5 min read

Souls Ask Not to Be Gathered With the Wicked

David pleads not to die in the wrong company, and the Midrash answers with Egypt, Daniel, Nabal, and the terrifying specificity of judgment.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Prayer Against Wrong Company
  2. Jacob Did Not Want His Bones in Egypt
  3. Daniel Asked Not to Die With Babylon's Sorcerers
  4. Nabal's Delayed Death
  5. Those Who Stand Firm Under Attack

The Prayer Against Wrong Company

David did not only ask to live well. He asked not to die in the wrong company.

Do not gather my soul with sinners, or my life with bloodthirsty men. The request is not vague. The Midrash fills it with specific bodies, specific punishments, specific historical figures who stand as examples of what David is asking to be separated from. He is not asking for a comfortable death. He is asking heaven to distinguish, to keep the sorting that life demands alive into the moment of death, so that the soul is not swept into the fate of those whose lives and deaths were defined by what they did to others.

Jacob Did Not Want His Bones in Egypt

The first example the Midrash reaches for is Jacob. When Jacob was dying in Egypt, he made Joseph swear an oath: do not bury me there. The land that had become a house of bread for Israel had also become a house of bondage. Even the soil of Egypt was not where Jacob wanted his bones to wait for the resurrection of the dead.

That was a form of David's prayer spoken through burial instructions. Do not gather me with the place whose sins I want no part of. The physical request for bones carried back to Canaan was the same request David would make for his soul: keep me separated from what I did not choose to belong to, even in death, even when I am not in a position to make the choice myself.

Daniel Asked Not to Die With Babylon's Sorcerers

Rabbi Yochanan reads the same prayer in Daniel's mouth. When Nebuchadnezzar demanded that his wise men tell him the content of his dream and threatened to kill them all when they could not, Daniel stood in the middle of a group that included people whose entire professional identity was built on deceiving kings with false visions and star-reading. Daniel was not one of them. His gift was from God, not from the manipulation of rulers through manufactured prophecy.

He prayed not to die with them. He was in the same room, under the same decree, in the same danger. But he was not of the same kind, and the prayer was that the decree of heaven would notice the difference even when the decree of Nebuchadnezzar did not.

God revealed the dream to Daniel. He lived. The distinction was made.

Nabal's Delayed Death

The Midrash brings in Nabal, the fool of Carmel who insulted David and then dropped dead ten days later when he learned how close he had come to destruction. The timing matters. Nabal died on Sukkot, which the Midrash reads as a consequence of how he had lived. He had been given time between the insult and the death, time to reckon, time to face what he had done, time in which the separation between his fate and the fate of a wiser man was being calculated.

Some deaths are quick. Some are delayed. The delay is not mercy without cost. It is the space in which the soul's final account is being assembled, in which the gathering that David asked to be spared from is being determined.

Those Who Stand Firm Under Attack

The counterpart to this fear is the person who stands firm when enemies attack. The one who fears God does not collapse under the pressure that leads others to sin, betray, or abandon what they claimed to value. That steadiness is what separates the righteous from the sinners not only in life but at the moment of gathering.

David's prayer against wrong company was in the end a prayer to have been the kind of person whose company at the moment of death is different from the company of those who had bloodguilt and bloodthirsty purposes. The soul is gathered where it belongs. The ask is that the whole life have been a preparation for being gathered correctly.


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Midrash Tehillim 26:7Midrash Tehillim

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The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) begins by interpreting this verse in a stark, almost visceral way. "Do not gather with the sins of my soul," it says, refers to those who die by stoning or burning – the most severe punishments. "And with people of blood, my life" refers to those killed or strangled. Yikes. It's a powerful image of wanting to be separated from those who met violent ends, presumably due to their actions.

The Midrash doesn't stop there. It offers another layer of interpretation: "Another matter, these are the Egyptians." Why the Egyptians? Because, as we're reminded, Jacob, on his deathbed, implored his son Joseph, "Please do not bury me in Egypt" (Genesis 47:29). The implication? Jacob didn't want to be associated, even in death, with a land that represented oppression and spiritual impurity.

Rabbi Yochanan points out that we find this prayer – to not be gathered with the wicked – in other places too. Daniel, for instance, in the Book of Daniel (2:18), asks God to have compassion so that he and his companions "would not be destroyed" along with the Babylonian sorcerers. And then, of course, there's David’s plea in the Psalm itself. It seems a common thread runs through the prayers of the righteous: a desire to be separated from the fate of the wicked.

