Miracles in Judaism
God chooses to govern the world through a hidden system known as hester panim ("concealment of His face"). Open miracles, which suspend the laws of nature, are reserved for unique moments in history because they diminish human free will. Divine intervention in the form of overt miracles was necessary during the early stages of the Jewish nation, particularly after the Exodus from Egypt, to establish the foundational pillars of faith. But once those foundations were set, God's preferred mode of interaction became more subtle, allowing people to choose belief without being overwhelmed by undeniable supernatural events.
Where Have All the Miracles Gone? Why Don't We Have Them Today?
If God wants us to believe in Him, why doesn’t He show us something miraculous?
“If God would just do a miracle-right here, right now, in front of my eyes-I would become a person of faith.”
This is a common sentiment in conversations about faith. If God truly wants us to believe in Him, why doesn’t He perform a clear, supernatural wonder for each of us?
This question isn’t new. In fact, one of the Sages of the Talmud asked it over 1,600 years ago: Why did earlier generations witness miracles, while ours does not?
What Is a Miracle, Really?
Let’s first clarify the term “miracle.” In Hebrew, a nes (miracle) is an event that breaks the rules of nature, something that defies rational or scientific explanation. A river turning to blood, a missile that veers off-course for no reason, or a head-on collision where all passengers walk away unharmed are all examples of miracles. Put simply, a miracle is something that wasn’t supposed to happen.
Miracles are acts of Divine intervention that defy the natural order of events. But in Judaism, not everyone thinks of miracles as purely positive.
When Nature Bends, Is That Really Good?
The Talmud (Shabbat 53b) tells the story of a man whose wife passed away, leaving him with an infant. With no money to hire a wet nurse (and no baby formula in those days), he was consumed with fear that the child would die. A miracle occurred: his body developed the ability to nurse like a woman, and he fed the baby himself.
The Sages debated whether this miracle reflected the man’s greatness or frailty. One said it proved he was worthy of Divine intervention. Another disagreed: if God had to override the laws of creation for him, perhaps it was a sign of spiritual failure, not merit.
According to one view, miracles are powerful affirmations of God’s control over nature and serve as proof that the Creator can also override His own laws. But others, including the Rambam (Maimonides), took a different approach.
Miracles: Built-In or Breakdowns?
The Rambam held that God designed the world with precision. All miracles, he taught, were preprogrammed into creation itself. For example, at the moment of creation, the Red Sea was embedded with a hidden command: “Split at this specific time and place when the Children of Israel arrive.” Every miracle, in his view, was built into the system from the get-go.
If God must “break” His own laws to intervene, that implies a flaw in the original design, a notion the Rambam rejected. To him, the highest expression of God’s greatness is not in breaking the system, but in creating a system so perfect that it doesn’t need to be broken.
Miracles Don’t Guarantee Faith
Even an open miracle isn’t a guarantee of spiritual growth. A spectacular event may stir emotion, but it doesn’t necessarily lead to inner transformation. True faith comes through choice, effort, and a willingness to seek God from within, not from signs and wonders.
Our Sages said that when the Red Sea split, even the simplest maidservant “saw more than the prophet Yechezkel” (Mechilta). Yet, as Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk famously observed: “She saw the miracle and remained a maidservant.” The experience alone wasn’t enough to elevate her spiritually. In other words, though a miracle can awaken tremendous awe in a person, it does not replace the need for inner spiritual work, which is a necessary condition for spiritual elevation. In the absence of personal inner effort, miraculous wonders will not change a person. Awe is not the same thing as profound inner change.
Beyond this, there’s also the problem of reliability. The Rambam warns: “One who believes based solely on miracles, his faith is flawed, for even signs and wonders can be produced through sorcery or illusion” (Hilchot Yesodei HaTorah 8:1).
Growing Out of Miracles
In ancient times, miracles were frequent. Today, they are rare. Why? Because humanity has matured.
During the formative stages of Jewish history, after the Exodus from Egypt, God used open miracles to instill foundational beliefs. The Ten Plagues, the splitting of the sea, the revelation at Sinai, and the manna in the desert were all part of building a relationship with the nascent nation.
