You might have heard about the dire situation here in Israel. The country is hanging in the balance. The coming weeks will be critical. No, I'm not referring to the new Knesset coalition, neither for nor against. Politics are important, of course, but politicians come and go (we hope). At The Healthy Jew, however, we're concerned with the wellness of the people who participate in politics – a subject as important as Bibi and his foes. And regarding Israel's health, the signs are ominous. The winter rains have been terribly slow this year, with less rainfall than in the past sixty years.. When the heavens don't send rain, there's a drought. Drought leads to famine, and in famine people die. Until recently, we might have paused the political squabbling to address the unfolding catastrophe. Yet in 2023, ensconced in our concrete castles with desalinated Mediterranean water surging through the pipes, it can be hard to care. We've mostly detached from Israel's natural world. It's even tempting to enjoy the spring weather in January and wish it won't get too rainy and cold.
There's plenty of fixed ocean water to go around. If you happen to be a person, that is. But what if you're a deer, turtle, or carob tree? Tough luck. Your neighbors have hacked the system, hanging you out to dry in the warm winter sun.
Yet if we listen to rain's deeper story, the current drought is relevant as ever. Here is how Deuteronomy compares Israel to Egypt (11:10-12):
Egypt receives barely any rain, so farmers depend on the Nile's annual flood to water their crops. Already in ancient times, the floods were diverted to a sophisticated system of canals, dams, and dikes. In Israel, on the other hand, the winter rains support agriculture without human intervention. This exchange of river-based to rain-based farming can't be mere agricultural trivia. The Pentateuch's central theme is the Jewish nation leaving Egypt to relocate to Israel, and an immense portion – the chapters being read these weeks in synagogues – tells the Exodus story in minute detail. Numerous commandments are dedicated to remembering it. So the Torah's contrast of Egypt's river to Israel's rain must be teaching something important.
Rashi (1040-1105), the Torah's principal commentator, explained this passage's message with his trademark textual analysis. Life in Egypt requires waking up early in the morning and laboring all day – "by foot" – to water the fields. The highlands are especially challenging because they are above the Nile's water level. But in Israel, we can sleep in bed while God waters the entire country at every height, all together. "By the rains of heaven you will drink water." If we listen carefully, we can discern two opposite archetypes of life. Life can come from the ground up, or from the heavens down. In the Nile model, people don't join the natural world to receive life from above, but take it forcibly from nature, bringing the water "with your feet." Life is by humans and for humans only; beyond the populous Nile basin, Egypt is a barren desert. Not for naught was ancient Egypt known as a hotbed of sorcery – the dubious profession of manipulating nature to suit man's will. However, when depending on rain for sustenance, people are an integral part of the natural world, because "the rains of the heaven" feed the land's flora and fauna together with its people. In the rain model, every life form – including our own – emanates constantly from God, like rain flows down from the sky. In this vein, Nehemiah (9:6) completed his praise of creation's diverse wonders by noting that creation never really ended because "You give life to all of them." God relates to the natural world as soul to body: breathing into it life and guiding its every motion and change. Life is given freely; our role is but to receive it.
Throughout Scripture, rain is the way God responds to our readiness to receive His blessings, and drought is His reply when we prefer to manage life our own way. (For example, see Deuteronomy 11:13-17, Leviticus 26:3-5.) Although relying on God for sustenance yields better results, self-reliance is quite tempting, as attested to by droughts throughout Israel's history. To help us look inward during times of drought, the Mishnaic sages instituted a complex protocol of fasts and prayers when the winter rains don't come on time. Maimonides prefaced his Laws of Fasting by explaining that this crying for help is "from the ways of repentance," and recognizing that our plight stems from our wrongs brings deliverance. On the other hand, if we dismiss our predicament as happenchance – and rely on technology for salvation – we're choosing "the way of cruelty." How? By declaring that sustenance doesn't come from God's kindness, we won't think to right our wrongs, so more tribulations are in the offing. All this makes me pause when pondering the modern marvel of making ocean water potable. Desalinization is strikingly similar to ancient Egypt's canals, dikes, and dams: both artificially squeeze life from where it isn't naturally found. Much in the same way that Egypt is a desert outside the irrigated Nile basin, Israel under drought is parched outside our desalinated outposts. Because of desalination, we can forget the most obvious expression of Israel’s life flowing from heaven to the entire biosphere: rain. Would I like to shutter the desalination plants and risk deadly famine? Of course not. I'm grateful for the innovative technology that allows us to live through drought. I'm merely observing that we've saved only the slightest sliver of the biosphere; all the rest remains as dependent on rain as ever. And I'm reluctant to detach from the natural world's rain-life archetype and lock my life into whatever we can pull out from the ocean. How can I avoid becoming a desalinated, Nile-style person who doesn't need God, heaven, and rain? The solution is simple. The Amidah prayer, the heart of Jewish prayer for millennia, contains a blessing asking for successful harvests that bring satiety from the land. During the winter, a direct prayer for rain is added. Yet the blessing begins and concludes not with agriculture but with a general request for "the year," and it's called in the Talmud the "blessing for the year" (Megillah 17b). Why? Because the rain-life archetype applies to every line of work, not only farming. Jews have always prayed here for livelihood – whatever their profession – because a good year flows to every person from heaven. So until we've managed to desalinate money from the Mediterranean, I can still link up with the biosphere and receive livelihood from heaven. I'm trying to listen these days to the current drought's message. I recently completed college and am a qualified healthy lifestyle counselor, a wonderfully broad vocation that can bring income in a thousand ways or none at all. I'm working hard at setting up a viable business; you're reading now its first wobbly steps. But I can't ensure success. Yet I can choose between a desalinated, Nile-style income flow and one gratefully received from above. I can rely on my talents and tactics to force my way, retaining the glamorous illusion of control by metaphorically digging dikes and wringing salt out of water. Or I can identify with the natural world's present plight and pray for blessings to flow to all of God's creations, myself included. Of course, I'll still work hard to prepare my little corner of the biosphere, much in the same way the farmer plows and plants his field. But success isn't from me and for me only, but a gift from God to the entire world. This second attitude might reduce stress and worry. And work would be more relaxed and in tune with my natural place in the world. I'm not taking anything from anyone, but opening to receive from beyond. Today I've shared one aspect of humankind's deep connection with the natural world: our choice to link up with it in receiving life from above, or detach and grab it for ourselves from down here. This relationship has many facets, both biological and spiritual. We'll get to them in due time. In the meanwhile, the forecast calls for rain next week. Let's hope and pray that all of Israel's residents – plants, animals, and people - will drink together from the blessings of life. If you enjoyed this newsletter, please like it or even write a comment. This will help the algorithms notice us and pass on our message. Even more important, please forward this newsletter to anyone who might be interested, and post it anywhere that Health-seeking Jews might be found. Thank you! If you have any questions or suggestions for future topics, feel free to post in the comments section on the website or app, or contact me at thehealthyjew@substack.com. The Health Jew is not just a newsletter! I also offer counseling, workshops, and lectures about the topics listed in the About tab on the Substack website and app, and more. For more information, contact me at thehealthyjew@substack.com. Medical Disclaimer: All content published on The Healthy Jew is for informational and educational purposes only. Talk to a qualified professional before taking any action or substance that you read about here
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