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David Rejoiced While Waiting for Solomon's Temple

People ask David when he will die so Solomon can build the Temple, but David finds a way to rejoice even as he waits for a house he cannot build.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. They Came to His Window
  2. Joseph Was Led Like a Flock
  3. The Prophet's Question and the King's Answer
  4. Jerusalem Already Complete

They Came to His Window

They came politely. They framed it as longing for God's house.

People stood beneath David's window and said: when will you die, so that your son Solomon can build the Temple and we can go up to the house of God? They wanted pilgrimage. They wanted the holy city to be complete. And underneath that religious desire was the ordinary human impatience with an old king who was still alive when the future was already planned.

David did not miss what they were saying. He heard the longing and the impatience together, the genuine faith and the thinly veiled wish that he would step aside. He could have answered them with anger. He did not.

Joseph Was Led Like a Flock

The Midrash brings Joseph into the frame. Psalm 80 calls God the Shepherd of Israel who leads Joseph like a flock. Joseph knew what it was to be led by forces larger than himself, from the favored son in his father's tent to the pit in the field to the slave market in Egypt to the prison cell to the storehouses of Pharaoh. To be led like a flock is not always comfortable in the moment. Sometimes the shepherd's path goes through the valley before it reaches the high pasture.

Israel, the Midrash says, must keep its deeds fresh like a lily among thorns, staying alive and tender even when the world around it is pointed and painful. Joseph's story becomes a memory of guided survival: not the survival that avoids danger, but the survival that passes through it and comes out on the other side still recognizable as what it was.

David knew that logic. He had lived it. The cave with Saul. The years of flight. The throne that came through grief and not through ease.

The Prophet's Question and the King's Answer

Yoel the prophet asked Israel to wake up, to see what the locust had eaten, to mourn and then return. The connection the Midrash draws is about the pain of loss and the possibility of restoration. Israel loses something it loves, mourns it honestly, and receives the call to return to the source of what was lost.

David loses the Temple he wanted to build. He mourns it in his own way, gathering the materials, organizing the priests, writing the songs that will be sung inside the building he will never enter. His mourning is productive. His grief for the thing he cannot do becomes the preparation for the thing his son will do.

When they asked at his window when he would die, he said: I was glad when they said to me, let us go to the house of the Lord.

Not: I am glad when I build it. Not: I will be glad when my son completes it. I was glad. Past tense, already accomplished in the longing itself. The joy David found in the pilgrimage psalm was available to him right now, in the waiting, in the preparation, in the anticipation that he knew would be fulfilled even if he was not there to see it.

Jerusalem Already Complete

The Midrash reads Jerusalem's completion as both historical and eschatological. The city built by David and completed by Solomon is also the city that will be fully restored in the time of redemption. David's rejoicing spans both moments. He rejoices for the pilgrimage already possible, for the city already founded, and for the city that will one day stand without walls because God's presence will be its walls.

The man they wanted out of the way was the one who had built the foundation that made everything else possible. He knew this. His rejoicing was not the performance of acceptance. It was genuine, rooted in a faith that the work mattered even if the one who did the work would not hold the dedication torch.


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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 80:1Midrash Tehillim

Psalm 80, a poignant plea for divine intervention, opens with a striking image: "Hear, O Shepherd of Israel, You Who leads Joseph like a flock." It's a cry for guidance, for protection, a yearning for God's light to break through the darkness. But hidden within this psalm lies a fascinating midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) interpretation, a deeper dive into its meaning.

The Midrash Tehillim, our source for today's story, connects Psalm 80 to the verse in (Song of Songs 2:2), "As a lily among thorns, so is my beloved among the daughters." Rabbi Acha offers a beautiful interpretation: "The Holy One, blessed be He, said, 'Let your deeds be moist like this lily.'" What does it mean to be "moist like a lily?" It suggests a freshness, a resilience, a life-giving quality even in the face of adversity. Think of the lily, delicate yet persistent, pushing through the thorny undergrowth.

Our sages then connect this chapter to the days of Yoel ben Pethuel, a prophet whose name itself sparks curiosity. The Rabbis ask, "Why was his name called Pethuel?" and answer, "Because he would meditate at his gate like a virgin." This image is striking – Pethuel, lost in contemplation, dedicated to seeking wisdom. It speaks to the importance of inner reflection, of taking time to connect with the divine.

The story takes an unexpected turn. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Nehemiah, quoting Rabbi Yitzchak, shares a profound insight about prophetic judgment. "When the prophet judges a person, he does not judge him by saying, 'You have sinned,' but rather by saying, 'Have you not sinned?'" It's a subtle but powerful distinction. Instead of outright condemnation, the prophet prompts self-reflection, encouraging the individual to acknowledge their own shortcomings. As we see in (Jeremiah 2:35), "Behold, I will judge you for saying, 'I have not sinned.'" True repentance begins with honest self-assessment.

