Vayishlah (Pslams)

Psalms 140: Protection from Enemies

The psalm suggested for this week is Psalm 140, a relatively short psalm which, like many others, consists of a brief portrayal of the vicious enemies confronting the speaker, followed by a prayer for redemption from them. Its choice for this Shabbat is doubtless inspired by the renewed encounter between Jacob and Esau, the archetypal enemies, which is a central subject of this week’s reading.

This is the first psalm among those we have studied this year to use the word Selah—a somewhat mysterious term whose exact meaning is uncertain, generally thought to be a kind of musical term. It is generally used to indicate the end of a section or thought, and is thus useful in following the internal division of each psalm.

As Amos Hakham observes notes in his commentary in the Da’at Miqra series, the first two sections, vv.2-4 and 5-6, are parallel to one other, even using similar wording: “Rescue me from evil men / Guard me from the hands of the wicked.” In the first section, these evildoers are shown plotting evil in their hearts, and then honing their tongues—the gift of language—to cause harm to others, like the poison of a serpent or a viper. In the second, parallel section, they harm the innocent by hiding traps, spreading a net, or setting a snare to catch him. Similar to the poisonous reptiles—or the talebearer—this method of combat is hidden, concealed, sneaky. Not hand-to-hand combat, but a booby-trap which may catch its hapless victim while the perpetrator is far away. (One is reminded here of the hidden explosives planted by terrorists in the ‘80s and ‘90s, when any innocent-looking object, such as an abandoned handbag, briefcase, shopping basket, or even schoolchild’s satchel, could be a lethal weapon—a tactic glamorized in the film Battle of Algiers. The shahidim of the present Intifada, either more desperate or more fanatical, are also more “sporting,” blowing themselves up alongside their victims.)

The third part of our psalm is a declaration of faith, followed by a prayer for protection and deliverance from these evil men—not only that their desires and their plots not bear fruition, but that they themselves be visited by burning coals, and fall prey to pits and dangerous places (the mahamorot and madhefot of vv. 11-12). And now, towards the end, the metaphor of the venomous creatures that kill with their tongues is made explicit: “May the slanderer [ish lashon, lit. “ man of tongue”] be not established in the land” (12a).

Those of us living in Israel were witness to a dramatic example of the power of speech, and particularly that of the mass media, just last weekend. On Friday night Israel TV’s Second Channel broadcast a piece of investigative journalism in which they critiqued the negligence of Israel’s Public Works Department in several fatal road accidents, including one two summers ago in which 17 vacationers were killed when their bus slipped on a treacherous road in the Galilee and plummeted into a ravine. The expose specifically blamed the Chief Engineer of the northern region of the PWD, Yitzhak Hershkowitz. The very next morning Hershkowitz took his own life; according to his family, he was a sensitive person, and could not face the public humiliation and blame that would be pointed at him wherever he went.

I am not advocating censorship or muzzling the press, nor am I saying that Hershkowitz was innocent of blame (I know nothing about the case itself). What I do know is that, at least to date, no court has found Hershkowitz guilty of culpability in these deaths; and that, unlike the official judicial system, the court of the electronic and printed media, and of public opinion, is not subject to the rules of evidence, admissibility, cross-examination, legal procedure, etc. This incident, which has probably already been forgotten by all but those whose lives were directly affected, is an illustration of the enormous power of speech generally, and of the media in particular. One cannot but wonder how often zealous reporters, eager for a story, stop to consider the possible human consequences of their “scoop.” Here, quite literally, “death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Prov 18:21).

Psalm 55: Habad, 19th Kislev, and “Redeem my Soul in Peace”

This coming Thursday thousands of Habad Hasidism throughout the world will celebrate their own special holiday, the 19th day of Kislev, known as Hag ha-Geulah—the Festival of Redemption commemorating the 1798 release from Czarist prison of the founder of that Hasidic school, R. Shneur Zalman of Lyady, who had been accused of treason. A group of verses from Psalm 55, beginning with the words padah beshalom nafshi (“You have delivered my soul in peace”), serves as a kind of leit-motif for this holiday, sung repetaedly in a melody that begins in a slow, meditative mode, and ends in a triumphant, jubilant march to the words, ve-ani evtah bakh (“but I trust in You”). According to legend, the Alter Rebbe was reading psalms, and had just reached the 19th verse of Psalm 55 when he was informed of his release.

Two or three points about this psalm; perhaps we’ll return to it at greater depth at a later date. First, the overall subject matter—the anguish of a man who is besieged by bitter foes, and his prayer to God for help—is similar to that of Psalm 140. Second, this psalm retells its basic story twice, in vv. 2-16 and 17-24. Third, a crucial element appearing here is the element of treachery, of friendship betrayed. The author expresses shock that a man whom ha had considered his best friend—“It is not an enemy who taunts me, not an adversary who deals violently with me; but you, my equal, my familiar friend” (13-14)—one with whom he had shared confidences, who had walked together with him in the house of God; it was he who joined forces with his enemies. This prompts dark thoughts: that perhaps things had ever been thus, and this so-called friendship had from the very beginning been a pose, an act, empty words, “speech smoother than butter… words more comforting than oil, that were draw swords.” In the end, he finds that the only one he can trust is God Himself. “Cast your yoke on the Lord, and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous man collapse”—but these other, treacherous men, will be cast down into the deepest pit.

There is seething uniquely cruel and disappointing in such betrayals. Far worse than mere harm to body or to property, there is a sense in which such betrayal penetrates a person’s very soul. One opens one’s heart, one believes in the sincerity of the other person, that one’s own warm-heartedness, generosity, openness are answered in kind—and then comes the blow. Whenever such a thing happens to a person in life, it becomes more difficult to trust, to form a bond of true friendship, in the future; until, Heaven forbid, it happens too often, and the person becomes mistrustful, unable to love, encapsulated in his own self—and him/herself radiating suspicion and mistrust, to the point of “doing unto others before they do unto him.”