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David Cried for Judgment and Found His Strength

King David asked God to plead his cause against oppressors while admitting his own faults. Strength came when judgment, not flattery, answered him.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Surrounded and Still Standing
  2. Ancient of Days and the Extended Hand
  3. Abraham Seated, Shekhinah Standing
  4. The Hand That Draws and Strikes

David did not ask for a soft morning. He asked for a verdict. In the dark before the court of heaven he named his own stains and still begged the One who lifts him from transgressions to command judgment against his oppressors. The plea braided guilt and demand into one breath (Psalm 35:1).

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"Plead my cause, O Lord, with those who strive with me." He remembered the promise that the Lord would be an enemy to his enemies (Exodus 23:22). He remembered that the Lord had sought from David's enemies (I Samuel 20:16). Strength, for him, was not the absence of accusation. Strength was a God who still judges.

Surrounded and Still Standing

The midrash hears an assembly of nations closing around him. "At the time their wicked assembly surrounds you, your position will be secured in the heavens." Earth can ring with hostile voices while the upper court keeps a seat reserved. David sang from that split geography: boots on the ground, name held above.

Rabbi Elazar, quoting Rabbi Yehuda bar Elai, cut another wound into the people. Three commands met Israel at the entry to the land; they fulfilled only two. They delayed the Temple through dilatoriness, a slow heart where zeal was ordered. Haggai's rebuke about souls among those who ascend becomes a warning about Avner and Amasa, men of study who still could not outrun communal delay.

Then the midrash turns the knife toward Ahab's generation. They worshiped idols, yet because they moved as one and without delay they went out and none fell. Unity without righteousness can win a battle. Righteousness without zeal can lose a sanctuary. David, who knew both delay and war, sang for a judgment that would not flatter either failure.

Ancient of Days and the Extended Hand

Another psalm stretches the tension until it nearly tears. Daniel sees the Ancient of Days seated on a throne, distance made of fire and years (Daniel 7:9). Jeremiah hears, "I will bring him near and he shall approach me" (Jeremiah 30:21). How can the remote Judge also pull a soul across the barrier?

The angels bring souls up to the edge. The Holy One extends a hand and draws them closer. Closeness is real. So is the other verse in the same midrashic breath: "Your hand shall find all your enemies," read by Rabbi Levi as a hand that finds in order to punish. "You shall set them ablaze like a fiery furnace." There is Gehinnom (the place of punishment after death) in the future to come. Embrace and furnace share one divine hand.

David lived inside that double grip. He wanted nearness. He needed enemies judged. He refused a God who only comforts and a God who only burns. The strength he found was the strength of a court that still convenes.

Abraham Seated, Shekhinah Standing

When praise rises, the midrash sets another scene. Abraham sits. The Shekhinah (שכינה), the Divine Presence, stands. Abraham moves to rise in respect. God tells him to remain seated. "It is a good sign for your children that they will sit while I stand," as it is said, "God stands in the congregation of the mighty" (Psalm 82:1).

Whenever Israel praises, God places His Presence upon them. "You are holy, enthroned upon the praises of Israel" (Psalm 22:4). Praise is not flattery aimed upward. It is a throne built under the Holy One by human mouths. David, the sweet singer, knew the craft from the inside: songs that make a seat for God in a world full of enemies.

Evil speech, the same tradition warns, makes the Presence depart. Dilatoriness and slander empty the room where judgment and mercy were meant to meet. David's strength depended on a Presence still willing to stand in the congregation.

The Hand That Draws and Strikes

He did not resolve the paradox with a slogan. He kept singing until both images stayed true. The Ancient of Days sits. The hand still draws near. The furnace still waits for enemies. The praises of Israel still build a throne. A king who has blood on his own story can still ask for a clean verdict against those who hunt him, if he begins by admitting the lift he needs from his own transgressions.

Morning found him with a lyre and a file of unfinished wars. The nations could still surround. Heaven's seat, he believed, had not been sold. That was the strength judgment gave him: not safety guaranteed, but a God who still takes a side after looking hard at both sides of the man who asks.

When the lyre finally rested on his knee, David did not claim he had solved heaven's temperature. He claimed only that a judged man can still ask for judgment, and that praise can still build a throne while enemies count spears. Strength was the refusal to let either the furnace or the open hand be deleted from the story of God.

DavidJudgmentPsalmsMercyPraise
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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Midrash Tehillim 7:8Midrash Tehillim

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Rabbi Mike Feuer, Jerusalem Anthology · CC-BY

Even King David, the sweet singer of Israel, knew what that felt like. Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, delves deep into David's struggles, and offers some striking insights that resonate even today.