But this was a temporary phase-not a permanent strategy.
Just like a child begins life completely dependent on their parents but gradually learns to walk, talk, and act independently, so too do the Jewish people. As we mature, God expects more of us. He steps back, allowing us to choose faith and not to be forced into it.
If God sent you a personal miracle every day, would believing in Him really be a choice?
From Open Miracles to Hidden Ones
Today, God leads the world not through flashy miracles but through hidden miracles, i.e., the natural order of the world itself.
Have you ever watched a fetus grow in the womb? Studied the complex systems in the human body? Looked through a telescope? The entire universe operates with breathtaking complexity, harmony, and beauty. None of this is incidental. Everything is a miracle encased in the laws of nature.
As the Ramban (Nachmanides) wrote in his commentary:
Through the great, revealed miracles, we come to recognize the hidden ones… A person has no share in the Torah of Moshe Rabbeinu unless they believe that all that happens, whether to the individual or the collective, are miracles, with no natural order or law (commentary on Shemot 13:16).
In truth, everything around us is a miracle.
A More Mature Faith
The shift away from open miracles reflects a deeper spiritual maturity. Our task now is not to demand wonders, but to develop faith from within. Just as children grow into adults and take on greater responsibility, our relationship with God evolves.
God doesn’t want us to be passive recipients of faith. He wants us to build it through study, introspection, and action. That’s why miracles are less frequent: because now, we are capable of seeking Him without them.
The Hebrew word for faith, “emunah,” comes from the root oman, meaning “training.” Faith requires exercise. The more we work at it, the stronger it becomes.
So Why Did Earlier Generations See Miracles?
Back to our original question from the Talmud: why did earlier generations witness miracles, while we do not?
Because they were willing to sacrifice everything for God’s name, while we are not.
By definition, a miracle is the suspension of the world’s natural order. It only happens when we ourselves are willing to step beyond our comfort zone, to transcend what is “natural” for us.
The great rabbis and mystics didn’t differentiate between nature and miracle. For them, every heartbeat, every sunrise, and every blade of grass was Divine. That’s why they merited open miracles, because for them, miracle and nature were one and the same.
The Real Miracle Is Seeing God in the Everyday
If you’re waiting for a bolt of lightning to flash in the sky to prove God’s existence, you may be missing the far greater miracle: the fact that you’re breathing, reading, and thinking right now.
The challenge of our generation is to believe even when the sea doesn’t split. To discover the extraordinary within the ordinary. And to find God not outside of nature, but within it.
The most famous miracles in the Torah took place during and after the Exodus from Egypt: the ten plagues, the splitting of the Red Sea, the revelation at Mount Sinai, and later, throughout the Israelites’ desert journey, manna from heaven, a traveling water source, and clothing that never wore out.
We often imagine these miracles as sudden, supernatural events, appearing out of nowhere. But the Torah emphasizes that each miracle was interwoven with natural forces. Take the splitting of the Red Sea, for example: the text notes that “a strong east wind blew all night.” Some natural scientists have tried to use this to argue that the event wasn’t really a miracle at all and was just a powerful storm that happened to strike the sea on the very night that the Egyptian army closed in on the freed Jewish slaves (what a coincidence…).
But that argument invites an even deeper question: Who caused the wind to blow that night, precisely as the Egyptians closed in? Why did only the Israelites cross safely while every Egyptian soldier drowned? How did the waters stand tall like a wall without a single Israelite being swept away? And how did the sea split into twelve separate paths, one for each tribe?
Maybe that was all just a coincidence too?
Surprisingly, after the Revelation at Mount Sinai, God commanded us in His Torah not to rely on miracles when determining halacha (Jewish law). One of the most famous stories in the Talmud, the Oven of Achnai (Bava Metzia 59b), illustrates this principle powerfully.
