Bereshit (Psalms)

Introduction to Studies on Psalms

Once again, a new year begins with the end of the festival season and the reopening of the Torah from its beginning. This year, Hitzei Yehonatan will be devoted to a topic only indirectly related to the weekly Torah reading: the Book of Psalms, or Tehillim. The Psalms are perhaps the best-known book of the Bible, both in the Gentile and in the Jewish world. Psalms form a basic component of every Jewish prayer service; many Jews recite Psalms on a daily basis, completing the entire book once a month, or even every week. The Tehillim zugger (“Psalms sayer”) was a familiar figure among the ordinary Jews of Eastern Europe, as he/she is today among Jews of all sorts. Reading Psalms is a deeply emotional act; there is a sense in which the words of Tehillim are often more expressive of the immediate, heartfelt feelings of the ordinary Jew than the more elegant, at times abstract and universal formulae of Hazal found in the Siddur. Indeed, about half of the Psalms are in fact a heartfelt cry of an individual in distress.

But in another sense, the Psalter is one of the lesser known books of the Bible. Unlike the Five Books of the Torah, or the Five Megillot, there is no set framework for studying the Psalms as a text per se. True, there were some notable exceptions to this: it was said of the mid-nineteenth Neo-Orthodox community of Samson Raphael Hirsch in Frankfort a/Main that, “Everywhere else Jews study Talmud and recite Psalms; here they study Psalms and recite Talmud.” And indeed, Hirsch’s Commentary on Psalms is a classic of Psalms exegesis. The late Talner Rebbe, Prof. Yitzhak Twersky, used to study Tehillim at the Third Shabbat meal in his synagogue. But these are exceptions that prove the rule. For too many people, the Psalms are simply a holy text, to be read with or without understanding.

Moreover, while the traditional observant Jew who worships three times a day finds a certain segment of the Book of Psalms very familiar, forming as it does the backbone of his daily and weekly prayers, these include only about forty or so psalms. Thus, the average Jew, unless he is a Tehillim zugger, will have regular contact with somewhat less than a third of the Book of Psalms. Hence, the aim of our studies this year will be twofold: to open up those two-thirds of the Psalter that is generally neglected, as well as to find new meanings and depths in those that are already familiar. I don’t know whether I will come up with any radically new interpretations, but hopefully it will stimulate and encourage readers to open the Psalms and read them with fresh eyes.

Each week, I plan to present and discuss one or two psalms—where possible, ones bearing some relation to the weekly Torah portion. As the subject is a relatively new one for me as well, it may prove to be something of an intellectual adventure. As the Psalms, unlike the texts examined in my studies of previous years, are readily available, both in Hebrew and in translation, I shall only reproduce the actual text where special comment is called for.

The selections will be based, at least in part, upon a calendar of Psalms corresponding to each of the 54 weekly portions that I once saw in a small pocket Siddur. A web-acquaintance, Michael Poppers of New Jersey, has kindly provided me with a copy of that list. While we will not follow this schedule strictly, it will be used as the first source for choosing which psalms to discuss each week. During the course of our studies, we shall deal, both with some of the numerous theological, linguistic, literary, or human-spiritual-psychological issues raised by the psalm, as well as with certain technical issues, such as the significance of the division of the Psalter into five books, and the particular characteristics (if any) of each book; the headings of the psalms, and whether there is any common denominator to those Psalms bearing the same superscription, such as Lamenatzeah (“for the Choirmaster”) or Liv’nai Korah (“for the sons of Korah”). But mostly, my role will be as a first reader, raising questions about each Psalm studied, pointing out interesting facets and raising questions not immediately obvious to the casual reader.

