On Simchat Torah we begin to praise God for bringing rain, but the official prayer requesting rain begins only on the night of the 7th of Cheshvan (in the Land of Israel; outside the Land of Israel it is said 60 days after the start of Autumn). It is made up of one short line, integrated into the usual prayer text: “Grant dew and rain for a blessing upon the face of the earth” (הָמָדֲא יֵנְּל פַה עָכָרְבִר לָטָמְּל וַן טֵתְו).
Let’s examine this blessing and, through it, explore the spiritual meaning of water in general in light of Kabbalah and Chasidut.
Between Dew and Rain
Water is a metaphor for Divine abundance, and specifically for Divine wisdom, primarily Torah. Water descends from hidden sources, quenches our thirsty souls, and is necessary for our survival; in this way, it serves as a living illustration of the abundance and wisdom our souls seek to draw from God.
In light of this, what does it mean that the request for rain refers to two types of precipitation— “dew” (tal) and “rain” (matar)? Simply put, it seems to suggest that we distinguish between two types of Divine abundance and wisdom.
Rain is a metaphor for God’s direct supervision of His world, as a Sovereign who resides above it. Rain descends openly from above to below, as if it pours directly from God. It is directly essential for our material existence, and we depend on it for our livelihood, like servants who sit at their master’s table. Although rain falls primarily during winter (in the Land of Israel), it is the only element of the water cycle that is not deterministic. In other words, we cannot predict when and where it will fall with scientific laws. This is why the Torah refers to it as a gift from heaven which comes as a direct response to our actions: “If you will diligently obey My commandments... I will give you rain for your land in its season,” and conversely, “Take heed lest your heart be deceived, and you turn aside and serve other gods... then God’s anger will be kindled against you, and He will shut up the heavens so that there will be no rain.”
It is also why the sages established the practice of praying for rain and even decreeing public fasts in response to a prolonged drought.
Dew, on the other hand, is a metaphor for God’s hidden Presence, as He dwells within our world. On the one hand, dew is constant and precipitates throughout the entire year, but on the other hand, its origin is invisible—it seems to form by itself during the night.
Similarly, God is universally present in our world at every moment and in every place, but He acts and reveals Himself in hidden ways that are not noticed without careful attention. In physical terms, the power of dew is less than that of rain—it cannot provide water to sustain a large population, and no one save specialists would measure how much dew has fallen at night. Spiritually, however, it resonates more deeply in our souls. It reminds us that there are subtle and hidden qualities in the soul that emerge naturally when we are in a “nocturnal” state of calm and relaxation. It is also explained that the Resurrection of the Dead will occur through the “dew of resurrection” (הָּיִּחְּל תַט). Thus, dew is a metaphor for the infusion of new life within us.
So far, we have discussed dew and rain as symbols of Divine abundance. Now, what about their role as symbols of Divine wisdom?
In this context of Divine wisdom, rain represents the Torah’s revealed dimension, while dew symbolizes its hidden dimension. The revealed part of the Torah includes the commandments and laws given to us by God as Sovereign. Just as rain is needed for our material existence and falls directly from the heavens, the Torah’s revealed part ensures our physical survival and directly guides us in the world.
The hidden part of the Torah, in contrast, is secretive and nocturnal like dew and includes the inner wisdom of Judaism, which is not measured quantitatively (in terms of how many commandments we fulfilled) but only qualitatively. Just as dew forms invisibly without being seen, so too does this inner wisdom work within us beneath the surface, in ways that are not always conscious.
These parallels are beautifully illustrated in the Hebrew words for “rain” (רָטָמ, pronounced: matar) and “dew” (לָט, pronounced: tal), respectively.
The word matar is the root of the word matarah (הָרָּטַמ), meaning “goal.” This hints at the linear and goal-oriented thinking of the Torah’s revealed dimension and of faith in God as Sovereign. The word tal on the other hand is the two-letter root of the word bitul (לוּּטִּב) meaning “self-nullification.” This word hints at the annulment of pride and ego, which is the primary objective of the Torah’s concealed dimension and of faith in God as omnipresent.
These ideas reveal to us a profound secret about the prayer “Grant dew and rain for a blessing,” which, among other things, is a request to harmonize the revealed and hidden dimensions, in both Torah and in life.
Between Chaos and Rectification
A basic principle in the Torah states, “God has made this opposite that”: everything has a positive version and a negative version. In Kabbalistic/Chasidic terminology the negative version is described as tohu—a chaotic, unrectified, or coarse version—and the positive version is described as tikkun—a refined, orderly, and rectified version.
This principle also applies to the respective qualities of dew and rain: there are a negative—tohu—dew and rain and a positive—tikkun—dew and rain, and we must distinguish between them.
