We know the story: the Israelites trapped, the Egyptians bearing down, then – miraculously – the waters split, a path appears, and they escape to freedom. But what about the unseen battles, the deeper meanings woven into the text?
Shemot Rabbah, that rich collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, gives us a fascinating glimpse behind the curtain. The verse we're looking at is Exodus 15:1: “the horse and his rider He cast into the sea.” Notice anything odd about that wording? Why does it say “the horse and his rider” instead of "their horses and their riders?" Shemot Rabbah 23 points out this peculiarity. It suggests that God didn't just throw the Egyptian army into the sea. First, He cast their angel into the sea! It's a powerful image, isn't it? A cosmic battle preceding the physical one.
Then comes Exodus 15:2: “The Lord is my strength and song, and He has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will glorify Him; my father's God, and I will exalt Him.” But the Rabbis don't just read the words, they interrogate them. "The Lord is my strength [ozi] and song," the verse begins. The Midrash playfully notes that the Hebrew word ozi (strength) can also be understood as adi, which means ornament or crown (as noted in Midrash HaMevoar). So, God is not just our strength, but also a crown upon our heads, our ultimate adornment.
And what about "He has become my salvation?" Why "has become," and not "will be?" The text emphasizes the immediate, tangible nature of the miracle. "He was for me and will be for me," the Midrash explains. God’s presence isn't just a future promise; it’s a present reality, deeply rooted in their history.
But here's the real kicker. Rabbi Berekhya asks us to consider the immense spiritual level of those who crossed the Red Sea. Think about Moses, who pleaded with God to see His glory, as we read in Exodus 33:18. God, in turn, tells Moses, "You are unable to see My face" (Exodus 33:20). Eventually, God allows Moses to glimpse His back, as described in Exodus 33:22-23.
Now, compare that to the Israelites at the Red Sea. Even the celestial beings, the beasts bearing God's chariot described by Ezekiel, don't always recognize His presence. They say, "Where is He? We do not know whether He is here, or whether He is elsewhere, rather, wherever He is: “Blessed is the glory of the Lord from His place”’ (Ezekiel 3:12). They acknowledge His glory, but from a distance.
But those who emerged from the sea? They saw God's presence so clearly that they could point and declare, "This is my God, and I will glorify Him!"
The Midrash then recounts God saying to Israel, "In this world, you said before Me once: 'This [zeh] is My God,' but in the future you will say the same thing twice..." leading to the prophecy in Isaiah 25:9: "It will be said on that day: Behold, this [zeh] is our God, we waited for Him to save us. This [zeh] [is the Lord; for whom we waited. We will be glad and rejoice in His salvation]." The repetition of “zeh” – "this" – emphasizes a future, even greater revelation of God's presence.
So, what does it all mean? It suggests that moments of profound transformation, like the crossing of the Red Sea, can grant us a clarity of vision, an awareness of God's presence, that's normally beyond our grasp. It's a reminder to look for those moments in our own lives, those times when we can point and say, with absolute certainty, "This is my God." And to remember that the journey towards that clarity is a continuous one, a path of waiting, hoping, and ultimately, rejoicing in His salvation.