That's the raw emotion pouring out of this passage from Mitpachat Sefarim, a text whose name literally means "Wrapping of Books." It’s a passionate, almost desperate plea, a defense against accusations leveled against the author’s relationship with, and understanding of, the holy Zohar.

The Zohar, for those unfamiliar, is a foundational text of Jewish mysticism, or Kabbalah. It's a complex, often enigmatic work filled with symbolism and hidden meanings. So, imagine someone questioning your connection to such a profound and important text.

The author begins by exclaiming, almost incredulously, why this argument has even arisen: “Heaven forbid that anyone should engage in a dispute in the holy Zohar, may it be praised.” What does he gain from such a perceived sin? He insists the Zohar is not a source of oppression, but rather “the light of my eyes in the fear of the Lord.” It’s the source of his inspiration, his wellspring.

He continues, deeply wounded by the insults of his "slanderers." He feels spiritually shattered, echoing the Psalmist’s cry, "Where is your God?" (Psalm 42:3, 10). He feels trapped, unable to nourish himself, alone in a desolate place. He laments that he sees "no savior... no one to come to my aid."

But even in this despair, he resolves to speak, even if it only provides a moment's relief. He trusts that his "judges," those who have plundered his soul, will be enough.

He vehemently denies using his devotion to the Lord for personal gain. He hasn’t “put flesh on my arm,” meaning he hasn't used his religious observance to advance himself. He insists he has cast off such temptations, choosing instead to follow a covenant, echoing the prophet Isaiah’s words (Isaiah 2:22) about not relying on mortals. His hope is solely in God.

He trusts in the “God of truth,” and says that truth itself is his desire, and faithfulness his "betrothed," a beautiful metaphor. He finds solace in his spiritual heritage, “consoled by our mother’s womb,” a powerful image of comfort and belonging.

Even knowing that God is a righteous judge, and facing many enemies in his old age, he insists he has not rendered judgment without justice. He is not deceitful, he has not denied the Most High. "In Him, I will trust, He will strengthen His redemption."

He acknowledges that "the righteous one in the place of the wicked" can be a difficult thing to find, and that the deceitful can sometimes prosper. He has faced his own "pit like mud," a long-standing struggle.

Yet, he finds strength in God's past deliverance. Even now, after being relieved from enemies, and saved from the "mouth of the lion," he remembers the power of those who rose against him, who were "much stronger than me," reduced to "nothing and zero" by God's power. They were men of violence and deceit, but they were ultimately defeated.

The passage concludes with a powerful image of triumph: "They were trampled like thorns in the name of the Lord, for I have consumed them. They were all like straw." A vivid picture of divine justice and the ultimate victory of truth.

Ultimately, this excerpt from Mitpachat Sefarim is a testament to the power of faith in the face of adversity. It's a reminder that even in our darkest moments, when we feel most alone and misunderstood, we can find strength in our connection to something greater than ourselves. It leaves us pondering: what sacred texts, what beliefs, would we defend with such unwavering passion?