What is the great turning point in Jewish history? Is there a single event that most impacted upon our destiny?
Several candidates come to mind. Perhaps the birth of Avraham, the first Jew, who popularized monotheism. Or maybe receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai, or entering Eretz Yisrael.
While all of those are certainly crucial moments, I suggest that the Gold goes to the Exodus. No single event compares with it for the lasting effect it has on our physical and spiritual selves. What we are today is a direct result of the molding process we underwent in the "Iron Furnace" of Egypt. That must be why we are commanded to remember Y'tziat Mitzrayim "all the days of our lives."
Now, what, then, is the turning point of the Exodus? The pious farmer in this week's sedra, as he encapsulates Jewish history as a prelude to bringing his first-fruits, tells us: "And we cried out to G-d, and He heard our voices and saw our suffering; and He took us out of Egypt."
It was the crying, say chazal. The open, unabashed cry of a desperate People; a cry that spoke much louder than words ever could. A cry that came from our soul, a sound beyond logic and reason, beyond even prayer. It was that cry that pierced the curtain of Heaven and moved Hashem to intervene in history and save us.
In fact, we are told that the slaves of Egypt were not allowed to cry. Only when Pharaoh died - and the Egyptian populace was crying over his death - were the Jews able to let their cries out. While the Egyptians thought we, too, were crying over Pharaoh, we were really crying over our own dismal plight.
Rabbi Yochanan Zweig notes that crying, "tz'aka", is different than tefila, prayer. Tefila implies that we know what we want, that we have a direction (kivun or kavana) in mind. Tz'aka is an elemental scream from the depths that we are lost, that we need direction, that we cannot make it without G-d's "outstretched arm."
It takes guts for self-respecting people to admit they need help. But that is precisely what falls on listening ears in Shamayim and inevitably brings Divine help.
Do not be ashamed to cry, to admit dependence, to plead for help. "There is nothing so whole as a broken heart," and tears are its symbol. We need more crying, more tears, more humility. While no one wants to disturb his neighbor in shul, don't be embarrassed to sob or weep openly as you reach out to Hashem these days.
Big girls - and boys - do cry. At least they should.
Several candidates come to mind. Perhaps the birth of Avraham, the first Jew, who popularized monotheism. Or maybe receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai, or entering Eretz Yisrael.
While all of those are certainly crucial moments, I suggest that the Gold goes to the Exodus. No single event compares with it for the lasting effect it has on our physical and spiritual selves. What we are today is a direct result of the molding process we underwent in the "Iron Furnace" of Egypt. That must be why we are commanded to remember Y'tziat Mitzrayim "all the days of our lives."
Now, what, then, is the turning point of the Exodus? The pious farmer in this week's sedra, as he encapsulates Jewish history as a prelude to bringing his first-fruits, tells us: "And we cried out to G-d, and He heard our voices and saw our suffering; and He took us out of Egypt."
It was the crying, say chazal. The open, unabashed cry of a desperate People; a cry that spoke much louder than words ever could. A cry that came from our soul, a sound beyond logic and reason, beyond even prayer. It was that cry that pierced the curtain of Heaven and moved Hashem to intervene in history and save us.
In fact, we are told that the slaves of Egypt were not allowed to cry. Only when Pharaoh died - and the Egyptian populace was crying over his death - were the Jews able to let their cries out. While the Egyptians thought we, too, were crying over Pharaoh, we were really crying over our own dismal plight.
Rabbi Yochanan Zweig notes that crying, "tz'aka", is different than tefila, prayer. Tefila implies that we know what we want, that we have a direction (kivun or kavana) in mind. Tz'aka is an elemental scream from the depths that we are lost, that we need direction, that we cannot make it without G-d's "outstretched arm."
It takes guts for self-respecting people to admit they need help. But that is precisely what falls on listening ears in Shamayim and inevitably brings Divine help.
Do not be ashamed to cry, to admit dependence, to plead for help. "There is nothing so whole as a broken heart," and tears are its symbol. We need more crying, more tears, more humility. While no one wants to disturb his neighbor in shul, don't be embarrassed to sob or weep openly as you reach out to Hashem these days.
Big girls - and boys - do cry. At least they should.