In the story, the Sages argue with Rabbi Eliezer about a halachic matter. Jewish law mandates that rulings must follow the majority, based on the verse, “Follow the majority” (Shemot 23:2). When the Sages remain unconvinced by Rabbi Eliezer’s arguments, he attempts to prove his position with supernatural signs: a tree uproots itself and flies dozens of feet, a stream flows backward, and the walls of the study hall begin to collapse. Even when a heavenly voice declares, “The halacha follows Rabbi Eliezer,” the other Sages remain unmoved.
Rabbi Yehoshua, leading the dissent, responds with a verse from the Torah: “It is not in heaven” (Devarim 30:12). Since the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, the authority to decide matters of Jewish law rests solely with the sages of Israel. Even Divine voices no longer interfere.
The Talmud teaches, “Whoever benefits from a miracle, some of their merits are deducted” (Ta’anit 24a). In other words, when someone experiences a miracle, there is a spiritual cost. They must “pay” for it by forfeiting some of the merit they’ve earned through mitzvot (Divine commandments) and good deeds.
The righteous individuals who witnessed miracles did not suffer this loss. Their spiritual level was so elevated that the miraculous appeared to them as completely natural. For them, a miracle wasn’t a deviation from reality. It was reality.
The Six-Day War of 1967 is often described as a war filled with hidden miracles-“coincidences” so precise that it’s hard to see them as anything but Divine intervention. One of Israel’s greatest successes during the war was “Operation Moked,” the daring preemptive airstrike that crippled the Egyptian air force. At exactly 7:14 A.M., Israeli Air Force jets took off for Egypt, bombed 11 airfields, and destroyed over 200 enemy planes. The operation was a near-total success, with hardly any Israeli casualties, despite flying through zones heavily armed with anti-aircraft missiles.
Here’s where the “coincidences” begin. The night before, Egypt’s Minister of Defense decided to conduct a front-line tour with other high-ranking officials the following morning. To ensure their safety, he ordered a complete shutdown of anti-aircraft fire between 7:00 and 8:00 A.M., exactly when the Israeli strike was scheduled, unbeknownst to anyone in the IDF.
But that’s not all. The Jordanian military actually detected the Israeli planes as soon as they took off and immediately reported the movement to the Egyptian command center. Using the agreed-upon code word-‘anab’ (grape)-the Jordanian controller repeated the warning over and over. But the Egyptian officer on the other end didn’t recognize the code and, growing increasingly frustrated, eventually severed the connection in anger.
As it turns out, that very morning, Egypt had switched to a new codebook. The Jordanians, unaware of the change, used an outdated code word that no longer appeared in the Egyptian system.
All of it, down to the last detail, just happened to occur “by coincidence.”
Two Jewish holidays were established to commemorate miracles that happened to our people: Chanukah and Purim.
On Chanukah, the miracle was openly visible. The Maccabees’ victory over the well-armed, mighty Greek army was nothing short of extraordinary. When they reached the Temple and rededicated the altar, they discovered a small jug of oil still sealed with the High Priest’s stamp. Though it contained only enough oil for one day, it miraculously kept the Temple menorah burning for eight.
Purim, by contrast, was a hidden miracle. In Megillat Esther (the Book of Esther), which tells the story, God’s name is not mentioned even once, a reflection of this Divine concealment. The narrative seems like a string of random political events in the Persian Empire: Queen Vashti is replaced by Esther, Mordechai uncovers a plot against King Achashverosh, and Haman schemes to annihilate the Jews. Yet one by one, the events fall into place like a puzzle.
Jewish tradition teaches that behind all of it was a single guiding hand: the hand of God. As we say in our daily prayers: “We thank You… for Your miracles that are with us every day, and for Your wonders and kindnesses at every moment.
The most famous miracles in the Torah took place during and after the Exodus from Egypt: the ten plagues, the splitting of the Red Sea, the revelation at Mount Sinai, and later, throughout the Israelites’ desert journey, manna from heaven, a traveling water source, and clothing that never wore out.
We often imagine these miracles as sudden, supernatural events, appearing out of nowhere. But the Torah emphasizes that each miracle was interwoven with natural forces. Take the splitting of the Red Sea, for example: the text notes that “a strong east wind blew all night.” Some natural scientists have tried to use this to argue that the event wasn’t really a miracle at all and was just a powerful storm that happened to strike the sea on the very night that the Egyptian army closed in on the freed Jewish slaves (what a coincidence…).
