That feeling, that sense of the utterly unknowable, it’s a thread that runs deep through Jewish thought. The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of interpretations on the Book of Psalms, grapples with this very idea, specifically in relation to Psalm 106. It asks, essentially, “Who can truly express or understand the Divine?”
The text draws on a passage from the Book of Job, where Zophar the Naamathite throws down the gauntlet: "Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than the heavens above—what can you do? They are deeper than the depths below—what can you know?" (Job 11:7-9). It's a stark reminder of the limits of human comprehension.
The Midrash then echoes this sentiment by referencing Exodus 15:11: "The heights of the heavens, what can you do? Deeper than Sheol [the underworld], what can you know?" Even Moses, our greatest prophet, who ascended to the heavens and received the Torah [the Five Books of Moses] directly from God, didn’t fully grasp the Divine mystery.
Rabbi Huna, quoting Rabbi Yirmeyah in the name of Rabbi Hiyya the Great, cites Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) 8:17: "No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun... Even if the wise claim they know, they cannot really comprehend it." This, the Midrash suggests, applies even to the Torah itself. We hold it, we study it, but its ultimate depths remain elusive. After all, Exodus 32:16 tells us, "The tablets were the work of God; the writing was the writing of God, engraved on the tablets." How can we, finite beings, fully grasp something so inherently Divine?
It’s like Kohelet 3:11 says: "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end." We have a sense of the infinite, a yearning for something beyond ourselves, but the full picture remains beyond our grasp.
So, who can praise Him? According to Devarim (Deuteronomy) 33:29, it is His children: "Blessed are you, Israel! Who is like you, a people saved by the Lord?" And why is that? Bereishit (Genesis) 18:19 tells us that God chose Abraham "so that he will direct his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is right and just." It’s about living a life dedicated to tzedek [righteousness] and mishpat [justice], embodying His values in the world.
The Midrash then paints a vivid scene: After the Exodus from Egypt, when the Israelites were safe and the sea had parted, the angels wanted to sing God’s praises, but they were held back. As Exodus 14:20 says, "And the angel of God... withdrew and went behind them." Why? Because the praise needed to come from the people who had experienced God’s salvation firsthand. Only they could truly understand the magnitude of the miracle. The angels, as Isaiah 6:3 tells us, are always proclaiming, "'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory.'" Their praise is constant, unwavering. But human praise, born of struggle and gratitude, carries a different weight.
God tells Moses and the Israelites, "They will praise me," referencing Exodus 15:1, the Song of the Sea. And it's not just any praise, but praise that comes from lived experience.
Rabbi Yudan adds an interesting point: earthly kings are often mocked for their perceived weaknesses. But with God, it's different. "Every time a person criticizes God, it increases his greatness." This is a radical idea! It suggests that even our doubts, our questions, our struggles with faith, paradoxically contribute to a deeper understanding of the Divine. King David echoes this sentiment in Psalms 78:4: "The praises of God will not be hidden from their children; they will tell the next generation about the Lord's praises."
So, what does it all mean? Perhaps it's this: we may never fully comprehend God, but that doesn't mean we can't praise Him. Our praise, born of our imperfect understanding, our struggles, and our triumphs, is a testament to our relationship with the Divine. And as Psalm 79:13 concludes, "We are with you, your sheep and the flock of your pasture; we give you thanks." We are part of something larger, something mysterious, and our act of giving thanks, even when we don't fully understand, is a profound act of connection.
Maybe the point isn’t to unravel the mystery, but to live within it, to praise within it, and to pass that sense of wonder on to the next generation. What do you think?