Let’s Speak Out The Obvious

Connecting the Dots: Torah Thoughts for Modern Times, authored by R’ Dovi Chaitovsky, offers thought-provoking insights that bridge timeless Torah wisdom with contemporary challenges. Each piece highlights practical lessons from Jewish tradition, inspiring readers to apply these teachings in their daily lives. Whether through stories, parables, or reflections on current events, this column aims to connect the profound messages of the Torah with the realities of modern living.

I am writing this in between sirens. In our area—Beitar Illit, southwest of Yerushalayim—we have had several alarms since the war with Iran began. Fewer than in other parts of Eretz Yisrael, but we’ve witnessed incredible miracles—and devastating tragedies.

Let’s take a moment to reflect on a striking scene from Parshat Korach.

Korach and his followers were swallowed by the ground in a terrifying and miraculous event. The earth opened its mouth and engulfed Datan, Aviram, their families, and all their possessions. According to some opinions, Korach himself was also burned and then swallowed. Objects that belonged to them came sliding from other areas. People were drawn into the gaping hole from far away. It was not a localized collapse—it was an encampment-wide quake.

The Torah describes Bnei Yisrael running away in panic, screaming, “Moshe, save us! The earth is swallowing everything!” But didn’t Moshe already tell them what was going to happen, and to whom?

The simplest answer: perhaps they didn’t know exactly who or what belonged to Korach’s camp. Seeing items and people from various areas being drawn toward one place terrified them.

We often know a story so well that we stop picturing its full impact. But when we slow down to visualize the details, we uncover deeper insights.

Here’s how the camp of Bnei Yisrael was set up: the Mishkan was in the center, with nearly 2,000 amot (about 4,000 feet) of open space between it and the rest of the camp. The Leviim encamped in this area. Then came the other Shevatim—three tribes on each side.

On the eastern side—facing the entrance to the Mishkan—camped Yehudah, Yissachar, and Zevulun, influenced by Moshe and Aharon. Many became Talmidei Chachamim. On the southern side camped Reuven, Shimon, and Gad. Datan and Aviram were from Reuven. The Leviim of Kehat, including Korach, also encamped there. Chazal comment: oy l’rasha, oy l’scheino—woe to the wicked, and woe to his neighbor.

The 250 leaders who joined Korach were mostly from Reuven, upset about losing the birthright to the Kohanim. Moshe instructed them to offer ketoret at the Mishkan entrance—on the eastern side. Meanwhile, Moshe went to make peace with Datan and Aviram, who were in their tents on the southern side. After they rejected him, Moshe warned everyone to distance themselves from the tents of Korach, Datan, and Aviram.

Korach, known for immense wealth, likely had multiple tents. Were they all moved closer to Datan and Aviram? Or spread out across the camp? Either way, Korach himself was with the ketoret group on the eastern side when the ground opened. He, too, was drawn—possibly burned first—and slid from the eastern entrance to the southern pit where the others fell.

Imagine the chaos. A single massive pit. Families, tents, possessions sliding in from various areas. Everyone witnessed it. No wonder Bnei Yisrael screamed in fear.

This was no abstract miracle. It was seen. It was lived. And its impact was massive.

Today, we are witnessing miracles too—and we must speak them aloud.

A friend shared a story from Bat Yam. A missile struck a residential building, causing destruction and loss. Across the street stands a gas station. The owner, a ba’al teshuvah, began closing on Shabbat in recent years. Not a scratch hit that gas station. Had the missile landed there—or even slightly closer—it would have been catastrophic.

Another missile, the size of a bus, fell in a small town north of Yerushalayim. It landed between the only two buildings that had an open space between them.

In Pardes Katz, near Bnei Brak, a missile hit an old school building. The residents had arranged to use its shelter during attacks. Reuven was given the key. That night, when the siren sounded, he slept through it. The residents found the school locked and scrambled to other shelters. That school was destroyed. Because of that missed key, lives were spared.

The former pilot from Bat Yam said it best: “It’s unreal. Miraculous. Beyond nature that everything is working together this way.”

We mustn’t only focus on the tragedies. We must see the chessed—the kindness—that Hashem is showing us in the middle of chaos. And then: we must thank Him.

Gratitude with specifics deepens our appreciation. And appreciation strengthens our love for Hashem. Let’s keep noticing. Let’s keep speaking. Let’s keep thanking.

May we merit the end of suffering and the coming of Mashiach—very soon.

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R’ Dovi Chaitovsky and his family have the zechut to live in Eretz Yisrael, where he dedicates himself to Torah learning and teaching in Yerushalayim Ir HaKodesh. His divrei Torah often draw from the shiurim of Rav Yisrael Altusky, shlit"a, which can be heard at kolhalashon.com.