The ancient rabbis knew that feeling well. And they found solace, not in denying the reality of loneliness, but in recognizing that even in the most desolate places, God is present.
Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, explores this very idea. It begins with the image of "solitude for the rider in the desert." But it doesn't stop there. It immediately connects this image to Moses's words in Deuteronomy 33:26: "There is none like God, O Jeshurun, who rides through the heavens to your help, through the skies in His majesty." Jeshurun, by the way, is a poetic name for Israel. God, the Almighty, riding through the heavens… for you. For me. For each of us, even in our most isolated moments. It's a powerful image, isn't it?
The Midrash doesn't leave us with just soaring rhetoric, though. It gets down to earth, reminding us that this same God is "the father of orphans and the judge of widows." We find a similar sentiment echoed in Psalm 146:7, "He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry. The Lord sets prisoners free."
And then comes Psalm 68:5, central to this whole exploration: "A father of the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land."
What does it mean that God "sets the lonely in families"? It's not just about biological families, is it? It's about creating community. It's about finding connection even when we feel utterly alone. It's about knowing that we are not forgotten, that we are seen, and that we are loved. It's about the hope that even from the depths of despair, we can be led out "with singing."
But there's a warning here too, isn't there? "The rebellious live in a sun-scorched land." Those who refuse connection, who actively push away from community and from God, they remain in that desolate desert, parched and alone.
So, what's the takeaway? It's this: Loneliness is a real and painful human experience. But it doesn't have to be our final destination. The tradition reminds us that even in the deepest solitude, God is there, riding through the heavens to help us find our way back to connection, to community, to a place where we can sing again.