Parashat Hashavua: Rosh Hashanah
Every year in August, I return to Psalm 27.
The rabbis selected this Psalm as an additional reading during our morning prayers, starting at the beginning of the month of Elul through Yom Kippur. They saw its words as an important path to spiritual preparation for the high holidays.
When I first began reading Psalm 27 daily, during rabbinical school, I was perplexed and disappointed. I was looking for a road map to doing teshuva. What kind of help was this – a reflection on King David’s gratitude that he has triumphed over his enemies? What on earth did this have to do with my own attempts to be my best self?
I kept reading. Sometimes patience is our best spiritual teacher. My first connection to the words of Psalm 27 came from exactly the places I initially found most alienating:
בִּקְרֹ֤ב עָלַ֨י ׀ מְרֵעִים֮ לֶאֱכֹל אֶת־בְּשָׂ֫רִ֥י צָרַ֣י וְאֹיְבַ֣י לִ֑י הֵ֖מָּה כָשְׁל֣וּ וְנָפָֽלוּ׃
אִם־תַּחֲנֶ֬ה עָלַ֨י ׀ מַחֲנֶה֮ לֹא־יִירָא לִ֫בִּ֥י אִם־תָּק֣וּם עָ֭לַי מִלְחָמָ֑ה בְּ֝זֹ֗את אֲנִ֣י בוֹטֵֽחַ׃
Should an army besiege me,
my heart would have no fear;
should war beset me,
I would still be confident.
When evildoers assail me
to devour my flesh—
it is they, my foes and my enemies,
who stumble and fall.
What if these were not external enemies? As I struggled with my own internal challenges to personal growth, the critical voice that said “you can’t do it” or “you are not good enough,” I suddenly understood what it meant to feel besieged, to feel that something is eating away at you. I saw King David’s certainty that God would defeat these enemies as a wish and a plea, one that I could relate to. I said the words as a prayer: please God help me to not succumb to these voices. May they stumble and fall.
In other years, other parts of the Psalm have called to me. My daughter took a mixed media art class in college and her final project was making me a tallit. The quote I selected for my atara was from Psalm 27:: ה֤וֹרֵ֥נִי יְהֹוָ֗ה דַּ֫רְכֶּ֥ךָ – show me Your path, God. When I am feeling lost in life, these are the words I return to again and again. Some years I have focused on the opening line of the Psalm: לְדָוִ֨ד ׀ יְהֹוָ֤ה אוֹרִ֣י וְ֭יִשְׁעִי מִמִּ֣י אִירָ֑א יְהֹוָ֥ה מָעוֹז־חַ֝יַּ֗י מִמִּ֥י אֶפְחָֽד׃
God is my light and my protection – whom shall I fear? I have reflected on what it would feel like to embody a sense of God always being with me, and how that could engender a quality of fearlessness in how I approach my life.
This year I am thinking about questions. The Psalm states: אַחַ֤ת ׀ שָׁאַ֣לְתִּי מֵאֵת־יְהֹוָה֮
While in context these words mean “I have one request for you, God,” I am thinking more about the idea of having one question that carries me through the holidays. The question I am focusing on this year is: when do I feel most alive?
There is still a week left for the spiritual practice of reading Psalm 27 in the morning. I invite you to try it out.
Rabbi Anne Ebersman
