Ever feel like you've been given everything, and yet... you still fall short? Like you haven't quite lived up to expectations? It's a deeply human feeling, and it's one that resonates powerfully within Jewish tradition.
Let's dive into Shemot Rabbah, a compilation of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Exodus. Specifically, we're looking at section 32, where Rabbi Yitzchak opens with a verse from Jeremiah (3:19-20): "And I said: How shall I place you among the children.… Indeed, a woman has betrayed her lover.” It's a loaded statement, and Rabbi Yitzchak unpacks it with striking imagery.
Imagine, he says, all the miracles, all the mighty acts that God performed for the Israelites in the desert. But it wasn't about getting something in return. It was about fostering a relationship, a sense of respect, like children calling their parent "Father." As Jeremiah says, "I said: You shall call Me my Father." Think about it: God walked before them, illuminating their path with pillars of cloud and fire, as Exodus 13:21 describes. What more could God have done?
But then comes the sting: "Indeed, a woman has betrayed her lover." Why "lover," and not "husband?" Rabbi Yitzchak explains with a surprisingly modern analogy. A wife, even when her husband falls on hard times, often remembers the good days, the security and care he provided. She sticks with him. But a prostitute? Her loyalty is transactional. If the payments stop, so does the affection.
The point, according to Shemot Rabbah, is that the Israelites treated God like a provider, not a partner. God showered them with miracles – the protective clouds of glory, the life-sustaining manna (the miraculous food), the refreshing spring of water, the abundance of quail. Yet, they didn’t praise God. They didn't acknowledge the source of their blessings. They weren't like that prostitute, showing off the gifts and singing the praises of her benefactor.
As we find in Jeremiah 2:6, "They did not say: Where is the Lord, who takes us up from the land of Egypt?" It's a heartbreaking indictment. Where is the gratitude? Where is the recognition of the immense, unearned grace?
And the consequence? God declares, "I, too, 'for I will not ascend in your midst'" (Exodus 33:3). The Divine Presence, the Shekhinah, will not dwell among them as it could. Instead, “behold, I am sending an angel” (Exodus 23:20). It's a step removed, a distancing that reflects the broken trust.
The message here, drawn from Shemot Rabbah, is a powerful one, isn't it? It's about the nature of relationships, about gratitude, and about recognizing the source of our blessings. It's a reminder that miracles aren't just about the gifts themselves, but about the connection they should foster. Are we truly acknowledging the "lover" who provides for us, or are we just taking the gifts for granted? It's a question worth pondering, long after the manna has fallen.