But they’re woven into the very fabric of Jewish thought, and they surface in unexpected places, like in the Midrash Tehillim.

The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletical interpretations of the Book of Psalms, offers profound insights into the human condition. In one particular passage, it grapples with a painful question: why do the righteous suffer? Especially in the face of the Shoah, the Holocaust, when so many gave their lives al kiddush Hashem, for the sanctification of God's name.

The text speaks of heroes "who gave their lives for the sanctity of God and died by your hand." It's a stark reminder that even in the midst of unimaginable horror, faith and devotion persisted. But the passage doesn't shy away from the difficult truth: "Your hand kills." God's hand. How do we reconcile that?

The Midrash then makes an unexpected turn, invoking the story of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and his son. Remember them? They hid in a cave for thirteen years, escaping Roman persecution. According to the story, their bodies began to decay during that time of seclusion. What does this have to do with the martyrs of the Holocaust?

The connection lies in the idea of willingly accepting suffering, of elevating the physical to the spiritual. The Midrash tells us that God observed Rabbi Shimon judging the birds. They would come before him, take a drop of blood or a feather, and leave. Rabbi Shimon realized that "Even a bird does not come to this world without the will of the Almighty." If even birds are subject to divine will, how much more so are we?

It's a powerful statement about divine providence. While we might be captured against our will, the Midrash suggests, our release and the purification of the Land of Israel are also part of God's plan.

But what about David, the author of Psalms, the sweet singer of Israel? The text contrasts the merits of those who die sanctifying God's name with David's own plea. The Holy One says that "David has lost his portion in life," but his descendants are promised divine favor. David, however, approaches God "like a poor man seeking charity," trusting in divine grace rather than his own merits, as the verse says, "I will be satisfied when I awaken in Your likeness" (Psalm 17:15). He finds solace in the promise of resurrection alongside the righteous.

This idea of future redemption is central to the passage. It acknowledges the limitations of human perception, quoting Exodus 33:20: "For no man can see Me and live." But it also offers a glimpse of hope, a time when we will see God, at the time of the resurrection of the dead. As Isaiah 25:9 proclaims, "Behold, this is our God." And Isaiah 52:8 adds, "The Lord has returned to Zion, and they have seen Him face to face."

It’s a beautiful and complex passage, isn't it? It doesn't offer easy answers to the problem of suffering. But it does affirm the enduring power of faith, the promise of redemption, and the ultimate triumph of the divine will. It suggests that even in the darkest of times, there is a spark of hope, a glimmer of light that shines through the cracks. And perhaps, that’s enough to keep us going.