We dole things out with a closed fist, hesitant, as if we're afraid of running out. But what about the Divine?
Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, delves into this very question using a powerful metaphor: a sponge. Imagine holding a sponge full of water. A human, if they open their hand, nothing comes out. They have to squeeze, to force the water out. But, the text asks, is that how the Holy One, Blessed be He, operates?
The answer, emphatically, is no. "You open Your hand, and satisfy the desire of every living being" (Psalms 145:16). The Zohar tells us that God's hand is always open, always ready to provide. Think of the verse, "The streams [peleg] of God are filled with water" (Psalms 65:10), or "who measured water in His palm" (Isaiah 40:12). God has abundance. And when He withholds, it’s a conscious decision: "Behold, He shuts the water and it dries" (Job 12:15), and "He will shut the heavens and there will be no rain" (Deuteronomy 11:17).
But when He opens His hand? The rain falls. "The Lord will open for you His good storehouse, the heavens [to provide rain for your land in its time]" (Deuteronomy 28:12). It's not just about providing sustenance; it's about fulfilling desire. The text pointedly says, "the desire of every living being," not just "the food of every living being."
And where do we see this most clearly? In the story of the manna, the miraculous food provided to the Israelites in the desert. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, it wasn't just bland sustenance. It was personalized. It catered to individual longings.
The Torah says, "These forty years the Lord your God is with you, you lacked nothing [davar]" (Deuteronomy 2:7). Here, davar doesn't just mean "thing." It means "word." The Rabbis play on this. If someone simply said they wanted a piece of fattened meat, the manna would taste like fattened meat! Rabbi Abba takes it a step further: you didn't even have to say it. If you merely thought of something you desired, God would fulfill your wish.
Ezekiel echoes this sentiment: "My bread that I gave you, fine flour, oil, and honey I fed you" (Ezekiel 16:19). But wait, how do we reconcile this with Exodus 16:31, which says, "And its taste was like a cake of honey," and Numbers 11:8, "Its taste was like the taste of cake baked with oil"?
The Midrash provides a beautiful answer. It wasn't just one taste for everyone. Lads tasted bread; elders, honey; babies, oil. The manna adapted to the palate and the needs of each individual. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, God's generosity is infinitely customizable.
So, what does this all mean? It's a reminder of the boundless nature of divine provision. It's not just about having our basic needs met. It's about having our deepest desires acknowledged and, in some way, fulfilled. It’s about a God who knows us intimately, who sees our individual longings, and who opens His hand to satisfy them. Can we, in turn, strive to emulate that generosity, that attentiveness, in our own lives?