokim et yom hashevi’i. And Rashi says He blessed it through the double portion of manna.
That sounds nice. A double portion is more than a single portion. More food, more sustenance — that’s a bracha.
Except for one glaring problem.
The double portion fell on the sixth day. But the Chumash says G-d blessed the seventh day.
The sixth day is not the seventh day.
And it gets worse. Even if you say the extra manna on Friday was for Shabbos — at the end of the week, I have the same total amount I would have had anyway. One omer on Friday and one on Shabbos, or two omers on Friday and none on Shabbos. Either way, the total is identical. I just got paid early.
Where is the extra? Where is the bracha?
Problem two: The sanctification.
Rashi says G-d sanctified Shabbos with the manna — because it didn’t fall on Shabbos.
But how does the absence of manna make Shabbos holy?
If kedusha means something is set aside entirely for G-d, we need to find something here that points to Him. Not having manna fall doesn’t automatically mean I’m connecting to G-d. And Rashi doesn’t even mention not working. He just says the manna didn’t fall.
But I still have manna. It fell double the day before.
So if I’m not lacking food, and I’m not told to refrain from work — where is the holiness? What makes Shabbos about G-d?
We need something here that screams out His presence.
Maybe you have an idea already. But we have to find it. We have to put a finger on it.
And I don’t know if we have it yet.
Back to the Complaint
With all that behind us — creation, the gift of food, the garden — let’s return to our parsha. To the wilderness. To the manna. And to the complaint that preceded it.
We’ve already noted that the complaint about food was dramatically different from the complaint about water. When they lacked water at Marah, they simply asked: Mah nishteh? — “What will we drink?”
A reasonable question. No drama. No accusations. And Hashem answered it.
But when it comes to food, something shifts:
וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֲלֵהֶם בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל מִי יִתֵּן מוּתֵנוּ בְיַד יְהֹוָה בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם בְּשִׁבְתֵּנוּ עַל סִיר הַבָּשָׂר בְּאׇכְלֵנוּ לֶחֶם לָשֹׂבַע כִּי הוֹצֵאתֶם אֹתָנוּ אֶל הַמִּדְבָּר הַזֶּה לְהָמִית אֶת כׇּל הַקָּהָל הַזֶּה בָּרָעָב
Would that we had died by the hand of Hashem in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the pot of meat, when we ate bread to fullness — for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this entire assembly with hunger.
What in the world happened here?
Why the death wish? Why the longing for Egypt? Why the accusation against Moshe and Aaron — that they brought us out, as if Hashem had nothing to do with it?
And what does it mean that they wanted to die “by the hand of Hashem”? That’s a strange phrase. It doesn’t sound like dying of old age. It sounds like punishment. Why would anyone want that?
Let’s slow down and try to understand.
Yad Hashem
The phrase Yad Hashem appears elsewhere in Tanakh — and the Malbim points us to a striking example.
In Sefer Shmuel, David is given a choice of punishments: famine, fleeing before enemies, or plague. And David chooses plague. Why? He says: Niplah na b’yad Hashem ki rabim rachamav — “Let us fall into the hand of Hashem, for His mercies are great.”
There are two noticeable points here.
One — that the phrase יד ה׳ (the hand of G-d) is clearly used by Dovid HaMelech in reference to a “plague” (read, dying by some disease that is not at all understood and over which we have no control). As such, it is a reasonable reading to suggest that too is the meaning of the phrase in our verse.
Two — dying via a plague in some way or other is more merciful than dying via starvation.
But how? Why is wasting away via starvation worse than wasting away from some horrible, debilitating disease?
The answer, the Malbim notes, is that when Hashem brings a plague, not everyone dies. There is suffering, yes. Perhaps even greater than dying by starvation (although, not necessarily so). But nonetheless, not everyone dies from the disease. At the very least, a remnant survives.
Starvation, on the other hand, has the potential to be total and absolute. If there is no food, then there is no food. And if that goes on long enough, then death follows. And it follows for everyone. No one ultimately speaking survives starvation.
As such, if you are in the desert and run out of food — then everyone dies. And now the complaint starts to make sense.
