G-d I prayed just like I was supposed to just like they told me to. I asked You for something. I begged You. I cried my heart out. But You said no. They say You hear prayers. They say You are kind and You are good. But still You said no. That makes no sense to me.
My request wasn’t a selfish request. It was a reasonable request a good request. I wasn’t even asking for a miracle just for something that millions of other people take for granted. I was sure it was what You would have wanted for me. I thought that what I asked for would make it easier to come close to You. But still You said no. Maybe You don’t want me to come close to You. Or maybe You don’t even care. You are G-d and I know You are allowed to say no; obviously You don’t have to give me what I want. I accept that. But I feel rejected and alone facing a force that appears cruel and callous.
Puny little man standing on the beach gazing at the unrelenting endlessly crashing waves is awed by the power and mystery; he is also frightened by the sense that he is not much more than a speck of sand before that force. He feels lonely and small vulnerable and exposed before this dispassionate power.
So what does a Jew do when he feels like this? The Kuzari points out that it is exactly at this point that we see the difference between the god of Aristotle and the G-d of Avraham Yitzchak and Yaakov. For the Jew G-d is not an abstract concept — a fearful awesome Being who exists intellectually but remains ultimately irrelevant to me. “My soul thirsts for You ” I yearn to experience You not in my mind but in my soul — in my very self.
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