Rabbi O’s Weekly Parsha: Beshalach (Exodus 13:17-17:16)
Snow in the Siddur: A Daily Reminder We Often Miss
[A short message inspired by the recent barrage of snow in the Northeast]
I was humbled recently during morning prayers; it was even a bit embarrassing because I realized I had been saying certain words for decades but never really noticed their ultimate message. Psalm 147 is said during the first part (Pesukei D’Zimra) of Shachrit (the morning prayer service)—and it talks about snow!
He gives snow like wool; He scatters frost like ashes. Snow like wool? Frost like ashes?
I think I always assumed it was poetic imagery, but this week a colleague from Memphis, Rabbi Akiva Males, brought my attention to a wonderful explanation from the Imrei Emes (1865-1948; leader of the Ger Chassidic dynasty), and suddenly those familiar words sounded completely different.
Imrei Emes explains that this verse is not poetry for poetry’s sake, it is describing the reality of the world in which we live. HaShem gives snow like wool — meaning in proportion to the amount of wool people have. Wool represents warmth, clothing, and insulation. The Almighty sends heavy snowfall and harsh winters only to places that are equipped to survive them. Regions that have coats, infrastructure, and experience receive more snow. Regions that do not, won’t be barraged by snow on a regular basis.
Likewise, Frost He scatters like ashes. Ashes represent fuel; something that can be burned for heat. Where people have wood, coal, or the means to stay warm, Hashem sends frost. Where they do not, He withholds it.
In other words, the world is not random. It is tailor-made. G-d does not send massive blizzards to places that have no way to endure them. Everything is given with calculation and proportion.
We’ve seen this recently. Here in Charlotte, a few inches of snow can shut down the city and empty grocery store shelves. Meanwhile, in places like the Midwest, Toronto or parts of Eastern Europe, people get feet of snow and continue life as usual. They have plows and systems to handle it. Hashem gives each place what it can deal with.
Rav Yitzchak Zilberstein takes this idea a step further by understanding that snow is a metaphor for life. Life’s challenges are given in a similar way. For example, someone might look at a person with an illness or a special needs child or financial challenges and think, I could never deal with that. But, somehow, they—the person with the challenge—does. At other times, people might look at our struggles and think, I would never be able to deal with that.
Each of us is given custom-designed challenges and tests that are perfectly calibrated to who we are, even when they feel overwhelming. We will never be asked to carry someone else’s snowstorm and we won’t be given someone else’s winter. First comes the wool, the ability to withstand the weather, and then comes the snow.
And suddenly, the words in the morning prayers I’ve been saying for decades are sounding different. We are not just acknowledging and thanking Hashem for the weather. We are declaring that our lives are not chaotic, our struggles are not arbitrary, and our challenges are not cruel. Each one is measured. Each one is personal. Each one is given with care. And perhaps that’s why this verse is part of our daily liturgy. Its function is not to describe nature, but as a quiet reassurance to be repeated daily: The challenges we’re given are never proof of weakness — they’re evidence of the trust G-d has in us.
So, the next time we say these words, we can pause for a moment and realize that embedded in this familiar psalm is the quiet reassurance that nothing in our lives is accidental, and nothing we are facing was given without preparation. If snow has arrived, it must mean that we have wool. If the challenge feels heavy, the strength to carry it has already been placed within us.
May we all learn to recognize the wool in our lives, even when the snow feels heavy.
Good Shabbos
(Sources: Imrei Emes Likutim Neviim v’Kesuvim; Tuvcha Y’biyu, v.2 pp. 201-202)