They’re not just saying they’d rather die full than hungry. Rather, they’re making a calculation about national survival. They’re saying: If we had stayed in Egypt and refused to leave — and G-d had struck us with a plague, then there is hope that at least some of us would have survived. There would have been a remnant. The Jewish people would have continued.
But you, Moshe and Aaron — you convinced everyone to leave (including those who didn’t want to go — see the Netzviv). And now look where we are. In a wilderness. With no food. And no way to get any.
This isn’t just hunger. This is national extinction.
And indeed, from a purely natural perspective, they had a point. There was no way to sustain an entire nation in the desert. The math didn’t work.
But that, of course, was precisely the point.
The Full Experience of Food
There’s another layer hidden in their words. Look carefully at what they longed for:
B’shivteinu al sir habasar — when we sat by the pot of meat B’ochleinu lechem lasova — when we ate bread to fullness
So we have sitting by the pot of meat.
And we have eating bread and being satiated.
Let’s start with the pot meat — the one we were sitting next to.
At this point — we are pre-eating. But what does it mean to be sitting by the pot? One possibility — it is the smell of the food and the joyful anticipation that comes with that.
That is one aspect of eat. That we don’t just enjoy the food itself, we enjoy the idea of the food. And that is an experience we have when we sit next to the pot.
But, of course, we don’t sit and wait — eventually we eat. And here we need to distinguish between the satiation of bread and the experience of eating meat. If you want to feel satiated, eat bread. If you want to experience some of the deeper pleasures of food — have meat.
And so, in this one verse — we can derive three aspects of the experience of eating food:
Anticipation — sitting by the pot, smelling what’s cooking, that joyful expectation of what’s to come
Pleasure — the experience of eating itself, the taste, the texture, the enjoyment
Satiation — the feeling afterwards, the sense of fullness and well-being
In other words, there is so much more to food than just surviving. There is the experience of food — and part of their complaint relates to that.
But even here, we have not fully explored the gamut of emotions and experiences wrapped up in food. There is more. And some of them are not nearly as positive — as we understood all too well when faced with the challenges of the desert.
The Fourth Element: Freedom from Worry
Rav Hirsch makes a remarkable observation. He writes:
“The threat of hunger — real or imagined — undermines all principles, and rescinds all noble resolves. As long as a man cannot disengage himself — not from the responsibility to provide for his family, but from the overwhelming anxiety resulting from this responsibility — he is unable to fully realize G-d’s Torah.”
There it is. The fourth element.
It’s not enough to have food. It’s not enough to enjoy food. You also need to be free from worry about food.
Think about a child in a healthy home. Does he worry about where dinner is coming from? Does he lie awake at night anxious about tomorrow’s breakfast? Of course not. He just shows up at the table and eats. The worry isn’t his. And because the worry isn’t his, he can more fully enjoy the meal (except, of course, for the vegetables).
That freedom — that trust — is itself part of the experience of eating.
In Egypt, strangely enough, they had this. Not because Egypt was a good place. But because slaves don’t worry about food. Their masters feed them — not out of love, but out of practicality. You feed your workers because you need them to work. It’s a degraded security, a shameful security. But it is security.
In the wilderness, they had none of that. No fields to plant. No masters to provide for them. Just the open desert and the terrifying, consuming question: What will we eat tomorrow?
And here’s the thing about that question. Even if you have food today, if you don’t know where tomorrow’s food will come from, you cannot fully enjoy what’s in front of you. The anxiety eats away at the pleasure. The worry poisons the satiation.
That anxiety — that overwhelming, gnawing worry — is itself a form of starvation. A starvation of the mind, even when the body is fed.
The Answer to Rashi
Now — finally — we can return to Rashi.
Remember what he said? Hashem blessed Shabbos with the manna — because a double portion fell on Friday. And He sanctified Shabbos with the manna — because it didn’t fall on Shabbos.
And we asked two questions:
First: Where is the bracha? The total amount of manna is the same whether it falls one omer per day or two on Friday and none on Shabbos. I’m not getting more. I’m just getting it earlier. Where is the blessing in that?
Second: Where is the kedusha? How does the absence of manna make Shabbos holy? If kedusha means something is set aside for connecting to Hashem, we need to find Hashem somewhere in this picture. And “the manna didn’t fall” doesn’t obviously point to Him.
Here is an answer (I never like talking about the answer).
