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David Learned Why Princes Cannot Save the Soul

David seeks God in a dry land, thanksgiving passes through confession first, and every prince runs out of breath on the same day.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. David Was Thirsty Before He Was Safe
  2. Thanksgiving Passed Through Confession
  3. The Prince Ran Out of Breath
  4. What Remains After the Breath Departs

David Was Thirsty Before He Was Safe

Psalm 63 opens with urgency: my God, I seek You early. David is not casually religious in this verse. He is thirsty. His soul longs for God. His flesh aches in the dry land, the weary land without water.

Midrash Tehillim 63:3 reads that dry land as Edom, the symbolic landscape of wickedness and spiritual barrenness. The image it offers for that landscape is cruel in its precision: a serpent has a friend, and a fiery serpent has a companion, but a thirsty person has no friend. Wickedness does not merely endanger the soul. It isolates it. A person can stand in a crowd and be entirely alone in the specific way that thirst makes you alone, because thirst is felt only by the one who is thirsty, and no one around you can drink for you.

David has been in the wilderness. He has been hunted. He has slept in caves and eaten whatever was available. The physical thirst of those years carried the spiritual thirst into a single image: I seek You early, because early, before the day fills with whatever the day fills with, is when the thirst is most honest.

Thanksgiving Passed Through Confession

Midrash Tehillim 118:2 teaches David that thanksgiving is not the first word. Before Israel can say that God's love endures forever, there is something that has to be acknowledged. The confession is not a prologue to the thanksgiving. It is the condition that makes the thanksgiving real rather than formal.

The Psalm says: let Israel now say that God's love endures forever. The midrash hears the word now as carrying weight. Not always, not abstractly, not as a theological position adopted without context. Now, after what you know about what you have done and what has happened to you as a result, and what God has nonetheless maintained. That now carries the whole history of transgression and consequence and continued love inside it.

A person who moves directly to thanksgiving without passing through what the thanksgiving is for has not yet understood what is being thanked for. The soul that has been thirsty in Edom, that has stood in a dry land seeking God early, understands the love's endurance differently than the soul that has never been thirsty.

The Prince Ran Out of Breath

Midrash Tehillim 146:1 brings Psalm 146's warning with a precision that has no comfort in it: do not trust in princes, in the son of man in whom there is no salvation. On the day he dies his breath departs, and all his plans perish with him.

The midrash does not allow for the exception of a particularly good prince, or a prince who has made binding arrangements. Every prince. The breath that leaves on the day of death takes the plans with it. Nothing that depended on that breath for its continued existence survives the exhalation.

A person can stand close to power for an entire life. They can be the trusted advisor, the valued courtier, the person whose access to the prince made them seem secure. On the day the prince runs out of breath, all of that dissolves. The soul that trusted in princes discovers on that day that the trust was placed in something perishable by its nature.

What Remains After the Breath Departs

The argument Midrash Tehillim builds across these three passages runs in a single direction. The soul that is thirsty in the wilderness learns to seek God early. The soul that learns to seek God early discovers that thanksgiving requires passing through honest confession. And the soul that has been through thirst and confession understands why the prince's breath is insufficient collateral for a trust that has to survive the prince's death.

The praise at the end is for God who executes justice for the oppressed, who gives food to the hungry, who sets prisoners free, who opens the eyes of the blind. These are the acts that continue after every prince has run out of breath, that do not depend on any individual's continued existence, that have been operating since before any living prince was born and will continue after the last one dies.

Midrash TehillimDavidSolomonSoulPrayerRepentanceWisdom
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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.

Midrash Tehillim 63:3Midrash Tehillim

King David certainly did. And his words, captured in Psalm 63, resonate across the ages, a evidence of a soul seeking connection with the Divine.

“My God, I seek You early,” David proclaims. It's a sentiment echoed in (Proverbs 8:17): "I love those who love me, and those who seek me early shall find me." The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletic interpretations of the Book of Psalms, uses this verse to examine the very nature of Divine love and connection. It's a two-way street, isn't it? "Whoever loves God," the Torah tells us, "God loves him back." David loved God, and so, God loved him in return. He sought God early, and so, God found him. A beautiful exchange.

What does it mean to truly seek God, especially in times of hardship? David continues in Psalm 63, "My soul thirsts for you; my flesh longs for you in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) interprets this "dry and weary land" as Edom, often seen as a symbol of wickedness and spiritual barrenness. image for a moment: a parched land, devoid of life-giving water. The Midrash then makes a striking comparison. "A serpent has a friend, and a fiery serpent has a companion, but a thirsty person has no friend." Ouch. The idea being that even the most venomous creatures find companionship, but someone consumed by spiritual thirst, someone in that desolate state, is utterly alone.

Why? Because, the Midrash suggests, wickedness, like that barren land, offers no true sustenance. "This wicked one has no friend. Therefore, she is in a dry and desolate land."

And what about us? Where does that leave us, yearning for connection and meaning in a world that often feels… well, pretty dry? The Midrash suggests that our souls, too, can become weary, longing for the life-giving waters of the Torah. We thirst for those words, that guidance, that connection. And the Midrash warns us, "we cannot be left alone." We need that connection. We crave it.

But here’s the glimmer of hope, the promise that echoes through the ages. Even in the depths of thirst, even in the most desolate landscape, there is a source of water available. As (Isaiah 41:17) reminds us: "The poor and needy seek water, and there is none; their tongues fail for thirst. I, the Lord, will hear them; I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them."

That promise – God will not forsake them – it’s a lifeline. It suggests that even when we feel utterly alone, parched and lost in a spiritual desert, the Divine is there, listening, ready to quench our deepest thirst. It’s an invitation to seek Him early, to cultivate that connection, and to trust that even in the driest of times, we will be found. What does seeking God early mean to you?

