Everyone wants the rewards of alignment. Far fewer people want the roots that make it possible.

Chazal teach that there is not an absolute division between the first two chapters of Tehillim. Perek Aleph and Perek Beis are, in some sense, one unit. The Gemara1 notes that this unit begins with אשרי and ends with אשרי, Perek Aleph begins with אשרי האיש, and Perek Beis concludes with אשרי כל חוסי בו.

The Gemara continues that any mizmor of Tehillim that begins with אשרי and ends with אשרי was especially beloved to Dovid HaMelech. Tosafos2 asks why Chazal state this as a general rule if this is the only place in Tehillim that follows that exact pattern.

The Rashba3 explains that the point is broader. It does not have to be specifically אשרי. Rather, when a section concludes in the same way that it begins, it creates a fuller form of praise. The Rashba adds that this is the basis for the structure of many berachos, whose endings reflect their openings.

The Chasam Sofer4 adds that this pattern is embedded in the Torah itself. The Torah opens with בראשית, which contains the letters of אשרי, and closes with ישראל, which also contains the letters of אשרי. In other words, אשרי frames these opening perakim of Tehillim, as well as Chamisha Chumshei Torah.

The Ben Yehoyada5 explains the deeper meaning of אשרי. The letters of אשרי can be rearranged to spell ראשי, “my head.” The head symbolizes chochma, and life is drawn from chochmah, as the pasuk says, והחכמה תחיה בעליה. The Ben Yehoyada brings from the Arizal that illness comes through a withdrawal of the light of chochmah from a person. Therefore, when Dovid HaMelech opened and closed mizmorim with אשרי, he was drawing down the light of chochmah, which is the source of life.

This is especially fitting for Dovid, who constantly sought life because לית ליה מגרמיה כלום, he had nothing of his own. He therefore cried, in a sense, ראשי ראשי, drawing from the light of chochmah through the word אשרי. The Ben Yehoyada adds that this is why Tehillim is uniquely associated with drawing life and healing to the sick.

He then answers Tosafos’ question and explains that when Chazal said the mizmor “ends with אשרי” does not have to mean the actual end of the mizmor. Rather, the point is that אשרי appears twice within the same section. That repetition itself shows that the section was beloved. He gives examples from Perek 32, where the perek begins אשרי נשוי פשע כסוי חטאה and then continues אשרי אדם לא יחשוב ה׳ לו עון, and from Perek 119, which begins אשרי תמימי דרך and continues אשרי נצרי עדתיו.

This itself suggests that the opening and closing אשרי are a key to understanding the unique structure of these two perakim. It frames these two perakim as a movement of life. Perek Aleph describes the person rooted in Torah, drawing life like a tree planted by streams of water. Perek Beis shows what happens when that life-force is challenged by everything that wants to cut it off from its source.

The Be’er Avraham, Rav Avraham ben HaGra, explains this division in the name of his father, the Vilna Gaon. Dovid begins Tehillim by speaking about alignment on the individual level. He describes the person who does not follow the advice of the wicked, does not stand in the path of sinners, and does not sit among scoffers. He becomes rooted, like a tree planted by streams of water.

Perek Beis then moves from the individual to the global, from micro to macro. Once spiritual alignment enters the world, it does not remain private. It begins to shape a people, and anything that shapes Klal Yisrael will eventually be opposed by the nations around them.

The Meiri makes a similar point from a different angle. He explains that this does not mean that the two chapters are literally one mizmor. In all accurate texts of Tehillim throughout history, he notes, they appear as two separate chapters. Rather, Chazal mean that they form one thematic unit. Perek Beis grows out of Perek Aleph.

In the first mizmor, we explained that the central theme is spiritual alignment. At first glance, that does not seem to fit Perek Beis, which speaks about raging nations, kings, rulers, rebellion, and war.

I would suggest that Dovid is showing us two sides of the same reality.

Perek Aleph describes the side of alignment that can be seen. It is the person who becomes like a tree planted by streams of water. He has fruit and leaves, so his life produces something real.

Perek Beis reveals the side that is not immediately visible. While a tree grows upward, it also grows downward. Before it can stand tall above the ground, it must send roots deep beneath the surface. Those roots are hidden, but they are resilient and are what allow the tree to survive the wind, the storm, and even the axe. A tree may be cut down, but if the roots remain alive, it can grow again.

Dovid understood that alignment is not only a revealed state. It is also hidden rootedness. It exists in the visible world of action, speech, and personality, but it also exists in the inner world of attachment, emotion, and spiritual structure. This can be understood through the language of the sefiros, or in simpler human terms, through the inner life of a person who remains connected even when external forces rise against him.

The Meiri brings a deeper understanding of this mizmor before turning to what he considers the more literal meaning, which follows the events of Dovid’s life. According to this first reading, Perek Beis is not only about nations and kings outside of us, it is about the forces that oppose alignment itself.

Perek Aleph ends by telling us that ודרך רשעים תאבד, the way of the wicked will perish. Perek Beis begins by showing us what wickedness does before it disappears - it gathers together to plot different ways to disrupt the alignment between Hashem and His children.