It opens with a powerful cry for justice. "The One who lifts me up from my transgressions, You command judgment against my oppressors." Where did God command this? The text points to several places. First (Samuel 20:16): "And the Lord sought from David's enemies." (Exodus 23:22): "And I will be an enemy to your enemies." And then, (Psalm 35:1) itself: "Plead my cause, O Lord, with those who strive with me." It's a layered plea, recognizing our own imperfections while simultaneously calling for divine intervention against injustice.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) doesn't stop there. It moves into a fascinating discussion of communal responsibility and the consequences of inaction. "The assembly of nations will surround you," it says, "But at the time their wicked assembly surrounds you, your position will be secured in the heavens." There's a promise of ultimate safety, but the context is crucial.

Rabbi Elazar, quoting Rabbi Yehuda bar Elai, makes a bold statement: "Three things were commanded to the Israelites upon their entry into the land, but they only fulfilled two. They did not build the Temple because of the dilatoriness in them." Dilatoriness. Procrastination. Delay. A lack of zeal. That's what kept them from fulfilling their divine purpose.

To illustrate this point, the Midrash uses evocative imagery. (Haggai 1:5) is quoted: "My soul is among those who ascend." This, we're told, refers to Avner and Amasa, figures known for their Torah study and spiritual ascent. But then comes the contrasting image from (Haggai 1:8): "I lay with burning ones." This represents Doeg and Ahithophel, notorious for their evil speech, consumed by the "flame of evil speech." contrast for a moment. Ascent versus burning. Torah versus evil speech. The choices we make, the words we speak – they have profound consequences, not just for ourselves, but for the entire community.

The Midrash continues, "Men whose teeth are spears and arrows, and their tongue a sharp sword." This chilling description is linked to the people of Keilah, who were willing to betray David (1 (Samuel 23:1)1). Their words, like weapons, threatened to destroy. And then there are "the slanderers," the spies who spread negativity and fear (Psalm 94:4).

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, quoting Rabbi Yosei, shares an incredible image: "In the days of Saul and Samuel, infants who had not yet grown two hairs would learn Torah, and they were able to distinguish between pure and impure faces." Imagine a society so steeped in holiness that even infants possessed profound spiritual discernment! Yet, despite this, the Midrash laments that these same people "would go out to war and fall because of the dilatoriness in them." Even with such spiritual gifts, their lack of zeal led to defeat.

David, in despair, cries out, "O Lord, remove Your presence from them." A heartbreaking moment. David questions the value of God's presence on earth if it doesn't inspire action, referencing (Haggai 1:12): "The heavens are elevated over God."

But then, a twist. The Midrash contrasts this with the time of Ahab, a notoriously wicked king. Yet, "although they all worshipped idols, and there was no dilatoriness in them, they went out to battle and were victorious, and not one of them was killed." Why? Because they were united and acted decisively, even if their actions were misdirected.

Obadiah's words to Elijah (1 (Kings 18:1)3) are then invoked, but with a peculiar interpretation: "Has it not been told to my lord what I did?" The Midrash asks, "What is the meaning of 'bread and water?' This teaches that the water was as hard as bread." A powerful image of scarcity and hardship. Elijah, standing on Mount Carmel, declares (1 (Kings 18:2)2), "I am the only prophet of the Lord." The Midrash adds that everyone knew he was right, "but did not publicize it to the king."

The Midrash concludes with a stark warning: "Because of evil speech, the Divine Presence departs." We return to (Haggai 1:5): "The assembly of nations will surround you." It's a cyclical argument, highlighting the interconnectedness of speech, action, and divine favor.

That procrastination and negativity can have devastating consequences. That even in the face of overwhelming opposition, we must strive for righteousness and act with zeal. It is not enough to simply know the truth; we must also speak it and live it.

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Midrash Tehillim 21:5Midrash Tehillim

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Rabbi Mike Feuer, Jerusalem Anthology · CC-BY

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic commentaries on the Book of Psalms, grapples with this very idea. It explores the tension between God's utter transcendence and the possibility of intimate connection. Take Psalm 21, for instance. It speaks of everlasting blessings, of nations finding blessing in God, and of exulting in joy before Him. Beautiful. But how does that actually happen?

Rabbi Barachiah, quoting Rabbi Samuel, points out a fascinating contradiction. One verse, from Daniel (7:9), describes God as the "Ancient of Days" sitting on a throne, a picture of immense power and distance. "I looked until thrones were placed, and the Ancient of Days sat." But another, from Jeremiah (30:21), says, "I will bring him near and he shall approach me." So, which is it? Is God remote and untouchable, or intimately accessible?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) asks: How do the angels bring souls up to the heavenly barrier, only for the Holy One, blessed be He, to extend His hand and draw them closer? "And I will bring him near," it says. A divine embrace, a pulling-in, defying the vastness of the cosmos.

Then the tone shifts. "Your hand shall find all your enemies," the Midrash continues. Rabbi Levi interprets this as God's hand finding enemies "to punish them." Ouch. And then, a rather stark declaration: "You shall set them ablaze like a fiery furnace." The Rabbis add to this fiery imagery, stating that “There is a Hell in the future to come.” Yikes. That's a far cry from gentle embrace.