Psalm 104: “How great are your acts, O God”

So without further ado, we shall turn to our subject, and to the opening portion of the Torah: Bereshit, “In the Beginning.” This parshah, speaking very broadly, has two main subjects: the Creation of the Universe, in a schema of six days, and the origins and early history of humankind. (There are of course innumerable sub-themes and events, making this quite probably the richest portion of the entire Torah. One could spend an entire year, if not a lifetime, studying it, and still barely scratch the surface.) The central themes, then, are the grandeur and majesty involved in the Creation of a well-ordered, harmonic universe; and the problematic, ambiguous moral nature of this strange creature called man, and his quest for a relationship to the world and its God. Concerning these themes, we have chosen Psalms 104 and 139.

Psalm 104 portrays, in beautiful strokes, the creation and working of the cosmos, and especially of this earth, as a well-run, harmonious whole. This psalm is used liturgically on Rosh Hodesh (a minor festival of renewal, marking the beginning of each lunar month), and is recited by many Jews as the first in a group of psalms recited every Shabbat afternoon during the winter months. As a teenager, I was much impressed by a statement quoted in the Birnbaum Siddur, variously attributed to German romantic poet and literary critic, Johannes Gottfried Herder and to Benjamin Franklin, that it was worth studying Hebrew for ten years just to be able to read this psalm in the original.

In any event, Psalm 104, or Borkhi Nafshi, as it is called in Hebrew, presents a picture of Creation very roughly corresponding to the first chapter of Genesis. The portrait shown is not a stable or static one, but a dynamic one, full of motion and interaction among its individual parts. The psalm I would divide it into the following main sections:

1) Verses 1-9. The actual act of Creation. God is shown enwrapping Himself with the firmament, riding upon the clouds as his throne or vehicle. There is a struggle with the chaotic forces of waters, which first cover the foundations of the earth, and are then sent back upon God’s angry rebuke, the mountains and valleys rising up from the flood and taking their places.

2) vv. 10-18. All living things gain their sustenance from God’s bounty. The rivulets flow down the mountains, providing life to the animals that drink from it, and to the birds who dwell above it (presumably in the trees that grow on its shores, not mentioned here); nourishing and fertilizing the vegetation, used by animals for food, and harnessed by man to irrigate the fields and orchards from which he derives the three stables of his existence: wine, oil and bread.

3) vv. 19-23. The diurnal scheme of life on this earth. Nightfall, ruled by the moon, which marks off the seasons, is also the time when the wild beasts go forth to seek their prey; come morning, they crawl back to their lairs, while man sets out to work until evening—and the cycle repeats itself…

4) vv. 24-26. The pivotal verse, “How great are Your works, O Lord, all of them are made with wisdom; the earth is filled with Your creatures.” Nehama Leibowitz said that each psalm has one particular verse which captures its essence, advocating the search for this key verse as a good educational exercise. This verse is followed by two verses referring specifically to the sea: note that the Bible repeatedly divides the world into the three realms of heaven, dry land and sea. (Thus, in the commandment of Shabbat, Exod 20:11, or in the praises about God giving life to all, in Nehemiah 9:6.)

5) vv 27-35. The peroration describes how all life turns to God, and is dependent upon God for sustenance. It is He who can withdraw His favor, whereupon they die and return to the earth, just as it is He who then renews the earth with new life. The psalm concludes with verses of praise to God, ending with the word Hallelujah, which here appears here for the first time in the Book of Psalms (see Berakhot 6b for an interesting aggadah about this point).

Psalm 139: Between Jonah and R. Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev

The “official” psalm for Shabbat Bereshit is Psalm 139, a psalm which describes the existential situation of man confronting God. Beginning with the rather strange phrase, “O God, who have examined me and know me,” it describes how God, as He who created and formed man, knows every aspect of his existence. “You know my sitting and standing… my walking and reclining You have measured out, and You are familiar with all my ways…. You have formed me fore and aft, and laid Your hand upon me.” (This last verse gave rise to many interesting midrashim, including the famous one that the human being was originally aphroditic and was then split into male and female—but this will take us too far astray.) The conclusion of the first section, which focuses upon the wonder of the creation of the human being, is similar to the lesson of Psalm 104: the wondrousness of the Divine, as reflected in His creative activity. “It is beyond my knowledge; it is too sublime, I cannot fathom it” (v. 6).

