Posted on 03/02/26
Moshe’s delay in returning from the mountain unsettled the young nation. Had he been lost in the fire atop Sinai during the revelation? How could we survive without the leader who had confronted an empire, split the sea, and ascended the heavens?
A restless crowd gathered and pressed Aharon to act, demanding that something be done and that a replacement for Moshe be found. They called for a golden calf, an intermediary to stand between themselves and God.
Seeking to stall them until Moshe returned, Aharon devised a plan. He asked them to donate their golden jewelry to fashion the idol they demanded. He assumed they would hesitate to part with their newly acquired wealth for such a reckless fantasy. Until recently, they had lived as impoverished slaves in Egypt. At the Exodus they were showered with Egyptian riches, and at the Red Sea they gathered gold from the drowned chariots. Flushed with sudden wealth, Aharon believed they would refuse to surrender it for a golden calf.
He was wrong.
What emerged was not idolatry alone, but fear. Caving to their fears, they eagerly surrendered their gold. Powerful as their desire for wealth may have been, their fear proved even stronger. Terrified by the possible loss of their leader, they readily offered their jewelry for a golden image. Fear can overpower greed. Our darker anxieties and insecurities often exert greater pressure upon us than our attachment to material wealth.
Aharon assumed their desire for wealth would quiet their fears. He discovered instead that fear does not yield so easily. When people feel unmoored and uncertain, fear overrides calculation. In that moment, the people did not have the emotional strength to wait.
This was not the last time we would give in to fear. The desert journey toward Israel was laced with rebellions, complaints, and smaller uprisings. Most were driven by anxiety about crossing a barren, sun-scorched wilderness. Almost every time hardship struck, we hastily declared our intention to return to Egypt. According to the Midrash, even forty years later, when an enemy attacked, factions emerged calling once again for a return to Egypt.
The Line Between Fear and Panic
The lowest point of our desert fears came during the episode of the meraglim, when panic caused us to unravel. Faced with the challenge of entering the land, we lost our bearings and collapsed inward. We no longer saw ourselves as capable of meeting the historical moment. Instead, we imagined ourselves as helpless grasshoppers, doomed before the challenge of entering Israel had even begun.
Fear and precaution are legitimate parts of religious life. Panic is not. During the episode of the meraglim, panic overtook us. It bred cowardice and caused us to recoil from the opportunity to step forward into our national destiny.
Panic strips away proportion and perspective. It traps us in cycles of dread over events that have not occurred and may never occur. Instead of sharpening judgment, it overwhelms it. Life under panic becomes pessimistic and bitter, rather than steady, hopeful, and forward-looking.
Panic also convinces us that we must take bold action immediately or face disaster. Courage, by contrast, is sometimes not the impulse to act, but the discipline to wait. At times, it demands restraint as much as boldness.
Faith and Courage
What the failure of the meraglim reveals is not only the danger of panic, but the source of the courage needed to resist it. Courage is a vital element of religious life, though it is often overlooked. It is grounded, in large part, in faith. Faith does not eliminate fear, but it reshapes it. When life is experienced as random and self-contained, fear naturally dominates. Faith reframes that reality. If existence is purposeful and guided by God, outcomes still matter, but they are no longer everything. That shift loosens fear’s grip and makes courage possible.
A person who understands himself as accountable to Hashem, or as part of a covenant of shared history, no longer acts solely out of self-preservation. Courage emerges when the center of gravity moves outward—from “What will happen to me?” to “What is being asked of me?”
An Anxious Moment
That ancient struggle with fear is no longer confined to the desert. The past months have been saturated with fear. We are now thrust into a second war with Iran and facing a murderous regime who target civilian populations. At the same time, we are witnessing the sharpest rise in antisemitism since the Holocaust, confronted daily by images and language of hatred and violence. Jews across the world are facing intimidation and attack.
We also feel unease on the home front. After the unity which October 8th delivered we have reverted back to our social divisions and internal social and political tensions have resurfaced. These concerns cannot be dismissed. They demand time, care, and serious thought.
At the same time, we must not allow fear and anxiety to overwhelm us. Thank God, we have strong armed forces to protect us in our homeland. Though antisemitism is surging, we still benefit from the support and protection of most Western governments. And though internal strife remains real and painful, the war has shown that we can, when tested, summon unity and remember what binds us more strongly than what divides us.
Studying Courage
Faith anchors that confidence, but in moments like these, courage is often learned by watching how others stand. Courage, like many traits, is learned more through lived experience than through books. It is formed and strengthened when we see it embodied in people who hold their ground under pressure. Watching such courage reveals the strength of human resolve and quietly summons us to deepen our own.
Courage, when seen up close, reshapes what we value. It draws us away from comfort and approval and toward responsibility and resolve. Seeing fear confronted, rather than obeyed, changes how we weigh risk and courage.
But beyond inspiration, witnessing courage places a moral demand upon us. When others sacrifice and carry themselves with dignity and poise, we are obligated to rise above our own fears and see them in proper proportion. Moral behavior is not only personal; it is social. Living alongside courage binds us to act with greater resolve and bravery ourselves.
This war has taken an immense toll on so many people, in so many different ways. Along the way, we have witnessed extraordinary moments of courage—some visible and public, others quiet and unseen. Many were forced to draw upon reserves they did not know they possessed, confronting hardships they never expected to face. So many have given up comfort, family life, health, and even life itself for the protection of our land and our people.
That courage creates a moral debt. It calls upon us to put fear in its proper place and to live with the same strength and resolve we have witnessed in others. Not only to carry ourselves with courage, but to project it outward—to steady those around us and to help lift them when fear threatens to overwhelm.
Courage is a decision we make, not an instinct we inherit. We cannot eliminate fear, nor are we meant to. Courage is the ability to act in its presence without being ruled by it.
The writer, a rabbi at Yeshivat Har Etzion, was ordained by Yeshiva University and holds an MA in English literature. His books include To Be Holy but Human: Reflections Upon My Rebbe, HaRav Yehuda Amital and are available at www.mtaraginbooks.com