Rabbi Chalfata, citing Rabbi Ibu, then brings up the story of Nabal from the Book of Samuel (1 (Samuel 25:3)8): "And it came to pass about ten days later, that the Lord struck Nabal, and he died." But here’s where it gets interesting. The Midrash questions: isn't a plague supposed to last only three days? Why ten? It then launches into a fascinating breakdown of different types of death: death by anger (one day), death by panic (two days), death by plague (three days), and so on, eventually reaching "the death of love" (seven days) and "the death of suffering." A somber, yet strangely poetic, taxonomy of endings.

So, why ten days for Nabal? The Midrash suggests that Nabal’s death was connected to the seven days of mourning for Samuel the Righteous. The idea is that God delayed Nabal's death so that it wouldn't interfere with the mourning period and that Nabal wouldn't die during the plague that might accompany such a disruption. Rabbi Brechia, quoting Rabbi Samuel, adds that the "ten days" alludes to the ten days between Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) – a crucial period for repentance, or teshuvah.

The Midrash then throws in a couple of other intriguing examples. It mentions the story from 2 Kings where a man touches the bones of Elisha and is revived. He returns home, but only lives for an hour before dying and being buried elsewhere. The implication? Even though he was temporarily resurrected, his ultimate fate was determined by his actions, and he was not "gathered" with the righteous.

And what about the son of the Shunammite woman, also in 2 Kings? The text notes "And it came to pass on a certain day that he came and went into his father."

Finally, Rav Hoshaya brings up the flood in Genesis. "And it came to pass after seven days that the waters of the flood were upon the earth" (Genesis 7:10). He explains that God waited seven days, a period of mourning, for Methuselah the righteous to allow people to repent before bringing on the deluge. But they didn't. Hence, the verse "Do not gather my soul with sinners" – a plea for divine mercy and separation from the unrepentant.

What does it all mean? This passage from Midrash Tehillim isn't just about avoiding physical proximity to the wicked, it's about the ultimate destiny of our souls. It’s a call to action, a reminder that our choices have consequences, not just in this life, but perhaps in the world to come. It suggests that we have a say in who we are "gathered" with – that through repentance, through righteous actions, we can influence our final destination. Are we living a life that aligns us with the righteous? Or are we drifting towards a different kind of gathering? It’s a question worth pondering.

Full source
Midrash Tehillim 118:7Midrash Tehillim

"Fear of the Lord" – yirat Hashem – it suggests a deep reverence, a profound respect, a commitment to living in accordance with God's will. But who embodies this?

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, offers some fascinating answers. It’s not just one type of person. it weaves different threads.

First, the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) points to the household of David. King David, the poet-warrior, the shepherd turned king. (Psalm 119:63) says, "I am a companion of all who fear You." David surrounded himself with those who shared his reverence. He worried about the Ark of God dwelling in a tent while he lived in a cedar house, as we see in (2 Samuel 7:2). And what did God promise David in (Psalms 89:29-30)? An eternal dynasty, contingent on his children following God’s law. Fear of the Lord, then, is about building a legacy of devotion.

It doesn't stop there. The Midrash then turns to Pinchas. Remember Pinchas? He took decisive action against Zimri, stopping a plague and zealously defending God's honor. (Numbers 25:11) tells us that Pinchas "turned back my wrath from the people of Israel." And God's reward? "My covenant of peace," a perpetual priesthood for him and his descendants (Numbers 25:12). Pinchas shows us that fearing the Lord sometimes means taking a stand, even a difficult or unpopular one, for what is right.

And what about those who weren't born into the tradition? The Midrash includes converts in this category. Abraham himself is cited: "Now I know that you fear God," God says in (Genesis 22:12), after Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac. And then there's Obadiah, from (1 Kings 18:3), who "feared the Lord greatly." Rabbi Chanina even suggests that Obadiah's praise is greater than Abraham's or Joseph's because the word "greatly" is used to describe his fear. Converts, those who choose to embrace God's path, exemplify a profound kind of yirat Hashem.

Finally, the Midrash mentions Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah – Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego as they're known in English. These three refused to bow down to Nebuchadnezzar's idol and were thrown into a fiery furnace, only to be saved by God. (Isaiah 43:5) promises, "Fear not, for I am with you." These figures, saved from the fire, represent unwavering faith in the face of immense pressure.

So, what does it all mean? The Midrash paints a many-sided picture. Fearing the Lord isn't just one thing. It's about building a righteous house like David. It's about courageous action like Pinchas. It's about embracing faith like converts. It's about unwavering trust like Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. And as (Psalm 103:17) reminds us, "But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him." This love, this protection, extends not just in this world, but into the world to come.

The Midrash suggests that "those who fear the Lord" are not a select few, but rather a diverse group united by their commitment to living a life of reverence, action, faith, and love. And maybe, just maybe, that includes you and me.

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