The passage opens with an intriguing idea: prayer itself as judgment. David, contemplating his own mortality and the possibility of divine judgment, seems to be saying, "If my judgment comes on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, I can't bear it!" But, he continues, because he recites the Shema, the central Jewish prayer affirming God's oneness, and follows it with other prayers, "my judgment will come before you." What does this mean?

The Rabbis then offer a fascinating shift: "The king neither judges nor is judged." But Rabbi Yochanan counters, saying David reasoned before God, "I am a king and you are a king, it is fitting for a king to judge a king." Hence, "My judgment will come before you." A bold statement of accountability and relationship!

The text then takes a turn, discussing angels. When God sends an angel before Israel, the Torah tells us to "beware of him" (Exodus 23:20-21). Why? Midrash Tehillim asks, "Why is the name of God engraved on the hearts of angels like an Istiritigos?" (That's a tough word – it seems to refer to some kind of mark or inscription.) The answer lies in verses like Psalm 68:18, "The chariots of God are myriads upon myriads; the Lord is among them." Angels like Michael and Gabriel bear God's name, signifying their divine mission.

So why the warning to "beware?" The Midrash explains that even though an angel acts as God's messenger, ultimately only God can grant exemptions or show mercy. David understands this: "There is no one else but you who can exempt, but from you judgments come forth."

Then, Rabbi Yehuda brings us to another pivotal moment: David's census. Remember the story? David, against God's will, counts the Israelite people (2 Samuel 24). This act incurs divine anger. As Rabbi Yehuda recounts, David essentially says, "I didn't say they shouldn't be counted, and now You are casting them away?" God sends the prophet Gad with a terrible choice: three years of famine, three months of fleeing enemies, or three days of plague.

David is distraught. He understands the implications of each choice. A famine will be seen as a reflection on his wealth. War will showcase his and his army's strength. He needs something that impacts everyone equally. Gad, the prophet, subtly suggests he clarify the matter with God. David's response? "Let me fall now into the hand of the Lord, for His mercies are very great; but do not let me fall into the hand of man" (2 Samuel 24:14).

It’s a powerful, raw plea. He'd rather face God's direct judgment than the cruelty of human hands.

Even though David chose the plague, God's mercy prevailed. According to Rabbi Tanchuma, the Ten Commandments, the Patriarchs, the Torah, and more all pleaded for an hour each, ultimately reducing the plague's duration. Even with that intervention, seventy thousand people perished. Some say Abishai ben Zeruiah, a mighty warrior, fell, his death equaling the loss of seventy thousand ordinary Israelites.

The story culminates with Gad instructing David to build an altar on the threshing floor of Araunah the Jebusite (2 Samuel 24:18). The Midrash offers a striking parable: a father strikes his son, then tells him to do something he'd neglected earlier. Similarly, the thousands who died in David's time perished, in part, because they neglected the building of the Temple.

The Midrash ends with a poignant reflection: If those who didn't build the Temple were punished, how much more so those who have seen its destruction and don't mourn or seek its rebuilding? This leads to the practice of praying three times daily for the return of God's presence to Zion and the restoration of worship in Jerusalem. The blessing "Who builds Jerusalem" is included in prayers and grace after meals.

David, realizing the weight of his actions and the extent of God's mercy, understands that his judgments are ultimately revealed "before You," before God.

So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder of the power of prayer, the importance of accountability, and the ever-present need for mercy, both from God and from each other. It also emphasizes the enduring hope for restoration, for a rebuilt Jerusalem, and for a world where God's presence is once again fully revealed. It's a tall order, but a worthy aspiration.