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Midrash Tehillim 118:2Midrash Tehillim

It's something the Jewish tradition understands deeply.

We find this echoed beautifully in Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic commentaries on the Book of Psalms. It focuses on the verse, "Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; for His mercy endures forever." (Psalm 118:1). Why this emphasis on gratitude?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) immediately points us to the prophet Isaiah (12:1): "And in that day you shall say, 'O Lord, I will praise You; Though You were angry with me, Your anger is turned away, and You comfort me.'" Isn't that powerful? Even after experiencing hardship, the first impulse should be praise, a recognition of the Divine presence and the turning away from anger towards comfort. It's about seeing the bigger picture, the enduring goodness even amidst challenges.

The Midrash continues, saying that the children of Israel should always express gratitude for the goodness God bestows upon them. Like it says in Isaiah (25:1): “O Lord, You are my God, I will exalt You, I will praise Your name, for You have done wonderful things; Your counsels of old are faithfulness and truth." It's not just about the big, miraculous moments, but about the constant, underlying faithfulness that sustains us.

King David, the poet-king, understood this implicitly. The Midrash tells us that when David recognized the profound value of thanksgiving, he proclaimed, “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.” He understood that the act of giving thanks itself is a good thing. It shifts our perspective, opens our hearts, and connects us to a source of infinite goodness.

It’s interesting, isn't it? The Midrash then connects gratitude with another key concept: repentance. Quoting Proverbs (28:13), "He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy." And (Psalm 32:5), "I acknowledged my sin to You, and my iniquity I have not hidden. I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,' and You forgave the iniquity of my sin." Why bring this up?

Perhaps the Midrash is suggesting that genuine gratitude requires honesty. It requires acknowledging our imperfections, our mistakes, and turning towards a path of repentance – of teshuvah (repentance). True gratitude isn't just a superficial expression; it’s rooted in humility and a recognition of our need for divine grace.

And finally, the Midrash circles back to the original point, quoting (Psalm 92:2), "It is good to give thanks to the Lord." It’s a simple, yet profound statement.

So, what does this all mean for us today? Maybe it’s a reminder to pause, even in the midst of our busy lives, and acknowledge the good. To express gratitude not just for the big blessings, but for the small, everyday miracles that often go unnoticed. And to remember that true gratitude is intertwined with honesty, humility, and a willingness to turn towards a better version of ourselves. It's a powerful combination, and one that can truly transform our lives.

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Midrash Tehillim 146:1Midrash Tehillim

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Psalms, grapples with this very question in its exploration of Psalm 146.

The verse "Hallelujah, my soul, etc." sparks a fascinating discussion. The prophet Jeremiah, as quoted in (Jeremiah 20:13), sings, "Sing to the Lord, praise the Lord," and the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) asks, why? The answer given is beautiful: because God saves the soul of the poor from the hand of evildoers. When the wicked are sent to Gehenna (hell) and the righteous are saved, that is a moment deserving of praise. It's a praise that never leaves the poor. It's a constant acknowledgement of God's deliverance.

It doesn't stop there. (Isaiah 57:19) declares, "I create the praise of the lips." It's not just about personal praise; it's about inspiring others. "Let all flesh bless His holy name." This leads to the declaration, "I will praise the Lord in my life; I will sing to my God as long as I exist."

King Solomon, in (Ecclesiastes 9:12), reminds us, "For man also does not know his time." If we don't praise while we're alive, when will we? The Midrash emphasizes that death isn't the time for praise. As (Psalm 115:17) says, "The dead do not praise the Lord," and (Psalm 6:6) echoes, "In death there is no memory of You." So who will praise God then? The answer rings out: "He who is alive, He who will praise You," not in Sheol (the underworld). (Ecclesiastes 9:10) reinforces this, stating, "For there is no work, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in Sheol."

Therefore, the Midrash concludes, "I will praise the Lord in my life." It's a call to action, a reminder to seize the present moment and offer our gratitude while we can.

The text then pivots to the famous verse in (Psalm 146:3): "Do not trust in princes, in mortal man, in whom there is no salvation." This isn't just about political figures; it's about the futility of relying on others for our salvation. We can't coast on the merits of our ancestors.

The Midrash illustrates this poignantly: A person shouldn't think, "Ishmael can say, 'Abraham is my father, and he will save me,' or Esau can say, 'Jacob was righteous, and he will save me, and I will escape through his merit.'" (Psalm 49:8) makes it clear: "No man can redeem the life of another." We can't rely on our family's righteousness to save us.

So, if we can't trust in princes or ancestors, what should we rely on? The answer is clear: on our own deeds. (Proverbs 9:12) says, "If you are wise, you are wise for yourself, and if you scoff, you alone will bear it." Each individual is responsible for their own actions and their own spiritual growth.

The Midrash beautifully connects this to our daily lives. (Proverbs 16:26) states, "A laborer's appetite works for him; his hunger urges him on." We can't eat from our father's actions. (Ecclesiastes 6:7) reminds us, "All man's labor is for his mouth," and 3:22 adds, "So I saw that there is nothing better for a man than to enjoy his work." Ultimately, (Psalm 128:2) encapsulates the message: "When you eat the toil of your hands, you are praiseworthy, and it is well with you."

The message of this Midrash is powerful and enduring. It's a call to action, urging us to praise God in the present moment, to take responsibility for our own actions, and to find meaning in our work. It's a reminder that we can't rely on others for our salvation; we must cultivate our own relationship with the Divine. So, what are you waiting for? What praise will you offer today?

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