Parshat Beshalach - The Song of the Future

 BH

Shabbat Shira and the Two Ways of Connecting to a Tzaddik

Parshat BeShalach is known as Shabbat Shira, the Shabbat of song, commemorating Shirat HaYam, the Song of the Sea. In Breslov tradition, this Shabbat carries a unique spiritual weight, tied directly to the relationship between the Tzaddik and his followers.

During the lifetime of Rebbe Nachman, there were two distinct ways his Chassidim connected to him. At certain appointed times—most notably Rosh Hashanah, Shabbat Chanukah, and Shavuot—the Chassidim would travel to be with Rebbe Nachman. Of these, Rosh Hashanah remains the central gathering even today, with thousands continuing the journey to Uman, where Rebbe Nachman is buried.

The second scenario was the reverse: Rebbe Nachman himself would travel to his Chassidim, visiting Jewish communities scattered across Ukraine several times a year. Two of these visits were fixed—Shabbat Shira and Shabbat Nachamu—with an additional visit taking place either in the summer or winter.

Reb Noson explains this dynamic in Likutey Halachot. Traveling to the Tzaddik represents an itaruta d’letata, an arousal from below. When a person has strength, initiative, and spiritual energy, he is expected to make the first move, to journey toward the Tzaddik in order to receive direction and elevation. But when a person is spiritually, emotionally, or mentally broken—so weakened that he cannot even take a step—then the Tzaddik comes to him. In such moments, the Tzaddik descends into the person’s place to lift him out of confinement and despair.

For this reason, Shabbat Shira remains a special time even after Rebbe Nachman’s passing. It is a moment when one can draw the light of the Tzaddik—wherever one is, in whatever state one finds oneself—without needing the strength to travel.

Shirat HaYam and the Power of Song

Shabbat Shira is named for the song itself. Shirat HaYam is recited daily as part of Pesukei DeZimra, but Chazal teach that when a person says it with kavanah and simcha, it carries the power to bring real salvation and miracles into one’s life.

The opening verse of the song reads:

Az yashir Moshe u’vnei Yisrael et ha’shirah ha’zot la’Hashem…

“Then Moshe and the Children of Israel sang this song to Hashem…”

At first glance, the verse seems straightforward. Yet Rashi points out a grammatical problem that opens the door to a much deeper understanding. The word yashir is written in the future tense—“will sing”—even though the event clearly took place in the past.

If the Torah had meant to say that Moshe sang at that moment, it should have used past tense. Why does the verse say Az yashir Moshe—“then Moshe will sing”?

Rashi, Grammar, and the Song That Has Not Yet Been Sung

Rashi explains that the Torah sometimes uses future tense to describe habitual or ongoing action. But that explanation does not work here. The splitting of the sea was a one-time event in history, not something recurring. Moshe was not “accustomed” to singing this song.

Rashi therefore brings two deeper explanations. First, the sages say that the extra yud in yashir hints that Moshe and the Jewish people thought to sing, and then they sang. But even this does not fully resolve the grammatical tension.

The final explanation Rashi brings is striking: this verse hints to the resurrection of the dead. Az yashir Moshe means that Moshe will sing again in the future—at the time of the final redemption. The song at the sea was not only a response to past salvation; it was a song drawn from the future, from a redemption that was not yet complete.

The Exodus from Egypt, for all its miracles, was not final. The Egyptians were drowned, but the Jewish people soon faced new struggles—complaints about water and food, spiritual failures, and ongoing prosecution in Heaven. Chazal describe how the angels argued: “Both these [the Egyptians] and those [the Israelites] are idol worshippers.” The Jews themselves had been steeped in Egyptian idolatry. Why should they be saved?

Moshe understood that the salvation at the sea could not be sustained by the present alone. To sing fully, to sing truthfully, the song had to be drawn from the future redemption, where everything would ultimately be clarified and repaired. That is why the Torah speaks in future tense.

Drawing Joy from the Future

This idea aligns precisely with Likutey Moharan Lesson 24, as explained by Reb Noson in Likutey Halachot, Birkat Hoda’ah #6. Rebbe Nachman teaches that the deepest and most enduring form of simcha is joy drawn from the future.