There are three ways to understand the resistance to this alignment as described in our perek. From an inner perspective, it describes the forces that resist alignment within the person himself. From a historical perspective, it describes the nations who rose against Dovid HaMelech after he became king. Finally, from the future-redemption perspective, it describes Gog u’Magog and the final rebellion against Hashem and His Mashiach.

Let us take it one at a time. The Meiri explains the inner perspective.

למה רגשו גוים ולאמים יהגו־ריק. יתיצבו  מלכי־ארץ ורוזנים נוסדו־יחד על־ה׳ ועל־משיחו

The perek begins:

למה רגשו גוים
“Why have the nations gathered?”

The Meiri explains this as follows, since the path of wisdom has already been laid out in Perek Aleph, why do those who chase the successes of this world become so agitated? These are the people called מלכי ארץ, “kings of the earth,” because their entire world is built around earthly success. They pursue power, status, control, and the imagined permanence of this world.

When they attain these imagined successes, they begin to speak על ה׳ ועל משיחו, against Hashem and against His Mashiach. According to the Meiri, משיחו refers to the perfected chacham, the spiritually complete person who is anointed with Hashem’s holy oil.

This person is called anointed because he carries a higher calling. He is not living randomly nor is he simply reacting to life. He has been drawn into the service of Hashem and shaped by it.

The world resists a person who is aligned because the world is built on misalignment. Often, an aligned person does not need to say a word. His very existence exposes the emptiness of a life built only on appetite, ambition, and ego. This emptiness is what the mizmor is referring to - ולאומים יהגו ריק

This is a direct continuation of Perek Aleph. There, Dovid described the rasha as chaff blown by the wind. Here, he describes what that chaff sounds like before the wind carries it away. They may sound powerful and appear successful. But if their entire world is severed from Hashem, then beneath all the noise is emptiness.

There is something about a truly rooted person that unsettles the unrooted.

The nations therefore say:

ננתקה את־מוסרותימו ונשליכה ממנו עבתימו. יושב בשמים ישחק אדני ילעג־למו. אז ידבר אלימו באפו ובחרונו יבהלמו. ואני נסכתי מלכי על־ציון הר־קדשי.

They go so far as to say:

ננתקה את מוסרותימו
“Let us tear off their restraints.”

The Meiri explains that this means casting off the yoke of Malchus Shamayim and the yoke of mitzvos.

In other words, the resistance is to the idea of believing in Hashem as well as the idea that a person’s life is supposed to be tied to something above himself.

The fantasy of freedom is having no yoke. The tragedy is becoming chaff.

This is not exactly an ancient problem. A lot of people today are allergic to authority. They do not want anyone telling them what to do, but more than that, they do not want to belong deeply enough for anyone to have the right to challenge them. They do not want a rav or a rebbe. They prefer a minyan over a shul, because a minyan asks very little of you. You can show up, daven, leave, and remain untouched. Nobody has to know you, guide you, correct you, or ask whether the version of yourself you are protecting is actually the person you are meant to become.

There is something deeply familiar about ננתקה את מוסרותימו. It is the inner voice that says, “I do not want to be tied down. I do not want to answer to anything higher than my own will.”

Dovid HaMelech teaches the opposite. A person with no ties may seem free, but he is loose, movable, and eventually weightless. A tree is not alive despite its roots, but because of them. The roots may seem like they trap the tree, while in truth they hold it in place, feed it, and allow it to survive the wind.

The same is true of Torah and mitzvos. They are not ropes that trap the soul. They are the rooted attachments that keep a person connected to Hashem, to purpose, to truth, and to his own deepest self. Some people see those ties as something to tear away. Dovid sees them as the source of life.

That is why Hashem’s response is laughter:

יושב בשמים ישחק
“He Who sits in Heaven laughs.”

The Meiri explains this as a metaphor. Hashem laughs because their success is not real success and their power is not real power. It is temporary, fragile, and absurd. It is a branch declaring independence from the tree.

In the end:

אז ידבר אלימו באפו ובחרונו יבהלמו
“Then He will speak to them in His anger, and in His fury He will terrify them.”

And then Hashem says about the perfected person:

ואני נסכתי מלכי על־ציון הר־קדשי
“I have installed My king upon Zion, My holy mountain.”

According to this first pshat in the Meiri, this refers to the perfected person, the one aligned with Hashem. He becomes connected to ציון הר קדשי, the place of ultimate spiritual perfection.

This is the opposite of מלכי ארץ. They are kings of earth, while he is connected to the mountain of holiness. They seek imagined power, while he seeks Divine attachment. They want to tear off the restraints, while he understands that those very restraints are what make him real.

The aligned person then says:

אספרה אל חוק ה׳ אמר אלי בני אתה אני היום ילדתיך
“I will tell of the decree: Hashem said to me, ‘You are My son; today I have begotten you.’”

The Meiri explains that this refers to the perfected person’s closeness to Hashem, in the manner of the pasuk, הוא יקראני אבי אתה, “He will call Me: You are my Father”6. The language of birth is a metaphor for spiritual formation. A person who becomes aligned with Hashem begins to reflect Him according to his ability and is, in a sense, born into a new level of existence.

This is similar to the way the Tomer Devorah understands לשארית נחלתו. Klal Yisrael is not merely attached to Hashem from the outside; we are bound to Him with the closeness of she’er basar, like one’s own flesh.

