Episode Details

Thanking Water and Dust – The Hidden Torah of Hakarat HaTov

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Today’s shiur is לְעִילּוּי נִשְׁמַת שַׁעְיָא אַבִּיטָן ע״ה, four years since his פְטִירָה.

Last night we stood together with the family as they brought a new Sefer Torah into the world. Not just any Torah — a tiny, magnificent scroll, about six and three-quarter inches high. Exquisite כתיבה, a jewel of a Torah. You almost feel you should pick it up with two fingers and whisper.

It reminded me of that שַׁס piece: the king has a special Sefer Torah that “goes in and out with him,” on his arm, wherever he goes — not in the Aron, but on the body. “וְהָיְתָה עִמּוֹ וְקָרָא בוֹ כׇּּל יְמֵי חַיָּיו” (דברים י״ז:י״ט), and ḥazal say: “כְּשֶׁיּוֹצֵא – מַכְנִיסָה עִמּוֹ, כְּשֶׁנִּכְנָס – מוֹצִיאָה עִמּוֹ.” 

You look at Ariel’s little Sefer Torah and you think: maybe this is what that royal Sefer Torah looked like — something small enough to bind to the arm, close enough the hat a king never forgets Who is really in charge.

And then, standing there, I saw an old friend I haven’t seen in decades — Michael Safdie, who now has a podcast on בִּטָּחוֹן בַּה׳. And he spoke about how your father, Rabbi Abittan זצ״ל, changed his life, about learning with your brother Victor, about how the Rav always carried a sefer, always spoke about bitachon and hoda’ah — appreciation, הַכָּרַת הַטּוֹב.

The Rav used to say: “מוֹדֶה doesn’t only mean ‘I thank you.’ It also means, ‘I admit I needed you.’”

That’s our topic this morning. In Parashat וָאֵרָא, HaShem brings the first plagues on Egypt, but hidden inside the makkot is a quiet, royal-sized Sefer Torah on the arm: the Torah of הַכָּרַת הַטּוֹב — gratitude — and how it builds real בִּטָּחוֹן.

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Act I – When Even Water Gets a “Thank You”

We’ll start simple. The Chumash tells us:

“וַיֹּאמֶר ה׳ אֶל־מֹשֶׁה, אֱמֹר אֶל־אַהֲרֹן: קַח מַטְּךָ וּנְטֵה יָדְךָ עַל־מֵימֵי מִצְרַיִם… וְהָיוּ דָם” (שְׁמוֹת ז׳:י״ט).

HaShem tells Moshe what to do — but the one who actually hits the water is Aharon.

Rashi says why:

“אֱמֹר אֶל אַהֲרֹן… לְפִי שֶׁהֵגֵן הַיְאוֹר עַל מֹשֶׁה כְּשֶׁנִּשְׁלַךְ לְתוֹכוֹ, לְפִיכָךְ לֹא לָקָה עַל יָדוֹ לֹא בַּדָּם וְלֹא בַצְפַרְדְּעִים…” 

The Nile saved Moshe as a baby — therefore Moshe can’t be the one to strike it.

Same with the third plague:

“נְטֵה אֶת מַטְּךָ וְהַךְ אֶת עֲפַר הָאָרֶץ… וַיְהִי הַכֵּן” (שְׁמוֹת ח׳:י״ב–י״ג).

Again, Rashi: Aharon, not Moshe, hits the dust — because the earth once hid the Egyptian whom Moshe was forced to kill to save a Jew. 

And the Gemara crystallizes the rule with a sharp folk saying:

“בְּאֵרָא דְּשָׁתִית מִינֵּיהּ מַיָּא – לָא תִשְׁדֵּי בֵּיהּ כֵּיפָא.”

“A well from which you drank water — don’t throw a stone into it.” (בָּבָא קַמָּא 92b) 

Now, the simple Musa r is one we’ve all heard: if Moshe Rabbeinu owes gratitude to water and dirt, how much more so to a human being who has helped us.

But Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky asks a tougher question. He quotes this same Rashi and then says: one second — isn’t it a great honor for the water and the dust to be the vehicle of HaShem’s open miracles? Wouldn’t it be a spiritual elevation for the Nile to scream out “there is no god but HaShem” in bright red blood? So why is hitting the Nile called a lack of gratitude? Wouldn’t that be the best “thank you” you could give to water and dust? 

He brings, in the name of Rabbi Nosson Shapira of Krakow (1585–1633), a story – preserved in later collections – about a pious widow in the Krakow market who sold bagels while reciting Tehillim. A wealthy man offered to support her so she could sit and learn and pray all day. Beautiful. She accepts.

But