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Silence in Zion Is the Praise That Words Cannot Carry

Psalm 65 places silence as praise in the one city where noise should be loudest, and the rabbis heard in that stillness God's power held deliberately back.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Word That Should Not Be There
  2. What Made Zion Loud in the Wrong Way
  3. Isaiah Gives God a Restrained Body
  4. What the Temple's Song Was For

The Word That Should Not Be There

Psalm 65 opens with dumiyah, stillness, silence. David places it in Zion, the city of the Temple, the place where the Levitical choirs sang daily, where cymbals and harps and trumpets made the air vibrate with organized sound. Zion is the last place where silence seems like praise. And that is exactly what the verse says: silence is praise to You, O God, in Zion.

The rabbis who read this in Midrash Tehillim did not treat the paradox as a mistake in the text. They treated it as the whole point, and they asked what kind of silence deserves to be called the highest praise in the city that was built for singing.

What Made Zion Loud in the Wrong Way

The midrash gives the silence a specific provenance. When the Temple stood, it was not only Israel who gathered there. Enemies passed through the city. Conquerors claimed the sanctuary. Voices rose in the courts that had no right to rise there, attributing the Temple's destruction to their own military skill, crediting their gods with a victory that the tradition understood as God's own withdrawal. The noise in Zion after the exile was the noise of arrogance in a holy place.

Against that noise, the silence of genuine waiting is not emptiness. It is refusal. It is God declining to answer arrogance on arrogance's terms, holding back the redemptive cry that would drown every other sound, keeping the power unspent until the right moment. The silence is the proof that the power is there.

Isaiah Gives God a Restrained Body

The midrash reaches into Isaiah for the image that makes the restraint physical. Isaiah 42:14 gives God a voice that has been holding back: I have been still for a long time, I have been quiet and restrained myself; now I will cry out like a woman in labor. God has been silent the way a woman in labor is silent in the period before the contractions begin. The silence is not peace. It is the pressure of something about to break open.

The midrash also draws on the phrase from the Exodus narrative, mi khamokha ba'elim Adonai, who is like You among the mighty. The tradition read ba'elim as related to ilmim, the mute, reinterpreting the phrase as: who is like You among those who are mute, who could speak and restrain themselves. God's silence is incomparable not because God has nothing to say but because no one else could hold back what God is holding back and still be called powerful.

What the Temple's Song Was For

The Levitical singers and the instruments and the daily offerings were not the highest form of praise in this tradition. They were the form of praise that matched the capacity of human beings to express what they felt. The silence of Psalm 65 describes something beyond that capacity: the praise that cannot be put into sound because any sound would reduce it.

The rabbis understood this as a theological statement about the nature of divine reality. The Temple's noise was honest praise within the limits of the human voice and the human instrument. The silence was what remained when the limits were acknowledged. Both were necessary. The psalm does not say stop singing. It says there is a register beyond singing, and the city that housed God's name was the right place to name it.


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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 65:1Midrash Tehillim

Praise is often remembered as loud, exuberant, filled with song and dance. But what about the silence? What kind of praise is that? (Psalm 65:1-2) gives us a clue: “For the conductor, a psalm of David, a song. Silence is praise to You, O God in Zion…”

Silence. praise? It seems counterintuitive, doesn't it?

The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of interpretations on the Book of Psalms, digs deep into this apparent contradiction. It starts with the verse from Psalms and then connects it to powerful verses from Isaiah: "I was silent from time immemorial; I am still, I restrain Myself. Like a travailing woman will I cry…" (Isaiah 42:14). And again, "Concerning these will You restrain Yourself, oh Lord…" (Isaiah 64:11).

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) imagines God saying, "I have no wrath…the aspect of judgment dictates that I stay silent…” He even cries out, “…would that I were thorns and brier in war!” (Isaiah 27:4). God, all-powerful, feels constrained. Held back. The divine attribute of din, of strict judgment, requires a painful silence.

