The Jewish Art of Walking Barefoot on Broken Glass
Beshalach, Emunah & Ran Gvili z'l
I was watching a snowstorm unfold across New York when I received a news update from Amit Segal’s Hebrew WhatsApp community.
The body of Ran Gvili z’l had been found.
“Wow,” he wrote. I felt his amazement across my screen.
It had been 843 days since October 7th. Now this painful chapter could finally move toward closure.
Throughout the day, I watched Jews and Israelis removing their hostage tags, bracelets, and masking tape.
I was moved by a video showing a young group of families, who brought their children in Kibbutz Ein HaShlosha to remove the yellow flags.
And then more details emerged. To find Ran, they captured an Islamic Jihad operative who confessed his location. A team of soldiers and specialists — including dentists — exhumed hundreds of bodies in Gaza, identified Ran, and wrapped him in an Israeli flag.
One of the most moving moments was footage of soldiers embracing and singing Ani Maamin after identifying Ran. These are battle-weary men who had literally entered the valley of the dead to recover Ran’s body.
The tune they chose is one Jews know well. We sing it on Tisha B’Av, at sites of Jewish tragedy, and in moments when we want to touch something very deep.
Ani maamin. I believe.
Be’emunah shelemah. With complete faith.
Beviat haMashiach. In the coming of the Messiah.
Ani Maamin. I believe.
Ve’af al pi sheyitmame’ah. And even though he delays.
Im kol zeh achakeh lo. Despite all this, I wait for him.
Bechol yom sheyavo. Every day.
The song always moves me — it gives me chills. But it was only when I read our Torah portion Beshalach, thinking of Ran, that I better understood the radical texture of the emunah we sing of.
In Beshalach we encounter the word emunah, often oversimplified as faith, in two places.
First, after the Israelites cross the Sea of Reeds. The Israelites are terrified — Egyptian forces behind them, the violent sea in front.
Moses himself seems unsure of how to proceed until God tells him to just have the Israelites begin walking. The sea parts. The Israelites cross to safety and the Egyptians drown.
The Bible says that after this moment the Israelites had emunah — faith — in God and in Moses.
Many read this as simple cause and effect. God performed a miracle, so the Jews believed. But I think something more complicated and profound is happening here.
The Israelites’ emunah comes after being trapped with nowhere to go — and even as they do not know where they will go next.
Their emunah is forged not in the miracle itself, but in choosing to keep moving afterward, even as uncertainty resumes in the wilderness.
Later, the term emunah comes up again as the Israelites battle Amalek. The people fight, led by Joshua, while Moses raises his hands in supplication.
But Moses’s hands grew heavy. They took a stone and put it under him. He sat on it while Aaron and Hur, one on each side, supported his hands. Thus his hands remained emunah until the sun set. (Exodus 17:12)
This image has always struck me. Moses’s hands grow heavy, and he needs others to hold them up. The word used is emunah: his hands remained steady until sunset.
This is not triumphant faith. This is exhausting, determined faith. Faith that requires support, that has to be sustained collectively, that carries no reassurances about what tomorrow will bring.
Emunah shows up twice in this parasha, both times in moments of struggle, fear, and the need for support. It is something that has to be chosen again and again, through miracles and through grinding battles.
Our parasha helps us understand the kind of emunah that has sustained the Jewish people for generations — not faith that things will get better right away, but a stubborn, jagged faith that is why we are still here and still singing.
She asks “that the universe grant us compassion, strength, hope, grace, and light as we figure out how to walk barefoot on broken glass.”
I’ve been thinking about that metaphor: walking barefoot and vulnerable, praying for grace, even as we feel the broken glass.
To me this is emunah. It’s not easy, but it is precious beyond anything we can imagine. It’s what has allowed our people to survive expulsions, pogroms, mass violence, and executions, and each time to whisper: even if redemption is delayed, I will wait. I believe.
I wish we didn’t have to wait so much, but I can’t help but feel enamored of our people’s painful capacity.
I am grateful to all the leaders and activists who dedicated their lives since October 7 fighting for the hostages. I am grateful to each soldier and specialist who risked their lives and mental health to bring Ran home.
Those soldiers wrapped Ran in an Israeli flag — a partial victory, a heartbreaking closure. And then they sang about waiting for the messiah even though he delays.
That’s emunah. That’s why we got chills. Because Jewish faith has never been about certainty. It’s been about the courage to keep moving forward anyway.
Shabbat Shalom,
Mijal
Shabbat Shalom, Mijal. Your writing was so beautiful and the analogies and metaphors in your parsha and story truly touched my heart and soul. Thank you!
A beautifully grounded reflection on emunah as moral resolve—the courage to keep choosing what’s right and necessary, even when it’s hard, uncertain, and costly. It captures faith not as comfort, but as action.