You see, David HaMelech, as I mentioned last week, had a difficult life. Things went really wrong in his life. Things went really wrong for some of his children. Two of his sons rebelled. One was killed; one rebelled against him, and one against Shlomo. Things went really wrong. He also committed what is probably considered the most famous individual sin in the history of the Jewish people. That’s the story of David and Bathsheba.
Now, I don’t even know if I’m allowed to call it a sin, because the Gemara has a lot of explanation, and the commentaries spend hundreds of pages describing what happened, what was in tension, what we were thinking. So I’m not going to—but the bottom line is that, as an individual blemish in Jewish history, it is the most well-known.
That kind of story would weaken anybody. Anybody would go under from a story like that. But David HaMelech worked. David HaMelech did Teshuvah (repentance), and David HaMelech’s Teshuvah was accepted. Therefore, in this mizmor (chapter), he says, “Hashem, I’m going to raise you up because you held me up.” My enemies—you know who my enemies are? My enemies are not enemies. My enemies are my own brain, my own thoughts, my own defeatism, my own averageness. “You know what? Look, you messed up. You’ll never be a great person.” My enemies are never able to rejoice against me. Because you know why? Hashem, you saved me. I cried, and you healed me. You took me up from the depths. I was at the bottom. You gave me life so I wouldn’t fall into the ditch. At night, I went to sleep crying, and I woke up singing, woke up in joy. You established us like a mountain to be strong. You turned my eulogies; you turned my mourning, my sadness into dancing.
This chapter is about the swagger of a Jew, even if you make a mistake. The swagger of a Jew, even if you have a difficult phase. And that’s what’s captured. Our light shines bright, no matter what happens to the Jewish people. No matter how dark the world gets, our light shines bright. Not the lights of the Chashmonaim. Not the lights of the Gedolei Hador (great Torah scholars of the generation). Not the lights of famous people. The lights of you and me. Regular people. The lights of the average Jew.
Aromimcha Adonai ki dilitani. Hashem, I’m going to lift you up, because you did that for me. Me. Walk around with that energy, because zedim b’yad oskei Toratecha (the insolent into the hands of those engaged in Your Torah) is so powerful. So many of us are oskei Toratecha. We’re trying. We’re trying to live a Torah life. And we have zedim. We have people mocking us. Not our cousin who makes fun of us because we became more observant. It’s our own brain that makes fun of us and tells us, “You’re not that important. You look good. You’re the best.”
The Mizbeach (altar) eats like a wolf. It doesn’t even make a difference. Your prayers—you think they matter? You’re learning. You think it makes a difference? Your little advancement in tzniut (modesty)—you think it’s going to make a change in the world? You think you eat a little more kosher? You think anybody cares? You think Hashem is paying attention to the little comment you say to someone in the street? The answer is yes. Yes. Yes. I’m lifting you up because you lift me up. Because I walk around with swagger. Not because I’m a famous Jew. Because I’m a simple Jew.