According to the Midrash, the Holy One, HaKadosh Baruch Hu, is able to act, to unleash divine power. But the attribute of judgment, a necessary component of cosmic balance, forces silence. And that silence, paradoxically, becomes a form of praise.

Why?

Because, the Midrash argues, we praise God for holding back, for being silent “for that which was done to You in Zion and for the voice that was raised against Your Sanctuary.” It then references the devastating destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, recalling the lament in (Lamentations 2:7): “…they raised a clamor in the House of the Lord, as on a day of a festival.”

What awful voice was raised? A voice of triumph and defiance: "Our hand was triumphant!" (Deuteronomy 32:27). A voice that mocked God’s power: "Then He will say, "Where is their deity, the rock in which they trusted." (Deuteronomy 32:37).

And yet, in the face of such provocation, such sacrilege, God remains silent. Silence is praise to You. It is a evidence of divine restraint, to the ability to endure even the greatest offenses without obliterating the world.

The Midrash concludes with a call for reciprocal silence: "You are silent and I am silent, as it says “Sit silent for the Lord and hope for Him…” (Psalms 37:7). We, too, can find strength and meaning in silence, trusting in a divine plan that we may not fully understand.

What does this mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that not every injustice demands an immediate, fiery response. Perhaps, sometimes, the greatest strength lies in restraint, in choosing silence as a form of praise, a form of trust. A recognition that even in the face of unspeakable pain, something greater is at work.

So, the next time you find yourself in a moment of profound silence, remember this Midrash. Remember that silence isn’t always empty. Sometimes, it’s the loudest form of praise.

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Mekhilta Tractate Shirah 8:5Mekhilta DeRabbi Yishmael

The Song at the Sea asks, "Who is like You among the mighty," but the Mekhilta offers a variant reading by repointing the Hebrew so it reads "Who is like You among the mute," ba'ilmim. The daring play turns a hymn of praise into a meditation on God's long silence. Who is like You, the verse now asks, who hears the world heap defamation upon Your children and yet holds Your peace?

The midrash anchors this in the prophet's own words (Isaiah 42:14): "I have ever been silent; I have been still; I have restrained Myself. But now I will scream as a woman giving birth. I will throb and gasp at once." God Himself describes a self-imposed restraint that has lasted through the long stretch of Israel's suffering, a silence chosen rather than indifferent. In the past, He says, I was silent and held Myself back. From now on I will cry out.

The cry breaks into action in the verses that follow (Isaiah 42:15-16): "I will lay waste the mountains and the hills, and I will dry up all their grass, and I will turn the rivers into islands, and I will dry up the pools. And I shall lead the blind in a way they did not know; in roads they did not know shall I lead them. I shall make the darkness into light before them, and the crooked paths into straight." The same power that razes the heights to humble the arrogant gently guides the blind and turns their darkness to light. God's silence, the midrash insists, was never weakness or absence; it was withheld strength, and when it finally breaks it brings both judgment on the oppressor and tender redemption for the lost.

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Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 250:3Yalkut Shimoni on Torah

Another interpretation: "Who is like You," in the miracles and mighty deeds You performed at the sea, as it is said, "awesome things at the Sea of Reeds" and "He rebuked the Sea of Reeds and led them through the depths" (Psalms 106:7-9). "Who is like You among the mighty ones [ba'elim]": who is like You, who sees the disgrace of Your children and is silent, as it is said, "I have long held My peace" (Isaiah 42:14), in the past, "I have been still and restrained Myself"; from here onward, "now I will cry like a travailing woman, I will gasp and pant together... I will lay waste mountains and hills... and I will lead the blind by a way they knew not" (Isaiah 42:14-16).

