Our tradition tells us that we should hold Jerusalem higher than our highest joy. This is the reason we break a glass at the end of a wedding. It is a “zecher l’churban” a remembrance of the destruction of the Temple. We do it at this great moment of celebration precisely to remind us that as joyful as we are that the loving partners have come together, our joy will be even greater when “the voices of the bridegroom and bride are once again heard in the cities of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem.”

It should come as no surprise, then, that a blessing for Jerusalem is a part of the Amidah. And not just any part. As is well known, 7 is a special number within Jewish thought, a symbol of completion (7 days of the weekly Shabbat cycle, 7 years of the sabbatical, 7 times 7 years of the Jubilee, 7 weeks between Passover and Shavuot, 7 species, etc., etc.). Well, when we look at the internal structure of the Amidah, we see that the 7th blessing is the blessing for Redemption. And the 14th blessing (2 x 7) is the blessing for Jerusalem, the pinnacle of Redemption.

The prayer ends with a prayer to G-d “Who rebuilds Jerusalem,” which is not all that surprising following the destruction of the Temple. It begins, though, with a prayer that is surprising. “Return to Your city Jerusalem in compassion.” Emphasizing G-d’s return serves to underscore G-d’s current absence. Or more particularly, and more daringly, G-d’s current exile. In response to the destruction of the Temple, the rabbis developed an audacious theology. They asserted that G-d, too, had gone into exile together with G-d’s people.

This served, of course, as tremendous comfort to a people who had lost national sovereignty (and would not regain it until nearly 2000 years later). On a deeper level, though, it expands our image of G-d tremendously. It was one thing to say, as the First of the Ten Commandments does, that G-d uses the power of divinity to rescue oppressed slaves. A G-d who actually cared about people was a revolutionary concept in the ancient world, but one which still relied on the image of an all-powerful divine being.

Our prayer, though, and the theology behind it, maintain the image of a caring G-d—but now a G-d who shows love not through power but through powerlessness, the powerlessness shared by exiled Israel.

Truly, and remarkably, a G-d of the people. His people. And His city.