When I think about my Bubby, Rebbetzin Fruma Kohn a”h, my mental image is of her reciting T’hilim. Until her last years, she would read the entire T’hilim every week. No doubt, I and my family have benefited tremendously from those repeated recitations.
Someone once presented the Chofetz Chaim with the T’hilim of his mother. The Chofetz Chaim caressed its pages and, with tears in his eyes, remarked, “Who knows how many tears my mother shed over this T’hilim that I be a faithful Jew.”
The Gemara (Sanhedrin 92b) relates that when N’vuchadnetzar witnessed Michael, Chananyah, and Azariah emerge unscathed from the furnace he had them cast into, he was overwhelmed. At that moment, he began to recite beautiful words of praise to Hashem. His words were so magnificent that if an angel had not slapped him, his praises would have put to shame the praises and songs of David HaMelech in T’hilim.
If N’vuchadnetzar uttered beautiful praises, why was it fair that he be silenced just because he was going to upend the praises of T’hilim?
The Kotzker Rebbe explained that the greatness of T’hilim is not due to its ornate prose and distinct vernacular. In that regard, it’s very possible that N’vuchadnetzar was more eloquent than David HaMelech. The greatness of T’hilim and the reason David is called “sweet singer of Yisrael” is because he never stopped calling out to and praising Hashem. Even during difficult times of persecution and challenge, and even when David suffered personal adversity and national defeat, he never stopped calling out to Hashem.
The only way to measure whether N’vuchadnetzar’s praises were greater than David’s would be by seeing what happened when N’vuchadnetzar received a slap. When David suffered the “slaps of life,” he never ceased calling out to Hashem. Therefore, the angel slapped N’vuchadnetzar to see how he would react. When that happened, he immediately stopped praising and he began blaspheming. That was a clear demonstration that the praises of N’vuchadnetzar didn’t compare to the praises of David HaMelech.
During the early 1970s, my rebbi, Rabbi Berel Wein, directed the Orthodox Union’s kashrus department. On one occasion, he was aboard a small plane together with a shochet, flying to inspect a slaughtering house. There was terrible turbulence, and the plane was shaking violently. Rabbi Wein admitted that even for a seasoned flyer as he was, it was unnerving. Still, he tried to appear calm so as not to make the shochet nervous. The shochet, who was holding on for dear life and feverishly reciting T’hilim, looked at Rabbi Wein and quipped, “You know, even a rabbi can say T’hilim sometimes!”
Rav Shimshon Pincus explained the power of reciting T’hilim with a parable:
There was once a great and powerful king who was beloved by his subjects for his benevolence and leadership. There was a high-ranking general in the king’s army with whom the king spent a great deal of time. Over time, the king and the general developed a close-knit friendship. From security issues, they began to discuss philosophical and theological matters. They sought each other’s advice and confided with each other, and their friendship deepened.
They began to meet every day, and no one was allowed to disturb them during that time.
One day, the king was informed that a rebellion had broken out at the edge of his kingdom. Fearing that the rebellion could gain traction, the king needed someone he could trust to be absolutely loyal to him to immediately squash the rebellion. It was a painful decision, but the king realized that there was no one better for the job than his beloved friend.
The general did not hesitate, and he and the king tearfully bid each other farewell. The general was able to crush the rebellion quickly, but he had to remain there to ensure that it would not erupt again.
As time passed, the king missed his friend terribly. Then one day, a letter arrived in the mail from the general for the king. The king excitedly read the letter in which the general expressed how deeply he missed the king. The general wrote about how he thought of their daily meetings, and longed to see the king again.
Each week after that, another letter arrived in the mail, and reading them became the highlight of the king’s week. But then, after a few months, the letters stopped coming. At first, the king thought a letter or two had gotten lost in the mail. But after a month, the king nervously sent a delegation to find out what had occurred.
The delegation returned looking somber. From the look on their faces the king understood that his dear friend had died. The king was crestfallen and inconsolable. He returned to his daily affairs, but everyone around him could see that he was not himself.
A few days later, one of the king’s ministers approached his majesty, clutching a box. He explained to the king that the box contained all of the 150 letters the general had sent him. The minister asked the king’s permission for him to read one of the letters. The king agreed. As the minister passionately read the letter, eliciting the emotions from within its words, tears streaked down the king’s face. It evoked deep nostalgia from within him. At the same time, it gave the king a measure of comfort, enabling him to again feel the deep connection with his late friend.
Each week afterwards, the minister would again return to read another one of the 150 letters.
Hashem had a dear friend, as it were. David HaMelech was unyieldingly devoted to Hashem throughout his difficult life. David constantly spoke about yearning to be close to Hashem and feeling His presence.
When David left this world, no one could ever fill his shoes and relate the praises of Hashem in the same passionate manner. But David left behind 150 “letters”: the 150 chapters of T’hilim.
We begin P’sukei D’Zimrah each morning by declaring, “With the songs of David HaMelech we will praise you.” In addition, there is a beautiful t’filah customarily said before reciting T’hilim in which we ask that Hashem “turn mercifully towards the words of T’hilim that I will read, (and consider them) as if David HaMelech, peace upon him, himself uttered them…” When we recite chapters of T’hilim, we are not only reciting the words of David HaMelech, but we are also hoping that in Heaven Hashem hears the words we utter as if/when David himself recited them.
There is an old Jewish joke about a Jew running away in despair from a potentially disastrous occurrence shouting: “We can no longer rely on miracles. Therefore, let us now begin to recite T’hilim!” The truth, however, is that Jews see the recitation of T’hilim as a natural reaction to a troubled time and not only as an appeal for miracles.
The timeless words of T’hilim symbolize that no matter what the situation, one can and must always look to Hashem for guidance and salvation. The words of T’hilim reverberated joyously in the Beis HaMikdash. They were recited tearfully by our ancestors during times of persecution and pain. They are recited during times of joy and times of challenge. There is no emotion in the world not expressed in the timeless words of David HaMelech. We find expression of our innermost hopes, longings, and prayers. They grant us solace, hope, and comfort as no other words ever written can. And it is with the words of T’hilim that we will greet Mashiach very soon.
Rabbi Dani Staum, LMSW, a rebbe at Heichal HaTorah in Teaneck, New Jersey, is a parenting consultant and maintains a private practice for adolescents and adults. He is also a member of the administration of Camp Dora Golding for over two decades. Rabbi Staum was a community rabbi for ten years, and has been involved in education as a principal, guidance counselor, and teacher in various yeshivos. Rabbi Staum is a noted author and sought-after lecturer, with hundreds of lectures posted on torahanytime.com. He has published articles and books about education, parenting, and Torah living in contemporary society. Rabbi Staum can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. His website containing archives of his writings is www.stamTorah.info.
