Michael was sitting outside the main office of the yeshiva, waiting for the taxi to take him to Ben Gurion. He had two large suitcases to schlep to the airport. One was filled with his clothes—ready for his mother to launder, and the other was packed with sefarim, all his books from his time learning at Yeshivat Harei Yerushalayim. The suitcase of books would definitely be overweight, but he was willing to pay to bring it home. It was worth every penny, or shekel, as the case might be. It was a dreary day in Jerusalem, one of those days where it was cold and raw and it might rain at any time, and Michael was feeling kind of blah.

It was five minutes until the sherut to Tel Aviv was scheduled to arrive, and Michael sat at the yeshiva’s gates alone, contemplating the future. At least, he thought he was alone. As he looked over to the right side of the bench at which he sat, there was the rosh yeshiva, Rav Birnbaum, sitting next to him. It was as if he had materialized from nowhere.

Michael went to stand, both out of respect and shock—in his year at the yeshiva he had experienced very few one-on-one conversations with the institution’s lead rabbi—but Rav Birnbaum motioned for him to stay seated. The two sat there for a minute in silence, listening to the traffic roar by on Rechov Emek Refaim in the distance. Finally the rosh yeshiva spoke.

“It’s tough going back, isn’t it?”

Michael just sighed.

“After a year in yeshiva, college in New Jersey must seem really far away.”

“You have no idea.”

“I have a pretty good idea. We all have moments like that in our lives.”

Michael smiled politely at Rabbi Birnbaum. He sincerely doubted the rabbi could understand what the prospect of four years at Rutgers University in scenic New Brunswick would be like after a long stint in yeshiva.

“Uhuh.”

“It’s a brave new world out there, Michael.”

“If you say so, Rav Birnbaum.”

“It kind of reminds me of this week’s parsha, Beshalach.”

Michael looked at the rosh yeshiva and smiled. Apparently, the Rav was going to squeeze Torah into Michael’s Israel experience until the very last second.

“Really, HaRav; how so?”

“When klal Yisrael crossed the Yam Suf, the Reed Sea, they were completely dependent on God for their miraculous escape from Egypt and their rescue from the Egyptian chariots. They were the recipients of Hashem’s largesse and learned to believe in Him from the wonders they experienced.

“But once they came out on the other side of the sea, it was time for them to act for themselves. It was as if the Reed Sea was a great divide between the experience of leaving Egypt and the experience of becoming an independent nation. True, there were still miracles to come, like being fed manna every day and hitting a rock to receive water, but really it was time for them to start fending for themselves. This becomes evident in their battle against Amalek at the end of the parsha. Moses may have kept his arms raised to help them emerge victorious, but the people of Israel did the real fighting. No more was God fighting their battles. It was up to them to succeed.

“That’s what it’s like for you now, Michael. It was a meaningful experience for you in the safe cocoon here in yeshiva, but now you’re going off to be your own man. Hopefully that will involve strict Jewish observance and lots of Torah learning, but that’s really up to you now. You’re about to cross the sea, both literally and figuratively.”

Michael continued to stare off into the distance.

“That’s really nice, Rav Birnbaum, but how do I know I will have the strength to keep dedicated?”

“I have faith in you, Michael. You’ll do fine.”

“I wish I was as certain as you are.”

“You know,” the rabbi continued,” in another place in the parsha, just after God delivers water from the rock, they name the spot where the miracle occurred. The Torah states: Vayikra shem hamakom Massa uMeriva, al riv b’nei Yisrael, ve-al nasotam et Hashem laymor, hayesh Hashem bekirbeinu im lo.* He called the place Massa uMeriva, because of the quarreling Israelites, and because they tested Hashem saying, is God among us (bekirbeinu) or not?

“Bekirbeinu can have two meanings. It can mean ‘among us,’ but in a psychological sense it can mean ‘within us.’ So when klal Yisrael asks ‘Hayesh Hashem bekirbeinu,’ what they’re really worried about is whether they have God within them. As long as they do, they can go on by themselves to defeat Amalek, or whatever personal challenge they encounter. Do you see what I mean?”**

“I guess so,” Michael said.

“After all of your Jewish education and your year in yeshiva in Israel, and knowing you as I do, I feel safe in saying that you have Hashem within you. So don’t worry. It will be fine.”

The sherut pulled up, already half-filled with passengers for the airport. It was a classic Jerusalem mix of Israelis, Americans, chareidim, chilonim and everywhere in between. Michael rose to pack his suitcases into the back of the van, and Rav Birnbaum walked with him.

They shook hands before Michael climbed into the taxi.

The rav smiled at Michael.

“You know, I really do know what you’re going through. After two years at Kerem B’yavneh I went home for two years at the University of Michigan before I switched to Y.U. and eventually went for smicha.”

Michael smiled. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Wolverines forever. Go Blue. The whole nine yards.”

“Good to know.”

“Then I met my wife, made aliya, and the rest is history.”

“So you really do know where I’m coming from.”

“Well, to some degree. In other ways our experiences are completely different. The Wolverines are a sports powerhouse, and the Rutgers Scarlet Knights are pitiful.”

“Hey, watch it, HaRav. That’s my school you’re talking about.”

*Shemot 17: 7

** Covenant and Conversation, Rabbi Jonathan Saks, Exodus, The Turning Point, pg. 115-123

Larry Stiefel is a pediatrician at Tenafly Pediatrics.

By Larry Stiefel