This is the opposite of the earlier rebellion. The nations wanted to sever the connection with Hashem in order to become free. The aligned person discovers that real freedom comes from being formed by Hashem. He is not less himself because he is connected; he becomes more himself because he is connected.

From there, Hashem says:

שאל ממני ואתנה גוים נחלתך ואחזתך אפסי־ארץ. תרעם בשבט ברזל ככלי יוצר תנפצם. ועתה מלכים השכילו הוסרו שפטי ארץ. עבדו את־ה׳ ביראה וגילו ברעדה. נשקו־בר פן־יאנף  ותאבדו דרך כי־יבער כמעט אפו אשרי כל־חוסי בו {פ}

The Meiri explains שאל ממני, “Ask of Me,” to mean that the wise person, the truly aligned person, is able to rule over others. This does not only mean formal power, rather it means that inner alignment creates influence. A person who governs himself properly becomes capable of guiding others. Real power is not the ability to throw off restraint. Real power is the ability to be tied to the right thing so deeply that nothing lower can dominate you.

The perek then tells us that the success of those who resist Hashem will come to an end:

תרעם בשבט ברזל
“You shall break them with an iron rod.”

But even then, the perek does not end with destruction. It turns back to instruction:

ועתה מלכים השכילו הוסרו שפטי ארץ
“And now, kings, understand; be disciplined, judges of the earth.”

Even the kings of earth are told that they can still understand. They can still learn. They can still redirect themselves. As it says:

עבדו את ה׳ ביראה וגילו ברעדה
“Serve Hashem with awe, and rejoice with trembling.”

The Meiri explains this as a call to stand before Hashem with humility. Humility means recognizing that all success comes from Him and can be taken by Him.

This may also be why the pasuk holds together two emotions that seem to pull in opposite directions: עבדו את ה׳ ביראה וגילו ברעדה. Avodas Hashem is not flat. It is not joy without seriousness, and it is not fear without hope. Real closeness to Hashem means learning how to hold both at once. A person can rejoice, but that joy must know how fragile success is. He can tremble, but that trembling must still know that Hashem is near.

Joy without humility becomes ego, and ego eventually becomes rebellion.

Finally:

נשקו בר פן יאנף ותאבדו דרך כי יבער כמעט אפו אשרי כל חוסי בו
“Arm yourselves with purity, lest He become angry and you lose the way; for His anger may soon burn. Fortunate are all who take refuge in Him.”

The Meiri explains נשקו בר as “arm yourselves with purity.” The weapon against rebellion is not more noise. It is purity, innocence, and cleanliness of soul.

A person loses his way when he tears off the bonds that were meant to guide him. Once he removes the yoke of Torah and mitzvos and severs his connection to Hashem, he may still be moving, but he no longer knows where he is going.

When the rootless begin to fall, the task is not to fall with them. The task is to remain aligned and deepen the roots. The more those roots push through the hard and stubborn ground of the inner world, the more alive the tree becomes above ground. The hidden work beneath the surface is what allows the visible life above ground to bear fruit.

The perek ends with an eternal message of return: no matter how disconnected a person may feel, he can always come back and take refuge in Him.

אשרי כל חוסי בו

This is the inner perspective of Perek Beis. The world outside us rages because something inside us also resists being rooted. The solution to both the micro and the macro is deeper attachment amidst the temptation to escape.

Note: This project is developing as I continue learning, and I may update this post as new sources or clearer understandings emerge. In the next post, I will explore the historical understanding of this mizmor, centered on Dovid HaMelech and the Plishtim. In the third post, I will explore the future perspective of Gog u’Magog. Please share any feedback, questions, corrections, or comments in the comments section below.

Thank you for learning along with me.

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Tehillim The Language Of The Soul

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As we explained in the introduction, Tehillim gives expression to every state of the human soul. It is a structure that shows us from the very start , how a person should be aligned spiritually.

Tehillim begins:

“אַשְׁרֵי־הָאִישׁ אֲשֶׁר לֹא הָלַךְ בַּעֲצַת רְשָׁעִים וּבְדֶרֶךְ חַטָּאִים לֹא עָמָד וּבְמוֹשַׁב לֵצִים לֹא יָשָׁב”

The Targum translates Ashrei as טוביה דגבר, “the good of man.” A person is considered good when he is spiritually aligned.

Rav Aharon Kotler1 explains that the continuation of the pasuk teaches that even when a person is spiritually aligned, he must remain cognizant of his surroundings. The moment that alignment weakens, he begins to slide down a slippery slope.

Rav Elchanan Wasserman2 adds that a person cannot assume that nothing will happen to him. One must always be careful to maintain that alignment.

It is interesting that Dovid HaMelech chose to begin Tehillim in a negative tense. Instead of describing that one is fortunate to walk with tzaddikim, stand with the upright, and sit with the wise, he begins with what must be avoided.

My father, Rabbi Yaacov Haber, explains that this is because a person begins life fundamentally good. We were created with a neshamah. The danger is not that I lack goodness, but that I allow myself to become bent away from my intrinsic goodness.

There is a dual progression in the pasuk: between rasha, chotei, and leitz, and between halichah (going), amidah (standing), and yeshivah (sitting). Man is a social being.

