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Israel Asked for Redemption Without Shame

The wicked sink into Sheol, Rabbi Shimon prays from a cave, and Israel demands the rescue that no empire can later reverse.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Wicked Discovered What Forgetfulness Costs
  2. Rabbi Shimon Prayed Like a Poor Man
  3. Moses Could Not Finish the Rescue
  4. God Heard the Demand and Kept It

The Wicked Discovered What Forgetfulness Costs

The wicked shall return to Sheol, the Psalm says, and all the nations that forget God. Midrash Tehillim 9:18 takes the word return seriously. They are not sent to Sheol for the first time. They return. It is the place their forgetting has been building toward all along.

Rabbi Elazar speaks harshly. Rabbi Yehoshua corrects him. The issue is not national identity, Rabbi Yehoshua says. The verse says nations that forget God, not nations as such. The Psalm's image is chaff before the wind. Chaff is not punished. Chaff is simply what happens to material that has no weight, no root, no capacity to stay when the wind rises. The wicked nations disappear not because God drives them out but because they have become the kind of thing that cannot remain.

Sheol in this telling is not primarily a place of torment. It is the final address of forgetting, the location that forgetfulness has been carving out from the beginning. The person who forgot God all their life arrives, eventually, at the place that is shaped exactly like their forgetting.

Rabbi Shimon Prayed Like a Poor Man

Midrash Tehillim 17:11 finds David begging from a position that kings are not supposed to occupy. Like the poor man who stands at the gate and has nothing but the words he is saying, David frames his prayer as a plea from below, not a request from above.

The midrash brings Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai into the same frame. He is in the cave, hiding from Rome, and he prays. The cave is not a metaphor. It is a real cave, the place where Shimon and his son spent years studying Torah while Roman power made their open practice dangerous. Out of that enforced concealment, out of a situation that looks like defeat from every external angle, comes prayer of a particular intensity.

The poor man at the gate has one advantage over the wealthy petitioner: he has nothing to protect. He cannot offer a transaction. He can only ask, which is the cleaner form of prayer. Shimon in the cave, David in the wilderness, Israel in exile, all of them arrive at the gate of heaven with the poor man's only credential: need without pretense.

Moses Could Not Finish the Rescue

Midrash Tehillim 31:2 gives Israel a complaint that is precise and well-argued. Every redemption that came through human hands has been reversible. Moses brought them out of Egypt, and Egypt was later replaced by Babylon, which was replaced by Persia, which was replaced by Greece, which was replaced by Rome. Each rescue was real. Each one was also limited by the scale of the human instrument through which it worked.

Israel names each intercessor: Moses, the patriarchs, Isaiah. They speak to God about the record. Moses argued for Israel in the wilderness, but Moses is gone. Isaiah promised comfort, but Isaiah did not live to complete the comfort. Abraham saw the covenant and believed, but Abraham's descendants are still in the condition that requires the covenant to be fulfilled.

The demand Israel makes from this evidence is precise: they want the redemption that God alone can accomplish, the one that does not pass through a human instrument that can be broken or succeeded by a worse empire. They want the rescue that will not leave shame behind when it is over.

God Heard the Demand and Kept It

The midrash does not record a divine answer that closes the argument. It records that the demand was made and preserved. Israel's prayer for shameless redemption is not answered in the same generation that voiced it. It is placed in the record as a claim that the future must settle.

That placement is itself an answer of a kind. A claim this precise, made from the poor man's position with no transaction to offer, is not dismissed. It waits. The wicked nations that forgot God have returned to Sheol. The righteous who remembered, who prayed from caves and exile, who named their need without pretense, are the ones whose voices are still being heard.

Midrash TehillimRedemptionMessiahMosesDavidJudgmentSheol
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Midrash Tehillim 9:18Midrash Tehillim

The Talmudic sages definitely grappled with that question. to a fascinating, and perhaps a little unsettling, passage from Midrash Tehillim (Midrash on Psalms), specifically Psalm 9.

