By Rabbi Dow Marmur
JERUSALEM–Many believers affirm that precipitation comes from God. Throughout history, the absence of rain in its due season has constituted a formidable threat to humans and animals alike. A drought in the ancient, largely agrarian, world meant death by starvation, in the face of which people turned to the skies — identified as heaven — for help and comfort.
Though modern irrigation techniques have alleviated countless hardships, insufficient access to fresh water continues to spell danger in many parts of the world. International disputes, anticipated dire consequences of global warming and the current cholera outbreak in Haiti are some of the ominous reminders of what’s at stake.
Since biblical times and before, the land of Israel has been vulnerable to drought. That’s why water technology is so important for contemporary Israel. The spectacular advances made there are often shared with other countries where they bring untold blessings, especially to the poor.
One of the ironies of the situation in the Middle East is that those who so passionately proclaim their desire to destroy Israel stand much to benefit from its continued existence. Thanks to Israeli water technology, disease and hunger could be dramatically alleviated in neighbouring countries.
However, there are Israelis who because of their religious convictions refuse to ascribe the availability of water to human endeavour. Prayers for rain are an integral part of Jewish liturgy; they’re greatly intensified in the face of impending drought. As this year the expected November rains didn’t come, rabbis in Israel — sometimes together with Muslim imams, Christian priests and even secular farmers — led crowds in fervent propitiations. At least in one instance, a group went up in a balloon to pray, if not to be closer to God then perhaps in search of clouds.
As is their want, reckless religious leaders greatly overstepped the mark in their zeal and ostensible piety when they accused their secular contemporaries of having caused the drought by their sins.
In the second week of December the rains finally came to Israel, indeed to the whole region where prayers had also been recited. Whatever explanations meteorologists offered, even some of those who rightly repudiated the outrageous rants against non-believers may have had an uneasy feeling that it was the devotions of the zealots that contributed to the skies opening up.
Others may have implicitly paraphrased a famous scientist’s reputed reply to a visitor who wanted to know if the host believed in the astrological chart he kept on the wall of his lab: “Of course I don’t — but it works.” Even skeptics could be excused for having been awed by the downpour. Who can actually prove that it wasn’t prayer that helped to bring it about?
But there’s also a view that when the rains come in furor and excess, as they did this time, what was supposed to be a sign of divine grace appears more like evidence of God’s anger. Too much rain can be no less of a disaster than too little. The victims of the recent floods in Pakistan, Colombia and elsewhere can testify to that. If God actually caused the deluge, the prayers may have been counterproductive, especially as the region has again become ominously dry after the storm.
Theology is a complex subject. Though I believe it to be crucial for the human appreciation of the universe and our place in it, when we try to apply religion to matters that can best be explained by science we find ourselves in very hot water.
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Rabbi Marmur is spiritual leader emeritus at Holy Blossom Temple in Toronto, where this article first appeared in The Star. Marmur divides his year between Canada and Israel.