The ancient rabbis certainly did. In fact, they put those feelings right into the mouth of the people of Israel, in a powerful passage from Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Psalms.
This particular midrash, on Psalm 42, delves into the complex relationship between God and the Jewish people. "What will you talk to your soul about and what will you ponder over me?" the text asks. It's a raw, honest question, hinting at the internal struggle between faith and despair. It's like the soul is saying, "Why aren't things better? Why do other nations seem to prosper while we suffer?"
The answer, though, isn't to give in to those feelings. "Direct your supplication to God," the midrash urges, "for we will still praise Him." Even in the face of hardship, the path is to turn towards the Divine. Because as in the past, in the years that have already come to pass, God will bring salvation, a salvation that no other god can offer.
The midrash continues, capturing a sense of almost...jealousy? The assembly of Israel cries out: "I am jealous and aggrieved when I see the tranquility of the nations, and I am angry, but what do you care? And I direct my supplication to God.” Can you imagine that raw emotion? The feeling that everyone else is doing better, that God seems to favor others? It's a very human feeling.
But then, the narrative shifts. "Therefore, I remember you from the land of Jordan," the text proclaims. This is a crucial turning point. It's a conscious effort to recall God's past acts of kindness, even when the present feels bleak. It’s remembering the miraculous crossing of the Jordan River after years of wandering in the desert. We remember the miracles God performed even though the people angered God in Shittim. As we find in Joshua 3, "And Joshua rose up early in the morning and they moved from Shittim."
The midrash acknowledges the challenges to faith. It recalls moments when the Israelites themselves questioned God's power and ability to deliver them. "The Lord is not able," they said, as recounted in Numbers 14. "Where is His strength?" And in Psalm 87, "This one was born there." It's as if the people are saying, "Have you forgotten us? Have you lost your power?"
But the response is firm: "Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened that it cannot save, neither His ear heavy that it cannot hear, but your iniquities have separated between you and your God," quoting Isaiah 59. The problem isn't God's inability, but rather the people's own actions that create a barrier.
And here's where it gets even more interesting. The midrash makes a connection between different sacred locations. "Therefore, I remember you from the land of Jordan and from the heights of Hermon. Hermon is Sinai, and the heights of Mitzar is the Temple," it states. It’s like saying these places are all connected, all points of contact between the human and the Divine. As it says in Psalms 42, "Deep calleth unto deep."
The text then returns to the initial sense of doubt, almost accusatory: "And you did not do for us the miracles that you did for them. And what have you done for me? All your crises and waves have passed over me." It's a cry of pain, a feeling of abandonment.
But the final word is one of hope and remembrance. "And if you say that I have no merit, did I not command them to slaughter the Passover lamb on the night of the exodus from Egypt? They slaughtered it and were saved." This is a powerful reminder of the Passover story, the ultimate act of redemption. Even in the darkest of times, God remembers the covenant, the promise of salvation. "In the daytime, the Lord commands His mercy..."
So, what does this all mean for us today? Maybe it’s a reminder that faith isn’t always easy. It's a journey filled with doubt, frustration, and even anger. But it’s also about remembering the past, connecting with our traditions, and ultimately, trusting in the enduring power of hope and redemption. It’s about talking to our souls, acknowledging the struggle, and choosing to direct our supplications towards the Divine, again and again.