What Does It Mean to Fear God?

For the past two months, my wife and I have been hiking through what feels like a forgotten corner of Gan Eden. 

We leave the house just after seven in the morning. The roads are still quiet. The tractors have not yet begun their work. A soft breeze drifts across the Jezreel Valley, carrying the scent of wildflowers, wheat, and freshly turned earth. By the time we reach the trails, the sun is climbing over the hills, bathing the fields in gold. 

The breeze accompanies us everywhere. It follows us through forests and along dirt paths. It cooled us as we crossed open fields. Even on warmer days, it felt as though the valley itself was breathing. 

For weeks, the weather had been perfect.  

Then June arrived.  

Dubbed Gay Pride Month by the west, Gay parades were announced for both Tel Aviv and our holy city of Jerusalem.  

The next day, we followed our usual route into the fields, expecting another pleasant morning. The forecast seemed harmless enough, so neither of us gave much thought to the possibility that conditions had changed. 

Within minutes, it felt as though we entered a giant oven. 

The breeze was gone. The air sat motionless above the fields. Heat radiated upward from the ground and downward from the sky at the same time. Sweat formed almost immediately. We looked at each other, abandoned our plans, and hurried toward the shade of a nearby forest. 

What If Heat Asks a Question We Don’t Want to Answer? 

According to the Israel Meteorological Service, June 2024 was officially the hottest June recorded since nationwide measurements began in 1950. The previous record holder was in 2016, and before that,  2012.  

The hottest Junes on record have occurred once the parades began.  

These abnormal heatwaves have led to arson attacks that have killed dozens and razed tens of thousands of dunams of land.  

The sun blazes. The land burns. 

When a Jew sees the land burning, he cannot help but ask a question that modern society has trained him not to ask: 

Does Hashem decree devastation when we provoke Him with our sins? 

We are encouraged to view everything through politics, economics, technology, and sociology. If something goes wrong, experts search for technical explanations. If something goes right, experts congratulate themselves for their planning. 

The Torah teaches us to accept an inconvenient truth. In Tractate Shabbat 55a, Rabbi Ami teaches: “There is no suffering without transgression.” 

It’s one of those teachings that modern ears instinctively resist. 

We fear unemployment. We fear cancer. We fear terrorism. We fear many things, but how often do we fear disappointing the Creator of the universe? When we are told to fear provoking God with our sins, we immediately begin looking for exceptions.  

We search for qualifications. We become uncomfortable with the simplicity of the statement. Yet the discomfort itself may reveal something important.  

The Gemara in Taanit paints a terrifying picture of what can happen when a nation drifts too far from Hashem. 

During the reign of Yehoram ben Achav, a devastating famine struck the land. At first, people survived on stored produce. Then they relied on forgotten grain and whatever remnants remained from previous harvests. As conditions worsened, they consumed their livestock. Later, they crossed boundaries they once believed were unimaginable. 

They ate their kin, and ate their own limbs.¹ 

The Danger of Feeling Too Safe 

One of the great dangers of modern life is that technology creates an illusion of invulnerability. We can cool our homes in the middle of summer. We can import food from distant countries. We can communicate instantly across continents. We can build walls, sensors, satellites, and security systems that previous generations could scarcely imagine. 

Slowly, without realizing it, we began to feel insulated from consequences. 

We began to assume that human ingenuity can solve every problem. 

Many of us felt that way on October 6. 

Then, October 7 arrived. 

In a matter of hours, assumptions that had taken decades to build collapsed. The tragedy shocked us not only because of its brutality, but because it shattered our confidence. It reminded us that no technology, no military, and no government can replace the protection of Hashem. 

Fear of Heaven in Judaism: Hidden Decisions That Shape History 

Did provoking God with our sins cause October 7?  

Only a prophet can answer. 

But according to our sages, sin matters much more than we think. Our choices matter. History is not random. The King of the universe pays attention not only to nations and armies, but also to individuals and their decisions. 

We live in uncertain times. The headlines are frightening. The future feels unstable. The ground beneath our feet often seems to shift without warning. 

Yet perhaps that uncertainty contains a gift. It reminds us that we are not as powerful as we imagined, and Hashem is far more involved than we realize. 

Editor’s Note:

¹ Kings II 6:24-30 with Commentary by the Radak and the Metzudat David on self-cannibalism 

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David Ben Horin lives in Afula with his family, 60,000 passionate Israelis, and Matilda, our local camel.