'Tis the Jewish month of Elul, a time of introspection and preparing for the upcoming Jewish New Year. One of the traditional Jewish practices is the daily recitation of Psalm 27. It is intriguing for me because this is a newer practice in Judaism, one that is first mentioned by 18th century Rabbi Ya'akov Emden in the year 1745. Given the overall structure of the Psalm, I also wonder why this particular psalm is recited in Elul.
The Psalm starts off with assurance in which the psalmist declares that G-d is his light and salvation and seems to fear no man (Psalm 27:1). He is confident that his enemies will fall (27:2) and that G-d will protect him from calamity (27:5). The psalmist keeps his cool in the face of danger, acting as if nothing can harm him.
However, that confidence dissipates by Verse 9 when he pleads to G-d that He does not hide His presence from the Psalmist. The psalmist becomes abandoned by his parents (27:10) and he becomes surrounded by enemies (27:11). He is so fearful that he is begging that he is not overtaken by his enemies (27:12). The psalmist contemplates the worst: being crushed. In spite of this adversity, the psalmist sees the goodness of G-d. His faith remains intact, but it is not the same sense of faith as it was at the beginning of the psalm.
The form of faith presented in Psalm 27 is in contrast to how other religions portray faith as an unquestioning, blind belief in a deity. If faith were meant to be that simplistic, Psalm 27 would be nothing more than an unambiguous, unwavering declaration of G-d's existence, strength, and kindness. If that is what faith is meant to be, why does the psalmist beg that G-d does not hide His presence when dealing with adversity?
Yet the psalmist expressed doubt through that plea in Psalm 27. In a previous Psalm, there is even a cry in which the psalmist asks why G-d has forsaken him and why G-d remains silent in the psalmist's suffering (Psalm 22:2-3). In Psalm 13:2, the psalmist wonders if G-d will forget him forever. The Psalmist is depressed in Psalms 43 and is grieving while expressing doubt in Psalm 6. The psalmist has emotional ups and downs throughout the Psalms. The wide array of emotions is one of the aspects that makes the Psalms such a poignant and timeless religious text.
Unblinding, unquestioning faith is not only immature, but it is unsustainable when it collides with reality. It requires hubris to assume you have all the right answers and cognitive dissonance to deny the reality that G-d Himself created. In verse 27:13, the psalmist makes an "if statement" that he does not complete with a corresponding "then statement." This would imply that the confidence in the first stanza (Psalm 22:1-6) and the anxiety of the second stanza (Psalm 22:7-12) resulted in an incomplete expression of faith in the last two verses.
I think it makes sense given how we are never the same when tragedy strikes in our lives. How we look at the world afterwards changes. Such a shift is part of the process of being human, even for those who are as holy and revered as Mother Theresa. I have gone through this process myself. My Judaism looks different now than it was when I was a young adult as a result: much more doubt than my youthful years. Short of developing a case of amnesia, we do not get a fresh start because we carry those experiences with us, which is why we cannot go back to the more youthful version of faith or confidence we might have had.
As Psalm 27 illustrates, authentic faith does not mean belief without question. There are moments in which faith is wavering, in which we can question G-d's omnipotence, benevolence, or even His very existence. The psalmist does not develop faith by denying reality or wishful thinking. His faith comes through doubt, effort, grappling, and open communication. Psalm 27 ends neither with fear nor complete confidence. As Professor Benjamin Sommer brings up, the Psalm ends with hope, which is a more moderate, even-keel approach in comparison to the psalmist's previous experiences.
By dealing with the realities of sadness, betrayal, and abandonment, the psalmist learned to live with the tension between a belief in G-d and the reality of an exceptionally imperfect world. One can oscillate between confidence and doubt while remaining faithful. That is called steadfastness. Faith is not about a "grin and bear it" approach in which we do not disparage. It is acceptable and desirable to bring everything to the table to be honest with where one is at. This gives the opportunity for a more authentic and dynamic relation with G-d. It does not come easy and unquestionably. Having faith means making the choice to believe in spite of that emotional baggage, doubt, trauma, apprehension, and injustice in the world.
And maybe that is why this Psalm daily during the month of Elul became a practice to prepare for the Jewish New Year. Jewish tradition teaches that our lives hang in the balance during the Days of Awe. I do not take it literally, but I do take it seriously. It is a time of year that one worries about their fate and supplication to G-d is a major aspect of these holidays. Both the High Holidays and Psalm 27 encapsulate the hope that we make it.
At least in this life, none of us make it at the end. Due to our mortality, I believe that we are meant to make the most of what time we do have. When the Psalmist says that we are meant to dwell in the House of the Lord (Beit Hashem) all of his days, we are meant to sanctify our lives in a way where every place can become a Beit Hashem (R. Sampson Raphael Hirsch). By taking that authentic faith and moving forward with action, we can develop a deeper relationship with G-d than blind belief ever could provide.
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