The ancient rabbis certainly did. And they found ways to talk about it, to process it, and to find meaning even in those tough times.
We find a fascinating example of this in Vayikra Rabbah 19, a midrash – a rabbinic interpretation – on the book of Leviticus. It starts with a seemingly simple verse about a woman experiencing a prolonged bloody discharge: "and a woman, if her bloody discharge will flow many days" (Leviticus 15:25). But the rabbis, ever insightful, use this verse as a springboard to discuss much larger themes of suffering, exile, and hope.
The midrash connects this verse to another, seemingly unrelated one from II Chronicles 15:3: "For many days, Israel was without the true God, and without a teaching priest, and without Torah." The prophet Azariah ben Oded, according to the midrash, prophesied that these "many days" would be a time when justice is absent, the priesthood is abolished, and the Sanhedrin – the Jewish high court – is no more. A pretty bleak picture, right? Imagine hearing that!
The text suggests that when the people heard this prophecy, they were devastated, their "hands weakened." How do you even begin to cope with that level of despair? But then, a Divine Voice emerges, offering encouragement: "Strengthen weak hands" (Isaiah 35:3).
Rabbi Yudan and Rabbi Pinḥas offer different interpretations of this message. Rabbi Yudan suggests that God appears weak in this world, and that by increasing our good deeds, we can help reveal God's power (as explained by Rabbi David Luria). It's a powerful idea – that we, through our actions, can influence even the divine presence in the world. Rabbi Pinḥas, on the other hand, sees the weakened hands as a consequence of our own wicked deeds. He urges us to strengthen ourselves by turning away from those actions.
The midrash then turns to the "impetuous of heart" (Isaiah 35:4), which Rabbi Hoshaya Rabba interprets as the "brokenhearted." Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi sees them as those who eagerly await the end of exile, the ultimate salvation. These interpretations offer different perspectives on how to understand and respond to suffering. Are we brokenhearted? Are we impatient for redemption?
And what about those "many days?" Were they really that many? The midrash points out that the phrase "many days" is often used to describe periods of suffering, even if the actual number of days isn't particularly high. It’s a way of emphasizing the weight and intensity of the experience.
Think about it: "Many days passed and the word of the Lord was with Elijah" (I Kings 18:1). Rabbi Berekhya and Rabbi Ḥelbo, quoting Rabbi Yoḥanan, break this down to eighteen months. But the phrase "many days" is used because those months were filled with hardship. Similarly, "It was during those many days" (Exodus 2:23), referring to the Israelites' oppression in Egypt. Again, the emphasis is on the suffering, not just the length of time.
The midrash then returns to the original verse about the woman with the prolonged discharge. Rabbi Ḥiyya explains that "days" means two, and "many" means three. So, even though it's only a matter of a few days, the phrase "many days" is used because those days are filled with discomfort and anxiety. After this point, she becomes afflicted (hadava), a term the text later connects to the Aramaic word zava, which refers to a woman with a particular type of irregular bleeding.
The text emphasizes the distinction between a woman experiencing normal menstruation (nidda) and one who is afflicted (dava) – someone experiencing prolonged or unusual bleeding. Rabbi Simlai points out that this woman endures significant suffering, having to observe both the day of discharge and then seven additional days of purification.
Finally, Rabbi Yoḥanan, quoting Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, draws a powerful parallel: If this woman, who withdraws for only a few days, is called nidda (with its connotations of ostracism), how much more so should we, who have been separated from the Temple – the "House of our sanctity and our glory" – for countless years, feel a similar sense of loss and separation?
What’s so striking is the way this midrash uses a seemingly obscure verse about a woman's health to explore profound questions about suffering, exile, and the human condition. It reminds us that even in the midst of difficult times, we are not alone. We have a tradition, a history, and a community to draw upon. And perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that even in our perceived weakness, we have the power to strengthen ourselves, to strengthen others, and even, in a way, to strengthen God's presence in the world.