It’s a question that’s plagued humanity for ages, and Midrash Tehillim 10 grapples with it in a way that’s both challenging and ultimately hopeful.
The midrash, that ancient form of Jewish storytelling and interpretation, lays it out: the wicked see a world where God seems distant. They see their own "success" – the way they "labor and anger You with their deeds," as the text puts it. They see the destruction, the exile. They see the Temple razed. And they think, "Where is God in all this?"
It's a fair question, isn't it?
The midrash doesn’t shy away from the hard stuff. It acknowledges the perceived inaction. "You have the power to take revenge," it says, addressing God, "and yet You showed mercy to Isaac…" citing Genesis 27:39, "From the fat of the land your dwelling shall be."
Then, the text shifts, becoming almost a dialogue between Israel and the nations. The kingdom of the heathen demands Israel bear its yoke, but Israel cries out, "I am an orphan and a stranger." And the kingdom retorts, "Have you heard of me? I am a widow." It's a powerful image of mutual loss and vulnerability.
So, what’s the answer? "Go to the God of Jacob and plead with Him," the midrash urges, quoting Psalms 68:6: "A father to the fatherless and a judge of the widows is God in His holy habitation."
But the story doesn’t stop there. It continues with intriguing examples. The midrash speaks of Romulus and Remus, those legendary founders of Rome. Their mother, abandoned, was succored by a wolf, and they went on to build empires. "You helped the orphan," the text proclaims.
And what about Nebuchadnezzar, that infamous destroyer of the First Temple? Even to him, God showed mercy, as we see in Jeremiah 27:7, "They will serve him and his sons and his grandsons."
The narrative intensifies, conjuring up the image of Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego—about to be thrown into the fiery furnace. The heathen king boasts, "Who is the god that will deliver you out of my hands?"
Again, the midrash declares, "You helped the orphan."
Finally, the story lands on a single, vulnerable orphan girl, fought over by powerful nations. This alludes to Queen Vashti from the Book of Esther. Remember Vashti? The queen who refused to display herself before the king's drunken guests? And immediately after that story, we find in Psalm 10:15, "The broken arm of the wicked shall be found no more." The midrash emphasizes that the wicked will have no more justification for their actions.
What does it all mean?
Perhaps it's about recognizing God's presence in the unexpected places, in the acts of kindness and mercy that sustain even the most vulnerable. Perhaps it’s about understanding that even in moments of apparent abandonment, there’s a larger story unfolding, a narrative of resilience and hope. Or, perhaps, it is a direct commentary on trusting the process, even when the process seems so unfair.
It's not a simple answer, and the midrash doesn't pretend it is. But it offers a powerful reminder: that even in the face of wickedness and despair, God is present, a refuge for the orphan, a judge for the widow. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to keep us going.