Let’s dive into a fascinating passage from the Yalkut Shimoni on Nach 470, a compilation of rabbinic commentary on the books of the Prophets, which explores this very feeling.
The story begins with Jeremiah. As he's parting ways with God, he asks four weighty questions: despising, rejection, abandonment, and forgetting. According to the text, he only gets answers to two. Imagine the prophet, witnessing the devastation of Jerusalem, bewildered and seeking answers. "Is it possible," he wonders, "that the Holy One will return to them after this?" He's like a friend pleading with a king on behalf of a beloved but disgraced queen. "If you intend to return to her," Jeremiah asks, "then treat her like a wife. If not, then divorce her!" He's essentially asking: "Have You truly rejected Judah? Has Your soul despised Zion?"
God's response is indirect. He tells Jeremiah to consult Moses, the teacher of all prophets. And what does Moses say? "But despite all this, while they are in the land of their enemies, I will not despise them nor will I reject them..." (Leviticus 26:44). So, Jeremiah gets answers about despising and rejection, but what about abandonment and forgetting?
This is where Zion, personified as a grieving woman, steps in. She sees that Jeremiah's questions about despising and rejection were answered, but the questions about abandonment and forgetting were not. So, she cries out, "The Lord has forsaken me, and the Lord has forgotten me!" (Isaiah 49:14). But here's the twist: the verse repeats "The Lord." Why? Zion argues that even God's attributes of mercy, the very essence of "Lord, Lord, benevolent God, Who is compassionate and gracious..." (Exodus 34:6), have abandoned her. Ouch. That's a deep wound.
The Yalkut Shimoni offers several interpretations of Zion's lament. One suggests she feels like the forgotten gleanings left for the poor (Leviticus 23:22), cast aside and overlooked. Another sees her burdened with punishments, made "worth abandoning."
But God isn't having it. He rebukes Zion, calling her a "complainer, the son of a complainer!" He reminds her that even Adam complained about the woman He provided, and even Joseph, destined to be king of Egypt, questioned God's plan. Even the Israelites in the wilderness, despite being given heavenly food, grumbled about "rotten bread" (Numbers 21:5).
God points out that He's already removed powerful empires like Babylon, Maday (the Medes), and Greece. He was even preparing to remove the fourth kingdom (understood to be Rome) when Zion started complaining. It’s as if God is saying, "I'm working on it! Have a little faith!"
The text offers another layer: Zion accuses God of forgetting the praises her children sang at the sea after the Exodus: "The Eternal's strength..." (Exodus 15:2). It's a poignant reminder of past glories and present suffering.
The passage then presents a powerful analogy from R’ Elazar. Zion cries out: Even a man who takes a second wife remembers his first wife, but You have forgotten me! The Holy One replies to her – my daughter, I created twelve constellations in the firmament opposite the twelve tribes and for each constellation I created thirty troops, and for each troop I created thirty routes, and on each route I created thirty legions, and for each legion I created thirty camps, and for each camp I created thirty squares, and for each square I created three hundred and sixty-five stars like the number of the days of the solar calendar. All of these I created only for you, and you say ‘He has forgotten me, He has abandoned me?!’
Finally, God uses the most powerful image of all: "Shall a woman forget her sucking child (ulah)..." (Isaiah 49:15)? He vows never to forget the sacrifices (olot) and firstborns offered to Him. It's a promise of unwavering love and remembrance.
But Zion, still wrestling with her pain, pushes further. What about the Golden Calf? Will You forget that sin? God says He will. And then, she asks, what about the events at Mount Sinai? Will You forget the good things we did there? To which God responds, "I will not forget you."
So, what does this all mean? It seems to me that the Yalkut Shimoni isn't just about historical events. It's a deeply human exploration of faith, doubt, and the enduring, often turbulent, relationship between God and His people. It reminds us that even in our darkest moments, when we feel utterly forgotten, we are still seen, still loved, and still remembered. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough to keep us going.