That feeling, that intense desire, is at the heart of today's story.

We find ourselves in Shir HaShirim Rabbah, an ancient commentary on the Song of Songs, that most beautiful and enigmatic book of the Bible. Here, the Rabbis grapple with the verse, "Draw me [moshkheni]; we will run after you." (Song of Songs 1:4). What does it mean to be drawn to the Divine? What compels us to chase after something we can't fully see or understand?

Rabbi Yoḥanan, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, and other Rabbis offer different interpretations, each illuminating a facet of this complex relationship. Rabbi Yoḥanan suggests that because God brought the Israelites to good and expansive lands, like those of Siḥon and Og east of the Jordan, they yearned for the ultimate "good land"—the Land of Israel itself, a mashkenuta, a dwelling place for the Divine. He's saying the taste of goodness only whets the appetite for more.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi echoes this sentiment, emphasizing that experiencing a good and expansive land, a mashkenuta, inspires us to pursue God even further.

But the Rabbis take it even deeper. They say the Israelites' desire to run after God stems from having experienced the Shekhina, the Divine Presence, dwelling among them. As it says in Exodus 25:8, "They shall make for Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell [veshakhanti] among them." To have felt God's presence, to have known that closeness… what could be more enticing than to chase after that again?

And then comes a twist. The Rabbis offer another perspective: perhaps the Israelites run after God because the Divine Presence was removed from their midst. Think about that. Absence can make the heart grow fonder, right?

The text illustrates this point with a powerful example. After the sin of the Golden Calf, the Israelites didn't mourn the troubles that befell them. But when Moses told them, on God's behalf, "For I will not ascend in your midst" (Exodus 33:3), then "the people heard these evil tidings, they mourned" (Exodus 33:4). The loss of God's presence was a far greater tragedy than any physical hardship.

Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai adds another layer to this understanding. He speaks of a "weapon" given to the Israelites at Horev, engraved with the ineffable name of God. This weapon, perhaps a metaphor for Divine connection, was taken away after the sin of the Golden Calf. Exodus 33:6 says, "The children of Israel were stripped of their adornment from Mount Horev." Rabbi Aivu suggests it peeled off by itself, while other Rabbis say an angel removed it. Either way, it was a painful separation.

The Israelites, recognizing their vulnerability without God's presence, cried out, "Master of the universe, does a wife not adorn herself only for her husband?" If God wouldn't be among them, what was the point of any adornment? What was the point of anything?

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi concludes by connecting this yearning to the Song of Songs itself. He interprets the verse "Let my beloved come to his garden [legano]" (Song of Songs 4:16) as a plea for God to return to his wedding canopy, his leginuno. It's a longing for intimacy, for reunion, for the ultimate closeness with the Divine.

So, what does all this mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that the pursuit of the Divine is a journey marked by both presence and absence. By moments of profound connection and times of painful separation. Maybe it’s in that very longing, in that very running after, that we find ourselves closest to the One we seek. What do you yearn for, and how does that longing shape your path?