5 min read

David Saw Zion Healed by Song and Shofar

Solomon built the Temple. David only intended it. Three companies of angels are waiting to prove that intention is enough to put a name on stone.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Dead Righteous Still Sang
  2. Zion's Beauty Spread Through the Joy of Atonement
  3. Jacob Saw the Temple Before It Was Built
  4. Hezekiah Collected the Torah-Water

The Dead Righteous Still Sang

Three companies of angels attend the righteous person at the moment of leaving this world. The first company says: go in peace. The second says: you who walked in uprightness, come in peace. The third meets them with Psalm 119: the one who walks in integrity.

They are not alone when they cross over. And when they arrive, other righteous people from earlier generations are already there, asking the same question people ask when a traveler arrives from a distant place: what is happening? What is the state of the world you just left? Is there Torah being studied? Are there people who still remember us?

David's songs are recited among the righteous after his death. Not remembered fondly as historical artifacts, but recited, said aloud, used. The man who wrote Psalm 30 as the dedication of a house did not build the house. Solomon built it. But the midrash says: since David set his heart toward the house, God called the dedication song by David's name. Intention lasts. The song sung by the angels at the crossing is still David's song.

Zion's Beauty Spread Through the Joy of Atonement

Psalm 48 praises Zion as the joy of the whole earth. Midrash Tehillim reads the beauty not as architecture or geography but as what happens when the Day of Atonement has been completed and people walk out of the fast into the world.

The joy of Zion is the joy of people who have been received back. The body is thin and the mouth is empty but the weight that was there before the fast is gone. The beauty spreads from the Temple outward through the land because it is not a visual beauty but a relational one: the God who could have refused has instead accepted, and the people who could have been turned away are instead standing in the light of that acceptance.

Jerusalem's beauty, in this reading, is not something to be photographed. It is something to be inside of, on the day when the verdict has come back favorable and the earth itself seems to reflect the relief.

Jacob Saw the Temple Before It Was Built

Psalm 81 says sound the shofar at the new moon, at the appointed time for our festival day. The midrash asks which festival and which shofar. The answer points to Jacob.

Jacob was fleeing Esau, traveling with nothing, and he reached a certain place and lay down to sleep. In his dream he saw a ladder with its foot on the earth and its top reaching heaven. He saw angels ascending and descending. He woke and said: surely God is in this place and I did not know it. This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.

Jacob saw the Temple before the Temple existed. He called the place a house of God when it was an open field with a stone under his head. The shofar that Psalm 81 demands is the shofar of that recognition: the announcement that what looks like ordinary ground is actually the place where heaven opens. The shofar does not create the holiness. It announces that it was always there, waiting to be named.

Hezekiah Collected the Torah-Water

Hezekiah is king in Jerusalem and Sennacherib's army is coming. The king does something the midrash praises above all his military preparations. He blocks the water sources outside the city, refusing to let the enemy drink, and then he makes sure every student in Jerusalem is at his study. He visits them at their gates. He asks whether Torah is being studied. He collects the water of learning inside the walls before the siege begins.

Torah is the water that Jerusalem holds when it prepares for the worst. Not just comfort during fear, not merely a pious habit, but the substance that a city needs inside its walls more than grain. Hezekiah's Jerusalem is the dream of a city that has its priorities right: the students at their gates, the water of learning flowing through the streets, the king asking personally whether anyone has stopped.

David dreamed of building the House and was not allowed to build it. Hezekiah builds a different kind of house, one that does not depend on lumber or stones. He builds it from students at gates and the king who checks on them. That house, the midrash implies, is the one that Zion's beauty spreads through when the shofar sounds at the new moon and Jacob's ancient recognition is repeated in every street.

Midrash TehillimDavidSolomonTempleZionShofarProphecy
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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 30:3Midrash Tehillim

The verse It's a powerful image, isn't it? But what does it really mean?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) paints a stunning picture of what awaits the righteous when they depart from this world. It tells us that three companies of angels attend to them. One proclaims, quoting (Isaiah 57:2), "Peace be upon him." Another echoes our verse, "Let them sing for joy on their couches." And a third declares, "He is going in peace, and his going is in the hands of the Lord."

Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon, quoting Rabbi Yoshiya, takes it even further. He suggests it's as if God himself is saying, "Peace be upon you" to the departed. What a profoundly comforting thought. And if God says this to the righteous, how different is the fate of the wicked? Well, (Isaiah 57:21) tells us, "There is no peace, says the Lord, for the wicked." A stark contrast,.