The bracha of Shabbos is not that you get more manna. It’s that on Shabbos, you get the full experience of food — all four elements — without anything getting in the way.
On the six days of the week, you go out and collect. You grind, you prepare, you cook. You are involved in the work of food. And even as you eat, part of your mind is on tomorrow. Will the manna fall? Will there be enough? The worry doesn’t fully leave.
But on Shabbos?
Everything has already been provided. You wake up, and the food is there. You don’t have to collect it. You don’t have to prepare it. It’s ready. All you have to do is sit down and enjoy.
The anticipation. The pleasure. The satiation. And, crucially, no anxiety about food — not about today’s, not about tomorrow’s . For one, when you live Shabbos, you are in the moment of Shabbos — and therefore free of the anxiety about tomorrow. At the same time, in the desert, Hashem was showing us (week after week) that He provides. That we don’t need to worry — that we can rely on Him.
What’s more, G-d had already taken care of Shabbos. He made sure the day before all the food needs were met.
Without work.
Without effort.
Without concern.
The table was already set.
That is the bracha. The ability to fully experience and enjoy food, without labor, without distraction, without worry.
And the kedusha?
The kedusha comes from recognizing who is behind all of this.
When the manna doesn’t fall on Shabbos, and yet you still have food — because Hashem doubled it the day before — you are forced to see something. This isn’t just nature. This isn’t just your own effort. This is Hashem. He designed it this way. He structured the week so that Shabbos would be different.
And what makes Shabbos different is precisely this: on Shabbos, you see clearly that Hashem is the one providing. Not you. Not the natural order. Him.
That recognition — that awareness of Hashem as the giver — is what makes the day holy.
But there’s something more.
Remember Gan Eden? Remember what made it different from creation?
In creation, Hashem provides through the natural order. He sets up a system, and the system works. It’s a gift, yes — but a gift mediated through nature.
In Gan Eden, Hashem is there. Present. With man. The food isn’t just provision. It’s relationship. It’s love.
Shabbos, in the desert, is Gan Eden again.
On Shabbos, Hashem isn’t just providing through a system. He’s caring for us directly. He’s giving us the full experience of food — not just the sustenance, but the joy, the peace, the freedom from worry. He’s enabling it, arranging it, making it possible.
Like a grandmother placing cookies in front of her grandchild. Not just feeding him. Loving him. Wanting him to enjoy. Being present with him as he eats.
That is what Shabbos is. Hashem with us. Caring for us. Giving us not just food, but the experience of being cared for.
That is the kedusha. That is why the day is holy.
All in all — the bracha provides the experience, and the kedusha shows Who (out of love) gave us that experience.
The Gift, Again
And this brings us back to where we started.
In the creation narrative, Hashem didn’t just create food. He gave it. And more than that — He told us He was giving it:
וַיֹּאמֶר אֱלֹהִים הִנֵּה נָתַתִּי לָכֶם
And G-d said: Behold, I have given you...
The manna is the same gift — but given in a way we cannot possibly miss.
In creation, the gift is hidden inside nature. The sun shines, the rain falls, the crops grow. We can forget where it all comes from. We can think the food just is — that it emerges from the ground, from our labor, from the natural order of things.
In Gan Eden, the gift was clearer. Hashem planted a garden, placed man inside it, and said: Enjoy. But even there, the line between Hashem’s gift and our own work could blur. After all, man had to tend the garden. L’ovdah ul’shomrah. It’s easy to start thinking that the fruit comes from your effort.
But the manna?
The manna falls from heaven. It cannot be stored overnight. It comes fresh each day, exactly the amount you need. And on Shabbos, it doesn’t come at all — and yet you eat. Because Hashem already provided.
There is no way to look at the manna and think: I did this. There is no way to experience Shabbos in the desert and not see Hashem’s hand.
The manna teaches us to see what was always true — that even the bread that seems to come from the earth, even the fruit that seems to grow from trees, even the food that seems to emerge from nature and our own labor — all of it is manna from heaven.
All of it is a gift.
The joyful anticipation.
The pleasurable experience.
The satiated feeling.
The lack of worry.
The awareness and experience of love.
It’s all there in the manna.
It’s all there in the fields.
It’s all there in the kitchen
And it’s all there at the Shabbos table — if we just stop long enough to fully see it.