But that argument invites an even deeper question: Who caused the wind to blow that night, precisely as the Egyptians closed in? Why did only the Israelites cross safely while every Egyptian soldier drowned? How did the waters stand tall like a wall without a single Israelite being swept away? And how did the sea split into twelve separate paths, one for each tribe?
Maybe that was all just a coincidence too?
The Talmud teaches, “Whoever benefits from a miracle, some of their merits are deducted” (Ta’anit 24a). In other words, when someone experiences a miracle, there is a spiritual cost. They must “pay” for it by forfeiting some of the merit they’ve earned through mitzvot (Divine commandments) and good deeds.
The righteous individuals who witnessed miracles did not suffer this loss. Their spiritual level was so elevated that the miraculous appeared to them as completely natural. For them, a miracle wasn’t a deviation from reality. It was reality.
Two Jewish holidays were established to commemorate miracles that happened to our people: Chanukah and Purim.
On Chanukah, the miracle was openly visible. The Maccabees’ victory over the well-armed, mighty Greek army was nothing short of extraordinary. When they reached the Temple and rededicated the altar, they discovered a small jug of oil still sealed with the High Priest’s stamp. Though it contained only enough oil for one day, it miraculously kept the Temple menorah burning for eight.
Purim, by contrast, was a hidden miracle. In Megillat Esther (the Book of Esther), which tells the story, God’s name is not mentioned even once, a reflection of this Divine concealment. The narrative seems like a string of random political events in the Persian Empire: Queen Vashti is replaced by Esther, Mordechai uncovers a plot against King Achashverosh, and Haman schemes to annihilate the Jews. Yet one by one, the events fall into place like a puzzle.
Jewish tradition teaches that behind all of it was a single guiding hand: the hand of God. As we say in our daily prayers: “We thank You… for Your miracles that are with us every day, and for Your wonders and kindnesses at every moment.
Surprisingly, after the Revelation at Mount Sinai, God commanded us in His Torah not to rely on miracles when determining halacha (Jewish law). One of the most famous stories in the Talmud, the Oven of Achnai (Bava Metzia 59b), illustrates this principle powerfully.
In the story, the Sages argue with Rabbi Eliezer about a halachic matter. Jewish law mandates that rulings must follow the majority, based on the verse, “Follow the majority” (Shemot 23:2). When the Sages remain unconvinced by Rabbi Eliezer’s arguments, he attempts to prove his position with supernatural signs: a tree uproots itself and flies dozens of feet, a stream flows backward, and the walls of the study hall begin to collapse. Even when a heavenly voice declares, “The halacha follows Rabbi Eliezer,” the other Sages remain unmoved.
Rabbi Yehoshua, leading the dissent, responds with a verse from the Torah: “It is not in heaven” (Devarim 30:12). Since the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, the authority to decide matters of Jewish law rests solely with the sages of Israel. Even Divine voices no longer interfere.
The Six-Day War of 1967 is often described as a war filled with hidden miracles-“coincidences” so precise that it’s hard to see them as anything but Divine intervention. One of Israel’s greatest successes during the war was “Operation Moked,” the daring preemptive airstrike that crippled the Egyptian air force. At exactly 7:14 A.M., Israeli Air Force jets took off for Egypt, bombed 11 airfields, and destroyed over 200 enemy planes. The operation was a near-total success, with hardly any Israeli casualties, despite flying through zones heavily armed with anti-aircraft missiles.
Here’s where the “coincidences” begin. The night before, Egypt’s Minister of Defense decided to conduct a front-line tour with other high-ranking officials the following morning. To ensure their safety, he ordered a complete shutdown of anti-aircraft fire between 7:00 and 8:00 A.M., exactly when the Israeli strike was scheduled, unbeknownst to anyone in the IDF.
