As a student in an Orthodox day school, I often heard the story of Nahum Ish Gamzu, who responded to the tragedies he suffered with the phrase, “Gam zo l’tovah–this, too, is actually a good thing.”1 We were told, through this story and others, that true faith in God should lead us each to look for the good in all things, even pain. The education and socialization that I received—intended to teach me how to be a religious Jew, not to mention how to be an attractive and appropriate woman—pointed to such responses to misfortune. An angry woman is an unattractive woman, and anger shows impiety: true faith in God should lead me to appreciate my lot.
Although these ideas remain in force in the religious world, and in society in general, I later found that some of our most ancient and sanctified texts in the Tanakh and Midrash teach different lessons. In the Tanakh, the authors of Job, Lamentations (Eikha), and many of the Psalms, like Abraham before the destruction of Sodom, were not afraid to challenge God, to demand justice from God, and even to complain about pain. The rabbis followed suit—taking responsibility for their own failings but expecting God to do the same.
The biblical Book of Eikha responds to the agony of the loss of land and people following the destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE. The Midrash on this book, Eikha Rabbah, uses the biblical text to address the losses in rabbinic times, including the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, the loss of access to Jerusalem under Hadrian in 135 CE, and the pain and humiliation felt by Jews under the power and oppression of the Roman Empire. Some midrashim in the collection are pious in the traditional sense of the word, presuming that Jewish suffering has come as punishment for a wide variety of sins. In these midrashim, the rabbis use misfortune as an opportunity to encourage the people to repent and to live according to God’s instructions.
In many instances, however, the rabbis surprise us by making demands on God and acknowledging that people who suffer have reason for and are justified in feeling angry toward God. In one midrash in Eikha Rabba, Rabbi Abba bar Kahana accuses God of sinning, of not observing what God had commanded in the Torah:
The Holy Spirit cried, “Behold, O Lord, my suffering, for the enemy has magnified himself” (Lamentations. 1:9). “The proud dug pits for me, which is not according to Your Torah” (Psalms 119:85). R. Abba bar Kahana said, two [transgressions of the Torah] are written. “You shall not take the mother with her young” (Deut. 22:6), but here “The mother was dashed to pieces with her children” (Hosea 10:14), which was not according to Your Torah. R. Abba bar Kahana said another is written: “To cut the children from the street” (Jer. 9:20), but not from the synagogues, “and the young men from the wide places,” but not from the study houses. But here, “The anger of God went up against them, and slew the lustiest among them, and smote down the young men of Israel” (Psalms 78:31), which was not according to Your Torah (Eikha Rabbah 1:37).
Although the interpreter of the midrash might suggest that the main culprit here is the Babylonian enemy—who killed mother and child with no regard for the ethics demanded by the Torah—it is clear at the end that the people suffered because of “the anger of God,” which is the force that destroyed “the young men of Israel” wherever they were. The prophet Jeremiah had written of the suffering of the young men in the marketplace (“the wide places”), which led the rabbis of the Midrash to presume that those who remained praying and learning in the synagogues and study houses would be protected. However, according to Psalm 78, God’s anger went out against all of the students, wherever they were. The rabbis imply that, even though at least some of the people of Israel were observing God’s Torah, God allowed His anger to take over and disregarded His own Torah laws and promises.
In Eikha Rabbah there are also a series of midrashim containing parables, most commonly involving the relationship between a king and his matrona (usually translated as “matron” or “consort”). Here is one of those parables:
“For it was Your doing” (Lam. 1:21)—A parable—to a king who married a matrona. He said to her, “Do not speak with your friends and do not borrow from them and do not lend to them.” Some time later, the king was angry at her, and he drove her out of the palace. She turned to all her neighbors, but they did not accept her, so she returned to the palace. The king said to her, “You are impudent [in returning to me]!” The matrona answered to the king, “My lord, had I lent to them and borrowed from them a single garment, if some vessel of mine was in their possession, or of theirs was in mine, would they not have accepted me?” So said the Holy One, blessed be He, to Israel, “You have acted impudently [in returning to Me]!” They said before Him, “Master of the Universe, did You not write in Your Torah, ‘You shall not marry with them; do not give your daughter to his son, nor take his daughter for your son’ (Deut. 7:3). Had we lent to them or married from them and them from us, had their daughter been with us or ours with them, would they not have accepted me?” This is the meaning of “For it was Your doing” (Lam. 1:21) (Eikha Rabbah 1:37).
In the parable, no motivation is provided for the king’s anger at the matrona. Indeed, the matrona is depicted as an obedient wife, isolated from her neighbors at the command of the king. The parable is explained as referring to the relationship between God and Israel. Israel observed God’s rules and did not intermarry, but when God (inexplicably) grew angry at Israel and cast her out of her land, she was perceived by other people as a stranger, not to be trusted. Using the verse in Eikha, the midrash blames God for putting the innocent people of Israel into this untenable situation. It even gives Israel the final word—implying that God cannot possibly have a reasonable response. This midrash is radical in another way, as well. The parable is a story of an abusive husband, but in the end, the wife publicly reveals the abuse, and she wins both our sympathy and our respect. The rabbis challenge God by accusing him of mistreating the people of Israel, and they offer no excuses for God’s behavior.
Jewish tradition, from the Tanakh to modern writings, has always had many different responses to personal and communal pain and suffering. The rabbis in Eikha Rabbah provide models for a relationship with God that includes anger. In these midrashim, anger at God is not a sign of impiety, but rather a sign of relationship. In any deep relationship, there is engagement, which necessarily encompasses situations of frustration and anger. In a healthy relationship, the parties express their anger and work through it, ultimately leading to greater understanding.
Our texts and prayers teach us to strive to love God and to know God. Eikha and Eikha Rabbah teach that there are bumps along the way. Our prophets and rabbis were not afraid to challenge God in those moments. This model of engagement should serve us today as well.