Jewish mysticism grapples with this feeling, this sense of lack, in the concept of the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence. And one passage in the Tikkunei Zohar, specifically Tikkun 39, offers a powerful, poetic image of the Shekhinah's ascent and the longing it inspires.

The Tikkunei Zohar, a later addition to the Zohar, is known for its intricate interpretations of the Torah and its focus on the mystical significance of even seemingly small details. Here, we find a beautiful, layered teaching.

It begins by linking the Shekhinah’s ascent to a verse from Genesis – Joseph's dream where his brothers' sheaves bow down to his. (Gen. 37:7) "... and behold your sheaves leaned, and bowed down to my sheaf." This suggests the Shekhinah is rising in stature, claiming its rightful place.

Then, the passage quotes Psalm 118:22: "The stone which the builders refused has become the head cornerstone." This is a powerful metaphor. The Shekhinah, initially rejected or overlooked, is now becoming the very foundation upon which everything rests. Think about that: what we dismiss or devalue might actually be the key to holding everything together.

But the imagery doesn't stop there. The Tikkunei Zohar identifies this cornerstone with "the stone that was hewn without hands," referencing Daniel 2:34. "... until a stone was hewn, without hands etc." This stone is not made through human effort. It’s something inherently divine, something that transcends our ordinary understanding. But where does it come from?

And here’s where the passage takes a poignant turn. Because the origin of this stone is unknown, the angels themselves are left searching. "Where is the place of His glory to praise Him?" they ask. A place for it is not found, such that they say: (Ez. 3:12) 'Blessed is the glory of Y”Y from His place.'"

Y”Y is a mystical substitution for the ineffable name of God. The angels' question, and their subsequent blessing, highlights a profound tension: God's glory is both present and absent, revealed and concealed. The Divine Presence, the Shekhinah, is ascending, becoming the cornerstone, but its source remains a mystery, even to the angels.

What does this mean for us? Perhaps it speaks to the inherent limitations of human understanding. We can glimpse the Divine, we can experience its presence, but we can never fully grasp its origin or essence. The longing of the angels reflects our own longing for connection, for meaning, for a sense of wholeness that always seems just beyond our reach.

It’s a reminder that the journey is as important as the destination. The search for the source, the yearning for the Divine, is itself a form of worship. Maybe the point isn’t to find all the answers, but to keep asking the questions. To keep seeking the place of God's glory, even when that place seems elusive. And to recognize that even in that very search, we are already blessed.