The verse in question? "The wicked shall return to Sheol." Now, Sheol – often translated as "the grave" or "the underworld" – isn't exactly a cheerful destination. But who exactly is destined for this shadowy realm?

Rabbi Elazar boldly declares, "All nations have no share in the World to Come." Woah. That’s a pretty sweeping statement, isn't it? Does that mean everyone who isn't Jewish is automatically excluded from eternal bliss?

Thankfully, Rabbi Yehoshua steps in with a crucial nuance. He counters, "You would have said well if you had stated, 'All nations that are silent have a beautiful share.'" Silent how? Perhaps silent in their acceptance of God, their willingness to listen, to learn, to be better. It’s a powerful distinction. It suggests that salvation isn’t about nationality, but about attitude, about a recognition of something greater than oneself.

And what's the scriptural support for this idea of national "forgetfulness" of God? Rabbi Yehoshua points to (Psalm 83:14), "Be like the chaff of the nations." Chaff, light and easily blown away, suggests a lack of substance, a fleeting and superficial engagement with the divine.

Now, Rabbi Nechemia throws another curveball into the mix. He states, "Every word that was not given to Moses at Sinai was given to him in the end." What does that even mean? It’s a cryptic comment on revelation. Does it mean that understanding deepens over time? That even the most profound initial encounter with the divine isn't the final word? He uses the example of Jacob's journey, "[(Genesis 28:10)] 'And Jacob went out from Beer-Sheba' [literally 'And he went out to Charan']." The verse, Rabbi Nechemia suggests, alludes to Sheol, perhaps implying a hidden, deeper meaning beneath the surface.

Finally, Rabbi Abba bar Zavdi chimes in, clarifying that this refers to "the lowest level of Sheol." So, we're talking about the absolute bottom rung, the deepest, darkest pit.

What are we to make of all this? It's a interplay of interpretations, isn't it? It's easy to get caught up in the literal meaning of these verses, in the idea of reward and punishment, of who's in and who's out. But maybe the sages are trying to tell us something deeper. Maybe it's not about a divine scorecard, but about the choices we make, the attitudes we cultivate, and the depth of our connection to something beyond ourselves. Maybe Sheol isn’t a place, but a state of being. A state of forgetfulness, of disconnection, of being adrift like chaff in the wind. And maybe, just maybe, we all have the power to choose a different path.

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Midrash Tehillim 17:11Midrash Tehillim

They’re woven into the very fabric of Jewish thought, and they surface in unexpected places, like in the Midrash Tehillim.

The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletical interpretations of the Book of Psalms, offers profound insights into the human condition. In one particular passage, it grapples with a painful question: why do the righteous suffer? Especially in the face of the Shoah, the Holocaust, when so many gave their lives al kiddush (the sanctification blessing over wine) Hashem, for the sanctification of God's name.

The passage speaks of heroes "who gave their lives for the sanctity of God and died by your hand." It's a stark reminder that even in the midst of unimaginable horror, faith and devotion persisted. But the passage doesn't shy away from the difficult truth: "Your hand kills." God's hand. How do we reconcile that?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) then makes an unexpected turn, invoking the story of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and his son. Remember them? They hid in a cave for thirteen years, escaping Roman persecution. According to the story, their bodies began to decay during that time of seclusion. What does this have to do with the martyrs of the Holocaust?

The connection lies in the idea of willingly accepting suffering, of elevating the physical to the spiritual. The Midrash tells us that God observed Rabbi Shimon judging the birds. They would come before him, take a drop of blood or a feather, and leave. Rabbi Shimon realized that "Even a bird does not come to this world without the will of the Almighty." If even birds are subject to divine will, how much more so are we?

It's a powerful statement about divine providence. While we might be captured against our will, the Midrash suggests, our release and the purification of the Land of Israel are also part of God's plan.

