When Faith Finds Its Own Voice
Parshat Shemot (Exodus 1:1–6:1)
Have you ever tried to do the right thing and watched everything get worse—and wondered why you were sent into that moment at all?
“Moses returned to G-d and said, ‘Why have You brought harm upon this people? Why did You send me?’” (Exodus 5:22)
This scene unfolds after Moses delivers G-d’s message to Pharaoh. Instead of relief, the suffering intensifies. Straw is taken away, quotas remain, and the people blame Moses for making their slavery even harsher. The seeming point is simple and devastating: Moses obeys, and things collapse. His first act of leadership is walking back to G-d in bewilderment.
Classical commentators note that this is bold. Rashi explains that Moses speaks “with a troubled heart,” not defiance. Sforno adds that Moses was trying to understand how increased suffering aligned with the promise he was sent to deliver. His question is not rebellion—it is relationship.
Chassidic thought deepens this. The Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, taught that there is inherited faith—the kind passed from ancestors—and then there is earned faith, shaped in the places where our understanding frays. Moses is stepping into his own voice, discovering faith not as certainty but as willingness to bring confusion directly to G-d rather than letting it harden into silence.
G-d’s reply is strikingly sparse: “Now you will see what I will do…” (Exodus 6:1). No justification. No explanation. Just a promise that the next chapter is already in motion. Some commentators see comfort in this; others see a challenge. G-d does not answer Moses’ why—He answers his where now. Redemption begins before clarity arrives.
A simple metaphor may help. A child walks with her father down a dark path. The shadows frighten her. “Why are we here?” she asks. The father doesn’t map the entire journey; he simply tightens his grip. The fear doesn’t vanish, but it loses authority. Some questions are met not with explanations, but with presence.
Many readers struggle with the idea of questioning G-d. But Torah does not silence honest anguish. Abraham argued for justice. Jeremiah lamented suffering. Moses cries out here. Jewish tradition sees sincere questioning as a form of faith, not its opposite. It means we still trust G-d enough to stay in the conversation.
Our own lives contain moments that echo Moses’ cry:
when a sincere decision backfires,
when doing the right thing isolates rather than strengthens,
when we step into a calling and immediately feel overwhelmed.
Staying in dialogue with G-d can take many forms: a whispered prayer, a journal page filled with raw honesty, a conversation with a mentor, showing up in community even when clarity feels distant. These small acts keep the heart from shutting down. They keep us connected to the One who walks beside us, even when we don’t yet understand the road.
As this chapter opens and the long story of redemption begins, Moses learns that leadership does not start with answers. It starts with courage—the courage to bring questions forward, not bury them.
Where in your life is faith asking you not for certainty, but for conversation?
And may you find, in that conversation, the quiet strength to take the next step even before the path becomes clear.
I wish you a good week and Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yonatan Hambourger