Water From a Rock Was a Miracle. What About Your Faucet?

Have we become so accustomed to extraordinary things that we've forgotten how to be amazed by them?

Imagine being among the Jewish people wandering through the desert thousands of years ago.

Every morning, you wake up to discover food miraculously waiting for you on the ground. Manna has fallen from Heaven, enough to feed an entire nation.

When the people desperately need water, Hashem brings it pouring out of a rock.

Above you are the Ananei HaKavod, the Clouds of Glory, shielding the nation from the scorching desert sun.

For forty years, you experience a life sustained by miracles. Imagine witnessing those events firsthand. We still read about them thousands of years later with amazement.

But here's something I've been thinking about.

What if we're living through extraordinary wonders ourselves, and we've simply become too accustomed to them to notice?

The Jewish people needed a miracle to get water from a rock. I turn a faucet, and clean water comes pouring out of my wall. Hot or cold, whenever I want.

They received food from Heaven every morning. I take out my phone, press a few buttons, and someone brings a freshly prepared meal right to my front door. And somehow, I still get annoyed when Uber Eats takes an extra fifteen minutes.

They had the Clouds of Glory protecting them from the desert heat. I get into my car, turn on the air conditioning, and adjust the temperature to exactly 72 degrees.

Think about how unbelievable these everyday conveniences would seem to someone living three thousand years ago.

Of course, the miracles in the Torah were supernatural acts of Hashem, while modern technology operates through the laws of nature. There is an important difference.

But why should understanding how something works make it any less amazing?

What if the miracle is in the knowledge?

There's a fascinating explanation from the Ramban that offers a different way of looking at this.

In Shemot 15:25, the Jewish people arrive at Marah, where the water is too bitter to drink. Moshe cries out to Hashem, who shows him a tree. Moshe throws it into the water, and the water becomes drinkable.

The Ramban points out that the Torah uses the word Vayoreihu, which suggests that Hashem instructed Moshe.

He explains that, according to the straightforward meaning of the verse, the tree may have possessed a natural property that could sweeten the water. Hashem simply taught Moshe something about nature that he didn't previously know. The Ramban also brings the Midrash's interpretation that this was a supernatural miracle.

Consider the first explanation.

Hashem didn't necessarily have to change the laws of nature. He could simply reveal knowledge about the laws He had already created.

Isn't that something worth thinking about when we look at the incredible scientific discoveries humanity has made, like Desalination plants that turn seawater into drinking water?

The danger of getting too comfortable

This problem of taking extraordinary things for granted is hardly new.

The Mishnah (Pesachim 4:9) tells us that King Chizkiyahu hid away a Sefer Refuot, a Book of Remedies, and the Sages approved of his decision.

Rashi explains that people had become so reliant on the remedies that they no longer turned to Hashem when they were sick. They had the solutions right in front of them and forgot where healing ultimately comes from.

The problem isn't that we have the technology. The problem is when we become so impressed with what we've accomplished that we forget Who gave us the ability to accomplish it.

The Torah warns us about this very human tendency in Devarim, Chapter 8. Moshe reminds the Jewish people of the miracles they experienced in the desert, then warns them about what will happen when they enter Eretz Yisrael and begin living comfortably.

They might eventually say:

"Kochi v'otzem yadi" — My own strength and the power of my hand accomplished all this.

And the Torah immediately reminds us:

"V'zacharta et Hashem Elokecha, ki Hu hanoten lecha koach la'asot chayil."

Remember Hashem, because He is the One who gives you the power to succeed.

Now imagine something truly unimaginable

Let's take this thought to an extreme.

Imagine that one day, an Israeli scientist working with advanced artificial intelligence makes a discovery that changes everything we know about life and death.

Somehow, humanity develops the ability to bring back people who have truly died.

Think about that for a moment.

For centuries, Jews have prayed for and believed in Techiyat HaMeitim, the resurrection of the dead. It is one of the most extraordinary promises of our faith.

I certainly don't claim to know how that promised resurrection will unfold, or whether human technology could play any role in it.

But imagine if, somehow, a scientific discovery became part of its fulfillment.

Would we recognize the magnitude of what we were witnessing?

Or would we simply call it an incredible medical breakthrough, praise the scientists, marvel at artificial intelligence, and move on?

After centuries of praying for something so extraordinary, could we become so focused on how it happened that we forget to recognize Hashem in it?

And that brings me to something we say in the Amidah every weekday:

"אַתָּה חוֹנֵן לְאָדָם דַּעַת וּמְלַמֵּד לֶאֱנוֹשׁ בִּינָה"

"You graciously endow mankind with knowledge and teach human beings understanding."

We actually thank Hashem for the very intelligence that allows humanity to make these discoveries.

So if Hashem grants a scientist the knowledge to accomplish something previously unimaginable, why should the fact that we can explain it scientifically make us any less grateful?

The scientist deserves recognition. The discovery deserves celebration. But neither needs to come at the expense of recognizing the One who endowed humanity with intelligence in the first place.

I wonder what our ancestors would think if they could experience just one ordinary day in our world.

They might be overwhelmed by things we barely notice.

And perhaps they'd be even more surprised by how little we appreciate them.

Technology hasn't made the world less wondrous. It's made extraordinary things so ordinary that we've forgotten how extraordinary they really are.

Maybe the next time we turn on a faucet, we should take a moment to appreciate what an unbelievable gift it is.

Because understanding how something works should never make us forget to appreciate the One who gave us the ability to figure it out.