The ancient rabbis grappled with this feeling too, especially when thinking about our relationship with the land and with God. Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, explores this very idea.
One particular interpretation of the verse "The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it" (Psalm 24:1) uses a parable to unpack this complex concept. Imagine a king with a beloved son living in one of his cities. The people revere the son because, well, he’s the prince! The king himself also honors his son. All is right with the world.
But then, the king sells his city to another ruler! Suddenly, criminals start disrespecting the king's son. Distressed, the son appeals to his father for help. Eventually, the king reclaims his city, and his son is once again honored. The king then declares, "Now you truly see that I am his son!"
So, what does this all mean? In this parable, the king represents God. The city is God's land – our world. And the son? That's David, the king of Israel. As long as the land was understood to belong to God, David was honored as the leader, the shepherd of the people.
But, according to this midrash, God seemingly "sold" the land. This is referenced in Ezekiel 30:12: "And I will make the rivers dry, and sell the land into the hand of the wicked." Think of times of exile, of oppression, of feeling abandoned. During those times, the "criminals" – those who opposed God's will – began to disrespect David, as we see in 1 Kings 12:16: "What share have we in David?"
But there's hope! The midrash continues, drawing on Hosea 3:5: "Afterward the children of Israel shall return, and seek the Lord their God and David their king." When God "buys back" the land for his son, the people will return to God and seek their king, David. This, the midrash concludes, is why it is said: "The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it." It is a reminder that ultimately, dominion reverts to its rightful owner.
The Midrash Tehillim offers another, equally compelling analogy. Think of a ship. Usually, either you own the ship, but not the cargo, or you own the cargo, but not the ship itself. But God? God owns both the ship (the earth) and the cargo (everything in it)! It's a complete and total ownership.
The midrash drives home the point with a striking image: A human can build a house, say, fifty cubits wide. But when they try to make it larger, a hundred cubits, it seems almost...smaller, somehow. Like it's stretched too thin. But God? God didn't create the earth and then fill it later. No, God filled it as it was created! As Isaiah 6:3 proclaims, "The whole earth is full of His glory."
The text then shifts to the role of music and prophecy. We learn from Rabbi Eliezer that "Every section that David said about himself, he said on behalf of all Israel." So, when David speaks in the singular, he speaks for himself; when he speaks in the plural, he speaks for all of Israel. Furthermore, any mention of "For the conductor, with instruments" refers to the future – a messianic time, perhaps? And whenever it says "A psalm of David," it is because David would play first, and then the Ruach HaKodesh (רוּחַ הַקֹּדֶשׁ), the Holy Spirit, would rest upon him.
The midrash emphasizes that the Shechinah (שְׁכִינָה), the Divine Presence, doesn't rest upon someone who is sad, lazy, foolish, or dealing with trivialities. Instead, it rests because of joy. As we see in 2 Kings 3:15, "Now bring me a musician," and when the musician played, the Lord's hand came upon him.
So, what can we take away from all this? Perhaps it's a reminder that even when things seem out of our control, even when the "city" feels sold to another, the ultimate ownership, the ultimate source of joy and inspiration, remains with God. And that through music, through prayer, through connecting to something larger than ourselves, we can tap into that Divine Presence and find our way back to the "king's son" within us.