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David Finished the Psalms and a Frog Corrected Him

After writing the last of one hundred fifty psalms, David asked God if any creature praised him more. A frog hopped up and said yes.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Last Line of the Last Psalm
  2. What the Frog Said
  3. The Size of the Choir
  4. What David Understood Afterward

The Last Line of the Last Psalm

David set down his pen. One hundred and fifty poems, and this was the last word of the last one. He had spent a lifetime writing them, the ones from caves in the wilderness when Saul's soldiers were outside, the ones from the palace roof, the ones from the battlefield, the ones written in the aftermath of sin so large he had thought God might not hear them at all. All of it was here now, in one body of work that would be sung in every house of prayer for three thousand years without stopping.

He sat with that for a moment. And then, because he was also still very much a human being, the question surfaced. He asked God directly, as David always asked God, without ceremony, without preamble, whether any other creature in the universe proclaimed God's praise the way he did.

A frog hopped up.

What the Frog Said

"Do not be so proud," the frog told him. "I have composed more psalms than you have. And I have accompanied every single one of them with three thousand parables."

Three thousand parables. For each psalm. The tradition records this without a smile or a wink, which is itself the whole point. The Legends of the Jews, Louis Ginzberg's compilation of rabbinic and midrashic tradition, does not explain the frog's theology or the nature of its parables or how a frog composes anything at all. It simply states the frog's claim and lets it sit there, next to David's pride, like a stone placed on a scale.

The scale tips.

The Size of the Choir

What the tradition is doing is not cruelty toward David. It is showing him the dimensions of a choir he had not understood he was part of. David had thought of himself as a singer addressing God. The frog's interruption reveals that David is one voice among an incomprehensible number of voices, and that the hierarchy of praise is not what any human composer would draw up.

A frog, living in a pond, croaking through the night, is according to this tradition engaged in continuous liturgical composition that dwarfs anything the sweet singer of Israel has managed. Not better composition, exactly, but more composition, more parables, more angles, more approaches to the single inexhaustible subject. The world is larger than any one musician's repertoire.

David's hundred and fifty psalms remain extraordinary. The frog is not diminishing them. But they are one instrument in an orchestra that includes everything that makes sound, and some things that make no sound that humans can hear but that are still, in the tradition's understanding, addressing the One who made them.

What David Understood Afterward

The tradition also connects this moment to a second text, one of the great declarations attributed to David: shiviti Adonai le-negdi tamid, I have set the Lord before me always. This verse from the Psalms became one of the foundational meditative practices of Jewish spiritual life, written above the reading desks of scholars and in the sight lines of those who prayed. The practice is exactly what the words say: not occasional awareness of God, but constant presence.

The frog's interruption was a gift to that practice. After the frog spoke, David could no longer sit before God with the private satisfaction of a man who believed he had given the most. He could only sit before God with the open hands of a creature who had given what he had, in a universe full of creatures doing the same.

That posture is closer to shiviti than pride is.

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From the tradition

Sources

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Legends of the Jews 4:49Legends of the Jews

The Legends of the Jews, that monumental collection of rabbinic lore compiled by Louis Ginzberg, gives us a glimpse into David's life, painting him as both divinely inspired and wonderfully human. After pouring his heart and soul into completing the Psalter, David, overcome with joy, exclaimed, "O Lord of the world, is there another creature in the universe who like me proclaims thy praise?"

Can you blame him? He'd crafted these beautiful, timeless poems of praise, lament, and everything in between. Surely, he thought, no one could match that.

Then, as the story goes, a frog hopped up to him. Yes, a frog. And this wasn't just any frog; this frog was apparently a master poet in its own right. "Be not so proud," the frog croaked, "I have composed more psalms than thou, and, besides, every psalm my mouth has uttered I have accompanied with three thousand parables."

That! It’s a reminder that there’s always someone (or something!) out there with their own unique talents and contributions.

This little anecdote speaks volumes about David's character. While he was certainly capable of feeling pride in his accomplishments, as we all are, he was, for the most part, a model of humility.

We see further evidence of this in the coins minted during his reign. These coins bore a simple shepherd's crook and pouch on one side, and the Tower of David on the other. It was a deliberate choice, a constant reminder of his humble beginnings as a shepherd boy. Even as a king, he never forgot where he came from.

His bearing, too, remained humble, "as though he were still the shepherd and not the king." This wasn't just some act. It was a reflection of his inner character, his understanding that true greatness lies not in power or status, but in remaining grounded and connected to one's roots.

So, what can we take away from this? Perhaps it's a reminder to celebrate our achievements, to take pride in our work, but also to remain humble, to recognize the talents and contributions of others, and to never forget where we came from. After all, even a king can learn a thing or two from a frog.

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Tikkunei Zohar 36:7Tikkunei Zohar

It starts with a verse from Psalms (63:3): "Thus 'in holiness' have I beheld You." The Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a later, more expansive section of the Zohar, that foundational text of Kabbalah, loves to play with gematria, the practice of assigning numerical values to Hebrew letters and words. Here, the phrase "ba-qodesh," meaning "in holiness," has a numerical value of 412. What else has that value? "Bayit," meaning "a house." Intriguing. So, holiness equals a house. But what kind of house are we talking about?

The text goes on to tell us that this "house" is comprised of seven chambers, each containing seven lands. It evokes King David, who sang, "I shall walk before YHVH in the lands of the living" (Psalm 116:9). These "lands of the living" aren't just places on a map; they’re realms of spiritual experience. And the "Middle Pillar," a central concept in the Kabbalistic Sefirot (the ten emanations of God), is described as comprising seven firmaments, which David also alluded to when he declared, "The heavens are the heavens of YHVH." (Psalm 115:16).

What’s the significance of all this sevens? Seven chambers, seven lands, seven firmaments. In Jewish tradition, seven often signifies completeness, wholeness, a cycle fulfilled. Think of the seven days of creation, or the seven branches of the Menorah.

Here's where it gets even more fascinating. The text asserts that no one can truly understand the King (that is, God), His garments (perhaps referring to the divine attributes), and His tiquneih (arrangements or orderings) until they enter "His house" and "His chamber," which is symbolized by the Hebrew letter Beiyt (ב).

The letter Beiyt, the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet, is visually significant. It's open on one side, inviting us in. It is the first letter of the word bayit, house. And about this house, the prophet Isaiah (56:7) proclaims, ".for My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations."

So, what is this house? It's not just a physical structure. It's a metaphor for the inner space within ourselves, and within the cosmos, where we can connect with the Divine. It’s the place where we can begin to understand the intricate workings of the universe and our place within it.

But consider this: the text says that until we enter this house, we have no knowledge of the King and His garments. That's a pretty strong statement! It suggests that intellectual understanding alone isn't enough. We need to actively engage, to enter that inner chamber, that sacred space within ourselves, to truly perceive the Divine.

What does it mean to "enter the house"? Maybe it's about prayer, meditation, acts of kindness, or simply being present and mindful in our daily lives. Perhaps it is by delving into the wisdom of texts like the Zohar itself! Maybe it's a combination of all of these.

Tikkunei Zohar 36 invites us to begin a journey, a quest to enter that sacred space within ourselves and the world around us. It reminds us that true understanding isn't just about knowing facts, but about experiencing the Divine presence in every aspect of our lives. What might you find when you open the door?

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