But that’s not all. The Jordanian military actually detected the Israeli planes as soon as they took off and immediately reported the movement to the Egyptian command center. Using the agreed-upon code word-‘anab’ (grape)-the Jordanian controller repeated the warning over and over. But the Egyptian officer on the other end didn’t recognize the code and, growing increasingly frustrated, eventually severed the connection in anger.
As it turns out, that very morning, Egypt had switched to a new codebook. The Jordanians, unaware of the change, used an outdated code word that no longer appeared in the Egyptian system.
All of it, down to the last detail, just happened to occur “by coincidence.”
A firsthand account from Rabbi Reuven Fierman of a miraculous moment and the stubbornness of human doubt
Rabbi Reuven Fierman tells a personal story from his army reserve duty, where a fellow soldier, an avowed atheist, seemed to witness something close to a Divine revelation. And yet, as Rabbi Fierman reflects: “One who doesn’t want to believe won’t believe. Not even if he sees a miracle with his own eyes.”
“Why Doesn’t God Just Show Himself?”
People often ask: “Why doesn’t God give us a Mount Sinai moment, right now, so we’ll all believe?” But reality tells a different story. Even those who experience great wonders-so-called “miracles”-might feel awe for a moment, but soon enough they explain it away with “rational” or “scientific” excuses. In truth, someone who isn’t sincerely searching for truth will never be convinced, not even by a miracle.
A Challenge in a Minefield
Rabbi Fierman recalls:
“Years ago, I served in the IDF reserves as a combat engineer in the Golan Heights. One day, we were sent on a particularly dangerous mission: to manually clear a path for tanks through an old minefield.
“Beyond the inherent danger, the task was grueling-hours of work with over 40 pounds of equipment on our backs in the scorching end-of-summer heat, no shade in sight. We wore heavy goggles, couldn’t see clearly, and every step could be fatal. The tension was overwhelming.
“My partner for the mission was Shimon, an intelligent, well-educated guy, working on his master’s in sociology. He was a staunch secularist, and we often debated religion, science, and ethics.
“After hours of painstaking work, we finished the task. Carefully, we backed out of the minefield and collapsed on the ground, utterly exhausted. Lying on our backs, staring at the blue sky, Shimon suddenly said in a philosophical tone, ‘And still, I don’t believe in God…'”
“Elevate the Rock, Then I’ll Believe”
This struck Fierman as odd. Shimon had always claimed that his atheism was as principled as a believer’s faith, so why the phrase “and still”? Was he doubting his own doubt?
Shimon explained: “My non-belief is philosophical. I don’t believe in God, until proven otherwise. You can’t prove existence or non-existence definitively. If God proved it to me, I’d believe.”
Rabbi Fierman pushed back: “Describe for me a scenario where you’d actually say, ‘I was wrong. There is a God’.”
Shimon pointed to a massive rock between them. “See that rock? I challenge God: elevate it, suspend it in the air for a few seconds, then toss it into the ravine. If He does that, I swear I’ll repent.”
Fierman thought the challenge was absurd. “God doesn’t play with rocks,” he replied. “But even if it was elevated, you’d just come up with another excuse.”
Shimon insisted: “I’m serious. If I saw clear proof, not the kind of intellectual stuff you talk about, but a real miracle, I’d change completely. Not like you. I’d wear a shtreimel (fur hat worn by Chassidim), grow long sidelocks, and move to Meah Shearim. You’d have to be a complete idiot not to obey God if He shows Himself. But He doesn’t. He’s not real. He doesn’t exist. Nada. Zip. Nothing. Just admit it already.”
The Rock Falls
Then, right in the middle of their heated debate, something unimaginable happened. Something Rabbi Fierman says he wouldn’t dare to invent, even in a dream.
The rock. The same rock Shimon had pointed to.
It moved.
And fell into the ravine.
Silence. Total shock.
They sat frozen, staring at the empty space where the rock had been. Fierman felt nauseous, gripped by a sense of something unnatural and terrifying. He wanted to run but couldn’t move a muscle.
After a long moment, Fierman broke the silence with a hint of humor. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Shimon hadn’t caught on yet.
“Where are the sidelocks and the long coat?” Fierman asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“You said if God elevated the rock and tossed it into the ravine, you’d repent.”
