Psalm 36:6 sings, "The Lord, in heaven, your kindness..." But hold on. Does that mean kindness is only up there, floating among the clouds? Is there no kindness to be found down here on Earth?
Midrash Tehillim, a collection of interpretations on the Book of Psalms, wrestles with this very question. And the answer it gives is both simple and profound: the wicked remove kindness from the world. They block its flow.
Think about it.
The verse continues, "Your righteousness is like the mountains of God." God, blessed be He, says to the wicked, according to the Midrash, that the righteous acts He reserves for those who repent are being stolen away by them. "Your righteousness is like the mountains of God," it states, emphasizing the sheer scale and magnitude. Just as mountains are uncountable, so too are the righteous acts one could perform.
But there's a flip side. Just as there’s no bottom to the abyss, no limit to its depths, there is seemingly no end to the punishments awaiting the wicked. The mountains are great, and so are righteous acts. The abyss is bottomless, and so are the potential consequences of evil. A stark contrast, wouldn't you say?
Rabbi Yoshiah the Great adds another layer to this understanding, linking "righteousness" and "judgments" through the same verse: "Your righteousness is like the mountains of God; your judgments are like the great deep." It's a powerful connection. Mountains and the abyss, righteousness and judgment – seemingly opposite forces.
But what if they're not so different?
The Midrash explains that just as mountains conquer the abyss, preventing it from overflowing and flooding the world, so too do righteous acts conquer sins. They keep them from utterly consuming us, from being lost to the world. It's a beautiful image, isn't it? Righteousness acting as a bulwark against the encroaching darkness. A safeguard against the destructive forces of iniquity.
This idea echoes in the words of the prophet Micah (7:19): "He will again have compassion on us; he will tread our iniquities underfoot." Imagine our sins being literally trampled beneath the weight of compassion and divine forgiveness.
So, where does kindness come from? It comes from God, yes. But it also comes from us. From our choices, our actions, and our willingness to stand against the "wickedness" that threatens to diminish it. It's a constant struggle, a balancing act between the heights of righteousness and the depths of despair.
Perhaps the real question isn’t where kindness originates, but what we do with it when we find it. Do we nurture it, spread it, let it grow into mountains of good? Or do we allow the abyss to swallow it whole? What kind of landscape will we create?