Rav Aharon Kotler, zt’l, the renowned ga’on and rosh yeshiva, was the founder of Beis Medrash Govoha in Lakewood. One of Gedolei haDor, Reb Aharon was both an incomparable guardian of Talmud Torah and the leader of Va’ad Hatzalah during the Holocaust. Rav Aharon’s brilliance was matched only by his sensitivity, caring heart and dedication to klal Yisrael. He consistently decried any hint of vapidity in his talmidim, and demanded that they work to become people of thoughtful attention, depth, open-heartedness and caring.
One morning, Rav Aharon appeared restless and agitated, and was seen pacing to and fro outside the Beis Medrash. A talmid approached the venerated Rosh Yeshivah and softly inquired what was bothering him. “Imagine a Yid after davening, sitting with his breakfast, leafing through the morning newspaper. He looks at the headlines and sees what’s happening in the world — a war here, an earthquake there… He takes a bite of his cheese danish, turns the page and continues reading. Where is the Yiddishe heart? Where is the penimiyus?”
Our sedra culminates with makas barad, the sixth plague delivered upon Mitzrayim, a hail-storm of such intensity that no living thing could escape its fiery downpour. Safety was to be found only in the shelter of the houses….
הַיָּרֵא אֶת־דְּבַר ה׳ מֵעַבְדֵי פַּרְעֹה הֵנִיס אֶת־עֲבָדָיו וְאֶת־מִקְנֵהוּ אֶל־הַבָּתִּים׃
וַאֲשֶׁר לֹא־שָׂם לִבּוֹ אֶל־דְּבַר ה׳ וַיַּעֲזֹב אֶת־עֲבָדָיו וְאֶת־מִקְנֵהוּ בַּשָּׂדֶה׃
Those among Pharaoh’s courtiers who feared Hashem’s word brought their slaves and livestock indoors to safety, but those who paid no heed to the word Hashem left their slaves and livestock in the open. (9:20-21)
The Egyptian citizens had already endured months of retribution and Divine wrath. Again and again, they had experienced the revealed hand of Hashem. Moshe Rabbeinu had warned them of each punishment that was to come, and each time the plague had arrived exactly as Moshe had described. The Egyptians must have known to heed Moshe’s exhortation, yet they continued to rebuff him and ignore Hashem’s word spoken through Moshe.
A miraculous hailstorm of fire and ice pummeled Mitzrayim, destroying homes and property, and the servants and livestock that the Egyptians callously left outdoors. As the plague wreaked havoc throughout the land, Paroh verbally surrendered, promising to free the nation he held captive, and ordered Moshe to plead to Hashem that the plague stop. As soon as Moshe Rabbeinu spread out his hands and davened, “the thunder and hail ceased and rain did not reach the earth”(9:33). Rashi clarifies: the hailstones that were in mid air at the time of Moshe’s prayer immediately disappeared and never reached the earth.
Darash Moshe, a compilation of posthumously published shiurim delivered by Rav Moshe Feinstein while he was the Rav of Luban, Russia, addressed the incredible and seemingly extraneous miracles performed in this maka. We know that Hashem does not perform a miracle unless it is necessary, and the hailstones disappearing in midair — not even suddenly melting and turning into rain — was an additional miracle. Why was it necessary?
We view the halting of the hail’s descent as miraculous only because we accept as fact the laws of physics, which demand that heavy objects such as hail that are suspended in midair must eventually fall. This reality is true only because Hashem ordained at the time of Creation that heavy objects fall and lighter ones are suspended. Had Hashem wanted, He could just as easily have done the opposite.
To Hashem there is absolutely no difference between hailstones landing on earth and hailstones stopping in mid-fall. At the time of the plagues, when Hashem was acting toward the Egyptians in a way that was contrary to the normal order of this world, it was perfectly “natural” for the hailstones to disappear as suddenly as they had appeared, and not fall to earth. “Miraculous” had become the “natural order” of the moment. The lesson is: From Hashem’s vantage point, nature and miracles are one and the same.
Our question remains, however: how is it possible that the Egyptians continued to be in such blatant denial, so insensitive to God’s power and Providence, to the extent that Pharaoh’s own servants left their servants and livestock out in the fields to be destroyed?
Actually, the pasuk itself reveals the answer. The Egyptians who did not bring their slaves and livestock indoors were not necessarily kofer b’Hashem, in denial of Hashem’s word, but rather לֹא־שָׂם לִבּוֹ אֶל־דְּבַר ה׳; they simply did not take the word of God to heart. Perhaps they had an intellectual understanding and recognition of Divine involvement in the world, and even some form of awareness of the greatness and infinite capabilities of God. They simply did not ‘pay attention.’
We can understand this ‘plague of inattention’ from our own experience. We are surrounded by a culture of distraction and mindless images that require no thought. This is arguably a greater threat and has a more corrosive effect on our long-term spiritual well being than any hailstorm or physical darkness. In this culture of ‘content over contact’, we are bombarded with information and media that discourages engagement, critical analysis, or effort. We are served up ‘inspiration’, the ‘answers’, the ‘truth’, and are subtly directed to swallow these whole, without even looking to see what we are internalizing. Irrespective of the holy worthiness of the content, be it an uplifting story, a powerful Torah idea or a moment of family togetherness, we are still capable of glibly scrolling through it without really paying attention or taking it to heart. We can’t even recognize the darkness that we’re in.
Regarding the barad, Ramban (13:16) asserts that one does not have a share in the Torah of Moshe Rabbeinu unless he believes that everything that occurs in this world is, in fact, miraculous, and that there is nothing truly “natural” at all. A lesson learned from makas barad is thus to center our experience on real interpersonal contact, Divine connection, and to mindfully internalize what is real and beneficial. To actively cultivate a sensitivity to what is really miraculous.
May we awaken our Yiddishe heart, opening ourselves to see and learn new things, showing gratitude, making thoughtful choices and generously shining the light of our attention upon our tefillos, Torah study and performance of mitzvos. May we appreciate the miracles and wonders that surround us and grace us every day — and may we pay heed to the word of Hashem, Who desires to redeem us from exile. בקרוב ממש!
Rav Judah Mischel is executive director of Camp HASC, the Hebrew Academy for Special Children. He is the mashpiah of OU-NCSY, founder of Tzama Nafshi and the author of “Baderech: Along the Path of Teshuva.” Rav Judah lives in Ramat Beit Shemesh with his wife Ora and their family.
