It's a theme beautifully explored in Midrash Tehillim, specifically in its interpretation of Psalm 118. This isn't just about ancient history; it's about a relationship – a dialogue – that continues to this day.
The Midrash begins with a simple yet profound statement: "From Egypt I called out to God." But it quickly deepens, revealing that the Jewish people, regardless of the language they used, could always reach the divine. The text actually states, “Mitzrayim is what the Jewish people call the Lord in all languages, and He answers them.” Mitzrayim, of course, literally refers to Egypt.
Think about that for a moment. The Midrash isn't just saying God heard their cries; it's suggesting that even the very act of calling out from Egypt, a place of immense suffering, was itself a form of addressing the divine. It highlights the unwavering accessibility of God.
The Midrash then provides a series of examples, each illustrating this point. In the fields, they called God Shaddai – often translated as "Almighty," but also hinting at a nurturing, breast-like abundance. The Midrash references Genesis 28:3, "May El Shaddai bless you," and connects it to Genesis 35:11, "I am El Shaddai; be fruitful and multiply." The implication? Even in the quiet, pastoral settings, God was present, a source of blessing and growth.
Then there's Elohim, a more general term for God. In Exodus 2:22, we see the plea, "O Lord, what can You give me?" And the response? "Their cry for help rose up to God" (Exodus 2:23). It’s a direct, almost immediate answer to a desperate question.
And of course, there's Hashem, the most common way we refer to God, literally "The Name." Deuteronomy 26:7 recounts, "And we cried out to Hashem," and the very next verse declares, "Hashem heard our voice" (Deuteronomy 26:8). A constant and reliable presence.
Even the shortened form, Yah, is invoked: "From Egypt I called out to Yah, and He answered me in the expanse of Yah" (Psalms 81:6).
Deuteronomy 4:7 puts it powerfully: "For what great nation is there that has a god so close to it as Hashem our God whenever we call upon Him?" It’s a rhetorical question, of course, but it underscores the unique intimacy and responsiveness of the divine-human relationship in Judaism.
But the Midrash doesn't stop there. It dives deeper into the meaning of "Mitzrayim," suggesting it can also refer to the harsh conditions of Egypt itself. "Speaking of Egypt," the Midrash says, referencing the bitter lives and hard labor described in Exodus 1:14. Even within the confines of suffering, the possibility of divine connection remains.
And that phrase "in the expanse of Yah"? The Midrash beautifully interprets this as God "broadening His kindness." It even uses the imagery of "The wings of a dove are sheathed with silver" (Psalms 68:14) to illustrate this expansive grace.
Finally, the Midrash connects this idea to David. When David was abandoned by his brothers, and all of Israel turned their eyes to heaven, David proclaimed, "A song of ascents. I will lift my eyes to the mountains" (Psalms 121:1). The Holy Spirit, the Ruach Hakodesh, responds, "Do not let your foot slip; your Guardian does not slumber" (Psalms 121:3). God broadened the way for David, and the people followed him to victory against the Philistines (1 Samuel 17:53). As Ginzberg retells it in Legends of the Jews, David’s unwavering faith and connection to God paved the way for redemption.
What does all this mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that no matter where we are, no matter what language we speak, no matter how dire our circumstances, the possibility of connection with the divine remains. It's an invitation to call out, to reach out, to trust that even in the narrowest of places, God can broaden our path. And maybe, just maybe, that call will be answered in ways we never imagined.