Thought there were allies in the group, the majority of people marching were women against whom violence had been perpetrated – both women who had survived violence and women who were living it daily, women who had left violent relationships, women who had been attacked walking home from class, and women who were struggling to leave abusive partners. These women told their stories as they walked. They told stories of husbands who had thrown glass jars at them. They told stories of being attacked on their way from the library to their dorm rooms. Men told stories of caring for loved ones who had been attacked. Allies told stories of sisters, mothers, cousins and aunts who had been devastated by violence. Stories were sung out that echoed pain and violence that has been pervasive since biblical times. Stories of lament, shame, and violence – these are to be expected at a gathering such as this, when we seek to break the silence.
There was another voice though, an unexpected voice, a voice that sang out:
Praise Adonai!
Praise Adonai, O my soul!
I will praise Adonai as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my G…d all my life long.
Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortals, in whom there is no help.
When their breath departs, they return to the earth;
on that very day their plans perish.
Happy are those whose help is the G…d of Jacob,
whose hope is in Adonai their G…d,
who made heaven and earth,
the sea, and all that is in them;
who keeps faith for ever;
who executes justice for the oppressed;
who gives food to the hungry.
Adonai sets the prisoners free;
Adonai opens the eyes of the blind.
Adonai lifts up those who are bowed down;
Adonai loves the righteous.
Adonai watches over the strangers;
upholds the orphan and the widow,
but the way of the wicked Adonai brings to ruin.
Adonai will reign for ever,
your G…d, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the Adonai!
It wasn’t these exact words, but the spirit of the psalmist was there. In the midst of anguish, injustice, and violence, songs were sung of hope. Songs of peace, of love, of forgiveness. Songs of justice and songs of liberation. In voices wracked with tears and pain, the people gathered spoke of those who had cared for them, of healing and health, of the love of G…d in their lives. Praise was sung along side of pain.
I imagine that this must have been the scene when the psalmist wrote these words. This psalm, written after the end of the exile into Babylon, would have been sung as Israelites made the march up to Jerusalem for festival days. Families from villages would gather together with their children, their cousins, their neighbors, and their friends. They would pack the necessities of their trip – bread and wine and water – and begin a long, dry trek through the mountains up to the holy city. It was a long and hard trip, and to pass the time, families would sing, much as families today sing with their children on long car rides.
They sang songs of liberation and justice. They sang to thank G…d for the ability to walk, once again, to Jerusalem, for the freedom from captivity that had been both promised and fulfilled. Families raised their voices together, off key and cracked from the heat and the pain and the tiredness, and they sang:
Praise Adonai!
Praise Adonai, O my soul!
I will praise Adonai as long as I live;
I imagine that some sang praises because they had found their way home. Some sang because their families were returned to them. Some sang only because they were walking to Jerusalem. Those who were oppressed sang with those who were not. I picture that the poor and the rich all sang the same songs, in the same keys, and for a little while, those who had none were united with those who had a lot – united in praising G…d for liberation.
Psalm 146 asks us to do something complicated – It asks us to celebrate the prisoners who have been set free, those who have been unbowed, the care of the widows and orphans. No matter when this psalm was read, during the period after the exile or now, there are still widows and orphans. Women are still bent over from abuse and neglect. Prisoners are still wrongly incarcerated. How, then, do we begin to take seriously this call to praise?
We cannot deny that women are beaten. We cannot deny that female students are afraid to walk across their own campuses at night. We cannot deny that in our congregations, our communities, our divinity schools there are women, children and men in danger of domestic violence. We cannot be blind to the need for justice in the world. What we can do is recognize our roles in bringing G…d’s justice to the earth.
In Genesis we are given dominion over the earth – not ownership, but care and stewardship. The books of the Law give us rules and regulations for the right treatment of the orphan and widow. The Prophets call us again and again to care for the poor and the needy. These biblical imperatives are part of what Rabbi Heschel posits are our inalienable rights and inalienable obligations.
We are created in the image of parent G…d with the inalienable rights to safety, care, food, and relationship. We are also created in the image of G…d who brings justice to the world, and with this comes the inalienable obligation to act.
As a covenant people, regardless of whether we believe that covenant to be fulfilled or not, the obligation to act lives throughout scripture. Both the law codes of the Torah and the Gospels of Jesus carry through them imperative calls to care for and sustain those who are oppressed, those who are in need. We are given free will, and then given guidance about what to do with it. Love the Adonai. Walk rightly with G…d. Live with compassion. Fight for justice. We can and should do these things, and we can and should do them things while we praise.
* * * * * * * *
In Take Back the Night celebrations, we find one example of how to do this. People gather. They tell stories that are intensely painful. They make themselves vulnerable to old wounds and current pains. They make themselves vulnerable to attacks as they walk down the streets at night. They bring justice into the world by breaking a deep and deadly silence. In the midst of these stories they sing:
Praise Adonai!
Praise Adonai, O my soul!
I will praise Adonai as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my G…d all my life long.
I imagine that some sang praises because they had found a voice to tell their stories. Some sang because their families were united in their pain. Some sang only because they were walking in the night. Those who were abused sang with those who were not. I picture that the beaten and bruised, the allies and the friends all sang the same songs, in the same keys, and for a little while, those who had found the voice to tell their stories were united with those who had come to bring justice through hearing. They were united in praising G…d for safety.
* * * * * * * *
Hendy David Thoreau said once that “it takes two people to speak the truth: one to break the silence and another to hear.” In this hearing and listening, we begin to create justice. Every time we tell our stories. Every time we listen to the stories of other. Every time we pass these stories along to other people, to other ears, we bring justice into the world. More than this though – every time we sing the praise of G…d, every time we remind people that justice is G…d’s will for the earth, we make this justice more real. We remind people that there is more to life than suffering, more to life than oppression. We remind people that it can be better than it seems right now.
This too, is one of our inalienable obligations. Not just to raise our voices and tell our stories, but also to listen.
To hear.
To deeply and truly open ourselves to the pain of others.
To be among women who have been taught by blows that there is no hope, and to remind them that there is.
To stand up and say, in the face of fists, that there will be an end to this agony. To be strong in the face of violence, and say unequivocally that this will end.
There can be no justice without the belief that justice is possible. There can be no hope for a better, less violent life without someone to remind us that this can exist.
We have all gone through unimaginable grief, and we have all had someone tells us that ”it would get better with time”. It seems trite and cliché. But can you image what it would be like if no one said this? Imagine the silence. Imagine the alternative response.
We need the reminder that our grief will ease, that our pain will subside. We need the reminder that there is more to this life than the agony of heart wounds.
We stand consistently in the face of injustice. We must fight this injustice with every story, with every chance to break the silence. We must also remind the world that there are breaks in the injustice. There are people who gather to speak the truth. There are people who gather to listen. These are moments of justice. These are moments when we live into the image of G…d truly and fully, acting to create justice in the world. These are the moments in which we must pause, praise the Adonai, and celebrate the justice that we find on earth.
wish i were in your group to receive your words in person
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