When the Jewish People arrived at Mount Sinai and were about to experience revelation, verse 19:17 says that Moshe brought the people out to greet Hashem. A strange description — what does it mean?
The Chizkuni says that because the people were afraid, they needed to be led forward. This brings to mind the tremendous role that yiras Shamayim plays as an introduction to Torah. The Chazon Ish, in Sefer Emunah u’Bitachon, so eloquently and inspiringly elaborates on the role of yiras Shamayim in one’s learning. To quote a few lines:

1. One is not a scholar of Torah until he has integrated intellectual analysis [in the study of Torah] with a sense of fear of sin. The cup that is blended with these two is the portion of the Torah scholar all his days and this is his wine-offering forever. Indeed Torah [knowledge] and fear [of Heaven] are like matter and shape, which together comprise material reality, and anyone who has not acquired [any] perfection of fear [of Heaven] even if his intellect is sharp and polished by nature, he will not merit complete Torah [knowledge], instead, his way will always have obstacles, deviations and distortion.
2. Regarding this [matter] it is said “The beginning of wisdom is fear of Hashem” (Tehillim 111:10) for fear [of Heaven] is the [connection and passageway to the] depths of the heart that discern the sweetness of the beautiful glow of wisdom and the pleasantness of understanding.

Rashi quotes another meaning of Moshe bringing the people to greet Hashem from the Mechilta: the verse alludes to the idea that the Shechinah went forth to greet them like a chassan who walks forward to greet a kallah. In other words, because Hashem had “stepped forth” away from Sinai to greet the Jewish People, Moshe then escorted the Jewish People toward Hashem. This idea is alluded to in Devarim 33:2, which says that “Hashem came from Sinai” instead of “to Sinai,” because He stepped away to greet the Jewish People.
The Tiferes Shlomo sees in this Chazal a foundational and inspiring message that answers an age-old theological question regarding the mitzvah of loving Hashem: how can the Torah command an emotion? Either you feel love or you don’t. The Rambam in Yesodei HaTorah 2:1–2 essentially answers this by explaining that love comes automatically upon contemplating the wonders of Hashem in nature, such that this contemplation itself is the fulfillment of the mitzvah.
The Tiferes Shlomo gives a similar answer, but not so much based on intellectual contemplation of nature’s miracles, rather on awareness of Hashem’s intimate love for us. Paying attention to His acts of love toward us automatically stimulates a reciprocal love back, as Mishlei 27:19 says, “As water reflects, so do the faces of people.”
The Shefa Tal points out that the gematria of ahavah (love) is echad (one), for love creates unity. For this reason, the Tiferes Shlomo says, the mitzvah of Shema — which contains the mitzvah of loving Hashem at its beginning — is prefaced with the blessing of Ahavah Rabbah, which loudly

highlights how much Hashem loves us. Our love for Hashem is not something that needs to be forced; it is an automatic response to feeling His love for us.
This is the allusion in Hashem stepping forward to the people, followed by Moshe bringing them toward Him. Hashem was expressing His deep, profound love for His people in order to stimulate their love back toward Him, so that there should be total unity between the two.
It emerges that the commandment to love Hashem is not an instruction to perform something that is “outside” of you, but rather an instruction to activate something that is already there. We innately have the capacity to love another; it simply requires a drop of contemplation upon the other’s love for us to automatically awaken the love within.
Rav Hutner in Ma’amarei Pachad Yitzchak (Pesach #53) explains why all the commandments in the Shema are articulated using a “reverse-tense vav.” For example, “love Hashem” is not written as te’ehav (a straightforward future command), but rather in a past-tense form that is transformed into a command through the vav. He explains that the past is guaranteed — it has already happened — and the Shema hints that although we are commanded to live these values, there is also an allusion that they will necessarily happen anyway, guaranteed like the past.
Rav Hutner applies this to the Ramban on Devarim 4:41 regarding the commandment of teshuvah, which is also written in this past-tense form, alluding to the guarantee and foresight that the Jewish People will ultimately do teshuvah at the end of days.
Perhaps tying this to the Tiferes Shlomo’s idea: since love for Hashem is not an external experience but an intrinsic and already-guaranteed reality that simply needs to be uncovered, the use of the reverse-tense vav is especially appropriate.
In summary, immediately before the revelation at Sinai, the Jewish People are escorted by Moshe to greet Hashem, with two possible motivations:

1. They were afraid to approach (Chizkuni
2. In order to reciprocate Hashem’s love for them (Tiferes Shlomo)

Indeed, love and fear precede the revelation for they are the bedrock of Torah and the life of a Jew.