So, what are we to make of this? This seeming contradiction between divine intimacy and divine judgment? Well, perhaps it's not a contradiction at all. Perhaps the ability to draw close to God also implies a responsibility, a need to align ourselves with divine values. The closeness isn’t a free pass. It’s an invitation to become better.

The Midrash concludes with a verse from Psalms (97:6): "The heavens declare His righteousness." Ultimately, it seems, the possibility of connection rests on the foundation of divine justice. Closeness isn't just about feeling good; it's about striving for righteousness.

It reminds me of the concept of Teshuvah (repentance), repentance. We can turn away, stray far from the path, but the possibility of return, of being drawn near again, is always there.

Remember the image of God reaching out, drawing us near. But also remember the call to righteousness, the understanding that true connection requires effort, a commitment to living a life worthy of that embrace. It’s a journey, not a destination. And maybe, just maybe, the point isn't just getting close, but becoming closer.

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Midrash Tehillim 18:29Midrash Tehillim

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Rabbi Mike Feuer, Jerusalem Anthology · CC-BY

Yet, praise is central to Jewish tradition. Why? to a fascinating passage from Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletical interpretations on the Book of Psalms, and see what we can uncover.

" It then immediately brings in the figure of Abraham, the patriarch, and a remarkable image: Abraham is sitting, while the Shechinah, the Divine Presence, is standing.

Rabbi Berechiah, citing Rabbi Levi, explains that Abraham wanted to stand out of respect, but God told him to remain seated. Why? "For it is a good sign for your children that they will sit while I stand," God says. The proof text? (Psalm 82:1): "God stands in the congregation of the mighty." This isn't about disrespect; it's about a promise, a future where God is present with and for the Jewish people.

It gets even more intimate. Rabbi Samuel bar Chiya and Rabbi Yudan, quoting Rabbi Chanina, teach that whenever the children of Israel praise God, He places His Shechinah upon them. (Psalm 22:4) seals the deal: "Yet You are holy, enthroned upon the praises of Israel." God is not just receiving our praise; God is dwelling within it!

There's a fascinating aside from Rabbi Simon. He suggests that when God revealed Himself to Abraham, He "regretted His words." The Holy One, blessed be He, then sends angels to Abraham, accompanied by the Shechinah, to delay him. This is based on a close reading of (Genesis 18:22), "And the men turned from there." Rabbi Simon calls this a "correction of the scribes," implying that the text subtly suggests the Shechinah waits for Abraham. It's a powerful image of God's patience and deference.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) then explores the idea that "Your answer will increase me." Rabbi Chiya uses the image of a disciple going before his teacher at night. Who lights the way? Not the disciple, but God, as (Exodus 13:21) tells us: "And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud." God leads the way.

Rabbi Lulianus, in the name of Rabbi Yishmael, contrasts earthly customs with divine ones. Usually, the teacher speaks, and the student answers. But, as (Exodus 19:19) reveals, "Moses will speak, and God will answer him with a voice." God responds to us.

Ben Azai continues this theme, noting how mortal kings list their titles before their name, while God does the opposite. In (Genesis 1:1), we read: "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." God's name comes first, followed by the description of His act. The Midrash then adds a stern warning: "Woe to you who does not understand this!" It's a reminder to pay close attention to the nuances of the text, to the way God reveals Himself.

Rabbi Abba contrasts a human teacher, who might tire of questions, with God, who taught the Torah to Israel for forty days, and then, according to (Deuteronomy 1:6), said, "You have wearied Me with your questions." Even in this "weariness," there's a sense of intimacy and engagement.

Rabbi Shimon draws a similar comparison. A teacher might ask a student to wait for them. But God tells Ezekiel (Ezekiel 3:22), "Arise, go to the valley, and there I will speak with you." And Ezekiel obeys (Ezekiel 3:23): "So I arose and went to the valley." Again, the Midrash ends with "Woe to you who does not understand this!"

Finally, Rabbi Yudan, quoting Rabbi Hama, presents a startling vision of the future. God will seat the Messiah King at His right hand, based on (Psalm 110:1): "The Lord said to my Lord: 'Sit at My right hand.'" But Abraham will be at God's left, confused. "The son of my son is sitting at Your right, and I am at Your left?" Abraham asks. God reassures him: "The son of your son is at My right, and you are at My right as well," echoing (Psalm 110:5), "The Lord is at your right hand." This powerful image highlights the enduring importance of Abraham, even in the messianic age. And, of course, the Midrash concludes with the familiar warning: "Woe to you who does not understand this!"

So, what do we make of all this? This passage from Midrash Tehillim paints a picture of a God who is not distant and aloof but intimately involved with humanity, particularly with the Jewish people. It's a God who listens, responds, and even seems to defer to those who praise Him. It challenges us to consider the nature of our relationship with the Divine. Is it a one-way street of supplication, or is it a dynamic, reciprocal exchange? Perhaps, the Midrash suggests, our praise is not just an offering to God, but a way of creating a space where the Shechinah can dwell among us. And that, in itself, is a truly awesome and humbling thought.

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