All of the genres are covered in Parashat Beshalach: as the name “Shabbat Shirah” indicates, there is music. There is undoubtedly drama - the splitting of the Red Sea is described as more fantastic than all the prophecies of Ezekiel, and movie directors have since struggled to do it justice. What is less well-known, however, is that the Torah reading contains comedy as well.

Sociologists have long noted the reality that, for better or for worse, the Jewish people are vastly overrepresented in the comedic trade. This is often explained as a reaction to, and as a method of successfully enduring, persecution. However, this explanation is usually not credited to its original source, the great rabbinic leader of 19th century German Jewry, R. Samson Raphael Hirsch.

As the Jews rush out of Egypt, the Egyptians are close behind, and things seem dire. Some of them pose the question: “Is it because there were no graves in Egypt, you have taken us away to die in the wilderness?” (Exodus 14:11) R. Hirsch addresses the unlikelihood that the accusation was sincerely held. Rather, he suggests, it is a sarcastic comment: “This sharp irony even in a moment of deepest anxiety and despair is a characteristic trait of the witty vein which is inherent in the Jewish race from their earliest beginnings”.

In other words, the Jews were cracking jokes to deal with their tension, and they have been doing so ever since. In this reading, reflective of an indisputable reality, humor is a cherished coping mechanism, an invaluable method of maintaining one’s sanity in a world replete with tragedy, agony, and challenge. As such, given that mental health is undoubtedly no less precious than physical health, this necessary element of preserving that commodity might justifiably be identified with the imperative of protecting one’s life and wellbeing.

Once it is accepted that preserving and expressing one’s own sense of humor is vital to one’s emotional wellbeing, it is a clear progression to the next step: providing that service for others becomes instantly recognized as a basic manifestation of chesed, of interpersonal kindness. We need not suffice with logic to reach that conclusion; the message is clearly borne in the Talmud (Ta’anit 22a), in which we learn the story of R. Brokah Choza’ah, who asked the prophet Elijah to identify people in a crowded marketplace who were destined to be rewarded in the World to Come. Eventually, two men are identified who relate that they are “jesters (anshei beduchei) – when we see people who are sad, we cheer them up, and when we see people fighting we work to make peace between them”. Here, the role of providing laughter to those in need of mood enhancement is explicitly identified as one of extreme merit.

While credit may go to the Reader’s Digest for popularizing the maxim that “Laughter is the best medicine,” the message was conveyed as well by no less a master of both Jewish law and medicine as Maimonides, who wrote in his medical tract Hanhagat Ha-Beriut, “…One should strengthen the vital power with musical instruments, by telling the patient joyful stories which widen his soul and dilate his heart, and by relating news that distracts his mind and makes him laugh as well as his friends. One should select people who can cheer him up, to serve him and to care for him. All this is obligatory in every illness” (translation by Dr. Fred Rosner).

Two Kinds of Hands

The Parshah teaches us about two distinct types of “hands”. The place name “Rephidim” is interpreted by Chazal to mean “rafu yedeihem min haTorah” - their hands weakened from the Torah’s demands (see Rashi on Exodus 17:8). This represents the hand of action, of concrete deeds, that can grow weary and falter.

But there is another kind of hand in our reading: “yadav shel Moshe” - the hands of Moses. The Mishnah in Rosh Hashanah (3:8) asks a direct question: did Moses’s hands actually make or break the battle against Amalek, as the text indicates? Essentially, yes; his uplifted hands provided crucial inspiration. When the Jewish people looked up and saw those hands raised toward Heaven, their hearts turned to their Father in Heaven, and they prevailed.

Why was such inspiration necessary? They had just witnessed the splitting of the Red Sea - “zeh Eli v’anvehu” - “this is my God and I will glorify Him” (Exodus 15:2); suggests one opinion in the Talmud (Shabbat 133b), “I am inspired to be like Him”. They were moved to emulate the Divine. Inspiration was at its peak.

The Threat of Cynicism

Yet the nation soon encountered Amalek, who represents, as R. Yitzchak Hutner (Pachad Yitzchak, Purim 1) and other sources explain, the force of cynicism in the world. After witnessing God’s miracles, the nations feared the Jews - all except Amalek, who attacked not in hope of victory but to “cool off” (karcha) the awe others felt. The cynic’s purpose is not conquest but deflation, not winning but diminishing.

Why were the Jewish people vulnerable to such cynicism? Because inspiration disconnected from action becomes hollow. Words repeated over and over without corresponding deeds amount to nothing; they become empty rhetoric, susceptible to mockery. But the opposite extreme proves equally problematic: plodding away at mitzvot without any inspiration, without the fire of “zeh Eli v’anvehu,” produces a spirituality that is mechanical and lifeless. Both inspiration and action are necessary - not just in ritual, but in interpersonal relationships as well. Beautiful words without concrete chesed ring false; acts of kindness without warmth and vision lack soul.

The Modern Agam

The Torah relates that “Now when Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although it was nearer; for God said, ‘The people may have a change of heart when they see war, and return to Egypt.’ So God led the people round about, by way of the wilderness at Yam Suf, the Sea of Reeds” (Ex. 13:17-18). God was concerned that if the newly freed slaves encountered immediate warfare, they would become demoralized and discouraged, losing faith in their redemption. To protect their fragile morale, He chose a different route - one that would shield them from the discouragement that warfare would bring.

Rashi explains how “Yam Suf” comes to mean “a Sea of Reeds”. The word “Suf”, he writes, should here be translated as “Agam”, which in this context means a “marsh” in which reeds grow. The message becomes that God provided them not with “Sof”, which would mean the end (see Siftei Chachamim), but “Agam” - a place that offers emotional protection and allows them to maintain inspiration and hope even as challenges loom.

One year ago, a contemporary Agam embodied precisely this fusion of inspiration and action. Agam Berger, released in January 2025 after 471 days in captivity, held fast to religious values including Shabbat and Kashrut under the most horrific conditions. As was widely reported, she maintained her faith not as mere rhetoric but as lived reality - inspiration translated into action, even when action required superhuman strength.

In a world torn by the horrors of October 7th and its aftermath, this Agam shielded our view and gave us something else to pay attention to. Following in the footsteps of God, she provided a different path for the Jewish people to travel upon, the one she described on the whiteboard she held up in the helicopter bringing her home: “in the path of faith I have chosen, and on the path of faith I have returned”.

Her example demonstrates what happens when the two hands come together. She maintained inspiration - faith in God, commitment to Torah - while also taking action, observing mitzvot in circumstances that seemed impossible. The cynics would say such faith is foolish in such circumstances. But when inspiration meets action, when uplifted hands meet working hands, cynicism is defeated.

Where to Look

The Jewish People are enduring now a period of great anxiety, just as they did all those millennia ago on the way out of Egypt. The comedy of the Exodus - that sarcastic quip about Egyptian graves - reflects our people’s eternal method of maintaining sanity through humor. The inspiration of Moshe’s hands reminds us that vision and faith matter. The action of the battle against Amalek teaches us that deeds must follow.

Then and now, we are reminded that the spirit can be elevated and inspired, rather than discouraged and demoralized; you have to know where to look. You have to seek out both kinds of hands - the ones that inspire and the ones that act - and bring them together.

The sound of one hand clapping is silence. When a nation refuses to let either defeatism or cynicism win, and insists that both laughter and faith have their place; and understands that humor without hope is mere escapism; and hope without action is mere rhetoric; and the two hands come together, the hand of inspiration and of action, they make a sound loud enough to be heard throughout the generations.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​