The ancient rabbis grappled with this question, turning to scripture and observation to understand the mysteries of the natural world. In Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Genesis, we find a fascinating debate. Rabbi Eliezer believed that the earth receives its water from the ocean. Makes sense. The ocean water evaporates, forms clouds, and then returns to the earth as rain. He even points to the verse "A mist would rise from the earth" (Genesis 2:6) as proof.
But Rabbi Yehoshua wasn't convinced. "Isn't ocean water salty?" he challenged. "How can rain originate there?" A valid point! How could salty water become fresh?
Rabbi Eliezer had an answer for that too. He argued that the water is sweetened in the clouds, citing Job 36:28: "Which the skies distill." He explained, the distillation process happens in the skies. Problem solved?
Not quite. Rabbi Yehoshua had a different theory altogether. He proposed that rain comes from the “upper waters," referring to Deuteronomy 11:11: "By the rains of the heavens it drinks water." He envisioned the clouds rising up from the earth to the firmament (the rakia, the expanse of the sky) and there, in the heavens, they receive water as if from the mouth of a jug. This is reflected in Job 36:27: "Which cluster into rain from His mist."
But here’s where it gets really interesting. The clouds, according to this view, don't just passively receive the water. They act like a sieve, separating the water so that no single drop touches another. image for a moment. The text supports this idea, quoting II Samuel 22:12: "Dripping water, thick clouds of the skies [sheḥakim]."
Now, why does the verse call the sky sheḥakim? Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish offers a compelling interpretation: it's because it shoḥakim – it crushes – the water into little pieces. It's a vivid picture of the sky actively working to break down the water.
Rabbi Abba bar Kahana adds to the image by comparing the sky to an omasum, a digestive organ in ruminants that crushes their food. It’s a somewhat unusual image, but it highlights the idea of the sky actively processing the water. Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman offers another analogy, comparing the sky to an animal’s intestines.
So, what are we to make of all this? Is rain from the ocean, or from upper waters? The rabbis, as they so often do, present multiple perspectives, each grounded in scripture and observation. They paint a picture of a dynamic sky, actively involved in the process of creating rain. Whether crushing the water, distilling it, or sieving it, the heavens are far more than just an empty space above us. They’re a workshop, a kitchen, even a digestive system, constantly transforming and refining the water that sustains life on earth.
Next time you feel the rain on your face, think about this ancient debate. Consider the salty sea, the distilling clouds, and the crushing sky. Maybe, just maybe, you'll catch a glimpse of the divine artistry at work.