Let’s explain.

We have the rasha, chotei, and leitz—and we have what they are doing. These are not redundant.

• A rasha is someone who does wrong deliberately. This is evil with intention.

• A chotei, in this context, is someone drawn by impulse, carelessness, or ignorance. The wrongdoing is real, but it is not rooted in deliberate rebellion in the same way.

• A leitz is a different kind of problem altogether. A leitz does not necessarily commit a dramatic act of evil. A leitz takes what is serious and empties it of seriousness. He trivializes what should matter.

A moshav leitzim is dangerous because it is an environment. It is a place where life itself is made weightless. Time is the most serious thing I possess. If I sit in a culture of empty amusement, endless cooling and irony, I take the most precious thing I have and convert it into nothing. That is ruinous and the ultimate misalignment.

The next set of three is the verbs: walking, standing, sitting. Alongside them are three structures:

• Eitza — the counsel of the resha’im, deliberate, thought-out direction

• Derech — the path of chata’im, habit and impulse

• Moshav — the seat of mockery, leitzanus, which does not exist in motion, but is atmospheric.

When a person is working on self-development, before starting with anything positive, he must first recognize where he is standing. Only once a person becomes aware of the surrounding negative influences (ra) can he begin aseh tov and remain aligned.

Ashrei refers to the solidity of the person. A person who is me’ushar is a person who is authentic, and of substance.

The word עמד corresponds to asiyah, machshavah, and dibbur.

The progression of הלך → עמד → ישב reflects increasing levels of involvement. A person must not participate in the path of chotim in any form—not in thought, speech, nor action.

The Alshich explains that there are two types of happiness: one that comes from סור מרע, turning away from wrongdoing, and a higher level that comes from עשה טוב, actively doing good.

However, not everyone who avoids wrongdoing is called ashrei. Only one who fully separates himself from all three dimensions of sin, and then redirects himself properly through Torah, reaches that level.

These three dimensions are:

• Thought without action which is associated with the soul

• Action without thought which is associated with the physical

• Speech which stands between the two

One who refines and guards all three is considered complete and is therefore worthy of being called ashrei.

The Ben Yehoyada3 explains that this entire pasuk is referring to Avraham Avinu4. The perek begins with ashrei ha-ish instead of ashrei ish—the extra hei indicates a specific individual, namely Avraham, whose name had a hei added to it.

The Maharsha5 explains how each part of the pasuk reflects Avraham’s life.

• “לא הלך בעצת רשעים” refers to the Dor HaPelagah. They promoted unity and brotherhood, but used it for negative purposes. Avraham rejected that entirely and instead embodied unity, love, and connection in a positive way.

• “ובדרך חטאים לא עמד” refers to Sedom. Their defining trait was the rejection of chesed. Avraham stood in direct opposition to them, going to the other extreme of actively pursuing hachnasas orchim and constant kindness.

• “ובמושב לצים לא ישב” refers to the Plishtim, who degraded Shimshon and were steeped in immorality. (As Chazal describes, the Plishtim brought their wives to Shimshon in prison in an attempt to conceive from him.) Avraham was so removed from that world that he did not even recognize Sarah’s beauty until they arrived in Mitzrayim6.

According to this, the pasuk is describing a model, rather than an abstract person. Avraham HaIvri is the prototype of what it means to be ashrei ha-ish.

The Chomas Enech (Chida) adds a different dimension. Even when a person begins to slip unintentionally, the response has to be immediate. He should react with humility and tefillah, asking Hashem for forgiveness. That immediate response prevents a small mistake from developing further.

He points out that this is hinted to in the roshei teivos of ashrei ha-ish:

אם שגג רחמים יבקש ה׳ אלהים יסלח שגגתו—if a person sins accidentally, he should immediately seek rachamim so that it does not become something more serious.

The Meiri approaches ashrei from a different angle. He notes that the word is always in the plural form. Ashrei is not describing a single success or moment of happiness, but a collection of successes. A person is called ashrei because his overall direction is one of consistency and alignment.

He then takes the pasuk further. It is not simply praising someone for avoiding obvious evil. It would not make sense to say “fortunate is the one who is not a rasha”. Rather, the praise is for someone who separates himself from what most people are naturally drawn toward and chooses to direct his life toward Torah and avodas Hashem.

Like the Ben Yehoyada, this again points toward Avraham HaIvri as someone who stood apart.

The Meiri then redefines the three categories in a very practical way:

• Resha’im — those chasing money, power, and gain. Those living with a constant drive for more.

• Chata’im — those drawn after physical pleasure beyond what is necessary

• Leitzim — those who waste their time, sitting in empty conversation and distraction

The chiddush of the Meiri is that the pasuk is describing the real ways people drift: chasing success, chasing pleasure, or simply wasting time. That is bringing it beyond just a warning against extreme evil.

Ashrei ha-ish is someone who steps away from all of that because he wants to live with focus and purpose.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali (Ramdu) explains7 that the word ashrei parallels the level of binah, which Dovid HaMelech attained. After Dovid came Shlomo, who reached the level of chochmah and expressed that through Shir HaShirim.