The parsha contains the climactic episode of the Kriyas Yam Suf, when the Jewish people triumphantly walked through the split sea to their ultimate salvation from the pursuing Egyptians. They saw their destruction and the bounty from chariots rise up from the waters to become their possessions. The end of 210 years of suffering and torment had finally arrived, and they were ready to march on toward the purpose of that salvation — to receive the Torah, to become Hashem’s nation, and to bring His light into the world for generations to come, until Mashiach will arrive.
Such a moment could not but be accompanied by jubilation beyond this world in song, and hence we have the Shiras HaYam, which has become part of our daily avodah at the end of Pesukei d’Zimra. Each day we cast our minds and hearts back to that absolutely jubilant moment when Hashem literally picked us up and transported us out of darkness into light. And with that reflective joy, we may hope and aspire to experience something of that today and each day as well.
But the opening words of the song in the Chumash are nothing short of perplexing. It begins with “Az yashir Moshe u’Bnei Yisrael”, which most logically translates as “Then Moshe and the Jewish people sang,” for that is what they did, as the verses continue to present what they sang. But while az means “then” (implying the past), yashir means “he will sing,” a future tense. Many commentaries address this.
Rashi explains that upon seeing the miracles, Moshe and the people decided that they would sing — and then they did. In addition, the Midrash derives from here an allusion to the ultimate future of techiyas hameisim, when again the Jewish people will sing over that miracle.
The Kedushas Levi explains that the letter yud which makes yashir future tense can also mean “to cause.” Connecting this to the continuation of the verse — “this song to Hashem” — the sense becomes that Moshe and the people caused Hashem, as it were, to sing as well. This then explains why the verse ends with leimor, which typically implies telling another. The idea is that, as Tehillim 121:5 teaches that Hashem is our shadow — just as a shadow mirrors our movements — so too Hashem’s conduct toward us reflects how we act toward Him and others. When we sing about Hashem, we “stimulate,” so to speak, Hashem to sing about us.
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Turning to the word “az” of the verse, the Midrash (Shemos Rabbah 23:3 and Yalkut Shimoni, Shemos remez 174) says that this az is in fact a rectification of another az Moshe uttered once before. Earlier at the very end of Parshas Shemos, when Moshe first went to Paro to demand the Jewish people’s release and instead Paro intensified the slavery, Moshe complained to Hashem. He said, “My L-rd, why have You done evil to this people… from then (az) I came to Paro to speak in Your name, and he has only done evil to this people.”
There Moshe used the word az protesting against Hashem and complaining. Therefore, as a tikkun, he uses it here at the Sea, in praise.
The Midrash uses this as an illustration of a broader principle: we are meant to repurpose that which was once used negatively into something positive — especially our speech. This is hinted to in Shir HaShirim (4:11): “Your lips drip honey, O bride.” Instead of putrid fluids beneath the tongue, sweetness emerges.
And, the Midrash says, we learn this principle from Hashem Himself — for He too took an instrument of striking, a stick, and turned it into an instrument of goodness, as in this parsha when Moshe casts a bitter tasting stick into bitter waters and the waters become sweet.
But what’s special about the word az that it should be the chosen word to convey the idea of Moshe correcting his complaint to praise?
R’ Avraham Weinroth, in his sefer L’Ohr Kedushas Levi, suggests that az in its meaning of then, zooms in on a single moment of time. Now, not all moments are the same; some are painful, and some are pleasant, and the choice lies in when we allow our emotions to reign — whether we let them rule in moments of pain, sinking into sadness and despair, or allow them to reign in moments of goodness, feeling joy and happiness. The ideal is to become immersed in moments of gratitude and not imprisoned by moments of suffering. The tragedy of life is when we miss the joy of positive moments and feel only the pain of the negative ones.
This was Moshe’s error when he complained. When he first encountered failure before Paro, he was emotionally stuck in that painful moment. But at the Sea — despite knowing they were still entering a barren desert with no clear future and bread on their shoulders — he rectified that complaint by not allowing uncertainty to dampen joy. Instead, he and the people sang.
The lesson: don’t live in moments of despair; live fully in moments of appreciation.
Connecting this back to the Kedushas Levi’s idea — that yashir activates Hashem’s response — R’ Weinroth adds that Hashem, too, focuses on us in moments of elevation and righteousness, without fixating on past failures or future possibilities of error. “Ba’asher hu sham” — as Yishmael was judged in the moment he stood.
Rav Hutner, in a penetrating maamar (Pachad Yitzchak, Pesach 53), offers another dimension rooted in the etymological nature  of the word az. After explaining the mysterious grammatical phenomenon of the vav hahipuch — which can flip past tense into future — he quotes the Ibn Ezra that az performs a similar function, except that it ties the future into the present and past.
Based on the Vilna Gaon, Rav Hutner explains that this is hinted in the letters themselves:
Aleph = 1, the first day of creation.
Zayin = 7, Shabbos, the culmination of creation.
As we say in Lecha Dodi: sof maaseh b’machshavah techilah — the end was present in thought from the beginning. The future rests within the present.
Applying this to Moshe and his earlier complaint, it’s evident that it was because he could not yet feel that the suffering was part of a larger Divine plan. Intellectually he may have known it, but it wasn’t “in his bones”. He was in the moment of pain. (Interestingly, the form used there is me’az — perhaps hinting that he was not yet fully within the depth of az, but standing at a distance from it.)
At the Sea, however, everything became clear, and he could now see how that the trail from suffering to redemption had emerged. The future revealed itself as having been planned all along. And with that realization, song burst forth spontaneously. Now it was clear that the morning light was already present in yesterday’s darkness. This then was his rectification of his earlier error.

In summary, we gain two insights from the word az:

1. Az focuses us on a single moment — and we must choose whether to drown in the pain of a negative moment or rejoice in the blessings of a positive one. (R’ Weinroth)
2. Az reminds us that the future is woven into the beginning. Even when the present feels difficult, Hashem is quietly crafting redemption — and sometimes growth requires travail before light emerges. And, instead of living narrowly inside today’s pain, widen your vision and trust that there is rhyme and reason in Hashem’s unfolding plan. (R’ Hutner)