King David certainly did. In Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Psalms, we find David crying out, "I call to You, O Lord, my rock, do not be deaf to me. Do not drag me away with the wicked." It's a raw, desperate plea.
But it’s not just a cry for help; it's an entry point into a deeper exploration of hypocrisy, understanding, and ultimately, faith. Rabbi Abba bar Zerayya offers a fascinating insight, drawing a comparison between the sons of Jacob and Absalom towards Amnon. : The brothers of Joseph openly hated him. Genesis tells us, "And they hated him and could not speak peaceably unto him." What they felt was right there on the surface, ugly as it was. But then we have Absalom. He held his true feelings about Amnon close. The verse says, "But Absalom spake unto Amnon neither good nor bad." What was in his heart was not on his lips.
Why does this matter? Because, as the Midrash suggests, it highlights the complexities of human nature and the difficulties in discerning truth. We are so often faced with a confusing mix of intentions and actions! What's truly in someone's heart? And how does that impact our relationship with God?
The text continues, "For they do not understand the actions of the Lord." This is a crucial point. When we're caught up in the messy realities of human behavior, it’s easy to lose sight of the bigger picture, to question God's plan. Hezekiah said, "These are the times." Rabbi Yehoshua said, "These are the stories."
What are they referring to? Times of uncertainty. Stories filled with moral ambiguity. Times when understanding God's actions feels impossible. The Rabbis connect this to the recitation of the Shema, the central prayer in Judaism, which includes phrases like "who creates light and makes darkness, who forms mountains and creates the wind, who brings forth bread from the earth." The Shema acknowledges that God is responsible for both the good and the bad, the light and the darkness. It's a powerful reminder that even in the midst of suffering, God is present, God is creating.
The Midrash concludes with a rather enigmatic statement: "Just as God created the two great lights (Genesis 1:16), He will destroy them in this world and will not rebuild them in the world to come." This likely refers to the sun and the moon, or perhaps metaphorical lights of leadership and guidance. The idea that even these fundamental elements of creation are temporary, subject to destruction, is a sobering one.
So, what are we left with? A plea for help, a meditation on hypocrisy, and a reminder of God's ultimate power and mysterious ways. The Midrash Tehillim doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, it invites us to grapple with the complexities of faith, to acknowledge the darkness, and to trust that even in the midst of destruction, there is still the potential for renewal, even if we can't see it just yet. It is a reminder that, like David, we can cry out to our rock, trusting that we are heard, even when it feels like no one is listening.