The destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem – twice – is one of the most profound traumas in Jewish history. It’s not just about losing a building; it’s about losing a connection, a sense of divine presence. So, where does God fit into all this grief?
Jewish tradition doesn't shy away from the idea that God, too, mourns. In fact, there are stories that suggest God's grief is as boundless as our own.
One such story features Rabbi Tzadok. He went to the Temple Mount after the destruction, seeing the devastation with his own eyes. Overwhelmed, he cried out, "Heavenly Father, You destroyed Your city and burned Your Temple, but now You are tranquil and untroubled?" It's a raw, honest question, born of pain and confusion.
Then, as Rabbi Tzadok dozed off, he experienced a vision. He saw God standing in the ruins of the Temple, lamenting. And not alone, mind you, but with the ministering angels weeping alongside Him. It's a powerful image – God, not as a distant, uninvolved observer, but as an active participant in our sorrow.
Another story, this one involving Rabbi Nathan, takes us to the Kotel, the Western Wall. This is the western retaining wall of the Temple Mount, often considered a remnant of the Temple itself. Rabbi Nathan found it standing amidst the destruction and wondered about its significance. Then, he heard a voice. It instructed him to take his ring and press it against the wall. As he did, he felt the wall trembling.
Trembling, the story tells us, because of the presence of God.
At that moment, Rabbi Nathan witnessed something extraordinary: God bowing down at the wall, straightening up, and weeping. Over and over, lamenting. Pesikta Rabbati 15:10 gives us this image of God in utter anguish.
What does this all mean? Well, first and foremost, it underscores the immense sanctity of the Kotel. This story seems to treat the Kotel as more than just a retaining wall; it's a place where God's presence can be felt, where divine grief is palpable. It’s a place of connection. As the Eliyahu Rabbah 30 recounts, this is a place where God bows and weeps.
But it goes deeper than that. These stories, as explored in Schwartz's Tree of Souls, offer a glimpse into the very nature of God. They suggest that God is not detached from our suffering, but intimately involved in it. God isn’t just there in our grief, God shares in it.
Interestingly, accounts of God actually praying at the Western Wall are rare. Much more common are stories of the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, being seen there. The Shekhinah, who, before the destruction, made her home in the Temple, is often envisioned as a mourning dove, or an old woman dressed in black, or even a spirit hovering above the wall. (You can find more about this in "The Creation of the Temple," p. 420, and "A Vision at the Wailing Wall," p. 63.)
So, what are we left with? The image of a God who feels, who mourns, who connects with us in our deepest pain. The Kotel becomes more than just a wall; it becomes a meeting place, a place where human sorrow and divine grief intertwine. It challenges us to consider: if God can mourn, can we find solace in knowing we’re not alone in our tears?