King David knew that feeling well. Psalm 13, a cry for help, is raw with that vulnerability: "Lord, my God, look upon me and enlighten my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death..."
But what exactly is this "sleep of death?" The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, digs deep into this very verse. It frames that sleep as something influenced by "the sleep of the nations of the world." A spiritual slumber, perhaps? A forgetting?
David continues, "Lest my enemy say, 'I have prevailed over him,' lest my foes rejoice because I have stumbled." It's a plea against humiliation, against being a cautionary tale. The Midrash then imagines a dialogue. God asks David, "When are you saying these things?" And David answers with unwavering faith: "I trust in Your mercy."
He anchors that trust in the words of Psalm 13:6 itself: "But I trust in Your kindness; my heart will rejoice in Your deliverance." It’s a circular argument, beautifully so. I trust because I trust. I believe because I believe.
But David doesn't stop there. He expands on this idea of chesed, this kindness, this boundless grace. "The same kindness that is spoken of in Psalm 33:5, 'The Lord's kindness fills the earth,' and in Psalm 119:116, 'Sustain me as You promised, that I may live; do not disappoint me in my hope.'" He's reminding God – and himself – of the constant, pervasive nature of divine mercy. He even invokes Proverbs 31:26, connecting kindness with wisdom and Torah study: "'She opens her mouth with wisdom, and a lesson of kindness is on her tongue.'" For David, kindness isn’t just a feeling; it's an active principle woven into the fabric of creation and revelation.
Then comes a fascinating interpretation from Rabbi Abbahu. He calls the verse "Let my heart rejoice in Your salvation" one of the "difficult verses." Why? Because it says your salvation, not our salvation. David, in his humility, seems to be prioritizing God's glory even in his own moment of need. "Your salvation is our salvation," David clarifies. God's triumph is inextricably linked to the well-being of His people.
The Midrash doesn't stay in the Temple, though. It journeys with the Jewish people into exile. "I trust in Your mercy even in Babylon. Let my heart rejoice in Your salvation in Media." Even in the darkest of times, even when far from home, David's faith persists. It’s a powerful message of hope for anyone facing adversity.
And finally, the Midrash offers a remarkable analogy: God is like a generous host who always gives first. God says to Israel, "Pay me back for what I have done for you in this world, and I will repay you in the world to come." It’s not a demand for repayment in the strict sense, but an invitation to participate in a cycle of giving and receiving. : We pour water during the holidays, and God provides springs of water in the desert (Numbers 21:17) and will provide wine in the future (Joel 4:18). We wave the palm branch, and God makes the mountains skip like rams (Psalm 114:6) and will make the trees clap their hands in joy (Isaiah 55:12). We build the sukkah, the temporary dwelling, and God sheltered our ancestors in the desert (Leviticus 23:43) and will provide a permanent shelter from all storms (Isaiah 4:6).
"Who has preceded Me, that I should pay him back?" God asks. The answer, of course, is no one. God's generosity is the wellspring of all generosity. It all flows from God.
So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that even when we feel most vulnerable, most alone, we are never truly abandoned. That even in our "sleep of death," there is a flicker of hope, a promise of redemption. And that the kindness we show to others is not just a mitzvah, a good deed, but a participation in the very essence of the Divine. A way to sing to the Lord, because He has indeed been good to us.