The Ramdu explains further8 that just as there is a structure of sefiros belonging to the side of kedushah, there is an opposing, parallel structure belonging to the Sitra Achra, on the side of tumah.

According to this, the pasuk is not only describing a general individual, it is Dovid speaking about himself. He is ashrei because he was not drawn after the Sitra Achra, which constantly attempts to pull a person away from alignment with the Creator.

Malchus, on its own, is the highest level a worldly king can reach. But Dovid understood that malchus must be connected upward—to the structure of the sefiros above it. That is what made his kingship different.

Even after his sin with Batsheva, he did not allow himself to spiral downward. He did teshuvah and realigned.

He explains9 that because Dovid was able to align himself properly and remain focused, he merited to be part of the Merkavah together with the Avos.

He continues10 that this is why Tehillim begins with this perek. Because a person’s tikkun—and his corruption—both come from his associations. There are “friends within” and “friends without,” visible companions and invisible ones.

The inner companions are the forces of the yetzer hara.

The outer companions are the people a person associates with.

The visible companions are those he sees and hears.

The invisible ones are the forces of the Sitra Achra, which are constantly present, trying to cause him to stumble.

Ashrei ha-ish is the one who does not listen to their counsel and does not follow their pull.

He is crowned with a crown of holiness upon his head and will merit the life of the World to Come, where true and lasting happiness exists. This is unlike life in this world, which ends in dust, decay, and worms.

This also explains the progression of the pasuk. A person does not begin by fully joining. First he walks. Then he stands. Then he sits. Once he begins moving in that direction, it develops.

As Chazal say, “If the spirit of the ruler rises against you, do not leave your place.” If a person begins to walk, he will eventually stand. If he stands, he will eventually sit. The pull strengthens until it becomes settled.

Now how does one stay aligned? Dovid HaMelech tells us in the next pasuk:

“כי אם בתורת ה׳ חפצו ובתורתו יהגה יומם ולילה”

“Rather, his desire is in the Torah of Hashem, and in his Torah he engages day and night”11.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali12 explains that through Torah, the yetzer tov is strengthened while the yetzer hara is subdued. Torah is not just information—it is what maintains alignment.

Rashi13 unlocks the entire perek. At first it is called Toras Hashem, and after a person labors in it, it is called Toraso—his Torah.

This transition is baffling. It sounds like a downgrade, from Hashem’s Torah to one’s own Torah.

Because of this, the Radak and Ibn Ezra explain that both phrases are referring to Hashem’s Torah. But Rashi clearly means something deeper.

The Maharsha14 explains that the difference is between encountering Torah and being transformed by Torah. At first, the Torah is outside of me. I learn it, I engage with it, but it has not yet entered me. If I work on it properly, if I work on it until it penetrates, it becomes internal. It shapes how I think and how I see the world. At that point it is called Toraso, not because I own it, but because it has become part of who I am.

The Be’er Avraham focuses on the word cheftzo. Everything begins with desire. A person must first want Torah. Even before full actualizing it, that desire already has value. From there, through consistency, yomam valayla, it becomes internalized and part of him.

Like a tree planted by water that gives fruit in its proper time, the result may not be immediate, but it is meaningful and lasting. In contrast, the success of the wicked is superficial—lacking substance, like chaff blown away by the wind.

Rav Zundel Kreuser15 explains that this refers to one who develops chiddushim in Torah and is willing to invest in it fully, even at the expense of his social life. Torah becomes central.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali16 explains that Toras Hashem refers to the Written Torah, while Toraso refers to the Oral Torah. Alternatively, he explains that the Written Torah corresponds to learning by day, and the Oral Torah to learning at night. The two together form a complete engagement with Torah.

The Alshich explains that Torah itself has two dimensions: sod and peshat.

Sod is the deeper dimension that relates to Hashem, while peshat is the revealed dimension that relates to man.

While not everyone merits reaching the level of Sod, it is still essential to desire it. Toras Hashem refers to the deeper dimension, while Toraso refers to the revealed Torah that a person learns, internalizes, and makes his own.

Reb Nosson17 explains this on a deeper level.

Chazal say that Hashem “engages in Torah.” This does not mean learning in the usual sense. Hashem does not need to learn. Rather, Hashem draws down the light of Torah and shapes it—לצייר—into a form of brachah before it enters the world. Before that process, the light is hidden and undefined.

The same thing happens when a person learns Torah. Before Torah is clarified, its light is present but not yet formed. As a person learns, struggles, and clarifies, he is shaping that light. According to how he approaches it, that is how the light takes form for him.

So too, Hashem כביכול “learns Torah” to shape the upper light—which is completely hidden—into something that can come down as blessing. The tzaddik shapes that light into truth and clarity. The rasha can take that same light and distort it, turning it into confusion or even a stumbling block.

Therefore, Toras Hashem means the Torah as it is given in its true form, and Toraso means how that Torah is now being shaped through the person.

Torah is something you shape while you learn it. How it is shaped depends on the person—his mindset, his honesty, and his inner state.

The focus of this perek is that David is describing a person who becomes substantial. The distinction between a tzaddik and a rasha is ontological more than behavioral. It is about what kind of person I have become.

