The mystics of old certainly understood that feeling. They saw it reflected in the relationship between God and Israel, a connection often portrayed as a passionate, complicated love affair. And they found echoes of it in the Song of Songs, that most evocative of Biblical books.
Take this verse from Song of Songs 5:6: “I opened for my beloved, but my beloved had slipped away and gone. My soul departed when he spoke. I sought him, but did not find him; I called him, but he did not answer me.”
It's a cry of longing, of disappointment, even despair. But what does it mean?
Shir HaShirim Rabbah, the rabbinic commentary on the Song of Songs, unpacks this verse with layers of interpretation, seeing within it reflections of key moments in Israel's history.
The midrash begins by focusing on the Hebrew word “avar” – "slipped away and gone." It connects this to the word "evra" – wrath. “I opened for my beloved, but my beloved had slipped away and gone [avar]” – He was appeased, and then He became filled with wrath [evra] toward me.” The Rabbis are playing with language here, finding a deeper meaning through the sounds and shapes of the Hebrew words themselves.
According to the Midrash, this verse speaks to Israel's initial attempt at repentance after the exile. God, it says, was initially appeased and responded by inspiring Cyrus, the Persian king, to issue his first decree, allowing the rebuilding of the Temple in Jerusalem. A moment of hope!
But then… disappointment. God became angry again, because of the lack of further progress in Israel’s repentance. This led to Cyrus’s second decree, which halted the rebuilding. Talk about a setback!
“My soul departed when he spoke” – this refers to the speech of Cyrus, decreeing that anyone who hadn’t already crossed the Euphrates River to return to Jerusalem was forbidden from doing so. A door slammed shut.
And then, the verse's lament: “I sought him, but did not find him; I called him, but he did not answer me.” The Midrash interprets this as Israel's cries to God after that second decree. But the seventy years of Babylonian exile weren't yet complete, so their prayers went unanswered.
But the Rabbis don’t stop there. They offer another interpretation, this time connecting the verse to the Israelites' time in the wilderness after the Exodus from Egypt.
Again, the verse is split into pieces. “I opened for my beloved, but my beloved had slipped away and gone” is interpreted to mean that God was initially appeased by the Israelites, communicating directly with them at Sinai. But then came the sin of the Golden Calf, a betrayal that filled God with anger. The connection, once so clear and direct, was broken.
"My soul departed when he spoke” – this now refers to the very first of the Ten Commandments: “I am the Lord your God” (Exodus 20:2). The very words that established the covenant became a source of pain, a reminder of what was lost.
“I sought him, but did not find him; I called him, but he did not answer me.” This speaks to the thirty-eight years that followed the sin of the spies, when God refused to allow the Israelites into the Promised Land and, according to the Midrash, ceased to communicate directly with them. A generation wandering, lost, and seemingly forgotten.
What can we take away from these interpretations? Perhaps it’s a reminder that relationships – whether with the Divine, with others, or even with ourselves – are rarely simple. There are moments of closeness and moments of distance, times of joy and times of sorrow. Repentance, or teshuvah, isn't a one-time event, but a continuous process of turning back, of seeking reconciliation, even when it feels like our beloved has slipped away.
And maybe, just maybe, the very act of seeking, of calling out, is itself a form of connection, a testament to the enduring power of love, even in the face of silence.