It’s a powerful and, frankly, pretty startling image. Jewish tradition, in certain strands, paints just such a picture.
The idea of a suffering Messiah isn't exactly front and center in every synagogue, but it's there, woven into the tapestry of our mystical and folk traditions. GOD, according to some accounts, decreed that the Messiah would endure a period of intense suffering – seven long years – before the time of Redemption finally arrives.
Imagine this: iron beams, heavy and unforgiving, loaded upon his neck, bending him low. He cries out, his voice echoing up to the highest heavens, a raw, desperate plea: "How much can my spirit endure? How long before my breath ceases? How much more can my limbs suffer?" (Pesikta Rabbati 36:1-2, Midrashei Geulah 307-308).
And what is GOD's response? A revelation of shared pain: "My Messiah, long ago you took this ordeal upon yourself. At this moment, your pain is like My pain. You, like Me, suffer for the sake of Israel. This I swear to you – ever since My Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, I have not been able to bring myself to sit on My throne." (Pesikta Rabbati 36:1-2). Wow. That's pretty intense. It suggests that GOD, too, feels the pain of exile and loss.
It’s a mind-blowing thought, isn’t it? The Messiah's suffering is intrinsically linked to GOD's own sorrow over the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, a wound that continues to ache. This shared suffering creates a bond, a profound connection between the divine and the messianic.
The Messiah, upon hearing these words, finds solace. "Now I am reconciled," he says. "The servant is content to be like his Master" (Pesikta Rabbati 36:1-2). He accepts his fate, recognizing it as a reflection of GOD's own pain.
But the suffering doesn't end there. ELIJAH, the prophet who ascends to Heaven in a chariot of fire and who is, according to tradition, a herald of the Messiah, enters the scene. He comforts the Messiah in one of the halls of Paradise, holding the Messiah's hands and urging him to bear the suffering imposed upon him because of the sins of the Jewish people until the End of Days. "Have courage," ELIJAH says, "the end is near." (Tzidkat ha-, Tzaddik 153). And with those words, the Messiah finds new strength.
So, what does it all mean? The Messiah suffers pains over the sins of Israel, and in the seven years before the messianic era, GOD decrees great suffering for the Messiah, who accepts it as part of his burden. (Likutei Moharan 1:118). He's not just a king or a leader, but a conduit, a vessel for our collective pain.
Now, it's worth noting that the idea of a suffering Messiah inevitably brings to mind the figure of Jesus in Christian tradition. Some scholars, like Howard Schwartz in Tree of Souls, suggest that Jewish tradition may have been influenced by Christian concepts in this area (see "The Creation of the Messiah," p. 483). Whether there was cross-pollination of ideas or not, the theme of a Messiah who suffers for the sins of others is a powerful one, resonating across different religious traditions. Rashi, the famous medieval commentator, touches on this concept in his commentary on B. Sanhedrin 98b, providing further context for the messianic suffering.
Ultimately, the image of the suffering Messiah challenges us to think about the nature of redemption. Is it simply a matter of divine intervention, or does it require a deep, empathetic understanding of human suffering? Does it ask us to recognize that even in our darkest moments, we are not alone, that there is a force, a being, perhaps even the divine itself, that shares our pain? It's a question worth pondering, isn't it? What does it mean to carry each other's burdens, and how might that bring us closer to the redemption we long for?