We often think of praise 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 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). Think about that for a moment. 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 testament to 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.