Jewish tradition has a powerful way of describing this feeling: the wandering of the Shekhinah.
The Shekhinah, often translated as "divine presence," is understood as the feminine aspect of God, the immanent presence that dwells among us. But what happens when we, through our actions, create a distance?
The tradition teaches that the sins of the Israelites caused the Shekhinah to go into exile. As the sins grew, She wandered further and further away. Imagine this: a gradual retreat, stage by painful stage. The Shekhinah, according to tradition, moved from the cover of the Ark in the Temple, that most sacred space, to one of the cherubim – those angelic figures – then to the next. From there, She moved to the threshold of the Temple, then to the court of the priests, the altar itself, and finally the roof of the Temple.
But the departure didn't stop there. The Shekhinah continued Her agonizing journey: from the roof to the wall of the Temple, then beyond, to the city of Jerusalem, then further still, to the Mount of Olives, and finally into the desolate desert.
During this exile, the Shekhinah hid Herself, like the moon obscured by a cloud. As we read in Lamentations Rabbah, even though Israel yearned to see Her light, it was impossible because She was shrouded in darkness – a darkness so profound it’s known as "the darkened light."
It's a heartbreaking image, isn't it? This gradual fading, this withdrawal of the divine presence from the world.
But what happened next? Different traditions offer different perspectives. Some say, as we learn in Avot de-Rabbi Natan, that the Shekhinah lingered in the wilderness for six months, patiently waiting for Israel to repent. But when they didn't, She proclaimed, "Let them perish!" A harsh judgment, born of deep sorrow.
Another tradition, found in the Talmud (B. Rosh ha-Shanah 31a), paints a slightly different picture. Here, the Shekhinah dwelt for three and a half years on the Mount of Olives, crying out three times a day, "Turn back, O rebellious children!" (Jeremiah 3:22). A plea for reconciliation, a mother's yearning for her children to return. But when this proved futile, She declared, "I will return to my abode" (Hosea 5:15), and departed the city through the Gate of Mercy, ascending to heaven to await their repentance.
And the story doesn't end there. It is said that when She comes back, She will return through that same gate.
This myth, as described by Schwartz in Tree of Souls, recounts ten stages of the wandering of the Shekhinah from the Temple to the desert. At each station, She becomes more remote from the people of Israel, driven away by their sins. The Gate of Mercy, through which the Shekhinah departs Jerusalem, was said to have been built by King Solomon with stones brought to him by the Queen of Sheba. Legend has it that after the destruction of the Temple, this gate sank into the earth. But its restoration is expected at the time of the coming of the Messiah, for the children of Israel will return through that gate. This myth is parallel to that of the Removal of the Shekhinah, in which each major sin of Israel resulted in the Shekhinah moving further away from this world. The Zohar (3:45b) and sources in Otzar, Ma'asiyot, IFA 10020 also expand upon this concept.
What does it all mean? Perhaps this myth isn't just a story about the past, but a mirror reflecting our present. Are we, through our actions, driving away the Shekhinah, creating distance between ourselves and the divine? And if so, what can we do to invite Her back, to open the Gate of Mercy and welcome the return of the divine presence into our lives and into the world?