There are moments in life when a person cannot find joy in the present. Everything feels dark. Music does not uplift. Humor falls flat. One cannot find good points within oneself. Gratitude feels impossible because the suffering is overwhelming.

In such moments, Rebbe Nachman teaches that there is one remaining path: to connect to the future. To step outside the present, close one’s eyes, and attach oneself to the certainty that redemption will come. Evil will be judged. Effort and suffering in the service of Hashem will be rewarded. Everything will ultimately make sense.

If the future will be good—and one truly believes that it will—then despair in the present loses its grip.

This was the strength of Jews who – on the cattle train leading to the Auschwitz concentration camp – sang Ani Ma’amin even on the way to destruction. Detached from a hopeless present, they clung to a future redemption. That connection itself became a form of survival and consolation.

Rebbe Nachman goes further. In Lesson 250, he teaches that joy from the future is so powerful that it can be drawn back into the present. By fully attaching oneself to future redemption, one can carry its residue—its reshimu—back into daily life. That spark of future simcha becomes the key to present salvation.

As the verse in Yeshayahu says: Ki v’simcha tetze’u—with joy you will go out. When all paths seem blocked, joy itself becomes the way out.

The song at the Sea was not only a response to what had happened—it was a declaration of what would one day be

Drawing the Song from the Future

What, then, is the key? What is so remarkable is that this entire idea is already hinted to in the verse “Az yashir Moshe.” As we saw, Rashi is forced to bring the explanation of the Sages that yashir is written in the future tense. Az refers to the past—then, when they left Egypt—yet yashir Moshe literally means Moshe will sing. The song that was sung at the sea was not fully rooted in the present moment. It had to be drawn from the future.

Why was this necessary? Because the redemption at the Sea was not yet complete. Although the Egyptians were drowned, the Jewish people were still far from a final redemption. Soon after, they complained about water, complained about food, and later fell into the sin of the Golden Calf. The joy at the Sea was real, but it was fragile, surrounded by future difficulties.

Moreover, there was a serious prosecution against the Jewish people at that moment. Chazal tell us that the accusing angel said, “Halalu ovdei avodah zarah v’halalu ovdei avodah zarah”—both the Egyptians and the Jews were idol worshippers. If so, why should one be saved while the other is destroyed? The Jews themselves had worshipped idols in Egypt. On what merit, then, were they redeemed?

Moshe Rabbeinu understood that the salvation at the Sea was being drawn from a deeper source, from a different spiritual place—not from present merit, but from the future redemption. Because of this, he understood that even the song could not be complete unless it, too, was drawn from the future. That is why the Torah writes Az yashir Moshe—a song sung now, but rooted in what will be.

Az: Aleph and Zayin

If we look more deeply at the word az, we find an even richer meaning. Az is composed of two letters: Aleph and Zayin.

The letter Zayin has the numerical value of seven, corresponding to the seven days of the week. Time itself, as we experience it, is structured around this seven-day cycle. We receive a new Parshah every week, not every day or every month, because a week represents a meaningful unit of time—a pattern that can be observed, understood, and reflected upon. Day-to-day life is often too chaotic to interpret, but over the span of a week, patterns emerge. Thus, Zayin represents the structure of time as we live within it.

The letter Aleph, however, points beyond time. Reb Noson explains, based on Likutey Moharan Lesson 6 and his teachings in Hilchot Shabbat, that the Aleph is formed by a Yud above, a Yud below, and a diagonal line separating them. The upper Yud represents the Infinite Light, the light of Keter. The lower Yud represents the human being in this world. The line between them is a barrier—a necessary separation.

Kabbalah teaches that the Infinite Light cannot be accessed directly. If it were revealed without restraint, it would overwhelm and annihilate the receiver. Therefore, the Keter places a barrier. A person attempts to rise, is pushed back, feels blocked, frustrated, embarrassed, even ashamed. Rebbe Nachman teaches that the lower Yud represents precisely this experience: enduring humiliation, setbacks, and silence—yet not giving up. By remaining below, by accepting the barrier and continuing forward anyway, a person becomes worthy of receiving illumination from above.

