The ancient sages certainly understood that feeling. They grappled with it, wrestled with it, and sought solace in the Divine.
Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Psalms, offers a glimpse into that struggle. It opens Psalm 77 with a powerful image: "I will mention God and exalt Him." But what does it mean to mention God? Is it just reciting prayers?
The Midrash suggests it’s much deeper than that. When Israel remembers the Lord, it says, they console – or comfort – the Lord. It’s a reciprocal relationship. Our remembering isn't just for our benefit; it somehow touches the Divine as well.
The text then evokes a beautiful, almost visceral image from the Song of Songs (5:4): "My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him." What's that about? The Midrash uses this verse to paint a picture of deep longing and yearning. The kind of yearning that physically affects us, that stirs us from the inside out. It’s a powerful metaphor for the connection between us and the Divine – a connection so profound it resonates within our very being.
The Midrash continues, describing a sleepless night: "The possession of the guardians of my eyes cannot sleep, for all my guards are awake at night; I am troubled and cannot rest." Can you relate? We’ve all been there, tossing and turning, our minds racing. The text acknowledges the struggle, the restlessness, the inability to find peace.
In this state of unease, the speaker reflects, “I thought of earlier days, I thought of his days, the one who came from the east, that is Abraham, as it is said (Isaiah 41:2) "Who raised up one from the east." They are searching for a connection to something bigger, something more enduring. They’re reaching back into history, to the patriarch Abraham, the one who journeyed from the east, a figure of unwavering faith. By remembering Abraham, they are trying to tap into that same wellspring of strength and belief. “I thought of the days of the fathers, I thought of the ages past, but I did not find.”
Then comes a mention of song, "I mention my song at night, these are the Sanhedrin." The Sanhedrin was the ancient Jewish high court. This might seem like a strange connection, but the Midrash is highlighting the importance of tradition and community. Even in the darkest of nights, we have access to the wisdom and guidance of those who came before us. Their teachings, their songs, their very presence, can offer comfort.
The text then proclaims: "His kindness endures forever," referencing Psalm 136:17. It's a powerful reminder of God's enduring love, even when we feel lost and alone.
But the passage ends on a somber note: "And now he has left. The conclusion is that from generation to generation, the matter is concluded, as it is said (Jeremiah 16:5) "For I have taken away my peace from this people." Has God abandoned us? Has peace truly vanished?
Perhaps the Midrash is not suggesting a permanent state of despair, but rather a realistic acknowledgment of the challenges we face. It’s a reminder that the search for connection, for meaning, for peace, is an ongoing process. The final verse from Jeremiah acknowledges that the "shalom," the peace, has been taken away. It's a stark admission of loss, of a broken connection.
So, what are we left with? Acknowledgment of the struggle, a yearning for connection, a glimpse of hope, and a stark reminder of loss. Maybe, just maybe, by acknowledging both the light and the darkness, we can find a way to navigate the complexities of life and rediscover that lost shalom. Maybe the first step to comfort, is remembering.