When Words Aren’t Enough: Who Entered the Sea First?

“The rare blood type exists in only one person in the world,” the doctors informed the world’s wealthiest man, who had fallen ill with a condition requiring an external blood transfusion. His blood type was unique and extraordinarily rare — but at least his vast fortune enabled an international search.

The man who was finally located turned out to be extremely stingy. He announced in advance that he wanted ten million dollars in exchange for his “donation” of blood. The billionaire agreed without batting an eye. For him, it was a negligible sum — and for his life, he would have given far more.

“I demand to see the money in my account first,” the miser declared.

“You don’t trust him?” the doctors and intermediaries asked in astonishment. “This is the richest man in the world. Do you really think he wouldn’t pay?”

“Right now, I trust him,” replied the miser. “But the moment my blood is flowing through his veins, I won’t see a single cent.”

Who Was the First to Enter the Sea?

The Talmud (Sotah 36a) records a dispute among the Sages: Rabbi Meir said: When Israel stood at the sea, the tribes were competing with one another. Each said, “I will go down first into the sea.” The tribe of Benjamin jumped in first. 

Rabbi Yehuda said: That is not how it happened. Rather, each said, “I will not go down first into the sea.” Nachshon ben Aminadav then jumped in first.

At first glance, Rabbi Meir and Rabbi Yehuda seem to argue fundamentally: Did the tribes want to be first — or did they avoid it?

Not a Dispute — But a Completion

Rabbi Yaakov Galinsky, the famed maggid, offers a penetrating explanation that speaks directly to each of us. In his characteristic style, he begins with a story that might have happened.

“Children, I’m thirsty,” the father’s voice called softly in the middle of the night. In those days, water was still drawn from a well and carried home in buckets. Perhaps the father was unable to go himself; perhaps he wanted to give his children the merit of a mitzvah.

“Who will merit the mitzvah of bringing me a cup of water?”

In the next room, the children whispered. Outside, the air was chilly, and the blankets were warm. True, mitzvot aren’t done only when it’s convenient — but a mitzvah is also something important, not to be treated casually.

“Ten shekels for a cup of water for Abba,” announced the eldest brother, offering the mitzvah for sale. “Who’s in?”

“Twelve,” said one brother.
“Fifteen,” said another.
The youngest decided they were undervaluing the mitzvah: “Twenty shekels.”

Meanwhile, the father called again, “Children, please, I really need a cup of water. Who can bring it?”

“Just a moment, Abba,” the eldest called back. “We’re deciding.”

Then the quiet brother spoke up: “Aren’t you ashamed? Abba is asking for a cup of water — honoring one’s parents, such an important mitzvah — and only twenty shekels? Fifty shekels!”

Silence fell over the room.

“Going once—fifty shekels,” said the eldest softly.
“Going twice—fifty… Sold.”

The winning brother then said humbly: “I hereby give the mitzvah I purchased, to our father.”

Talking Big vs. Doing Right

Rabbi Yaakov Galinsky explains: Rabbi Meir was correct — the argument was about who would go first into the sea. Each tribe declared, “I will go first.” That was true in theory, during the debate.

Rabbi Yehuda agrees — but adds a crucial clarification: “That is not how it happened in practice.” When the moment of action arrived, each tribe stepped back and honored the others: “I will not go first.” Each one was willing to grant the mitzvah to someone else.

Until Nachshon ben Aminadav simply acted.

From Declarations to Deeds

We are all strong in words. Declarations come easily. Commitments sound impressive.

Execution? Well… let’s not get into the details.

This is Rabbi Yehuda’s lesson. It is not wisdom to make lofty statements or eloquent commitments. When you take something upon yourself, don’t explain how and when and why you’ll do it someday — just do it.

The commitment must be real now, like money deposited before the blood transfusion. Because every extra word in place of action is a guaranteed recipe for nothing happening at all.