But at this point the author turns to a series of verses describing the ubiquity, the omnipresence of God, and the impossibility of escaping from His presence! “Where can I escape from Your spirit, and where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven You are there, if I plummet down to the Netherworld, You are there too.“ Even if he flies far away, across the sea, or seeks refuge in darkness, God will find him there too. The final section of the psalm (vv. 17-24) is somewhat of an anticlimax, involving a more conventional prayer for protection from enemies, and their eventual downfall.

What is the emotional sense of these verses? I think it can be read in two diametrically opposed ways. On the one hand, the author bewails the fact that he can never escape from God, that wherever he goes he will be found out. One is reminded of the prophet Jonah, who tried to run away from God and the mission He imposed upon him—but found himself pursued by God far away from his own country, on the high seas. There is something about the human being which is annoyed by the sense of an omnipresent God who watches his every step, nay, who is aware of every word that he says, even of his innermost, secret thoughts. Which among us has not wanted, now and again, a “moral holiday”—to do things that we know are wrong, simply because we want to do them? God’s knowledge of our actions, and the sense that he is judging us, not only for the face we put on in public, but even for acts done in utter privacy, is extremely burdensome (and certainly runs contrary to the post-modern ethos of individual autonomy and the relativity of values). There is no escaping God: one may live a double life vis-a-vis human society, indulging ones harmless or not-so-harmless impulses when no one is watching—but God is always there, and always knows.

This conflict is an essential one within man: man may be grateful for God’s protection, for the feeling of taking shelter under His wings, and for enjoying the bounty of His goodness; he may even appreciate the sense of holiness and transcendence afforded by a nice Shabbat with friends, or a good davening—but this is not the case with His omnipresence and the fact that that the flip side of His plentitude is that He knows where we are and what we are doing at every movement. This theme is at the crux of our Torah portion: Adam and Eve, after eating the forbidden fruit, suddenly sensed that they were exposed, sewed together fig leaves to cover their nakedness, and attempted to hide from God deep among the trees of the Garden. Even when confronted by God, they sought to flee from responsibility: Adam says blames “that woman You gave me,” while she passes the buck to the serpent who tempted her.

On the other hand, this psalm may be read as a joyful hymn of praise, celebrating the sense that God is a constant companion who never lives our side. This mood is captured in a Yiddish song by R. Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev, one of the greatest disciples of the Maggid of Mezhirech, who was renowned for the passionate ecstasy of his love for and service of God, and his love of each and every Jew. In his song, A Dudele, he celebrates the constant presence of God as an intimate, ever-present companion (whom he addresses in the intimate second person, “Du”—from whence the name of the song):

Master of the Universe! Master of the universe! I will sing you a Dudele. “Where shall I find you? And where shall I not find you?!” Wherever I go, there are You; whenever I stand, You. Only You, again You, always You, forever You! When things are good, it is again You. Or if, God forbid, there is trouble, that too is You. You, You, You, You , You! You are here, You were here, You will always be here! You have reigned, you do reign, you will reign! The heavens, You, the earth, You Above is you, below is You. You, You, You, You! North is You, south is You, east is You, west is You. You, You, You! Wherever I turn, Wherever I reach out —is You!

Yet upon reading more closely, it is clear that this sense of God being omnipresent is not merely a kind of love song to an intimate friend addressed in the second person, but a mystical, panentheistic celebration of the fact that everything, everywhere, is really God! “Alles is Gott!” On some level, the cosmos itself, as an independent entity, is a delusion. (These ideas, which scholars of religion describe as “acosmism,” find explicit expression, in Kabbalistic language, in the writings of Habad—whose founder was a friend and colleague of R. Levi Yitzhak)

Thus, Psalm 139 can be read, not as a complaint (I can never have any privacy because You are also there; I can never run away from You), but as an ecstatic celebration of God’s ubiquity as a constant source of wonder, as a reminder of the unfathomable gap between God’s transcendent, all-encompassing Being, and our own limited, circumscribed existence as humans.