The tohu rain manifests in harnessing linear, goal-oriented movement toward achievement for the sake of personal empowerment and self-aggrandizement. The pursuit of achievements whether external, like accumulating wealth or gaining fame, or spiritual, like acquiring knowledge or developing skills, when done primarily to showcase our virtues and talents, is an exploitation of the power of rain/goal-oriented energy in a noxious manner.
The tohu dew is the degeneration of noble self-nullification (bitul) into idleness (הָלָּטַּב, pronounced: batalah)—shirking responsibility in the name of unconditional self-acceptance. The tohu dew may take the form of overt laziness, like lounging in front of the TV, but it can also hide behind a seemingly spiritual facade of tranquility and relaxation. Either way, it is a damaging manifestation of the quality of dew.
How can we transition from these negative types of rain and dew to the positive ones?
In Kabbalah, it is explained that the fundamental difference between a reality of tohu and one of tikkun is that in tohu/chaos, each individual element believes it is the only one with the right to exist, and therefore the elements are separated and in conflict with one another. In contrast, in tikkun/rectification, the different elements integrate with one another—they open up to receive from one another and incorporate each other’s truths and perspectives. The tikkun versions of dew and rain are therefore characterized by their ability to contain each other’s qualities: rectified dew contains a drop of rain, and rectified rain contains a drop of dew.
Indeed, it is easy to see that the key to transforming negative achievement-oriented behavior (tohu rain) into a life of elevated, purposeful striving (tikkun rain) lies in infusing a little self-nullification and relaxation (dew) into our purposeful pursuit. All our endeavors and accomplishments are forever imbued with personal ambition and will result in chaos unless we carry them out with a sense of humility before the will of the Supreme Sovereign who sends us to do them. While striving toward our goals, we must introduce moments of surrender—pauses where we stop to take a breath and remember why we are striving to succeed in the first place.
Similarly, transforming negative idleness (tohu dew) into positive self-nullification (tikkun dew) is achieved by setting a goal (rain) to which we become nullified. The dew’s relaxed mode of being is not inherently negative but rather depends on how it is realized. If we simply nullify our will without any purpose, we end up wasting our lives away. But if we nullify ourselves to a higher goal, for the sake of fulfilling God’s will in the world and creating a life of meaning and giving, then our release from familiar perceptions and attachments becomes a means of elevation and growth.
Dew and Rain, East and West
In a broader social context, in our contemporary reality, we can identify phenomena of tohu rain primarily in Western culture, and phenomena of tohu dew primarily in Eastern culture.
In general, the West is characterized by rational, systematic, and goal-oriented thinking, as well as values of achievement, excellence, and self-fulfillment—all traits we have associated with rain. These values have led to remarkable scientific and technological achievements, but at the cost of arrogance, an inflated sense of omnipotence, and the belief that “the end justifies the means.” These flaws stem from an almost complete absence of the value of self-nullification, that is, from a lack of balancing dew.
The East, on the other hand, is characterized by a more circular and holistic worldview, less focused on conquering reality and more on integrating with it and turning inward—the qualities of dew. As a result, it has delved deeply into human consciousness and developed the inner world, but in other respects, it has remained stagnant. In the name of “accepting reality as it is”—in other words, the denial of the rain/goal-oriented mentality—it has left billions with a lowly idol-worshipping worldview, not to mention an economically underdeveloped, Third World condition.
The Torah of Israel—which geographically emerged and developed between Asia and Europe—has always sought to integrate the worldviews of the East and West. The Torah teaches us that humankind is commanded “to cultivate and to preserve” the world. To “cultivate” means to develop and improve the world in the spirit of the West, and to “preserve” it means to let the world remain as is, following the spirit of the East, lest it be destroyed and corrupted.
Similarly, the Torah commands people to rectify the exterior functionality of the individual and the community (primarily through its revealed dimension, akin to rain as mentioned above) while at the same time inviting them to deepen their awareness of their interior, delving into their souls, and thereby drawing closer to the Creator and cleaving to Him (primarily through its hidden dimension, akin to dew). These and other combinations are all reflected in the Torah’s fundamental distinction between the six weekdays dedicated to labor and during which we engage in rectifying our surroundings and environment, and the Sabbath, during which we allow the world to function as is and focus on the workings of our soul.
This reveals to us another great secret about the blessing “Grant dew and rain for a blessing”: its messages of aspiration to integrate, in a rectified way, the qualities of the East and the West through Judaism. Judaism seeks to infuse the dew of the East into the rain of the West and vice versa, until the proper blending of these qualities is achieved—dew and rain of rectification in the Land of Israel.
