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This week, the portion, Beshalach (Exodus 13:17–17:16) tells the story of a people in motion. The sea splits, the Israelites walk through on dry land, and suddenly slavery is behind them. But almost immediately, a new challenge appears: how to live responsibly in freedom.

They complain of thirst. They worry about food. And God responds with manna — just enough for each day. No hoarding. No wasting. No excess. The message is subtle but powerful: freedom requires trust, restraint, and care for what we are given.

At the very beginning of the portion, in a detail that is easy to miss, the Torah tells us that Moses does not leave Egypt empty-handed. He takes with him the bones of Joseph, fulfilling a promise made generations earlier. Even in the rush of redemption, even with miracles unfolding, the Israelites carry their dead with them. Liberation is not only about moving forward; it is about honoring those who could not walk the final steps themselves.

This week, that ancient image resonates deeply. We received the news that the last remains of hostage Ram Givili were found and returned. Like Joseph’s bones, his remains remind us that dignity does not end with death, and responsibility does not end with rescue. A people in motion does not abandon its own. We carry memory, loss, and love with us — even through the sea.

As we approach Tu B’Shevat (Monday, February 2nd), the birthday of the trees, we are reminded that Judaism has always connected spiritual life with the natural world. The Torah calls human beings guardians of creation, not owners of it. Adam and Eve are placed in the Garden “to till it and to protect it” — not to exploit it, but to serve and safeguard it.

In Beshalach, when the Israelites cross the sea, the Midrash (Shemot Rabba 23:2) teaches that even the waters themselves sang. Nature is not just scenery in our story; it is a partner in redemption. And later, when the Israelites reach Marah and find bitter water, God shows Moses a tree that sweetens it. Healing comes not from force, but from understanding how to work with the gifts of the earth.

There is something profound in the contrast: bones carried through the desert, and trees planted for the future. Judaism asks us to hold both at once — grief and growth, memory and hope. Tu B’Shevat invites us to pause and notice that truth. Trees grow slowly. They teach patience. They give quietly: fruit, shade, oxygen, beauty — all without asking anything in return. And yet they depend entirely on how well we care for the soil, the water, and the climate around them.

Our environmental challenges today echo the lessons of Beshalach. We are still learning how to take only what we need. We are still learning how to trust that restraint is not loss, but wisdom. And we are still learning that when we harm the earth, we ultimately harm ourselves.

The manna teaches us that sustainability is sacred. Tu B’Shevat teaches us that growth is holy. And Beshalach teaches us that freedom without responsibility is fragile. As we celebrate Tu B’Shevat, may we remember that every tree is a living testimony to the future we are shaping — and every set of bones we carry is a reminder of who we are responsible for along the way. May we choose habits that protect rather than consume, restore rather than waste, and honor rather than dominate. Caring for the earth, and caring for one another, are not modern inventions. They are ancient Jewish callings. The sea once opened for us, the trees still grow for us, and the earth — and our people — are trusting us with tomorrow.

SHABBAT SHALOM