Today, we’re diving into a passage from Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Song of Songs, that explores just that feeling. Specifically, we're looking at verse 5:5: "I arose to open for my beloved; my hands were dripping with myrrh, and my fingers with myrrh passing onto the handles of the latch."

What does it all mean?

The Rabbis, in their infinite wisdom, saw layers upon layers in this verse. The opening line, "I arose to open for my beloved," isn't just about a lover answering a knock at the door. Rabbi Yaakov bar Avuna, interpreting before Rabbi Yitzḥak, tells us it's about the Jewish people rising to the occasion, unlike the nations of the world. How so?

The verse echoes the return to Jerusalem to build the Second Temple after the Babylonian exile. As we read in Ezra 1:5, "Then arose the heads of the patrilineal families of Judah and Benjamin, and the priests and the Levites…to go up to build the house of the Lord, which is in Jerusalem." Judah, because from it came the king. Benjamin, because the Temple stood on its land. The priests for their service, the Levites for the platform. All rose to answer the call.

But it wasn't as simple as that.

"To open for my beloved" also means to open in repentance. Cyrus, the Persian king, initially allowed the Jews to return and rebuild. But, as Rabbi Yoḥanan recounts, Cyrus regretted his decision when he saw the province deserted of its skilled artisans – the very Jews who were now rebuilding the Temple! He reversed his decree, hindering further return.

The passage paints a vivid picture: "The sun will be dark when it rises" (Isaiah 13:10), Rabbi Yoḥanan imagines, wishing the sun had indeed been dark that day Cyrus changed his mind. Daniel and his companions, already in Babylon, chose to return despite the challenges, prioritizing a meal in the Land of Israel and the blessing it held. They understood the value of the opportunity.

But what about Ezra? Why didn't he go up with them?

The text tells us Ezra stayed behind to clarify his studies with Barukh ben Neriya. But Reish Lakish offers a deeper reason: Ezra's potential to become High Priest. Had Ezra ascended and been seen as more suitable than Yehoshua ben Yehotzadak, the appointed High Priest, it would have caused strife. The satan, the heavenly accuser, was already targeting Yehoshua (Zechariah 3:1).

Rabbi Simon adds that abolishing hereditary rights is "problematic before the Holy One blessed be He." Yehoshua was a High Priest, son of a High Priest. Despite Ezra's righteousness, he wasn't entitled to the position by lineage.

The myrrh, or mor in Hebrew, is interpreted as "bitterness," or merarim. "My hands were dripping with myrrh" alludes to the bitterness of the exile, and even more specifically, according to our text, to the sin of the Golden Calf. "And my fingers with myrrh passing" – mor over – is God overlooking their bitterness, as it says, "The Lord reconsidered the evil…" (Exodus 32:14).

Finally, "onto the handles of the latch" represents the blocking of the Euphrates, preventing the Jews from fully returning to the Land of Israel. It was from there, from that point of missed opportunity, that the way was blocked. It also represents the barring of entry to the Land of Israel because of their sins.

So, what’s the takeaway? This passage from Shir HaShirim Rabbah isn't just a commentary on a love poem. It’s a reminder that opportunities, especially those connected to repentance and rebuilding, are precious. It’s about recognizing the knock at the door, even when our hands are full of the "bitterness" of past mistakes. And it’s about understanding that sometimes, the reasons we miss those opportunities are more complex than they seem, intertwined with fate, leadership, and even heavenly accusations. Are we ready to answer the door when opportunity knocks?