Between Israel and Egypt
Beyond mere integration between dew and rain, where each contains something of the other, it is clear that the best scenario is to truly merge them—to be both dew and rain simultaneously. But even here, we must ensure that we achieve a tikkun combination of dew and rain and not a tohu one. What are these two types of merging?
Well, before the Jewish people were exiled to the East (Babylon) and then to the West (Rome), our forefathers were exiled to the land of Egypt. Egypt was the first exile that enslaved us, and the exodus from it was the first redemption we experienced. Egypt is also the opposite of the Land of Israel, its mirror image. This is evident, among other things, with respect to the integration of dew and rain, the East and the West. The Lands of Israel and Egypt embody two forms of merging these two cultures: a positive merging of the tikkun versions of dew and rain, and a negative merging of their tohu versions.
Interestingly, this is revealed through the comparison the Torah makes between the water systems of Israel and Egypt:
For the land that you are entering to inherit is not like the Land of Egypt, from which you came, where you would sow your seed and water it with your foot, like a vegetable garden. But the land you are crossing into to inherit is a land of hills and valleys that drinks water from the rain of heaven. A land which Havayah your God cares for; the eyes of Havayah your God are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year.
The land of Egypt does not rely on intermittent rains descending from the heavens but is constantly irrigated by the mighty Nile River flowing through it. However, this comes at a price. In exchange for the stable flow of water, the Egyptians had to build complex irrigation channels or trudge back and forth to the Nile to water their fields bucket by bucket (“and water it with your foot”). This way of life symbolizes the type of mentality that Egypt represents—a mentality that prefers to rely on earthly sources of security over maintaining a demanding relationship with a Heavenly Ruler, even at the cost of hard physical labor.
This consciousness reflects the merging of tohu rain and dew, that is, external achievement coupled with idleness. This may sound contradictory, or even impossible, but unfortunately, it is all too common in the modern era. It is manifest in the familiar middle-class lifestyle which could be described by “our goal: idleness.” People devote themselves to building a career in the first half of life, in order to indulge in a lazy retirement in the second half. Egypt’s approach, willing to work hard just to secure a life of comfort and security, represents an ancient version of this same concept.
The Land of Israel, on the other hand, is not flat like Egypt and does not have large lakes and rivers, and therefore depends entirely on rain. On one hand, this creates a challenging reality of dependence on the heavens—it is a land, “which Havayah your God cares for,” i.e. constantly lies under God’s magnifying glass as it were. On the other hand, when the rain does come, there is no need for complex irrigation systems—the farmer finishes his work, goes to sleep, and the heavens give him rain directly where it is needed. This reality symbolizes the type of mentality represented by the Land of Israel. Instead of relying on earthly sources of security, we must lift our eyes to the heavens in prayer for blessing. This demands that we invest in our relationship with God, but if we are worthy, we will receive great blessing and abundance.
This consciousness reflects the merging of the tikkun rain and dew, meaning the striving for an elevated goal together with a sense of self-nullification. This combination can be described as nullification toward a goal—complete devotion to our purpose as servants of God in this world—free of the goal of reaching retirement—coupled with a willingness to accept whatever He gives us, for better or for worse. This combination is expressed in what the Ba’al Shem Tov defined as “relaxed quickness” (תּינוִתְמִּת בּיזוִרְז). This special state of mind calls for energetic action outwardly, but from a place of inner tranquility rooted in faith. The approach of the Land of Israel, which forsakes earthly security in favor of a life of real and exposed connection with God, symbolizes this merging.
Returning to Faith
The correspondence between these two ways of merging the dew and rain energies with the imagery of Egypt and Israel sheds new light on the story of Israelites’ descent into Egypt and the Exodus from Egypt. The descent into Egypt, which, as we recall, occurred due to a severe drought, is revealed as a metaphor for a kind of spiritual decline, driven by the hardships of life, from a life of faith in Divine grace to reliance on earthly foundations. The Exodus from Egypt back to the Land of Israel through a wilderness where even bread descends from the heavens, serves as a metaphor for a willingness to return and devote ourselves to a life of faith.
The connection between the blessing of dew and rain and the Exodus from Egypt is reflected in the fact that we stop requesting “dew and rain for a blessing” and begin to request only “grant a blessing” on the first day of Passover, the official end of the rainy season on the Hebrew calendar.
But now, as we stand a few weeks after Rosh HaShanah, with a long drought behind us, and an uncertain winter ahead of us, we must dedicate this period, from the 7th of Cheshvan to the 15th of Nissan, to deep and pure prayer for dew and rain—the inner Jewish merging of attaining goals with a sense of self-nullification—bitul and matarah. With God’s help, we will thus merit a winter of literal dew and rain, and on Passover—the Festival of the Spring—a true Exodus from Egypt.