The Midrash then introduces a perplexing detail: the connection between Yoel and another figure, Aviah. We find in (1 (Chronicles 5:1)3) that "The name of the firstborn was Yoel," but another verse in (1 (Chronicles 2:2)4) states, "The name of the firstborn was Aviah." Rabbi Yehuda bar Siman and the Rabbis offer a stark comparison: "Just as the latter was a wicked person, so was the former a wicked person."

Wait, what? Was our contemplative prophet, Yoel ben Pethuel, initially wicked? Rabbi Yehuda clarifies, "He changed his deeds and became like his father." Or, as Rabbi Acha puts it, "He (Yoel) is the same person as his father (Aviah)." This suggests a transformative journey, a shift from wickedness to righteousness. It highlights the power of teshuvah (repentance) and the potential for change within each of us.

So, what can we glean from this intricate midrash? It's a reminder that even amidst the "thorns" of life, we can strive to be like the lily, resilient and life-affirming. It encourages us to engage in honest self-reflection, to acknowledge our imperfections, and to embrace the possibility of transformation. It's a powerful message: no matter our past, we have the capacity to change our deeds and become something new, something beautiful. The key, perhaps, lies in cultivating that "moistness," that inner source of strength and renewal that allows us to bloom even in the most challenging circumstances. Can we, like Yoel ben Pethuel, find our way from darkness to light?

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Midrash Tehillim 122:1Midrash Tehillim

It’s a very human feeling, and it’s one that resonates powerfully in a story told in Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Psalms.

Psalm 122, "A Song of Ascents. Of David," opens with rejoicing: "I rejoiced with those who said to me, 'Let us go to the house of the Lord!'" But as Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi points out, the story behind the verse is far more nuanced.

David, King of Israel. He hears whispers, impatient murmurs: "When will that old man die, so that his son Solomon can come and build the chosen Temple, and we can go up for the pilgrimage feast?" Ouch. It's the impatience of a generation eager for progress, for a new era.

The Holy One, Baruch Hu, blessed be He, responds to David. "Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere," God says, according to the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary). "I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked." The message? It is better to spend one day engaged in the study of Torah than to offer a thousand burnt offerings in the Temple that your son Solomon will sacrifice in the future. It's a fascinating prioritization: learning and devotion over grand, future projects.

The story doesn't end there. The Midrash continues, "There is no generation that does not have scoffers." Those troublemakers, the ones always stirring the pot, they go to David's windows, taunting, "David, when will the Temple be rebuilt, and when will we go to the house of the Lord?" Can you feel the sting of their words?

Yet, David's response is remarkable. "Even though they intend to anger me," he says, "they will come upon me with joy, for I rejoice when they say, 'Let us go to the house of the Lord.'" He sees the yearning beneath the impatience, the genuine desire for connection and spiritual fulfillment.

The Midrash then shifts to Jerusalem, the built-up city, described as "a city that is united together." Rabbi Yochanan shares a powerful idea: The Lord says, "I will not come to the heavenly Jerusalem until I come to the earthly Jerusalem." It's as if the divine presence is inextricably linked to the earthly city, to the tangible reality of our lives. There is no other Jerusalem above. As it is written, "Jerusalem, the built-up city, is like a city that is united together," meaning a city that unites all of Israel together, according to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi.

Raba, citing Rav Ada and Rav, adds a thought-provoking idea about marriage: "Anyone who takes a wife who is not fitting for him, the Lord does not bear witness about him with the tribes." It’s a cryptic statement, linking personal choices to the larger communal fabric.

The text even touches upon the Israelites in Egypt, highlighting their moral integrity. How do we know they were not suspected of immorality? As it is stated, "And the son of the Israelite woman went out" (Leviticus 24:10), calling attention to the exception that proves the rule. As explained in Kabbalah, (Song of Songs 4:12) says, "My sister, my bride, is a locked garden."

Rabbi Aha connects it all back to Jerusalem: "Jerusalem is not built except by virtue of the tribes." And it is adjacent to that which is stated, "For there the tribes went up" (Psalms 122:4), for there the thrones for judgment were set up to judge the Gentile nations.

So, what does it all mean? This Midrash on Psalm 122 is woven from themes of patience, yearning, community, and the divine connection to the earthly. It reminds us that even in our impatience, in our desire for a better future, we must appreciate the present moment, the value of study and devotion, and the importance of building a united community. It’s a call to find joy in the journey, even when the destination seems distant.

And ultimately, it’s a reminder to "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; may those who love you be at peace," because, as the sages teach us, "Sages increase peace in the world, as it is stated, 'And all your children shall be taught of the Lord' (Isaiah 54:13)." For my brothers and friends, I will speak of peace in you.

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