Jewish tradition certainly acknowledges that precariousness, that sense of impending doom. It even has a word for it: lulei.

Lulei. It means "were it not." But it carries so much more weight than just those simple words. It’s a recognition that we are constantly on the edge, that destruction is always a possibility, that only something – or Someone – is holding us back.

The text from Sifrei Devarim, a collection of legal midrashim on the Book of Deuteronomy, grapples with this very idea. God says, "I will wipe their memory from mankind." A chilling thought, isn’t it? Total annihilation. But then the text throws us a lifeline: "But what can I do to them?"

This isn’t a sign of weakness, mind you. It's a recognition of the divine restraint, the conscious choice not to destroy. What holds back that destructive force? Lulei.

The text then quotes Psalm 124:1-2: "'Lulei, were it not for the L-rd who was with us,' let Israel now say. 'Lulei for the L-rd who was with us when (evil) men assailed us…'" Think about that for a moment. The Psalmist isn’t just offering thanks after the storm has passed. They're actively acknowledging that divine presence was the only thing that prevented utter devastation.

And it’s not a one-time thing. We see the same theme echoed in Psalm 106:23: "And He thought to destroy them lulei Moses, His chosen one…" Here, it’s Moses, interceding on behalf of the people, that stays God's hand. Moses, standing as a barrier between divine wrath and human frailty.

But it gets even more interesting. The Sifrei Devarim continues: "Were it not ('lulei') that the anger of the foe was stored up (agur)." Agur, meaning "stored up," suggests a hidden, simmering resentment. What caused Israel to be punished by these nations? The fact that their anger was stored up, concealed behind a facade of friendliness.

So, it’s not just about external threats. It’s about the internal rot, the hidden animosity that festers beneath the surface. The nations’ suppressed rage became the instrument of Israel’s punishment. A chilling reminder that unresolved conflict, even when masked, can have devastating consequences.

What does this all mean for us today?

Perhaps it’s a call to recognize the fragility of our own existence, both individually and collectively. To acknowledge the forces that constantly threaten to overwhelm us, and to actively seek out the divine presence, the "lulei," that holds them at bay.

Maybe it's also a reminder to be honest about our own feelings. To not let anger and resentment fester, to address conflicts openly and honestly before they become destructive forces.

Ultimately, the concept of lulei invites us to reflect on the delicate balance between destruction and preservation, between divine judgment and divine mercy. It’s a reminder that we are not alone, but also that we have a responsibility to act justly and compassionately, lest we invite the very forces that threaten to consume us. What’s your "lulei"?