Az as the Gateway to Yashir

This is why az becomes the gateway to yashir. When a person is trapped in darkness in the present—unable to find joy, gratitude, or strength—the only path forward is to draw from the future. The future redemption, the future clarity, the future joy become the source from which one sings now.

This is exactly what happened at the Sea. The Jewish people sang a song of redemption that was not yet fully realized, drawing light from what would one day be complete. Their salvation came not because the present was perfect, but because they connected themselves to what was destined to be.

Rebbe Nachman teaches that this principle applies to every individual. When a person cannot sing in the present, when sadness and despair dominate, the path of yashir—future song—becomes the key. A person connects to the future, finds hope there, rejoices in what will be, and then draws that joy back into the present.

As the Gemara teaches, a person sings only when he is happy. If so, the ability to sing now must come from a happiness that transcends the present moment. That happiness is found in the future.

Living with the Song of the Future

This is the deeper meaning of Az yashir Moshe. The song at the Sea was not only a response to what had happened—it was a declaration of what would one day be. By connecting to that future, the Jewish people were able to experience joy even in an incomplete redemption.

May we be zocheh, b’ezrat Hashem, to internalize this teaching: to accept the barriers, endure the setbacks, and continue forward without despair. Through the Aleph and the Zayin—through time and transcendence—we can learn to draw joy from the future and activate true simcha in the present.

And through that joy, may we merit our own redemption.

Shabbat shalom u’mevorach.

Meir Elkabas

This article also appears on the BRI breslov.org website: https://breslov.org/the-song-of-the-future/ 

For a video presentation of this article: https://youtu.be/zRL3oGiye8c

This class is based on Likutey Moharan lesson 24. 

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Parshat Bo - The Smiting at Midnight

 BH

Midnight and the Final Plague

Parshat Bo brings us to the final and decisive stage of the Exodus: the plague of the firstborn. Moshe Rabbeinu confronts Pharaoh for the last time, warning him that Hashem Himself will strike Egypt and smite every firstborn. This moment marks the breaking point of Egyptian power and the beginning of Israel’s redemption.

What stands out in the Torah’s wording is the emphasis on midnight. When Moshe warns Pharaoh, he says the plague will occur kachatzot halayla, “around midnight.” Yet when the event actually takes place, the Torah states clearly that it happened b’chatzi halayla, precisely at midnight. Rashi explains that Moshe deliberately said “around midnight” to avoid giving Pharaoh’s astrologers and sorcerers room to accuse him of inaccuracy. Human calculations are flawed, and Moshe did not want their errors to be turned into claims against Hashem.

Still, this only deepens the question: why midnight at all? Why does the final plague—more severe and decisive than all others—take place specifically at this moment?

Midnight as the Meeting of Opposites

Reb Noson explains that midnight represents a unique spiritual point: the complete joining of opposites. It is the darkest moment of the night, and yet it is also the very beginning of the new day. Dawn may look like transition, but midnight is where darkness and light coexist fully. Externally, nothing changes—everything is still dark. Internally, the light of the new day has already begun.

This paradox makes midnight the greatest test of emunah. One sees nothing, yet believes that something fundamental has shifted. The Zohar teaches that midnight is a time of immense compassion, when the gates of Heaven are open and the Infinite Light begins to shine into the world, even though it is completely concealed.

This is why Chatzot is the ideal time for prayer, Torah learning, and mourning the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash. It is not because clarity is visible, but because faith bridges the gap between what is seen and what is real.

Judgment and Righteousness at the Same Moment

The Midrash connects this idea to a verse from Tehillim: “At midnight I arise to thank You, for the judgments of Your righteousness.” On the surface, mishpat—judgment—and tzedek—righteousness—seem like opposites. Judgment implies strictness, while righteousness implies kindness. Midnight reveals that they are two expressions of the same Divine will.

In Egypt, this truth played out dramatically. At the very same moment, the Egyptians experienced devastating judgment as their firstborn were struck, while the Jewish people were redeemed. For Egypt, it was din; for Israel, it was chesed. Yet both emerged from the same act of Hashem.

This is why King David praises Hashem at midnight—not despite the harshness of judgment, but because he recognizes that even judgment itself is ultimately an expression of Divine compassion and justice combined.

