If My Baseline Is An Eight, Is This A Ten?: Exodus, Trauma, and Pain Management
by Shayna Herszage-Feldan
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The beginning of Parshat Beshalach depicts some of the most cinema-worthy aspects of the Exodus: Bnei Yisrael cross the sea, pursued by the Egyptian army, and come out alive – and free! – on the other side. They then sing their praises to G-d in the Song of the Sea which, in the structure of Beshalach, feels like a climax of the narrative. And, as is the case with many stories, the climax precedes a decline: immediately after the completion of the Song of the Sea, Bnei Yisrael complain. They first complain about bitter waters, which are then remedied with a piece of wood that makes the water sweet. Then, while experiencing the discomfort and food insecurity of life in the desert, they say, “If only we had died in Egypt, where the food was plentiful! Instead, we are going to starve to death in the desert.” (Exodus 16:3) In response, they receive the manna and quail to eat – which leads to more complaining, per the Talmud, about the manna (Yoma 75a-b). This sequence sits uncomfortably in the narrative for two reasons: firstly, how can they say that they wish they were back in Egypt, where they had been enslaved and abused? And secondly, how can they complain like this after being saved?
I think we can add more dimension to this narrative by looking back at the initial Splitting of the Sea. In Shemot 14:10, we read that Bnei Yisrael were immensely frightened when they saw the Egyptian army following them to the Reed Sea. This might make sense at first glance, but we had read in a previous pasuk (sentence) that Bnei Yisrael had brought weapons with them in anticipation of a battle. So, if they were prepared, why were they so scared?
The mid-13th century commentator Rabbi Hezekiah ben Manoah (also known as Chizkuni) takes this moment in the Torah to acknowledge the collective and individual trauma(1) the nation has experienced – generations of abuse, enslavement, and degradation. For over a century, they had very little power over what happens to them. As a result, Bnei Yisrael, in a way, forgot that they had their own agency, rather than being at the mercy of a master, and they forgot that they had their own strengths to use in combat. Thus, even though they had witnessed miracles in their favor, gained wealth and weapons, and been brought out of slavery, they were mentally preparing to submit to the people they were already accustomed to having in power over them.
It is not uncommon for a person who has experienced trauma to find themselves submitting to the trigger, long after they gain access to the agency to fight back against the trauma. We can see this in the commonly cited categories of trauma responses: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. In the case of Bnei Yisrael, we can see a semblance of these concepts arising: they expected to fight, but in the moment, they took on a combination of freezing and fawning instead – they stopped, felt despair, and saw their abusers as all-powerful beings they could never escape. In spite of being physically removed from a traumatic situation, the psychological trauma remains, and it has a chokehold on Bnei Yisrael that endures throughout the narrative.
After seeing the moments before the Splitting of the Sea through this trauma-based lens, we can revisit the scene in which Bnei Yisrael complain and wish they were still in Egypt; to Bnei Yisrael, life in Egypt means abuse, but it also means certainty. Meanwhile, life in the desert means freedom, but it also represents the unknown. It is not unheard-of for people to stay in traumatic situations because leaving brings such unknowns: possible retaliation, being alone, financial insecurity, and more. It often takes a strong support system to help people escape from traumatic situations, both physically and psychologically. In this case, Bnei Yisrael had the physical escape from Egypt, but they did not have the psychological escape – instead of having their long-unmet needs taken care of, they had the familiar experience of fear and discomfort, but in an unfamiliar situation – thus deepening their heightened state of trauma. Knowing this, it is only reasonable that they would wish for the problems they know well, rather than the problems they do not.
From this point onward, much of the Exodus story reads as a trauma-driven narrative: in several cases, they experience a new and distressing problem, and they complain and wish for the more “familiar” problems of their time in Egypt. For instance, in Parshat Beha’lotecha, the nation complains about the manna – a literally Divine-sourced miracle – and reminisces about the abundant food in Egypt (Bamidbar 11:1-6). Rather than acknowledging that they were in slavery and sustaining significant abuse, they focus on the ways they felt secure, because in the midst of their pain in the desert, they wish for the trauma they know, instead of the difficulty that is new to them.
Returning to our current narrative of Bnei Yisrael complaining in Parshat Beshalach, we can thus understand their longing for Egypt as rooted in their past traumas. However, we must also read this narrative with the understanding that Bnei Yisrael is contending with several new forms of discomfort in the moment as well. When we read about Bnei Yisrael complaining about bitter water, it really seems like a tiny inconvenience compared to the central point of the story. They were saved from slavery – we might think they should be thankful, even with the aforementioned anxieties and uncertainties.
However, with the above Chizkuni commentary in mind, we can clearly see that there is much more happening than mild discomfort: there is a wealth of trauma in the past, and a vast uncertainty for the future. Bnei Yisrael are in a state of complete uprooting, and this one “minor inconvenience” is one of a plethora of problems swelling up around them. Thus, the total discomfort Bnei Yisrael are experiencing is actually much higher than we might realize at first glance.
This fundamental misunderstanding of an experience is one that many people with chronic pain experience. When a seemingly minor discomfort arises, such as a headache, it can render us homebound, and others around us – often medical professionals, but also even loved ones who try to be supportive – may perceive us as overreacting, or judge us for having a “low pain tolerance.” However, it must be understood that discomfort does not happen in a vacuum; if one’s pre-existing pain level is at a 6 out of 10, and the headache is a 4, that can add up to a 10 in a person’s overall sensory threshold. Thus, the headache is more than a headache, and the bitter water is more than bitter water.
The need to have compassion for Bnei Yisrael in the desert reflects the need to have compassion and deeper levels of understanding for people with trauma or chronic pain. We can see a sense of compassion in how G-d responds: rather than punishing them immediately, or even returning them to Egypt, G-d grants them sweet water and provides them with quail and manna. In this narrative, G-d does not respond with indignation that G-d’s actions were not met with gratitude, nor does G-d treat their complaints as minor inconveniences, but rather G-d responds by listening to the overarching anxieties about discomfort and uncertainty. While it cannot be said for certain that G-d’s patience with Bnei Yisrael was driven by a trauma-informed lens or an application of the chronic pain experience, a reader can certainly view G-d’s granting of the manna and the sweet water as a model for outsiders interacting with people who experience trauma or chronic pain. Much like G-d did for Bnei Yisrael when they complained for sweet water and abundant food, what is happening in the moment often is not to be taken at face value, but rather in tandem with what people have experienced in the past, and what people are experiencing beneath the surface.
Shayna Herszage-Feldan (she/her) is a School Psychology graduate student at Temple University. She has a B.A in Creative Writing and Psychology and an A.S. in Judaic Studies from Yeshiva University, as well as an M.A. in Psychology from Queens College. She is an editor for The Lehrhaus and runs "V'Eilu," a zine focused on Orthodox Jewish voices and social justice. She lives in the greater Philadelphia area with her partner.
(1) It is worth mentioning that we cannot, of course, diagnose the Exodus generation of Bnei Yisrael as a whole with post-traumatic stress disorder – both because they are a collective nation and not individuals, and because we cannot physically sit any of them down today with a clinician and a diagnostic manual. Nonetheless, even without a diagnosis, I believe that we can see models of pain and compassion through their narrative, as they have undoubtedly experienced something incredibly psychologically painful.
