Yet, the Jewish mystical tradition doesn't shy away from portraying God as deeply affected by the events of human history, especially the tragedies. And perhaps nowhere is this more poignant than in the legends surrounding the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.
According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, God Himself was profoundly moved by the Temple's destruction. Imagine, if you will, God abandoning His own house, His Beit Hamikdash, so that the enemy could enter and destroy it. A heartbreaking image, isn’t it? After the devastation, accompanied by His angels, God visits the ruins, and gives vent to His sorrow.
"Woe is Me on account of My house," He cries. "Where are My children, where My priests, where My beloved? But what could I do for you? Did I not warn you? Yet you would not mend your ways."
There’s a deep sense of anguish and almost paternal disappointment in those words. God, in this moment, is not a distant, unfeeling deity, but a parent grieving for lost children.
And the grief doesn't end there. God then turns to the prophet Jeremiah. "To-day," God says, "I am like a man who has an only son. He prepares the marriage canopy for him, and his only beloved dies under it." The imagery is devastating. A chuppah, a symbol of hope and new beginnings, transformed into a site of unimaginable loss.
God continues, feeling Jeremiah's grief is not enough. "Thou doest seem to feel but little sympathy with Me and with My children. Go, summon Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses from their graves. They know how to mourn."
Imagine being tasked with summoning the Patriarchs and Moses from their eternal rest! Jeremiah, understandably, is hesitant. "Lord of the world," he replies, "I know not where Moses is buried."
God then instructs him: "Stand on the banks of the Jordan, and cry: 'Thou son of Amram, son of Amram, arise, see how wolves have devoured thy sheep.'"
That image – the wolves devouring the sheep – is a stark and brutal depiction of the destruction and scattering of the Jewish people. And the call to Moses, specifically by his lineage, "son of Amram," emphasizes his role as the leader and protector of the people. It’s a call to witness the consequences of their actions, a call to mourn.
What does it mean that the tradition portrays God as capable of such deep sorrow? Perhaps it's a way of understanding the magnitude of the loss, the profound impact of the Temple's destruction on both the divine and the human. It reminds us that our actions have consequences, not just for ourselves, but for the entire cosmos. And perhaps, most importantly, it assures us that even in our darkest moments, we are not alone in our grief. God weeps with us.