Parashat Beshalach is famous for drama—the sea splitting, the songs of freedom—but tucked into the middle of this epic journey is a quiet, almost domestic miracle: the manna.
Every morning, food appears. Not stored, not farmed, not owned. Just enough for today. And on the sixth day, a double portion – so that Shabbat can be a day without gathering, without striving. For a people fresh out of slavery, this wasn’t only about eating. It was about learning a new relationship with time, effort, and trust.
For many non-religious but traditional Jews, Shabbat can feel a bit like manna: beautiful in theory, complicated in practice. You may love the idea of Shabbat—Friday night dinner, candles, a sense of Jewish rhythm—but live in a world that doesn’t stop. Work emails don’t pause. Kids’ sports are scheduled for Saturdays. Friends want to brunch. Your phone buzzes. Your calendar is full. Choosing Shabbat, even partially, can feel unrealistic, isolating, or just plain exhausting. And that’s exactly why the manna story matters.
The Torah tells us that some people tried to save manna overnight—it spoiled. Others went out on Shabbat to look for it anyway. This wasn’t a nation of instant spiritual heroes. It was a people learning, stumbling, adjusting.
Shabbat, like manna, was introduced gently. One day a week. One small boundary. One experiment in trust. God didn’t ask the Israelites to stop needing food. God asked them to stop hoarding control—to believe that rest would not lead to lack. This message is deeply relatable even more in our days and our society. Keeping Shabbat isn’t about flipping a switch and becoming someone else. It’s about asking: What would it mean for me to trust, just a little more, that the world won’t fall apart if I step back?
Manna nourished the body, but Shabbat nourishes something quieter: the nervous system, the soul, the sense of being more than what you produce. In American culture especially, worth is often tied to productivity. If you’re not working, improving, answering, building—are you falling behind? Shabbat pushes back, gently but firmly. It says: You are enough, even when you stop. Your value isn’t measured by output. Life is more than survival and success.
For someone who isn’t religious but feels culturally and emotionally Jewish, even a small Shabbat practice—a tech-free dinner, lighting candles, choosing not to shop for a few hours—can feel like manna in the desert of constant demand.
The Israelites all ate manna, but each person gathered it differently. Shabbat today can look different too. For some, it’s Friday night dinner with family, even if the phone stays on. For others, it’s refusing to schedule meetings on Saturday morning. For others, abstaining from cooking in the regular daily method, even for one meal, one hour.
Parashat Beshalach reminds us that spiritual growth doesn’t come from doing everything “right.” It comes from showing up again and again, learning to trust in small, human ways. The manna stopped when the people entered the land. Shabbat didn’t.
Because Shabbat isn’t about miracles falling from the sky. It’s about choosing, week after week, to believe that rest is not weakness, that limits can be holy, and that freedom isn’t only about leaving slavery – it’s about not recreating it.
For people like us who navigating in modern American life, Shabbat isn’t an all-or-nothing test. It’s an invitation to say that it’s enough for today and we want a little extra for the soul.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Refael Cohen