"Who is like You among the mighty ones": like those who minister before Him on high, as it is said, "For who in the sky can be compared to the LORD" (Psalms 89:7), and it says, "a God greatly feared in the council of the holy ones" (Psalms 89:8), and it says, "O LORD God of hosts, who is mighty like You, O LORD?" "Who is like You among the mighty ones": who is like You among those who call themselves divinity. Pharaoh called himself a god, as it is said, "My river is my own, and I have made myself" (Ezekiel 29:3). Sennacherib called himself a god, as it is said, "Who among all the gods of the lands" (2 Kings 18:35). Nebuchadnezzar called himself a god, as it is said, "I will ascend above the heights of the clouds" (Isaiah 14:14). The prince of Tyre called himself a god, as it is said, "Say to the prince of Tyre" (Ezekiel 28:2). "Who is like You" not like those whom others call divinity though there is nothing real in them, of whom it is said, "they have mouths but they do not speak... they make no sound in their throat" (Psalms 115:5-7). These have mouths but do not speak; but the One who spoke and the world came into being is not so. Rather, He said two things in a single utterance, which is impossible for flesh and blood to do, as it is said, "God has spoken once, twice have I heard this" (Psalms 62:12), and "Is not My word like fire?" (Jeremiah 23:29).

"Who is like You, glorious in holiness": comely are You and majestic in holiness. The quality of the Holy One, blessed be He, is unlike the quality of flesh and blood. Flesh and blood cannot say two things as one, but the One who spoke and the world came into being said the Ten Commandments in a single utterance, which is impossible for flesh and blood, as it is said, "And God spoke all these words, saying" (Exodus 20:1). The way of flesh and blood is that one cannot listen to two people when they cry out at once; but the One who spoke and the world came into being, even if all who come into the world come and cry out before Him, He hears their cry, as it is said, "O You who hear prayer, to You all flesh shall come" (Psalms 65:3). "Awesome in praises": not from now, but from of old awesome in praises.

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Midrash Tehillim 65:2Midrash Tehillim

The ancient rabbis grappled with this too. Midrash Tehillim, a collection of interpretations on the Book of Psalms, dives deep into this very question. Specifically, it wrestles with (Psalm 65:3), "Hear our prayer, all flesh will come before You."

The verse seems straightforward enough. God hears everyone. But then the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) throws a curveball: "The prayer of all flesh You hear, but ours You do not hear." Ouch. That stings.

Why the apparent contradiction?

The Midrash contrasts God's ability to hear everyone with the limitations of even the most powerful human king. “Even the king of flesh and blood cannot hear from two or three people at once, let alone from everyone, but the Holy One, blessed be He, hears everyone who prays and whispers before Him.”: A human leader has finite attention. God? Infinite.

The difference doesn't end there. "Flesh and blood's ears are filled with what they hear, but the Holy One, blessed be He, is not so, as it is written, 'Do not let your ear hear.'" This is quoting (Job 33:14), suggesting that God’s hearing isn’t limited by physical constraints or preconceived notions. God’s capacity to listen is beyond our comprehension.

The Midrash then offers a scene that's both poignant and a little unsettling. Imagine this: "Flesh and blood enter the synagogue and see them praying, praying with them, and the Holy One, blessed be He, hears." God is present, observing, even participating. But then comes the lament from (Lamentations 3:8): "Even when I cry out and call for help." It's like shouting into a void.

So what's going on? Why the disconnect?

The Midrash offers a powerful, if challenging, answer. Quoting (Exodus 40:38) (“The cloud of the Lord was upon the tabernacle”), the text depicts God asking, "What do you seek? Shall I dance on the roofs or on the transgressions?" It's a strange image. Is God being sarcastic? Maybe. Or perhaps, God is asking what we truly want: superficial blessings ("dancing on the roofs") or a deeper reckoning with our flaws ("on the transgressions").

The people's response is telling: "We do not ask for roofs, transgressions, or mysteries, but only for the words of our sins. Our transgressions have increased, You will atone for them." They acknowledge their shortcomings. They aren't looking for easy answers or miraculous solutions. They're asking for teshuvah (repentance) and atonement.

The key, perhaps, isn't just about being heard, but about what we're saying. Are we truly ready to confront our own imperfections? Are we willing to do the hard work of self-reflection and change? Maybe, just maybe, that's the prayer God is truly waiting to hear.

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