“What is man that You have been mindful of him, mortal man that You have taken note of him, that You have made him little less than divine, and adorned him with glory and majesty?” (8:5-6)

There is a teaching of the Hasidic Rabbi Simha of Bunem, that a person should always carry two slips of paper, one in each pocket. In the left pocket, the slip of paper reads, “You are dust and ashes.” (Genesis 18:27) The slip of paper in the right pocket reads, “For my sake, the world was created.” (Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5)

Being created in God’s image is at the same time a great privilege and a great responsibility. The ability to manipulate tools and extensively use the resources of the planet for our benefit gives us an advantage over all other forms of life. Were we to be tossed into the wild to compete on even terms with animals of prey, most of us would be lost. In our own environment, we are masters.

It is the “little less than Divine” that draws my attention. We are asked to be self-limiting in our behavior. No one can compel us to use fewer resources, be kinder to the environment, treat all life with compassion. The Psalmist therefore reminds us that we are not Divine; in Reb Simha’s words, we are destined to become dust and ashes.

Reb Simha’s teaching is that ego needs to be balanced with humility; and that self-effacement needs to be balanced with self-esteem. In the end, though, he recognizes that a healthy ego is slightly tilted towards self-esteem over humility. The key to understanding Reb Simha’s teaching is to remember that the right hand is stronger than the left hand (for those of us who are left handed, think of it symbolically). Therefore, the self-affirming message (“I am so important that the world was created for me”) is slightly stronger than the ego-cautioning message warning me that I am a mortal being destined to return to the grave.

“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.