We learned a lot this week, the Jewish community, about war and loss and grief and senseless violence and how we hold one another in community. 17,000 people watched a funeral taking place in Jerusalem attended by thousands more. To say nothing of the five other funerals taking place with less fanfare, though not a drop less of grief. We learned nothing about how to live with enemies, as neighbors, or how to move from war to peace. To say nothing of school teachers and students murdered by a 14-year old, Ukraine, or the war in Sudan which just can’t seem to capture our attention. Or the personal lists each of us holds in our households and hearts.

Psalm 27, A Psalm of David
The LORD is my light and my help;
whom should I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life,
whom should I dread? When evil men assail me
to devour my flesh
it is they, my foes and my enemies,
who stumble and fall.Should an army besiege me,
my heart would have no fear;
should war beset me,
still would I be confident…

According to Talmudic tradition, the Book of Psalms was written by King David. David devoted most of his life to war; in this psalm, he requests that God grant him physical and spiritual refuge from warfare. In the 12th century, the commentator Rabbi Kimhi observed that David wrote this Psalm to “let us know that with all his heart, he asked to give respite from wars. Even though he has faith that God will save him from all harm, even so, his heart is troubled by the wars…and so he asked of God to dwell in God’s house:” *

One thing I ask of the LORD,
only that do I seek:
to live in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life…Hear, O LORD, when I cry aloud;
have mercy on me, answer me.In Your behalf my heart says:
“Seek My face!”
O God, I seek Your face.

Beginning this week, Ashkenazi Jews recite Psalm 27 every day. We keep it up through Sukkot. The custom is first noted in a siddur from Germany in 1745. It’s part of how we’re invited to step into the season, preparing for Rosh Hashanah with a prayer-poem that acknowledges our fears, our search for spiritual connection, our profound uncertainty of how to live in an uncertain and complicated world. Its final lines give us the recipe, the heartbeat of the Jewish people:

Had I not the assurance
that I would enjoy God’s goodness
in the land of the living…Hope to God;
be strong and of good courage!
Hope to God!

A friend said to me at some point this week: as Jews, our job is to always be working on improving ourselves. The holiday calendar gives us a deadline: every fall, you’re going to check in on your progress. That’s the essence of Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot. The annual physical, only instead of seeing the doctor to assess our bodies, we see…ourselves, each on our own and all together, and we check in with God who, in the form of our conscience, gives us a prescription for the upcoming year.

So how do we get ready? In part, with Psalm 27. A few ideas for what you might do with it:

1. Sing it with me and Cantor Kissner; she wrote a beautiful melody for the first verse, which we recorded for you in my backyard. Plus, we sing this at Oheb, so you’ll know it and be able to sing along. Part of how we get ready is familiarizing ourselves with services, the songs and prayers. To that end, Cantor Kissner and I have recorded a few melodies that we will send out in the coming weeks.
2. Read it every morning, or evening. If you have a tallit or tefillin sitting in a drawer someplace, maybe put them on and read it. See where it moves you.
3. Use it as a journaling prompt.
4. Try it as a meditation prompt.

There is so much sadness and grief in this world; and also so much resilience, goodness, hope. We hold it all, every day of our lives.

Show me Your way, O LORD,
and lead me on a level path

I am grateful to be on the path with you all, seeking wisdom and understanding, and working each of us on becoming our best possible selves.

*From a d’var torah by Rabbi David Golinkin.