It’s a very human feeling, and it’s something the ancient rabbis wrestled with too.

In Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Psalms, we find a powerful exploration of this very sentiment through Psalm 119. This particular section delves into verses 81-85, and it's a raw, honest cry from the heart.

"My soul has pined for Your salvation" (Psalms 119:81). The Midrash connects this to Jeremiah's lament, "Why do You forget us forever?" (Lamentations 5:20). It's a plea born of suffering, a feeling of being spurned and rejected. We see the same sentiment echoed in other verses: "The harvest has passed, the summer has ended, and we are not saved" (Jeremiah 8:20), and David’s desperate question, "How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?" (Psalms 13:2).

Imagine the weight of that question. How long can one endure before hope begins to fade?

The text continues, quoting Jeremiah again: "You, O Lord, have knowledge; remember me and take note of me; avenge me of my persecutors... Take note that I suffer disgrace for Your sake" (Jeremiah 15:15). There's a sense of injustice here, a feeling that faithfulness should be rewarded, not punished. The Midrash acknowledges God's patience but points out the frailty of the human spirit. The longer the wait, the more consumed the soul becomes.

Then comes another verse from Psalm 119: "My eyes fail from searching Your word, saying, 'When will You comfort me?'" (Psalms 119:82). Why do the eyes fail? The Midrash references Habakkuk 2:3: "For a set time, an appointed time; though it tarries, wait for it, for it will surely come, it will not delay." But what happens when the appointed times seem to pass without comfort arriving? It's a question that resonates across generations.

"For I am like smoke, long neglected" (Psalms 119:83). This is a powerful image of fading, of being overlooked and forgotten. Yet, the Midrash offers a glimmer of hope, referencing Daniel 12:10: "Many shall purify themselves and be cleansed and refined; the wicked shall act wickedly and none of the wicked shall understand, but the wise shall understand."

Have we already been refined? Have we already endured enough? The text suggests that Israel has been through the fire, that they have already suffered immensely. "There is no greater refinement than death," the Midrash states, linking it to Psalm 119:84: "How many are the days of Your servant?"

Even after the Exodus from Egypt, the fear of subjugation lingers. There's a plea for God to act, to make His presence known among the nations. The response from the Holy One, Blessed be He, is a promise of retribution: "I will repay Babylon and all the inhabitants of Chaldea for all the evil they have done to Zion in your sight" (Jeremiah 51:24).

But the suffering continues. "The wicked have dug pits for me" (Psalms 119:85). Israel cries out that it’s not just one pit, but many. The Midrash draws a parallel between the Torah's prohibition against slaughtering a mother and its young on the same day (Leviticus 22:28) and the repeated afflictions of Israel. It also contrasts the Torah's instruction to pour out blood (Leviticus 17:13) with the psalmist's lament, "I have been poured out like water" (Psalms 22:15).

What does it all mean? This passage from Midrash Tehillim isn't just about historical suffering. It's about the universal human experience of waiting, of hoping, of questioning when relief will finally come. It's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, the cry for salvation is a valid and vital part of our relationship with the Divine. Maybe, just maybe, in voicing that cry, we find a little bit of comfort, a little bit of strength to keep waiting, to keep hoping, for the dawn to break.