So, what is this "glory" bestowed upon the righteous when they leave this world? Rabbi Chiya bar Yosei offers a fascinating insight: the only difference between the living righteous and the dead is speech. The dead continue to praise God, acknowledging that He has placed them in the "bundle of life," a concept beautifully expressed in (1 (Samuel 25:2)9): "But the soul of my lord shall be bound up in the bundle of life." This "bundle of life," or tzror hachayim, is a beautiful image of protection and eternal connection to the Divine.

And what about that "singing for joy"? According to the Midrash, "singing for joy" is synonymous with dancing! Just as we see in (Psalms 118:15), "a voice of singing and salvation in the tents of the righteous." The image is one of vibrant, joyful celebration.

Rabbi Yochanan offers another evocative image. He says that when an elder sits and teaches, and their lips move and murmur even in the grave, it's like the "best wine" and "honey," alluding to (Song of Songs 7:10) and 7:9. The wisdom and Torah they embodied continue to resonate, sweetening the world even after they are gone.

But what about David? He famously wrote in (Psalms 23:6), "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Did he really think he would live forever? Rabbi Yehuda explains that this verse should be recited in synagogues and study halls. God says to David, "Even though you are dead, your name does not depart from My house forever. With every sacrifice, they will mention you and recite your songs."

Because David intended to build the Temple, even though it was ultimately his son Solomon who built it, God declared, "I will call it by your name and write it as a song of David," hence "A Psalm, a Song for the Dedication of the House, of David" (Psalms 30:1). The Midrash emphasizes: only for David, and not for Solomon, is this said. It’s a evidence of the power of intention and the enduring legacy of a righteous life.

So, what does all this tell us? It suggests that death, in the Jewish tradition, isn't necessarily an end, but a transition. A transition into a state of peace, joy, and continued connection with God. It's a reminder that our actions, our intentions, and our dedication to Torah resonate far beyond our earthly lives. And perhaps, most beautifully, it offers a glimpse into a world where even in death, the righteous continue to sing, to dance, and to praise the Holy One, blessed be He.

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Midrash Tehillim 48:2Midrash Tehillim

The ancient collection of rabbinic teachings, Midrash Tehillim, specifically Midrash Tehillim 48, grapples with this very idea, using Psalm 48 as its springboard. It asks, what is a truly beautiful view? The answer isn’t simply about aesthetics. It’s about a harmony where everything contributes to a unique and unprecedented beauty.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) contrasts this true beauty with the hollow pronouncements of self-proclaimed perfection. It cites the city of Tyre in Ezekiel (27:3), which boasts, "I am perfect in beauty." But, the Midrash points out, Tyre only says this about itself. Nobody else agrees! Similarly, Isaiah (47:10) speaks of someone saying, "You have said it to yourself, but no one else has told you."

It’s like that old saying: it matters less what your mother says about you, and much more what your neighbor says. Ouch.

Then comes Zion. Ah, Zion. The Midrash contrasts this with Jerusalem, of which Lamentations (2:15) says, "This is the city of complete beauty." And the key difference? Everyone agrees! Not only that, but it brings joy to all the land, as (Psalm 48:3) proclaims.

But why this joy? The Midrash suggests it's tied to the spiritual well-being of the people. In those days, folks felt the weight of their sins. "Anxiety in a man's heart depresses it," King Solomon wisely observes in (Proverbs 12:25). Imagine carrying that around. But when someone journeyed to Jerusalem and offered a sacrifice, it brought atonement, a sense of cleansing. Their heart would lighten, and as they left, they were filled with joy. This personal joy rippled outward, bringing joy "to all the land."

And here’s a fascinating detail: The Midrash acknowledges that Mount Zion is described as "the northern ridge, the City of the Great King" (Psalm 48:3), even though it's actually located in the south. Why? Because it was destroyed. The verse "On the north side of the altar" (Leviticus 1:11) is evoked, perhaps alluding to the Temple's destruction.

What does it mean by "City of the Great King?" The Midrash interprets it as referring to a king who acted in a certain way in his city. He acted that way in this world, but he will not act that way in the future.

So, what are we left with? More than just pretty scenery, true beauty creates harmony and elicits shared joy. It’s connected to a sense of spiritual wholeness, of being part of something larger than ourselves. And it hints at a future where even the "Great King" will act differently – perhaps with more mercy, more compassion? It invites us to reflect on what we contribute to the beauty of the world, and how we can foster that shared joy that radiates outward.

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Midrash Tehillim 81:1Midrash Tehillim

Take (Psalm 81:2), for example: "Raise a song, strike the tambourine, the sweet lyre with the harp." But then it continues, "Sound the shofar at the New Moon, at the full moon for our festival day." And then comes the kicker: "For it is a statute for Israel, an ordinance of the God of Jacob." (Psalm 81:2-4).

