That feeling, that fear, is something the Jewish people have grappled with throughout our history. And it's right there in Shemot Rabbah 31, a midrash on the book of Exodus.
The passage begins with the verse, "If you lend money to My people" (Exodus 22:24), but quickly pivots to a far more painful image: that of Israel in exile. The nations of the world, seeing the Israelites led away in chains, declare, "Rejected silver they called them [as the Lord has rejected them]" (Jeremiah 6:30).
Now, silver is a precious metal, right? It's refined, crafted, refined again. But imagine a silversmith who, after repeated attempts, finally crushes the silver in frustration, deeming it unusable. That's the image the nations have of Israel: a people God has given up on, with "no possibility of recovery."
Can you imagine the sting of that? To be seen as disposable, beyond redemption?
Jeremiah, hearing this pronouncement, can't bear it. He turns to God, heartbroken. "Master of the universe," he cries, "is it true that You have rejected your children?" He quotes his own lament from Jeremiah 14:19: "Have You rejected Judah, has Your soul despised Zion? Why have You smitten us and we have no cure?"
The midrash then uses a powerful analogy: a man beating his wife. Her friend intervenes, asking, "Until when will you continue to beat her? If you wish to divorce her, beat her until she dies. If you do not wish to divorce her, why are you beating her?"
Jeremiah uses this to plead with God: either destroy us completely, or stop the endless suffering. As Lamentations 5:22 says, "For, You have rejected us, You have been exceedingly angry with us."
But here's where the story takes a turn. God responds with an unshakable promise. "Even if I were to destroy My world, I will not send Israel away," God declares. He invokes Jeremiah 31:36: "So said the Lord: If the heavens above can be measured [and the foundations of the earth below probed, I too will spurn all the descendants of Israel]."
The message is clear: just as the heavens and the earth are immeasurable, God's commitment to Israel is unbreakable.
However, there's a condition, a caveat. God says, "Nevertheless, I have stipulated a condition with them. If they sin, the Temple will be taken as collateral for them." This is where it gets really interesting. The midrash plays on the Hebrew word mishkani, meaning "My abode" (Leviticus 26:11). But it urges us to read it as mashkoni, "My collateral."
Similarly, Bilam's blessing, "How goodly are your tents, Jacob, your dwellings [mishkenotekha], Israel" (Numbers 24:5) becomes a reference to the two Temples, serving as collateral for Israel's sins.
The destruction of the Temples, then, wasn't an act of final rejection, but a temporary measure, a way to settle the debt incurred by Israel's transgressions. As Isaiah 50:1 states, "So said the Lord: Where is the your mother's writ of divorce with which I sent her away, or to whom among My creditors did I sell you? Behold, for your iniquities you were sold, and for your transgressions your mother was sent away.” God isn’t indebted to idolaters; the Temple is collateral for Israel's own sins.
God even stipulated this with Moses, linking it back to the original verse about lending money: "If you lend money to My people, to the poor who is with you, you shall not be as a creditor to him." But if the commandments are violated, God will take "two instances of collateral," alluded to in the double term ḥavol taḥbol ("If you take your neighbor’s garment as collateral," Exodus 22:25), representing the two Temples.
Moses, ever the advocate for his people, asks, "Will they forever be taken as collateral?"
And God's answer offers a glimmer of hope: "No, only until 'the setting of the sun' – until Messiah comes," as Malachi 3:20 foretells: "But the sun will shine for you, those who fear My name, a sun of righteousness and healing."
What does this all mean? It means that even in our darkest moments, when we feel most rejected and abandoned, God's love and commitment endure. The destruction of the Temples, while a profound tragedy, wasn't a final judgment, but a temporary consequence, a debt to be repaid. And the promise of Messiah offers the ultimate hope: a future where the "sun of righteousness and healing" shines upon us, and the collateral is finally redeemed.
It's a powerful reminder that even when we stumble, even when we fall, we are not beyond redemption. The story of Israel, as told in Shemot Rabbah, is a story of enduring love, unwavering commitment, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow. And perhaps, it's a story we can all find solace and strength in, knowing that even in our own lives, rejection is not the final word.