You’re not alone. But maybe, just maybe, that feeling can point us toward something truly grand.
Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings interpreting the Book of Psalms, tackles this head-on in its 95th section. It begins with a powerful declaration: "For the Lord is a great God, and a great king above all gods." And then, it almost dares us to consider alternatives. "And if there are other gods, behold, he says (Deuteronomy 32:39), 'See now that I, even I, am he.'" There's a certain confidence here, a kind of all-encompassing claim to ultimate authority.
Think about that for a moment. The text isn't just asserting God's greatness; it's directly confronting the existence of other deities. And the consequences for those who choose the wrong side? Pretty stark. "Woe to the wicked who descend to Gehenna" – that's the Jewish concept of hell, by the way – "they and their gods." Ouch. As Psalm 96:5 puts it, "For all the gods of the nations are idols, but the Lord made the heavens." The contrast is clear: false gods versus the ultimate Creator.
So, what sets this God apart? Well, control, for one. "He has in his hand the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also." It’s not just about owning things, but understanding them completely. The Midrash offers this beautiful analogy: if you tell an earthly king, “The sea is yours,” he couldn’t possibly know how many measures of water it contains. But the Holy One, blessed be He, can say the sea is His because He made it and knows everything about it. As we find in Isaiah 40:12: "Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand?" Blessed be He who has the sea. It’s a potent image of divine mastery.
But then comes a shift. What does God want from us? Conquest? Sacrifice? Nope. "And what does He ask of you? To bow down in worship, as it says, 'Come, let us bow down and bend the knee.'" It’s an invitation to humility, to recognizing our place in the grand scheme of things. "For He is the Lord our God, and we are His people, and the sheep of His pasture."
That image of sheep is key. When are we His people? "When we are the sheep of His pasture," the text clarifies, referencing Ezekiel 34:31: "And ye my flock, the flock of my pasture, are men." It's about gentleness, about being guided. But what happens when we stray from that path? The Midrash doesn't shy away from the tough stuff. "But when we are like lions, He hates us," it warns, quoting Jeremiah 12:8: "My heritage is unto me as a lion in the forest." That raw, untamed power, that ferocity… it creates distance.
So, what are we left with? Perhaps it’s a call to recognize both the immensity of the Divine and our own, often humbling, place within it. It’s an invitation to choose humility over arrogance, guidance over self-reliance. To be, in essence, sheep rather than lions. And maybe, just maybe, in that act of bowing down, we find a connection to something far greater than ourselves. What do you think?