That is why the next pasuk shifts to the metaphor of the tree:

“והיה כעץ שתול על פלגי מים אשר פריו יתן בעתו ועלהו לא יבול וכל אשר יעשה יצליח”

“He shall be like a tree planted by streams of water, which gives its fruit in its season, its leaf does not wither, and all that he does prospers”18.

The word “שתול” is important. It means transplanted. Left to itself, a tree may survive or fail depending on rainfall, terrain, and circumstance. Two trees can stand a few feet apart with one flourishing and the other struggling, simply because one receives water and the other does not.

But a tree planted by flowing water is no longer left to chance. It is rooted in a constant source, as its irrigated steadily and is stable.

That is Dovid HaMelech’s image of the person who has made Torah his own. He is rooted and therefore consistently successful. He gives fruit in its season because the source beneath him is dependable. His leaves do not wither because even the outer expressions of his life are sustained by something real.

“וכל אשר יעשה יצליח” means that what comes from him is lasting and alive.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali19 explains that “בעתו” teaches that a person should not become discouraged if he does not see immediate results. Even if he learns and forgets, everything has its proper time. If the desire is real and he does not give up, the fruit will come.

The Alshich explains that the tzaddik is compared to a tree planted in a place of purity, even if its branches extend into areas of impurity. When a person roots his neshamah in Torah (through constant learning) it is like watering a tree. That watering produces fruit. The Chida20 adds that this requires humility. The final letters of “והיה כעץ שתול” equal ענו (humble), with the kolel (the word itself). Without humility, the tree cannot properly receive.

The fruit are his chiddushim, the insights that come specifically from his connection to Torah. The Arizal21 explains that a person should learn the part of Torah he is drawn to. That is not random, it reflects what he came to fix in this world. One person is drawn to Hilchos Shabbos, another to Bava Kama, yet another to deeper sefarim. That piece that he learns is his chelek.

The Chida brings from the Maggid Meisharim that the Maggid told the Beis Yosef that one of his explanations in the Rambam was exactly correct, but the other should not be discarded. Even if it is not the Rambam’s intent, it is still a chiddush, and HaKadosh Baruch Hu takes pleasure in it. Every bit of intellectual effort in Torah has lasting value.

The Alshich adds that if a person is meant to reveal a certain chiddush and becomes lax in his learning, it is like withholding water from the tree. That fruit will not emerge, and he may have to return in a gilgul to complete it.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali22 similarly explains that a person learns best in the area his heart is drawn to. That is where he will succeed, because that is tied to his tikkun.

Every person in Klal Yisrael has a chelek in Torah. In the part that truly connects to him, he will find chiddushim. Torah has an infinite depth, and each person has access to his portion within it.

And what’s the effect?

“אשר פריו יתן בעתו”—the fruit are the Torah and mitzvos a person produces in their proper time.

“ועלהו לא יבול”—the leaves do not wither.

Aside from producing fruit, a healthy tree can be damaged from the outside. That brings us to a different task, to protect the tree.

Reb Nosson explains23 that the essence of the melachos of Shabbos is the concept of carrying from one domain to another. This is why there is a tikkun of an eruv.

Just as a person must be careful what enters and exits his own domain, he must also be careful not to enter someone else’s domain.

A person should not look at others and imitate them, even if they appear to be doing the right things. He must remain aligned with his own soul, rather than trying to live someone else’s path. The real danger here is not only falling in with bad influences, but comparison itself.

A person can be inspired by others, but if he begins to lose his own direction by trying to become someone else, he is no longer rooted. He has stepped out of his own domain and becomes misaligned.

The Alshich concludes that the success of the tzaddik is lasting, even in matters of parnassah. It is not temporary and fleeting like the seeming success of the rasha.

As Rav Moshe Dovid Vali24 explains “ועלהו לא יבול” refers to the external aspects of life. Even those are not diminished by Torah. On the contrary, when Torah is primary, everything else is sustained properly.

“וכל אשר יעשה יצליח”—the word “יעשה” has the gematria of שכינה, hinting that the Shechinah rests upon such a person and brings success to his actions. The leaves—worldly matters—are secondary, but they are sustained because the root is strong.

The Meiri explains that just as a tree by water never loses its moisture, so too a person’s Torah will not be forgotten. And just as the tree gives fruit at the proper time, so too he will eventually give over his Torah to others. In other words, he will share his wisdom with others after perfecting himself. Thus the fruit is teaching the Torah to others.

He explains further that “ועלהו לא יבול” does not mean the leaves do not fall, but that they do not decay. A person is able to balance his spiritual and physical needs. Alternatively, the leaves represent middos tovos which protect and enhance the Torah itself.

Through this, “וכל אשר יעשה יצליח”—his Torah, his actions, and even those who come after him will endure. Torah penetrates a person. It changes him completely. Even his ordinary speech carries a different quality.

This is the depth of what Dovid is describing. A person who becomes rooted in Torah becomes stable, real, and enduring. He becomes a partner—a shutaf—with Hashem. It becomes Toraso. And it affects every part of who he is.

Now in pasuk daled, Dovid returns to contrast:

“לא כן הרשעים כי אם כמוץ אשר תדפנו רוח”

“Not so the wicked; rather they are like chaff that the wind drives away”25.

