Today, let's dive into a fascinating piece of Midrash Tehillim (a collection of homiletical interpretations of the Book of Psalms) that does just that. We’re going to look at the deeper significance of the eighth day of Passover, and how it connects to the struggles of the Jewish people throughout history.
The Midrash asks, what’s so special about the eighth day? One answer it offers is, perhaps surprisingly, tied to the idea of the four kingdoms that have dominated Jewish history. But wait, four kingdoms and the eighth day? What gives? Well, the Midrash explains that each of these kingdoms is actually composed of two parts, creating a total of eight.
Drawing on the Book of Daniel (2:32-33), the Midrash identifies these kingdoms: Babylon & Chaldea, Media & Persia, Greece & Macedonia, and finally, Edom & Yishmael. Edom is often interpreted allegorically as Rome, and later, the Christian world, while Yishmael represents the Arab nations. The idea is that these eight entities have, at different times, exerted power and influence over the Jewish people.
Rabbi Ibu suggests that the People of Israel call out to God, praising Him for delivering them from these eight kingdoms. He connects this to the prophecy in Isaiah (11:11) about God setting His hand a second time to reclaim the remnant of His people. This paints the eighth day of Passover as a symbol of hope, a reminder of eventual redemption from all those who seek to oppress them.
But the Midrash doesn't stop there. It delves into a more personal and poignant plea. Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Ami, shares a prayer from the Assembly of Israel: "Even though it is written about me, 'For whom the Lord loves He reproves, even as a father the son in whom he delights' (Proverbs 3:12), still, 'Do not discipline me in Your anger' (Psalm 38:2)." It’s a vulnerable moment, a plea for mercy even within discipline.
Rabbi Yochanan then offers a powerful parable. A king has two advisors known for their harshness. When a province rebels, he usually sends these advisors to quell the uprising. But when his own province rebels, the king considers sending them again. This time, the advisors beg him not to, offering to do anything else. In the same way, Israel asks God not to punish them in anger, even if they deserve discipline.
It's a complex request, isn't it? How can justice be served without anger? How can lessons be learned without consequences? The people ask God, "You have others to whom to send Your anger and wrath." Micah (5:14) is quoted: "I will execute vengeance in anger and wrath upon the nations." But regarding Israel, Hosea (11:9) promises, "I will not execute the fierceness of My anger." It’s a delicate balance between justice and mercy, between discipline and destruction.
Three more parables follow, each exploring this tension. Rabbi Elazar tells of a king who, in his anger, swore to kill his son. To avoid both breaking his oath and harming his son, he symbolically passed the sword over his own head. Rabbi Chanina tells of a king who swore to throw a large stone at his son. Instead, he broke it into small pieces, inflicting discomfort without causing fatal harm. Finally, the sages tell of a king who swore to strike his son with a hundred lashes, but instead, put the rope around his own neck.
Each parable offers a different perspective on how God can temper justice with mercy, finding ways to discipline without destroying. The king absorbs the punishment, deflects the blow, or lessens the impact. The message is clear: God's love for His people is unwavering, even in moments of anger and disappointment. He finds ways to express His displeasure without resorting to annihilation.
So, what does all this mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that even when we face hardship and feel the weight of the world on our shoulders, we are not alone. That even in moments of divine anger, there is a deep, abiding love that seeks to guide us, not destroy us. Maybe the eighth day of Passover isn’t just about remembering the past, but about looking forward to a future where justice and mercy intertwine, and where hope prevails over despair. It’s a potent reminder that even in our darkest moments, we are loved, cherished, and never truly abandoned. And isn't that a comforting thought?