The Beginning of Redemption in the Darkness

The redemption from Egypt did not begin with visible light. It began in total darkness, at a moment when nothing appeared to change. Yet precisely there, the process of geulah was activated. Pharaoh’s power collapsed from within, and the Jewish people were set on an irreversible path toward freedom.

Midnight teaches a foundational lesson of faith: redemption does not begin when circumstances improve. It begins when darkness and light are unified through emunah. This principle, rooted in the plague of the firstborn, continues to guide every personal and national redemption that follows.

Even when everything appears dark, one can believe that the light is already present

Turning Mishpat into Tzedek

Reb Noson explains that the secret of midnight is not limited to Egypt—it is the pattern of life itself. A person experiences setbacks, suffering, and moments that feel like punishment. From the outside, it appears as mishpat, harsh judgment. One feels, “Hashem is making me suffer.” But when a person responds with emunah, bitachon, and simcha, the entire picture changes. Trusting that Hashem is good, that He created the world to bestow goodness, and that everything ultimately serves Divine benevolence transforms mishpat into tzedek.

This inner shift is the work of midnight. Midnight represents the merging of din and rachamim. The first half of the night is dominated by judgment, while the second half is governed by compassion. Ideally, a person withdraws during the hours of judgment and reengages with life after midnight, when rachamim becomes dominant. Midnight is when darkness still appears absolute, yet in truth the greatest light has already begun to shine.

Reb Noson teaches that this moment is such an et ratzon that the Infinite Light is revealed then, even though it remains concealed. Rebbe Nachman adds that the power of midnight extends for two hours, corresponding to the middle mishmar, the central watch of angels described in the Gemara. Those who attune themselves to this time develop the ability to see past surface darkness and recognize the hidden light within difficulty.

Why the Firstborn Were Struck at Midnight

The plague of the firstborn reveals this principle in action. Rashi, citing Midrash Tanchuma, explains that the ten plagues followed the logic of warfare. First, infrastructure is dismantled—water, food, safety. But the true collapse of an enemy occurs only when its leaders and most significant figures are struck. The firstborn represent the strength, continuity, and future of Egypt. When they were smitten, Egypt’s downfall truly began.

This decisive blow took place at midnight because midnight is the point where opposites converge. For Egypt, it was total judgment. For the Jewish people, it was the beginning of redemption. Pharaoh could endure discomfort and chaos, but once the core of his power was broken, he surrendered completely. Only then did he beg the Jews to leave and even asked for their blessing.

Darkness as the Gateway to the Infinite Light

Midnight teaches a practical spiritual lesson. When a person encounters darkness and interprets it as rejection or failure, the darkness deepens. But when one understands setbacks as preparation, the darkness itself becomes the gateway to the Infinite Light. This is how enemies—external or internal—are defeated. The real test is not the difficulty itself, but the response.

Holding onto simcha during hardship turns concealment into revelation. What appears as collapse becomes the foundation for growth. This is how the Jewish people overcame Egypt, and this is how every individual leaves their own personal exile.

The Secret of “KaChatzot”

This also explains why Moshe Rabbeinu used the word KaChatzot. On the surface, the letter kaf implies approximation, protecting against human error. But in Kabbalah, the letter kaf alludes to the Keter—the gateway between darkness and Infinite Light. Moshe was not merely estimating time; he was activating the spiritual point of midnight itself.

The Midrash teaches that Moshe chose midnight, and Hashem agreed. Moshe understood the power of that moment—the unification of mishpat and tzedek—and invoked it through kachatzot. When Hashem Himself carried out the plague, the Torah no longer used approximation. It states plainly, vayehi b’chatzi halayla—it was midnight itself.

Moshe invoked the gateway; Hashem revealed the reality.

Living with the Light of Midnight

King David captures this truth when he says, “At midnight I rise to thank You for the judgments of Your righteousness.” The difficulties a person experiences are not contradictions to goodness—they are contained within it. Mishpat exists inside tzedek, not outside it. Judgment is a preparation, not the final word.

Midnight teaches a way of seeing life. Even when everything appears dark, one can believe that the greatest light is already present. Through emunah, simcha, and trust in Hashem’s goodness, a person transforms suffering into redemption.

