Finding G-d in the Everyday

On the first day of the month of Nissan, fifteen days before the Exodus, G-d said to Moses, “This month, you and I will be redeemed, for we will be redeemed together” (Shemot Rabbah 15:2). What happens to us happens to G-d. If we are in exile, so is G-d. If His children are free, G-d is free as well.

That sounds beautiful and deeply stirring—but what does it mean that G-d is in exile, and what does it mean that G-d is free? We know very well what exile means for us. We have plenty of experience with that. But what do exile and freedom mean for G-d? And why should His freedom depend on us?

G-d in Exile

The Chassidic masters explained it this way. Exile for us does not necessarily mean living under the rule of a tyrant. Exile can also mean submitting completely to the natural patterns of ordinary life while dismissing the G-d factor. We assume that if we cook, we will have food. If we work, we will earn money. If we build, we will have a house. That is the norm. Miracles, we assume, are freaks of nature. They aren’t our regular reality. If they occasionally occur, they are flukes—events on which we should never rely.

Yet this mindset is not the natural disposition of a Jew, a child of G-d. A Jew’s instinctive perspective is that G-d provides for us, G-d assists us, and G-d stands by our side. He may choose to work through natural channels, but our employer does not truly pay us. G-d pays us through our employer. And the same G-d who provides for us through an employer can also provide for us without one.

This way of thinking does not mean that G-d will always act outside the natural order. That is entirely up to Him. It simply means that He can. And sometimes, to remind us of this truth, G-d allows it to happen.

The Talmud relates that the daughter of Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa mistakenly prepared vinegar instead of oil for her Shabbat candles. At the last moment, she realized the mistake and cried to her father that they would have no candles for Shabbat. The famous Rabbi Chanina calmly replied, “He who decreed that oil should burn will decree that vinegar should burn.” And so, it was (Talmud, Taanit 25a).

In truth, burning oil is no less a miracle than burning vinegar. We are simply accustomed to the miracle of oil burning, so we call it nature. We are unaccustomed to vinegar burning, so we call it a miracle. In truth, nature is merely a name we use for repeated patterns of miracles. In reality, the natural and the miraculous are both expressions of G-d’s active hand—one revealed and the other concealed.

Nothing could be more natural for a Jew than to think this way. When we dismiss G-d’s hand in our lives, it means that we are so bogged down, and it has been so long since we have consciously sensed His presence, that we begin to ignore it. We stop believing in it. That is a spiritual state of exile.

And if we feel distant from G-d, imagine how exiled G-d must feel—abandoned by His children. The Talmud tells us that G-d cries every day: “Woe to the father who exiled His children, and woe to the children who were exiled from their father” (Berachot 3a).

Indeed, when we are in exile, G-d is in exile with us. Only we can place Him in this kind of exile, and only we can liberate Him from it. This is why G-d told Moses so joyfully, “This month, you and I will be redeemed.” G-d would perform miracles, and we would reconnect with Him. We would leave exile—and so would G-d.

The Miracle

To stimulate this process of liberation, G-d occasionally performs miracles. When we witness a miracle, we suddenly perceive G-d’s hand. It is no longer deniable. It is obvious. We embrace G-d, and G-d embraces us.

Yet even then, G-d is still not fully out of exile. You see, G-d does not want to be embraced only when He performs miracles. By definition, miracles are exceptions. If they became the norm, they would cease to be miracles and would simply become the natural order. But G-d does not want to be the exception. G-d wants to be our norm. He wants to be acknowledged and embraced within the ordinary rhythms of life.

And therein lies the difficulty. Once life returns to normal, G-d’s hand becomes less obvious—and we tend to forget Him again. We tell ourselves that it was wonderful when G-d performed a miracle. At that moment, G-d was clearly present. But now life has returned to normal, and we return to our normal mindset.

I remember a conversation with a couple about the extraordinary “miracles” that have become part of modern life. I spoke about breathtaking advances in medical science, enormous breakthroughs in agriculture, and the remarkable reduction of violence and war in much of the world. I mentioned the comforts provided by modern technology—things that only twenty years ago we would have considered miraculous, yet today we take entirely for granted. “We are living in Messianic times,” I said enthusiastically. “Mashiach is just around the corner.”

They listened attentively, and I allowed myself to imagine they were captivated by my oratory. But then I saw them blink, almost visibly shaking themselves out of the moment. The spell was broken. Normalcy had returned. They smiled politely and said, “Well, if you believe that, you are fortunate.”

And with that, they returned to the norm. Miracles are fascinating, inspiring—even enchanting. But eventually, we return to what we call reality. As long as G-d is not part of our norm, G-d remains in exile. G-d cannot continually prove Himself with an endless stream of miracles. A miracle is, by definition, a disruption of the pattern. But G-d does not want to disrupt your pattern—He wants to be your pattern.

When you have a stomachache and rush to the bathroom, G-d wants you to think of Him. When you are hungry and grab a snack, G-d wants you to think of Him. When you feel excited about wearing a new outfit for the first time, G-d wants you to think of Him. That is precisely why we have blessings—to thank G-d for such everyday experiences.

G-d wants to be part of your daily life. Not only the extraordinary moments, but the ordinary ones as well. If your awareness of Him fades when normal life resumes, then He has once again been abandoned.

You might imagine that G-d lives in the lofty moments—in transcendent inspiration, in the deepest moments of prayer. And indeed, He is there. But that is not where He is most invested. He wants to be there when you are driving to work, when you are arguing with your mother, and when you reconcile with your spouse. He wants to be there when you go to sleep and when you wake up. When you are happy and when you are sad.

The Unchanging G-d

G-d wants the real you—because only then can you experience the real G-d.

You see, miracles shatter the normal pattern. They represent change. But G-d Himself is unchanging. Change and G-d are as far apart as yes from no. A miracle demonstrates G-d’s power. It reveals His brilliance. It proves His presence beyond doubt. But the miracle itself is not where G-d truly resides.

G-d is steady and dependable—unchanging. And He wants to dwell within the steady rhythm of your everyday life. The miracle may offer a fleeting glimpse, but the miracle is not His home. The ordinary routine—the daily rhythm, the quiet repetition—that is G-d’s true domain.

In the sun’s daily journey across the sky, in the steady turning of the seasons, in the gentle and repetitive fall of rain, in the quiet continuity of everyday life—there, an unchanging G-d is most at home.

The miracle of Passover is not that we celebrate it when it comes, but that its influence doesn’t pass us over when the ordinariness of life returns. When we discover G-d within the ordinary patterns of life, then G-d and we truly emerge from exile. Truly free and truly together—together forevermore.[1]

[1] This essay is based on Toras Menachem 5732:2, pp. 382–387