The rasha is not like the tree. He is like chaff—light, unstable, and without permanence.

Chaff can look like part of the grain, but it is only the outer husk. Its role is temporary. Once the grain is separated, the wind carries it away. It has no enduring substance. It is appearance without core.

That is how wickedness often presents itself. It can look successful, even impressive—wealth, power, influence, image. But if there is no inner substance, then it is all chaff. The moment circumstances change, it disappears. We see often how people gather around someone because of position or success, and the moment that is gone, everything falls apart. That is chaff.

Torah is not like that. A person rooted in Torah remains who he is regardless of circumstance, because his source is internal and continuous.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali26 explains that wheat—חטה—has the numerical value of 22, corresponding to the twenty-two letters of the Torah. Just as wheat nourishes the body, the letters of Torah nourish the soul. The chaff, by contrast, has no substance and is scattered by the wind.

Dovid now closes the contrast:

“על כן לא יקמו רשעים במשפט וחטאים בעדת צדיקים”

“Therefore the wicked will not stand in judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous”27.

In this world, the chaff can masquerade as grain. In the world of truth, it cannot. External glitter does not stand up in judgment. Only substance remains.

The final pasuk seals the distinction:

“כי יודע ה׳ דרך צדיקים ודרך רשעים תאבד”

“For Hashem knows the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish”28.

“Knows” here means more than information. Of course Hashem knows everything. The word carries a sense of attachment and recognition, as in “כי ידעתיו” said about Avraham29.

Hashem is connected to the way of the tzaddik because that way is real and enduring. It is worthy of a relationship. The way of the rasha perishes because it never becomes anything lasting.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali30 explains that this “knowing” means that Hashem’s holiness cleaves to the path of the tzaddik, because it is ישר and aligned with Him. Love and attachment exist only between similar things.

The term “knowing”, when used regarding Hashem, refers to an intimate form of attachment. Therefore, the tzaddik endures, because holiness attaches itself to him. The path of the wicked is the opposite. It is disconnected from that holiness, and therefore it cannot endure. This is why the pasuk speaks about the “way” of each. The way of the tzaddik is itself something real and enduring. The way of the rasha is not—it falls away.

The Ramdu31 explains that this path of the wicked is tied to the Sitra Achra, which will ultimately be removed when Hashem completes the final tikkun. Rashi understands that these pesukim refer to the final judgment, at the time of Milchemes Gog u’Magog. At that point, everything is brought to truth. Only what is connected to what is real, what is rooted in Torah and spiritual accomplishment, remains. The reshaim, having no inner substance, will not stand.

The beginning of Tehillim tells us exactly how the whole sefer works.

There are only two kinds of people. One is rooted and the other is weightless.

One builds something real, through Torah, alignment, and inner work until it becomes who he is. The other can look impressive for a moment, but there is nothing holding him down. The wind comes and he is gone.

There is no middle. You are either a tree or you are chaff, already being carried by the wind.

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This project is an attempt to understand Tehillim more deeply. Tehillim is a central part of Jewish life, with its perakim forming much of our tefillah and its pesukim shaping our songs of yearning and inspiration.

While we do not necessarily know the precise order in which Tehillim was written, nor the authorship of every chapter, the order we have is rooted in our mesorah. There are ten expressions of praise found throughout Tehillim—ניצוח, ניגון, מזמור, שיר, הלל, תפילה, ברכה, הודאה, אשרי, and הללויה—each reflecting a different mode of song, prayer, or spiritual expression.

This structure corresponds to the ten primary contributors to Tehillim, aside from Dovid Hamelech: Adam, Avraham, Malki Tzedek, Asaf, Heiman, Yedusun, the three sons of Korach—Asir, Elkana, and AviAsaf—and Moshe Rabbeinu. This means that as much as David HaMelech gave us Tehillim as a sefer, he was also gathering a tradition that came from the deepest figures in our history. Somehow, whether through mesorah or Ruach HaKodesh, he accessed not only his own voice but the voices of those who came before him and those who would come after him. From the moment Adam was sent out of Gan Eden to the anguish of exile after the destruction of the Mikdash, Tehillim carries it all.

Tehillim can therefore be understood as the collected spiritual music of Jewish history.

Before beginning, however, a more basic question must be asked: why Tehillim? Why is it that in moments of need, of fear, of longing, we instinctively turn to Tehillim, and not to Mishlei or Yeshayahu?

It is noteworthy that the plural of תהילה is not תהילות but תהילים. My father, Rabbi Yaacov Haber, explains this through an analogy to tefillin. A single tefillin is, in halachic language, called a tefillah, yet tefillin are not the prayers themselves. They are the instrument through which one prepares for prayer. They are the framework, the equipment, that enables tefillah to take place.

In a similar manner, Tehillim are not merely praises in the abstract, but rather the instrument through which praise is generated. Tehillim are not identical with tefillah itself, but instead function as the mechanism that makes tefillah possible by opening the inner and outer space in which prayer can emerge.

When a person recites Tehillim, the words of David HaMelech align the heart, awaken emotional awareness, and create a sense of access that allows one to then step forward and speak before Hashem, whether through the established nusach of the siddur or through personal expression. For this reason, Tehillim occupies a central place within Pesukei DeZimra, from Baruch She’amar through Yishtabach, since this entire section serves as a necessary preparation rather than as a preliminary introduction, guiding a person into the state of being capable of standing before Hashem in tefillah.