May we merit to carry the light of midnight into our lives, to see past concealment, and to recognize that even the darkest moments are openings for Infinite Light.

Shabbat Shalom u’Mevorach

Meir Elkabas 

This article also appears on the BRI breslov.org website: https://breslov.org/the-smiting-at-midnight/ 

For a video presentation of this article: https://youtu.be/805pvygCtAU

This class is based on Likutey Moharan lesson 24. 

For more on this lesson: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠linktr.ee/breslovtherapy_lesson_24⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

If you have been inspired by this class/lecture please share it with your friends. Thank you.

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Parshat Va'Eira - Swallowing Pharaoh’s Snakes

 BH

Entering Egypt to Extract Holiness

Parshat VaEra opens the active stage of the redemption from Egypt, but before we can understand the plagues themselves, we must first understand why the Jewish people were sent into Egypt at all. Egypt was not merely a place of exile or punishment. It was the central location where holiness had become trapped and embedded deep within the forces of impurity.

The Arizal explains that Egypt, at that time, was the global center of sorcery and magic. These practices draw their nourishment from holiness that has fallen into the domain of evil. The deeper and more entrenched the impurity, the more holiness must be trapped there to sustain it. Egypt therefore contained an enormous concentration of fallen sparks, making it the primary location where rectification had to take place.

The Jewish people were sent into Egypt to extract this holiness. The bondage, suffering, and purging of exile were not ends in themselves but the means by which the sparks could be elevated and removed. When the Jews ultimately left Egypt, they emptied it completely of holiness, leaving it spiritually desolate—“like a body of water without any fish,” as Rashi describes.

The Roots of Exile Before Creation

This extraction was not only repairing damage from later generations. The Arizal teaches that a major source of the holiness trapped in Egypt originated from Adam HaRishon’s 130 years of separation from Chavah, during which sparks fell into impurity. Those sparks descended specifically into Egypt, making it the place where rectification had to occur.

The descent into Egypt was therefore part of a much earlier and broader cosmic process tied to the shattering of the vessels and the earliest spiritual fractures in creation. The Jewish people, through their exile and eventual redemption, were tasked with repairing this damage.

Simcha as the Power of Extraction

In Likutey Moharan lesson 24 Rebbe Nachman reveals a fundamental principle: holiness is extracted through simcha. Joy is not merely an emotional state; it is an active spiritual force capable of breaking through impurity and reclaiming what has been lost.

This is why Rebbe Nachman links simcha to the ketoret. The ketoret has the power to penetrate deeply into the domain of evil, extract holiness, and weaken impurity. The verse in Mishlei states that ketoret brings joy to the heart, meaning that it generates joy in the Shechinah by accomplishing this extraction.

The ketoret consisted of eleven fragrances. Ten correspond to the ten sefirot of holiness, while the eleventh represents the channel through which impurity draws its nourishment. By including all eleven, the ketoret was able to descend fully into the domain of evil and pull holiness back upward. Rebbe Nachman teaches that simcha performs the same function. When a person feels stuck, trapped, or spiritually confined, joy is the mechanism that enables release.

This is why the verse in Isaiah says, “With joy you will go out.” Simcha is the method of redemption, both nationally and personally.

The Staff as the Root of Redemption

With this foundation, we can understand why Moshe’s confrontation with Pharaoh begins not with a plague, but with a sign. Before the ten plagues, Aharon throws down Moshe’s staff and it turns into a snake. This act corresponds to the number eleven—the stage before the ten plagues begin.

The staff itself was engraved with the acronyms of the ten plagues. These plagues correspond to the ten sefirot, the ten utterances of creation, and ultimately the ten types of melody that form the deepest spiritual root of existence. Rebbe Nachman teaches that melody and song are the root of creation, because creation itself emerged from Hashem’s desire to bestow goodness, which is an expression of Divine joy.

The staff therefore represents the power of simcha and song embedded within creation itself. When Aharon throws it down and it turns into a snake, this signals the confrontation between joy and sadness, holiness and impurity, life and constriction. The snake represents the force of sadness and jealousy, while the staff represents the power to transform and dominate that force through simcha.

