Psalms

Psalm 24

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Psalm 24 is sung in our services on weekdays and Shabbat afternoons (and on weekday Festivals) when we put the Torah away. It’s a beautiful, short psalm that begins by reminding us that God is the Creator and in order to deserve a home on this world, we have to treat the landLord and the rest of God’s creatures with respect.

Who may ascend the mountain of the LORD? Who may stand in God’s holy place? — One who has clean hands and a pure heart, who has not taken a false oath by My life or sworn deceitfully. (24:3-4)

Of course, there is no one who has not missed the mark at some point in his or her life. No one’s behavior is unblemished, and no one heart is (i.e. thoughts are) absolutely pure. If thoughts of sin were equal to sin (not true in the Hebrew Bible), most people would be in deep trouble! Judaism has been accused of being so mired in a legal system that recovery is impossible – this is a misunderstanding of Jewish tradition.

In order to ascend the mountain and stand in the presence of God, we need to do the proper work. There is no shortcut up this mountain, there is no tram that takes you up without effort. The work isn’t hard, but it has to be done. Bad habits need to be considered and dismantled. We need to watch our patterns of speech, be careful how we speak about others. Lashon Hara, evil, reputation destroying gossip, will trip us on our journey up the mountain.

I am reminded of a deep Biblical teaching from the beginning of Leviticus, which presents a series of offerings, each of which purify the one who brings it. Large animals, small animals, birds, and grain – each accomplish the same end. The ritual of repentance is open to all, the path up the mountain is fully accessible, regardless of one’s economic power. Judaism has embraced that principle and continued to democratize itself. Judaism is not a race, it is no a closed tribe, it is a way to live your life according to Torah. It is not punitive – it provides a way to clean one’s hands. In the end, we believe that God, the righteous judge, is a loving and merciful God.

Psalm 23

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Only goodness and steadfast love shall pursue me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of Adonai for many long years. (23:6)

Psalm 23 is one of the most well know and often quote of the Psalms. The words feel comforting, as long as don’t consider them too deeply. Take the opening line, for example: “The Lord is my Shepherd ….” What does a shepherd do for his flocks? Sure, he takes care of them and protects them from predators. But he also sheers them and occasionally slaughters them for food!

Is verse 6 of this Psalm, quoted above, a description of the life of a faithful member of God’s flock? It seems unlikely. Who among us experiences only good, loving events over the course of his life? Who among us never feels the cold hand of hatred, racism, anti-semitism, discrimination? Who among us is treated only fairly, never gets the short end of the stick?

I prefer to understand the verse above as a prayer – “May goodness and steadfast love pursue me all the days of my life, and may I dwell in the house of Adonai for many long years.” I acknowledge that my life is not going to be full of perfection and light, but I will keep working to find the greenest of pastures, the purest of water to rest by.

Psalm 23 has traditionally been associated not only with funerals, but also with the end of Shabbat. As we eat our final Shabbat meal and the emotional peacefulness of the day draws to a close, I read this Psalm as a prayer that I might hold onto the taste of the messianic olam haba, the world to come, for just a bit longer.

May we someday experience a world in which no one lacks the basic necessities of life.

Psalm 22

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Because of You I offer praise in the great congregation; I pay my vows in the presence of His worshipers. (22:26)

The movement of “Spiritual But Not Religious” defines itself as a search for spiritual growth and fulfillment without attachment to a specific religious community. On the contrary, I believe that the highest spiritual growth can only occur within a community. The Psalmist believes that both celebrations ought to be held within a congregation, and the duties that one owes ought to be paid within a community.

One’s spiritual peak by definition ought to be the negation of self, subsuming oneself into the larger body of being and energy of the community, the world, the universe. Arriving at a radical understanding of unity means that not only God is one, but that God, the universe, and one’s life are bound together in a singular unity. Nothing we do is in a vacuum. Every action we take has repercussions that echo around us.

Doing spiritual work on one’s own is the ultimate focus on oneself, making oneself the center of the universe. Rather than humbling the self, this tends to inflate the ego. Placing oneself in community, for work, worship, study, and celebration, forces a person to look at other’s needs alongside or above his or her own. It is a reminder for us that we are not the center of the universe.

Psalm 21

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You have granted him the desire of his heart, have not denied the request of his lips. (21:3)

Wanting is encoded into our DNA. Rabbinic thought teaches that the human being is created with two inclinations – the Yetzer Hatov (altruistic inclination) and the Yetzer Hara (selfish inclination). The rabbis said that were it not for the Yetzer Hara, a person would not marry or build a home. Our impulse towards wanting our needs to be taken care of is built into us from birth. A baby wants to be fed, warm, and dry. A baby learns that certain behaviors cause mom and dad to pay more attention – both crying and looking adorably cute seem work well – and he uses those behaviors at will until his wants and desires are satisfied. Over time, a toddler learns that other people also have needs, and her wants sometimes need to wait. She learns patience. She learns that how she asks for something is important – omitting the magic word please and not using the pleasant tone of voice results in not getting what she wants. Over time, a child learns the pleasures of taking care of someone else, drawing pictures, giving gifts to Mom and Dad. He learns that sometimes, no matter how nicely he asks, there are some things that he wants that he is not going to receive. A young adult learns that no one gets everything they want. Everyone yearns and desires and asks, and more often than not, does not receive.

The wise person learns pay attention to one’s wants, to examine whether they are truly needs, or just the hard to control impulses of the Yetzer Hara. The wise person asks for things that are beyond physical whims, things prompted by an enduring need. The wise person asks for things that are within his power to achieve.

The wise person filters out those things that are motivated by the selfish desires of the Yetzer Hara. The prayers and requests of the wise person, therefore, are directed by the Yetzer Hatov, and are largely motivated by a desire to relieve the suffering of others. May such prayers never be denied.

Psalm 20

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How much has the world changed in the last 2013 years? How much has it changed in the last 5744 years? Is there anything that has existed for the entire timeline of recorded history?

My friend and colleague Rabbi David Seidenberg wrote recently that what is possibly the oldest living culture, the Australian aborigines, is about 60,000 years old (see his writings at neohasid.com). That’s pretty old, possibly as old as the earliest development of symbolic culture and language. For the rest of us, our religion, culture, traditions, laws, and rituals are a whole lot younger. Still, our cultural and religious systems provide a measure of stability and continuity over time. The Psalmist, in Psalm 20, reflects on what is temporary and what is permanent.

They [call] on chariots, they [call] on horses, but we call on the name of Adonai our God. They collapse and lie fallen, but we rally and gather strength. (20:8-9)

When you get down to brass tacks (what does that really mean, anyway), what do you find at the core? The Psalmist presents two contrasting world views, that of gashmiyut vs. ruhaniyut — materialism vs. spiritualism.

All material objects are temporary. Living creatures eventually die, and their (our) bodies disintegrate, slowly turning back into more basic elements.

I remember flying in and out of New York, looking at all of the buildings and thinking that even such enormous structures cannot last forever. I used to try to imagine Manhattan tens of thousands of years in the future, the buildings covered with vines, slowly eating away at the material, slowly crumbling. I never imagined that the end of the two most imposing towers at the South end of the island would be so dramatic as the one we witnessed in horror on September 11, 2001.

Gashmiyut, materialism – Horses and chariots, mortal beings and material objects, will all eventually collapse and disappear. Everything that we create will ultimately be destroyed.

Ruhaniyut, spiritualism – The existence of a Divine realm over and above us assures us that there is the possibility of a transcendent set of values and meaning for our existence. We can gather together in community and call upon the name of God, we can find strength in rallying together under a banner of a religious community whose purpose is to do good in the world.