The Song of Songs, or Shir HaShirim in Hebrew, is filled with that kind of longing. It’s a love poem, yes, but Jewish tradition reads it as an allegory for the relationship between God and the people of Israel. And right from the start, it plunges us into this very intimate space.
Take the verse, "On my bed at nights I sought the one whom my soul loves; I sought him, but did not find him" (Song of Songs 3:1). Simple enough, right? But in Shir HaShirim Rabbah, the ancient Midrashic commentary on the Song of Songs, the Rabbis unpack this verse with layers of meaning.
Rabbi Abba bar Kahana offers a fascinating take. He connects "on my bed at nights" to illness, drawing a parallel to the verse, "And he does not die but falls into bed" (Exodus 21:18). Is the speaker ill, weakened, and therefore unable to find the Beloved? Is this a metaphor for spiritual sickness, a time when our connection to the Divine feels frail?
Then Rabbi Levi takes us on a sweeping journey through Jewish history. He imagines the congregation of Israel saying to God: "Master of the universe, in the past You would illuminate for me between nights and nights..." He’s talking about the periods of light and hope between eras of persecution. Between the night of Egypt and the night of Babylon, between Babylon and Media, Media and Greece, and finally, Greece and Edom – a rabbinic code word for Rome.
Think about that for a moment. Rabbi Levi is saying that throughout history, even in the darkest times, there were always moments of respite, glimmers of hope. But now? "Now that I have slumbered from the Torah and the mitzvot (commandments)," the congregation laments, "nights have become consecutive for me." The periods of persecution have become unending.
Rabbi Alexandra echoes this sentiment, stating that the nights became consecutive when the speaker "slumbered from the Torah and the mitzvot." It's a powerful image, isn’t it? This idea that our connection to God, to our traditions, is what keeps the darkness at bay.
And then there’s this beautiful wordplay: "On my bed at nights [balelot]," the nights came [ba’u lelot]." The Rabbis are drawing attention to the very sound of the words, linking the speaker's situation to the arrival of these difficult times.
So what does it all mean? This opening verse, and the Rabbis' interpretations, invite us to reflect on our own lives. When we feel that longing, that sense of separation from the Divine, could it be connected to a "slumber" in our own commitment to Torah and mitzvot? Are we, like the congregation of Israel, experiencing consecutive nights?
It’s a challenging thought, but also a hopeful one. Because if the "nights" are a consequence of our own actions, then perhaps we also have the power to bring back the light. By reawakening our connection to tradition, to community, and to the Divine, we might just find the One whom our soul loves, even in the darkest of nights.