This initial sign sets the stage for everything that follows. Before the ten plagues can unfold, the mechanism of extraction—joy rooted in the deepest structure of creation—must be activated.

Joy does not deny difficulty—it confronts it!

The Snake as the Root of Sadness

When Moshe Rabbeinu is commanded to throw down the staff and it turns into a snake, this is not merely a dramatic sign. The snake represents the primordial force of atzvut, sadness. The original snake was jealous—jealous of Adam and Chava, dissatisfied with its portion, unwilling to accept what Hashem had given it. That jealousy itself was rooted in unhappiness. Someone who is truly happy with his portion does not covet what belongs to others.

This is why the snake became the symbol of curse and descent. Its punishment—losing arms and legs and crawling on its belly—reflects its inner lack. It embodies spiritual constriction, sadness, and disconnection from joy.

Pharaoh as the Embodiment of the Snake

Pharaoh explicitly identified himself with this force. In the Haftarah he is described as tannin ha-gadol, the great serpent. Pharaoh claimed divinity over the Nile, asserting that he himself controlled the source of Egypt’s sustenance. This arrogance and jealousy mirrored the primordial snake’s mindset.

Pharaoh’s fear that the Jewish people would “take over the land” stemmed from this same root. The Jews repeatedly stated that they were only sojourners, waiting for the famine to end and for the Divine decree of 400 years as sojourners to be fulfilled. Pharaoh’s paranoia was not rational—it was born of inner dissatisfaction and insecurity. Someone content with his portion does not fear others prospering.

Sorcery and the Chambers of Exchanges

When Moshe and Aharon performed the sign before Pharaoh, Pharaoh dismissed it as trivial. Egypt was saturated with sorcery. According to the Midrash, even young Egyptian children came to replicate the act of turning staffs into snakes. Pharaoh summoned his sorcerers, even his wife, and the entire apparatus of Egyptian magic, producing piles of staffs transformed into serpents.

This reveals the nature of Egyptian sorcery. Witchcraft does not create reality; it distorts it. It swaps truth for illusion, manipulating perception and imagination. This is the essence of the chambers of exchanges—where holiness becomes trapped within falsehood, and reality is inverted.

Egypt was the epicenter of this phenomenon, which is why it contained such vast reserves of trapped holiness and why it required a direct confrontation.

Swallowing the Snakes from the Root

After the staffs turned back, the staff of Moshe and Aharon swallowed all the others. Despite consuming many staffs, it remained unchanged—thin and whole—demonstrating that Egyptian power was illusory, while Divine power was absolute.

This act was not incidental. The staff bore the acronyms of the ten plagues, rooted in the ten sefirot and ultimately the ten types of melody. Melody is the deepest expression of simcha. Through this, joy swallows sadness at its source.

The snake represents sadness and jealousy. The staff represents joy and Divine order. By swallowing the snakes, Moshe and Aharon demonstrated that simcha subdues atzvut, and that holiness, when activated properly, consumes impurity rather than being overwhelmed by it.

Eleven Signs and the Power of Ketoret

This initial sign, together with the ten plagues, corresponds to the eleven fragrances of the ketoret. The ketoret has the unique ability to descend into impurity, shatter its grip, and extract holiness. The additional sign before the plagues served as the entry point—the bridge into the domain of evil.

Only after this confrontation could the plagues unfold. Only after sadness was challenged at its root could redemption begin.

The Personal Message of Redemption

The Torah is not recounting ancient history alone. Every Jew experiences a personal Egypt—periods of constriction, confusion, and heaviness. The key out is the same: simcha.

Joy does not deny difficulty. It confronts it. Even after repeated falls, the task is to rise again, to begin anew, and to refuse despair. Through simcha, a person can extract holiness not only from present struggles, but from the deepest layers of spiritual damage—reaching back to Adam HaRishon and the shattering of the vessels.

This is the enduring lesson of Parshat VaEra. Redemption, both national and personal, begins when sadness is swallowed by joy.

Shabbat Shalom

Meir Elkabas

This article also appears on the BRI breslov.org website: https://breslov.org/swallowing-pharaohs-snakes/ 

For a video presentation of these concepts: https://youtu.be/u0Y6GksC1R8

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