“Adonai, do not punish me in anger, do not chastise me in fury.” (6:2)

Anger is an addictive emotion. We feel powerfully alive when are are angry. Heart pounding, air pumping in and out of our lungs, muscles tense, the brain flashing like lightning. But our mind and body are focused on exactly one thought, one decision — fight or flight?

In that moment, we are not capable of truly rational thought. Nuance is lost. “Protect and Defend,” our mind is telling us. “Break, Smash, Destroy!” Or perhaps, “Run away! Duck and Cover! Roll and Dodge!”

It’s a paradox – in the moment when you feel most alive and energized and ready to make a split second decision, at that precise moment you are incapable of discernment. At that moment, you should not write an email or text, lest you press send. At that moment, you should not phone or message or chat.

The Psalmist knew that judgement is impaired when we are angry. Never mind that the Psalmist is talking about God – even God, as depicted in the Torah, burns with hot anger but can be “talked down” from God’s destructive power. The Blessed Holy One pulling back from the abyss becomes our model for proper control over our own angry impulses.

“But I, with abundant love for you, enter Your house …” (5:8)

When we enter God’s house, it is as if we pass through a force field. On the outside, there is the world, loud, crowded, uncaring, indifferent. On the inside, there is warmth, quiet, enveloping love. A synagogue (or church, for that matter) is often considered to be a place of refuge and sanctuary. It is supposed to be a safe place, where we can leave behind the masks and shields that protect us in the wider world and just be ourselves within a supportive community.

There is actually no difference between the physical outside and the physical inside space. The difference is us.

When we enter a sacred place, we enter with love. We know it is supposed to be a place of love, so we might take special care to behave with love. Our love reflects off the other worshippers, and it becomes a place of love.

The Mezuzah on the doors of our home is not a magical amulet of protection. It will not stop a hurricane or tornado or fire or robber. What it does is remind us that the home is equally sacred as a synagogue. Both contain Torah, both contain God’s presence.

You’ve had a hard day and finally arrived home. You stop on the threshold of your door and notice the mezuzah. When you walk through the door, to be greeted with chaos, problems, emptiness or loneliness, take a moment to gather us your love – remember, this too us a sacred place, God’s house.

Adonai, my foes are so many! Many are those who attack me. (3:2)

Foes can be both those things which attack us on the outside, such as difficult bosses, co-workers, and customers, and the things that attack us on the inside, such as the demons that pick away at our self-confidence and self-worth. They might be the demons whispering in your ear that no one cares about you, no one listens to you —  not your children, your wife, or your so-called friends.

When the foes, external and internal, are attacking and things are going wrong, it seems like there is no solution. Creditors are calling, bills are due, the car needs unexpected and expensive repairs, a puddle appears under the refrigerator. We are stuck in a downward spiral and it doesn’t matter what we do, because no matter what, something else goes wrong. Every choice seems to lead to the same disastrous consequences.

How many people react to difficult situations by sticking their head in the sand and pretending that the problems don’t exist? Just as running away from signs of physical problems and refusing to see a doctor usually doesn’t make the problem heal itself, running away from other problems rarely works. Seeking medical attention and undergoing proper treatment earlier rather than later might cause short term suffering but relieve long term problems. The solution is to face the challenges and make decisions from strength and wisdom rather than fear and impulse. Not all immediate consequences will be positive, but in the long term, making wise decisions will lead to stable consequences.

The only guarantee in life is that there are no guarantees. There will always be problems and challenges, and it is a guarantee that something will go wrong. If you know this, however, you can take the ups and downs with equanimity, not letting the low points distort your wisdom.

Serve Adonai in fear/awe; rejoice with trembling. (2:11)

Fear and Trembling is an important work of philosophy by Soren Kierkegaard, using the model of the binding of Isaac to explore the meaning of faith. It is fundamentally a Christian look at the role of faith above all.

Judaism, which places action above faith, approaches this verse as instruction to serve God by observing mitzvot with fear and trembling, lest God withhold reward and send suffering upon the world. I’d rather focus on the second verb in the sentence which casts a different light on awe and trembling.

Picture a small child fully engaged by a movie, a storyteller, a performer of any kind – the wide open eyes, the open mouth. Such a child is fully open to anything that might happen. Her senses are totally focused on what is happening before her. At the climactic moment, her arms might begin to shake, her body might bounce up and down in her seat, giggles of laughter or shrieks of joy emerge from that open mouth, she might hug herself as if to keep herself from flying out her body!

That’s how I understand this verse – as a challenge to reach the highest level of focus, excitement, and joy while engaged in mitzvah. Could I reach that level of kavanah, intention, while shaking a lulav and etrog, while making Kiddush, while wrapping myself in tefillin, while delivering Purim baskets or doing some other act of gemilut hasadim? What an opportunity!