Moses would have been foolish to expect the Israelites, newly freed from slavery in Egypt, to adjust easily to their new circumstances, wandering in the desert. But they had just witnessed the miraculous parting of the Sea of Reeds, the cool mist from those walls of water still clinging to their hair and clothes, when they started grumbling about food. So, during this week’s parshah, Beshalach, God and Moses present them with another miracle: manna falling daily from the sky.
The people quickly understand that each of them is to gather just enough manna to eat for one day — or as the Torah describes it, “d’var yom b’yomo,” “a day’s portion on its day.” (Exodus 16:4) They are told not to leave any of it over until morning. Remarkably, Pharaoh’s taskmasters used that very same phrase, “d’var yom b’yomo,” just a few chapters before, referring to the heavy labor burdening the Israelites after Moses’ first (failed) intervention on their behalf. (Exodus 5:13) So, the last time the Israelites heard that phrase, they were feeling betrayed, angry, and exhausted. Their already back-breaking workload had been arbitrarily increased, and Pharaoh the tyrant was profiting more from their suffering each day. It is no wonder, then, that they have a hard time trusting that this time, the manna will miraculously appear every day. Sure enough, the people ignore Moses’ warning about leaving the manna overnight, and when they wake up, it is spoiled and crawling with worms.
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In a midrash, Rabbi Eliezer explains why the people were required to collect only enough manna for each day, saying: “One who has what to eat today and says — ‘what shall I eat tomorrow?’ — this is one of those who lack faith, as it says: a day’s portion on its day (Exodus 16:4) — The One who created the day created one’s sustenance.” (Mekhilta d’Rashbi Beshallah 16) In Rabbi Eliezer’s view, the purpose of making the people wait each day for the manna to appear was to cultivate their sense of faith and trust in God — after all, God is the ultimate source of all our sustenance. It was a difficult lesson for them to grapple with; after lifetimes of abuse and exploitation at the hands of Pharaoh and his taskmasters, God and Moses would have to earn their trust. But beyond that, is it really fair of Rabbi Eliezer to criticize those who wonder where their next meal will come from? As wonderful as the ideal of putting our faith in God is, scarcity was a reality for the Israelites, and food insecurity remains one of the most pervasive ills of our society today.
I’d like to believe that the main objective of the daily quest for manna was to show the people that beyond Egypt, where hoarding — of grain, of wealth, of labor, of bodies — was the name of the game, there was another way. While systems of slavery depend on fear, control, and manufactured scarcity, the manna system ensured that there was enough for everyone. We are told that “anyone who had gathered much had no excess, and anyone who had gathered little had no deficiency.” (Exodus 16:18) The miracle of the manna was not only that it fell from the sky, but also that it made inequality impossible. Manna could not be hoarded, traded, or converted into power, and so the Israelites were able to imagine a new type of society as they learned to trust that the manna would keep appearing day after day.
How can we be part of bringing to fruition this other type of society? Every day, on the streets of New York City, I am faced with the stark juxtaposition of extreme excess and extreme poverty. We have ways of responding to hunger, as my fellow volunteers do at Hebrew Union College’s community kitchen, which has been running for nearly 40 years. As we serve sandwiches and pour coffee for our guests, we allow them to trust our institution to provide a weekly meal and a moment of dignity. But the manna story reminds us that our work is incomplete when hunger persists in this world of plenty.
As our parshah continues, Shabbat emerges as the one day when no manna falls. The Israelites are no longer able to gather their daily portion, and yet, there is enough to eat. Along with food, rest is highlighted as a human right rather than a reward. In a time when manna no longer falls from the sky, its ethic becomes our responsibility. By rejecting the culture of excess, using Shabbat as a tool of resistance, and fostering communities of care, we can work toward building the society that our parshah invites us to imagine. Beshalach reminds us that we must not only trust God, but also trust ourselves to build systems where “a day’s portion on its day,” means everyone truly has enough.
Rabbi Madeleine Fortney (she/her) serves as an admissions recruiter at HUC-JIR in New York. She finds joy in crafting meaningful rituals and building vibrant, justice-rooted community. Madeleine lives in Brooklyn with her partner and their two cats.