The Jewish tradition grapples with this very idea – the absence of an advocate, the void when mercy seems to have vanished. It's a scary thought, isn't it?
Sifrei Devarim, a collection of legal midrashim on the Book of Deuteronomy, touches upon this very unsettling scenario. It speaks of a moment "when He sees" – a moment when the Divine gaze falls upon a people, and what does He find? A void.
One interpretation focuses on the absence of someone to implore mercy, someone to stand in the gap as Aaron did. Remember the plague in the wilderness? Numbers 17:13 tells us, "and he stood between the dead and the living." Aaron, the High Priest, literally placed himself between destruction and his people, his prayers acting as a shield. Imagine that kind of selfless devotion! When that's missing, when there's no Aaron… what then?
Another example offered is Pinchas. Psalm 106:30 recounts, "And Pinchas arose and prayed, and the plague ceased." Pinchas, with his zealous act, atoned for the sins of the people and stopped a divine plague. He stepped up, took action, and his prayer literally halted disaster. But what happens, the Sifrei Devarim asks, when there's no Pinchas to rise and intercede?
The text continues, expanding on this chilling absence. It speaks of a lack of restraint and strength, echoing the despair found in II Kings 14:26: "For the L-rd saw the affliction of Israel… with none restrained and none strengthened, and no help for Israel." A people vulnerable, exposed, with no one to hold back the tide of suffering, no one to bolster their spirits. The verse from Isaiah 59:16 reinforces this: "And He saw that there was no man, and He was astonished that there was no intercessor." Astonished! Can you feel the weight of that word? The Divine, almost in disbelief that no one is stepping forward.
What does this all mean? It's not simply about historical figures, but about the ongoing need for individuals to act as compassionate advocates, to stand up for others, to implore mercy, and to offer strength in times of despair. Are we those people? When we see injustice, when we witness suffering, do we step forward? Do we become the Aaron, the Pinchas, the intercessor that is so desperately needed?
Perhaps the real question the Sifrei Devarim poses is not about a distant past, but about our present. Are we creating a world where such intercessors are abundant, or are we contributing to a world where the Divine might once again be astonished by their absence? It's a challenge, a call to action, and a reminder that even a single voice raised in compassion can make all the difference.