Jewish tradition is full of that – layers upon layers of interpretation, waiting to be uncovered. Today, we're diving into Shemot Rabbah, specifically section 52, which takes a verse from the Song of Songs and uses it to illuminate the significance of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle.
The passage starts with a seemingly simple statement: "They brought the Tabernacle." But then it immediately leaps to a verse from the Song of Songs (3:11): "Emerge, daughters of Zion, and look at King Solomon, with the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding, and on the day of the rejoicing of his heart." What does this have to do with the Tabernacle? That's the question the Midrash sets out to answer.
The key is recognizing that these ancient texts aren't always literal. As we find here, often they’re speaking on multiple levels. The "daughters of Zion," we’re told, represent the children of Israel, "conspicuous" in their devotion to God, even recognized as distinct by idolaters. Think of it: a people set apart, identifiable by their actions and commitments. The text highlights that they are hametzuyanim — conspicuous.
But what about the "crown" that Solomon's mother placed upon him? Rabbi Yitzchak makes a crucial observation: we can search the entire Bible, but we won't find anywhere that Batsheva actually crafted a crown for Solomon. So, what gives? It's not meant to be taken literally! The crown, according to this interpretation, is the Tabernacle. Why? Because, like a crown, the Tabernacle was exquisitely crafted, a testament to human artistry dedicated to the Divine. The text references Exodus 35:35, highlighting the intricate embroidery and skilled craftsmanship that went into its creation.
Then comes a beautiful and insightful dialogue between Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai and Rabbi Elazar ben Rabbi Yosei. Rabbi Shimon asks about the meaning of the “crown” and Rabbi Elazar responds with an analogy: a king who loves his daughter so much that he eventually calls her not only "daughter," but also "sister," and finally, "mother."
Think about that for a moment. The relationship deepens with each title. A daughter is subservient, a sister is an equal, and a mother is owed honor and respect. So too, explains Rabbi Elazar, God's love for Israel has grown over time. Initially, God calls Israel "daughter," as we see in Psalms 45:11: "Listen, daughter, and take note; incline your ear." Then, the relationship deepens, and God calls them "sister," as in Song of Songs 5:2: "Open for me, my sister, my love, my faultless dove." And finally, the ultimate expression of love: God calls them "mother," drawing on a fascinating interpretation of Isaiah 51:4. The word uleumi ("My nation") is expounded as ule'imi – "to My mother." Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai is so moved by this explanation that he kisses Rabbi Elazar on the head!
The Midrash then explores the different "days of rejoicing" mentioned in the Song of Songs verse. These are interpreted in multiple ways: Sinai, the sea, the Tent of Meeting, the Tabernacle, and the Temple in Jerusalem. Each represents a moment of profound connection between God and Israel.
The passage concludes with a discussion of Jerusalem, described as "joy of the entire world" (Psalms 48:3). Rabbi Yonatan ben Elazar shares a story about a merchant who initially doubts Jerusalem's reputation, only to later experience its blessings firsthand. Rabbi Yoḥanan speaks of a "dome of accounting" outside Jerusalem, a place where people could reflect on their finances without bringing sorrow into the holy city.
But the Midrash doesn't shy away from the difficult truth: "when it was destroyed: 'All joy is negated [arva], gladness of the land is exiled' (Isaiah 24:11)." The word arva is linked to the word erev, meaning "evening" or "darkness," suggesting a time of profound loss.
Yet, even in this darkness, there is hope. The passage ends with a promise: "when the Holy One blessed be He will rebuild Jerusalem, He will restore all the joy to its midst." Quoting Isaiah 51:3, it envisions a future where "gladness and joy will be found in it, thanksgiving and the sound of music."
So, what do we take away from this intricate and multifaceted Midrash? It's a reminder that sacred texts are not static pronouncements, but living conversations. They invite us to delve deeper, to find hidden connections, and to understand the enduring relationship between God and Israel – a relationship that evolves from daughter to sister to mother, and ultimately, promises a future filled with joy and restoration. It suggests that even in times of darkness, the promise of joy remains, waiting to be rekindled with the rebuilding of Jerusalem.