And he wasn’t necessarily comfortable with it.

Psalm 139 is a powerful meditation on God’s omnipresence and omniscience. And Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Psalms, really digs into one particular verse: "For there is no word on my tongue..." (Psalm 139:4). What does it mean that there’s no word on David's tongue because God already knows everything?

The Midrash imagines David speaking directly to the Almighty: "You know when I sit and when I rise; You discern my thoughts from afar… Even before I speak, You know all about it. You have hemmed me in from behind and in front; You have laid Your hand upon me" (Psalm 139:4-5). It’s an image of total, inescapable awareness.

This idea isn't unique to the Psalms. The Midrash draws parallels to other biblical texts. Remember Job, wrestling with unimaginable suffering? Even there, we find echoes of this divine scrutiny. "For now You count my steps," Job says (14:16), "You keep watch over my feet without even scrutinizing my behavior." It's not just about what we do, but about the very act of existing. And not just from now, the Midrash continues, but from before Job was even born (Job 31:18), “Or like a newborn infant who has not seen the light: before I go where I will not return.”

Consider the prophet Jeremiah. God tells him, "Before I formed you in the belly, I knew you; and before you came forth from the womb, I sanctified you" (Jeremiah 1:5). It's a staggering thought: that our lives are known, even ordained, before we take our first breath.

But the Midrash doesn’t shy away from the tension this creates. It even brings in the story of King Hezekiah, who raged against God. God's response is… well, rather colorful: "Because you have raged against Me and your arrogance has reached My ears, I will put My hook in your nose and My bit in your mouth, and I will turn you back on the way you came" (2 Kings 19:28).

And the Midrash imagines Hezekiah retorting, almost exasperated, "O foolish one, what do you think? Don't you know everything unless you hear it?" (Isaiah 37:28). The implication? That God’s knowledge shouldn’t depend on our actions or words.

It all circles back to that initial verse. "There is no word on my tongue..." The Midrash concludes: "There is no psalm, there is no eternal melody, there is no song that I will say that is not already revealed before You."

So, what are we to make of this? Is it comforting to know that we are so thoroughly known? Or is it unsettling? Perhaps it’s both.

The genius of the Midrash lies in its ability to hold these conflicting ideas in tension. It acknowledges the awe-inspiring, sometimes overwhelming, reality of divine omniscience. It reminds us that even our most private thoughts, our unspoken prayers, our deepest fears – they are all known. And, maybe, in that knowing, there is a profound and unexpected intimacy. Because if we are truly seen, then we are also, perhaps, truly understood. And that’s a powerful thought indeed.