From the earliest moments of our history, tefillah has been central to our survival. The Avos prayed. In Mitzrayim, we cried out. We are a nation that prays.

After Krias Yam Suf, we were attacked by Amalek, a nation driven not by territory or strategy, but by a desire to uproot us entirely. As the battle unfolded, Moshe ascended the mountain, and the Torah describes how, when his hands were raised, the Jewish people prevailed, and when they fell, they faltered. The Mishnah in Rosh Hashanah asks: do Moshe’s hands wage war?

Rather, the Mishnah explains that as long as the Jewish people directed their hearts toward Hashem, they were victorious. In this sense, Moshe and the people mirrored one another. The battle was not decided by strength alone, but by alignment with Hashem through the medium of tefillah.

Tehillim belongs within that same system; although it is not identical to tefillah itself, it is the instrument that makes the tefillah possible.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali explains that David HaMelech represents the fourth leg of the Merkavah and is therefore considered חי וקיים, meaning that his presence continues to exist in a meaningful way. When a person recites Tehillim, a spark of David’s soul rests upon him, creating a subtle form of guidance and illumination that accompanies the words. In the merit of David HaMelech, Tehillim has the capacity to open gates and create access to Shamayim, but it remains necessary for the individual to continue beyond that point and engage in tefillah itself, since the opening of the gates is only the beginning of the process rather than its completion. One can have the key and turn it, but the door still needs to be opened.

This also clarifies the role of the individual within tefillah itself. My father explains that when Hashem created the human being, He took from His own breath and blew it into his nostrils, meaning that the human being carries within him a dimension of Divine expression. The neshamah is described as a רוח חיים, and through that breath a person becomes not only a recipient of existence but a participant in it. This idea is reflected in the phrase “אשר ברא אלוקים לעשות,” which indicates that the world was created in a manner that invites further development through human action, as a person, through thought and speech, has the capacity to bring something into the world that was not there before.

Rav Tzadok explains that human beings possess free choice in a way that angels do not, which means that the same capacity that allows a person to create also carries the possibility of destruction. The designation of Man as a צלם אלוקים therefore refers not only to resemblance but to function, as a person is endowed with a creative capacity that reflects, in a limited way, the creative power of Hashem. Within this framework, tefillah takes on an entirely different meaning, since when a person stands before Hashem after reciting Tehillim, he is not merely asking for change but participating in the process through which change is brought into the world. Tehillim prepares and opens, but tefillah is the moment in which an individual, as a bearer of Divine breath, speaks into that opening.

Once this is understood, the role of Tehillim can be seen on an even deeper level. Tehillim also participates in the tikkun of the Shechinah, as described in the writings of Rav Moshe Dovid Vali, who authored multiple works on Tehillim that explore its various dimensions. Within this framework, the Shechinah descends into the world of malchus in order to confront the chitzonim, the forces that obscure and fragment spiritual clarity, and Tehillim recounts that ongoing process. This dimension reflects the world of David HaMelech, which is the world of malchus, where the primary battles are often hidden and internal rather than external and visible.

At first glance, Sefer Tehillim seems to give us a glimpse into the world of Dovid and his yearning to maintain a connection with his Creator and to push away the forces that attempt to sever that connection. Tehillim expresses the pendulum of life: the ups, the downs, the triumphs, the humiliations, the pain, the unbearable suffering, and the exuberant joy. This was the life of Dovid; through every twist and turn, he turned to Hashem. This experience is often reflected in our own lives as well. It is perhaps for this reason that the Jewish people turn to the indefatigable words of Tehillim at all such times in our lives, as we echo the timeless words of Dovid in his expression to his Creator.

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov teaches that a person must find himself within every chapter of Tehillim, even when the circumstances described do not appear to match one’s own life, since the battles described within Tehillim are not limited to physical conflicts but include the internal struggles against the yetzer hara that define the human condition. He further teaches that even when David speaks in a voice of confidence or self-recognition, a person should learn to judge himself favorably and to recognize his own נקודות טובות, thereby approaching tefillah with a sense of dignity rather than inadequacy.

Through Tehillim, a person does not merely recite ancient words, but enters into a structure that has already been prepared through Ruach HaKodesh, a structure that maps the contours of the human soul and creates the conditions necessary for authentic tefillah. In this sense, the recitation of Tehillim is part of the process of becoming someone who is capable of standing before Hashem.

This understanding forms the basis of this project. As I work through the chapters of Tehillim, I will attempt to engage both the breadth and depth of the sefer by drawing upon the teachings of Chazal, the insights of the mefarshim, and the broader mesorah that surrounds these holy words, while remaining attentive to the experiential dimension of the words themselves and the ways in which they shape the inner world of the individual.

I ask Hashem to assist me in undertaking this ambitious endeavor, and I ask you, the reader, to offer feedback, critique, and insight that may help refine and deepen this work.

May it be in the merit of learning Tehillim that we merit the complete geulah and the restoration of Malchus Beis David in a rebuilt Yerushalayim.

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