Why specifically the God of Jacob? Why not Abraham or Isaac? Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, digs into this very question. It offers a fascinating explanation rooted in the idea that we are measured by the same measure we use.

The midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) starts with a verse from Isaiah (27:8): “In that measure (b’saseah), when they sent them out, it strove with it…” Then the Midrash gets even more granular, moving from the seah (a dry measure) to smaller and smaller amounts. How do we know to account for all these measurements? Because, as Ecclesiastes (7:27) tells us, we must account for “…adding one to another to find out the account.”

What does all this measuring have to do with Jacob? Well, the Midrash illustrates with a powerful parable about a king and three lovers. The king wants to build a palace and asks each lover for their vision. The first says, "I remember it was a mountain." The second recalls, "I remember it was a field." But the third lover says, "I remember it was a palace." The king declares, "By your life! I will build that palace and call it by your name." Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – they were all deeply connected to the Holy One. According to this midrash, Abraham saw the future Holy Temple as a "mountain," referencing (Genesis 22:14), "On the mountain, the Lord will be seen." Isaac envisioned it as a "field," drawing on the blessing in (Genesis 27:27), “…the fragrance of my son is like the fragrance of a field…”

But it was Jacob who, even before the Temple existed, called it a "house." Remember Jacob's dream at Bethel? "This is none other than the house of God…" (Genesis 28:17). That powerful moment when Jacob recognized the sacredness of that place.

And so, the Holy One says, "By your life! You called it a house before it was built, and I will call it by your name." This explains why Isaiah (2:3) says, "Come, let us go up to the Lord's mount, to the house of the God of Jacob…" And why Jeremiah (30:18) proclaims, "Behold I am returning the captivity of the tents of Jacob…"

This is why Asaph, the psalmist, specifically invokes the "God of Jacob" in (Psalm 81:2) – connecting the joyous sound of the shofar with Jacob's complete vision of the Temple, even before its physical manifestation.

So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it’s a reminder to see the potential for holiness in everything, even before it fully manifests. To see the "house" even when it's just a dream, a vision, a potential waiting to be realized. And maybe, just maybe, if we do that, we too can have a hand in building something truly sacred.

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Midrash Tehillim 87:4Midrash Tehillim

The ancient sages certainly did. a fascinating passage from Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Psalms, specifically Psalm 87, and see where it leads us.

The verse that sparks this particular midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) is, "The Lord loves the gates of Zion." It's a powerful statement. The midrash immediately draws an analogy we can all relate to: Just as a king cherishes his palace, especially the one in his own capital, so too does God love the gates of synagogues and houses of study. But of all these beloved places, Zion, the midrash tells us, is God's palace. Synagogues and study halls are already places of connection and holiness. But Zion... that's something even more profound.

Then comes the verse, "Glorious things are said about you, the city of God, forever." (Psalms 87:3). Now, who is this verse really about? The midrash makes a surprising turn, connecting it to King Hezekiah! Remember him? The text references how Hezekiah "...made the conduit and the pool, and he brought the water into the city..." (2 (Kings 20:2)0). But this isn't just about literal water.

The Rabbis explain that Hezekiah was a "collector of traditions," and that "water" here represents the words of Torah. As it says in (Isaiah 55:1), "Ho! All who thirst, go to water..." Torah, like water, sustains and nourishes the soul. And just as (Proverbs 9:5) invites us to "Come, partake of my bread...", Hezekiah, in his wisdom, brought the well-ordered and well-taught traditions into the city, making them accessible to all. The midrash drives this home by quoting (Proverbs 25:1), "These too are Solomon's proverbs, which the men of Hezekiah, king of Judah, maintained." Hezekiah didn't just preserve the tradition; he made it flourish.

There's another layer to this "glorious" idea. R’ Huna, quoting R’ Idi, brings up an interesting point: Why did the Israelites pronounce God’s explicit name – the Shem HaMeforash – within the Holy Temple, but use a cognomen, a descriptive name, outside its bounds? The answer lies in (Deuteronomy 28:58): "...to fear this glorious and awesome name, the Lord, your God." The explicit Name was reserved for the holiest space, a way to acknowledge its power and ineffability.

So, “glorious things are said about you…” Where are these glorious things said? In the city of God, in Zion, the midrash emphasizes. In the city of God, forever.

What does all this mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that "Zion" isn't just a physical place, but also a state of being. It's about connecting to tradition, to Torah, and to the Divine in a way that nourishes our souls. It's about bringing that sense of holiness, that "glorious" feeling, into our own lives, wherever we may be. And maybe, just maybe, making our own little corner of the world a bit more like Zion.

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