Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?" It's a raw, honest cry of frustration and bewilderment. But what if that feeling of distance isn't quite what it seems?
The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of interpretations on the Book of Psalms, wrestles with this very question. One interpretation latches onto the verse from Hosea (5:6): "With their flocks and herds they will go to seek the Lord, but they will not find Him; He has withdrawn from them." It paints a picture of people diligently searching, making offerings, seemingly doing everything right, yet still failing to connect. Why? Because, the verse suggests, God has withdrawn.
The Midrash then tells a fascinating story involving Rabbi Gamliel and a nameless philosopher. The philosopher, skeptical of the Jewish people's hope for redemption, points to this very verse: "He has withdrawn from them!" Basically, "If God has withdrawn, what makes you think He'll come back?"
Rabbi Gamliel, ever the sharp thinker, responds with a clever analogy. He asks the philosopher about the Jewish law of yibum (levirate marriage). Now, yibum is a complex concept – when a man dies without children, his brother has the opportunity, and sometimes the obligation, to marry the widow, thus continuing the deceased brother’s lineage.
Rabbi Gamliel poses the question: who initiates this process, the man or the woman? The philosopher correctly answers, "The woman."
Then Rabbi Gamliel delivers the punchline: "He [the deceased brother] initiates it, and we do not initiate it for him. If the yevamah [the widow] had brothers, would her husband be allowed to return to her?" Again, the philosopher answers, "No."
The analogy might seem a little convoluted at first, but it’s actually quite brilliant. Rabbi Gamliel is arguing that just as in yibum, the initial move must come from the one who has withdrawn. The woman, the yevamah, must take the first step.
Similarly, the deceased brother cannot simply return; there's a process, an initiation that must occur. And, crucially, if obstacles exist (like the widow having other brothers), the return is impossible.
Rabbi Gamliel concludes, "From here we learn that God does not return to us."
It's a startling statement, isn't it? Does this mean God has abandoned us permanently? Is there no hope for reconciliation?
Not necessarily. It's important to remember this is midrash, interpretation. It’s not a literal declaration of divine abandonment, but rather a challenge to our understanding of the relationship between humanity and the Divine.
Perhaps the point is this: we can't passively wait for God to bridge the distance. We have to initiate the process. We have to clear away the obstacles – the "other brothers," so to speak – that prevent us from reconnecting.
The Midrash concludes with a return to the original sentiment, reciting the lament from Lamentations (3:43): "You have wrapped yourself with a cloud so that no prayer can pass through." It's a powerful image of blockage, of a barrier between us and the divine.
But even in that lament, there's a glimmer of hope. Because recognizing the distance, acknowledging the cloud, is the first step toward clearing it. It's a call to examine ourselves, to identify the obstacles we've placed in the way, and to actively seek reconciliation. Maybe the "distance" isn't about God moving away from us, but about us turning away from God. And maybe, just maybe, the power to close that distance lies within us.