It might seem obvious – they're in need of help! But the Rabbis, those masters of interpretation, saw something deeper at play.
Consider the verse in Exodus (22:21): "You shall not afflict any widow or orphan." Seems straightforward, right? But Rabbi Yosei, whose insights are often woven into the fabric of our understanding, asks why God seems to have such a particular affinity for these individuals. His answer, as found in Shemot Rabbah (Exodus Rabbah), a classic collection of Midrashic interpretations, is profoundly moving: it's because their eyes are directed exclusively to Him. As the Psalmist says (68:6), God is "Father of orphans, Judge of widows."
Think about it. When someone loses a spouse or a parent, where else can they turn but to the Divine? This utter reliance, this complete dependence, forges a powerful connection. And, according to Rabbi Yosei, anyone who takes advantage of that vulnerability, who robs or afflicts these individuals, is essentially robbing the Holy One, Blessed be He. Because God is their Father in Heaven, and such actions ignite Divine anger.
The verse continues in Exodus (22:23): "My wrath will be enflamed and I will kill you." Strong words! But the Rabbis often used vivid imagery to drive home a point. To illustrate this, Shemot Rabbah offers a powerful analogy.
Imagine a king's beloved daughter who, alas, sins against her father. He is forced to banish her. She has children, and in her desperation, she casts them upon the mercy of her father, the king, and leaves. Now, whenever the king sees these grandchildren, he is reminded of his daughter. As the Yefe To’ar commentary suggests, seeing them is like seeing her. And if anyone were to dare harm these children, the king's retribution would be swift and severe.
Similarly, the Midrash continues, Israel was once at home in Zion, with the Holy One, Blessed be He, dwelling in their midst, as it is written in Psalms (132:14): "This is My resting place forever." But, alas, they sinned, and He banished them. And in their exile, they "cast their children upon Him," as Lamentations (5:3) poignantly describes: "We have become orphans, with no father; our mothers are like widows."
So, what happens when God sees Israel now, performing mitzvot, acts of loving-kindness and obedience? He remembers Zion. He regrets the exile. He seeks merit for them, yearning to return, as Zechariah (8:3) proclaims: "I have returned to Zion, I will dwell in the midst of Jerusalem." As David implores in Psalms (126:4), "Return, Lord, our captives!" — which is interpreted as a plea for God to return His presence to Zion even as He returns the Jewish captives.
This beautiful analogy underscores a crucial point: our actions towards the vulnerable are, in essence, actions towards God. Protecting the widow and the orphan isn't just about charity; it's about upholding the very fabric of our relationship with the Divine. It’s about remembering that we are all, in a sense, children cast upon His mercy, longing for a return to wholeness and connection.
So, the next time you encounter someone in need, remember this story. Remember the king and his daughter, remember the orphans and widows, and remember the profound connection between our actions and the Divine presence in the world. What kind of world do you want to build?