“So?” Shimon shrugged. “He didn’t elevate it.”
“But the second part happened! It’s in the ravine!”
“Big deal. A rock fell in the Golan Heights. Happens all the time.”
“That rock weighs tons,” Fierman pressed. “It’s been sitting here for centuries. Then you challenge God, and it falls. Coincidence?”
Shimon replied, “Have you ever heard of plate tectonics? Geophysics? The ground moves, just very slowly. Half a millimeter every hundred thousand years. That rock’s been edging closer to the cliff for millions of years. It just happened to fall now.”
“Besides,” he added, “you were tapping on it while we were talking. I was leaning on it. Maybe our weight made it wobble. Look down there; there are plenty of fallen rocks. You think God threw them? It’s called soil erosion. You expect me to become religious over that? Are you out of your mind?”
“I Wouldn’t Have Believed Anyway”
Fierman asked, “Still, hand on heart, wasn’t what just happened here incredible? Be honest.”
Shimon fell silent. After a pause, he turned and said: “You’re right. It was incredible. Nothing like this has ever happened to me, and probably never will again. It was almost a revealed miracle. But I just realized something else: even if the rock had really levitated, I still wouldn’t repent.”
“Why not?” asked Fierman.
“Because I don’t want to communicate with God through signs and hints,” he said. “I’m not into that.”
“What kind of signs?”
“The rock,” Shimon said. “If God wants me to repent, why use hints? Why not just say, ‘Shimon, be religious!’? Then I’d do it! No problem! Why riddles and puzzles? If I matter to Him, let Him give me a private Mount Sinai. I’d say, ‘Sure, whatever You want.’ But until then? Nothing. On principle.”
Fierman had no answer. This time, he was the one who sat in silence.
Then an idea came to him.
Speaking Our Language or Teaching Us a New One?
“You know,” he said, “a few months ago, my wife gave birth. Every time she takes care of our baby son, she says things like, ‘We’re going to change your diaper now,’ or ‘Where’s your pacifier?’ He doesn’t understand a word. All he knows is the language of touch, kisses, hugs, warmth, and taste. So why does she talk to him?”
Shimon shrugged.
“Because she wants him to grow. She doesn’t want him to stay a baby forever. She wants him to learn language. Same with us. If God only spoke to us in the ways we already understand, we’d never develop. We’d remain forever infantile.”
“So what’s the alternative?”
“We were meant to become prophets. A nation of prophets. And for that, we can’t rely only on the visible or obvious. We have to learn to hear what lies beneath the surface. That’s why the word ‘olam’ (world) shares the same root as the word he’elem (concealment). Reality hides its Source. But by listening carefully, we learn the Divine language.”
“God Is Always Speaking”
“What do you mean by ‘Divine language’?”
“Life itself. Every moment is a message. God is always speaking. Even if we don’t fully understand it yet, that’s how we grow. It’s like children: they talk before they understand grammar. The understanding comes later.”
“And if I misread the signs?” Shimon asked. “What if I get it all wrong?”
“That’s why God gave us the Torah to help us interpret His messages.”
Shimon was quiet. Then he said, “This is all too much for me. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a prophet. Not in this lifetime. I’m just a regular guy, and even that’s a stretch. But you know what? I wish someone had explained it to me this way before. You should keep listening. Keep decoding. And tell me later what you’ve learned.”
He said it seriously, and I sensed the conversation had gone as far as it could for now. I didn’t press him further. But maybe, just maybe, if I had, I would’ve said: “Shimon, it’s never too late to begin.”
God created natural laws as the framework through which He governs the world. He does not wish to run the universe through open miracles that would remove free will. The one-time breach of nature at the Exodus and Mount Sinai was necessary to establish a foundation of national belief. The miracles of that time are recorded in the Torah, and the truth of the Torah can be proven logically.
So when someone demands to see God “face to face” or have a personal Mount Sinai moment, the answer is this: God cannot be seen, but His presence can be known through the wisdom of His Torah and through the extraordinary design of the universe He created.
