That feeling of hope against the odds… it’s a deeply human experience, one that echoes through the ages, and it’s at the heart of this passage from Midrash Tehillim 119.
Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic commentaries on the Book of Psalms, often takes a single verse and unpacks its meaning, drawing connections to other parts of the Hebrew Bible. It's like a conversation across generations, a way of finding new relevance in ancient words.
In this particular passage, the verse "Remember the word that you spoke to your servant, for it has given me hope," is the starting point. The Midrash then pulls in a rather harsh quote from Jeremiah (5:3): "O Lord, do not your eyes look for truth? You have struck them down, but they felt no anguish; you have consumed them, but they refused to take correction. They have made their faces harder than rock; they have refused to repent." It's a bleak picture of a people seemingly incapable of learning from their mistakes.
But here's where it gets interesting. God, in response to Jeremiah's lament, asks, "Where is that truth that Abraham believed in?" This is a pivotal question. Where is that unwavering faith that Abraham, the patriarch, demonstrated when he "believed in the Lord," as Genesis 15:6 tells us?
The connection is then made: David, the speaker in Psalms, is echoing that same faith. He's asking God to remember the promise, the same promise made to Abraham. What was that promise? "I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky" (Genesis 22:17). It’s a promise of posterity, of a future, of hope. That’s why David says, “For you have given me hope.”
This promise isn't just some abstract idea; it's a source of consolation in suffering. It’s also connected to Moses' words in Exodus 32:13, "I will give you all the land I promised to Abraham and his descendants forever." The promise of the land, the promise of a future – all intertwined and reinforcing each other.
But there’s a challenge, isn’t there? "The arrogant mock me excessively," the passage continues. It speaks to the experience of being ridiculed, of being told that the promises of God are empty, that the exile is permanent. "The one who exiled you has not yet brought you back," the mockers sneer. They even quote Lamentations 3:46, gloating, "Aha! Aha! Look at us!" They proclaim among the nations that the Jewish people will never live in peace.
And yet, despite this mocking, despite this apparent hopelessness, the speaker declares, "Nevertheless, I have not turned away from your law." There's a steadfastness here, a refusal to abandon faith even in the face of overwhelming adversity. The mockers try to erode tradition, urging, "Don't be like yesterday and don't keep the Sabbath, and don't read." But the speaker refuses, saying, "But I am afraid of you, and I do not listen to them, for their words are like dry grass."
This is a powerful image: dry grass. It’s ephemeral, fleeting, without substance. In contrast, the passage quotes Isaiah 40:8: "The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever." Just as you endure forever, so do your words.
What does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that promises, especially those rooted in faith, can be a source of strength even when circumstances seem bleak. The Midrash shows us how to draw on the stories of our ancestors, like Abraham and Moses, to find hope and resilience in the face of adversity. It's a call to hold fast to our traditions, even when the world around us tries to pull us away. Because, like the enduring word of God, those traditions can offer a grounding, a stability, that the fleeting trends of the world simply cannot provide.