But what about David, the author of Psalms, the sweet singer of Israel? The text contrasts the merits of those who die sanctifying God's name with David's own plea. The Holy One says that "David has lost his portion in life," but his descendants are promised divine favor. David, however, approaches God "like a poor man seeking charity," trusting in divine grace rather than his own merits, as the verse says, "I will be satisfied when I awaken in Your likeness" (Psalm 17:15). He finds solace in the promise of resurrection alongside the righteous.

This idea of future redemption is central to the passage. It acknowledges the limitations of human perception, quoting (Exodus 33:20): "For no man can see Me and live." But it also offers a glimpse of hope, a time when we will see God, at the time of the resurrection of the dead. As (Isaiah 25:9) proclaims, "Behold, this is our God." And (Isaiah 52:8) adds, "The Lord has returned to Zion, and they have seen Him face to face."

It’s a beautiful and complex passage, isn't it? It doesn't offer easy answers to the problem of suffering. But it does affirm the enduring power of faith, the promise of redemption, and the ultimate triumph of the divine will. It suggests that even in the darkest of times, there is a spark of hope, a glimmer of light that shines through the cracks. And perhaps, that’s enough to keep us going.

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Midrash Tehillim 31:2Midrash Tehillim

The verse that kicks it all off is from (Psalm 71:1): "In you, O Lord, I have taken refuge. Let me never be put to shame." But the midrash, the interpretive story, doesn't just take it at face value. It digs deeper, asking: What kind of refuge are we talking about? What kind of shame?

" And then it puts words in the mouths of the children of Israel, a powerful technique used often in midrash. They say to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, the Holy One, Blessed be He, "Every day that we are enslaved, we are ashamed." It’s a raw admission, isn’t it? The shame of not being truly free, of relying on someone else for your fate. But then comes the crucial point: "But our redemption will not cause us shame, for your redemption is the redemption of the world. You are the salvation of the world." Notice the emphasis: the redemption of the world, not just worlds. There's a universality to this hope.

God responds, and it's a powerful affirmation. "I am the one who redeemed you, and I am the one who will redeem you," God says, referencing (Isaiah 43:1), "Fear not, for I have redeemed you." The midrash calls attention to the Hebrew phrasing, noting it's not just "I have redeemed you," but "I will redeem you." It's a promise that echoes through time. "I have spoken and done it," God declares.

The people have a question. They've seen redemptions before! "We have already been redeemed by Moses, and likewise by Joshua, and also by the judges and kings, and yet we are still subject to servitude, and we are ashamed as if we were never redeemed." It's a stinging rebuke, a reminder that temporary reprieves aren't enough. Hasn't this happened before? What makes this time different?

God's answer is the heart of the matter: "In the past, your redemption was by human agents, but now it is by Me alone, for I am alive and will exist forever. Therefore, your redemption is the redemption of the world." This redemption, the one coming directly from God, is different. It's not limited by human flaws or mortality. It's eternal. That's why, as (Isaiah 45:17) says, "Israel shall be saved by the Lord, the salvation of the world." And that’s why, this time, "you shall not be ashamed or disgraced forever."

There's a poignant little coda at the end. God says, "When you were young, you had the strength to be ashamed, but now that you are old and do not have the strength, you shall not be ashamed or disgraced." It's a recognition of the toll that repeated disappointment takes. Perhaps it's saying that after so much struggle, the capacity for shame itself is exhausted.

And then we come full circle, back to David, our Master, who, as Midrash Tehillim tells us, understood that when the true redemption comes, we will not be ashamed. He understood the plea, "In you, O Lord, I have taken refuge. Let me never be put to shame" (Psalm 71:1).

This midrash, in its own way, is a powerful meditation on hope, on the nature of redemption, and on the enduring promise that true freedom – a freedom that banishes shame – is ultimately possible. It begs the question: What does true redemption really look like, and how do we keep faith alive while waiting for it?

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