Psalm 88 is one of the most difficult and darkest chapters in Tehillim. The psalmist describes himself as one already buried in a pit, lying in darkness, severed from all his loved ones. In this part, we continue from verse 6 through the end of the psalm, seeing how all these descriptions serve as a parable and metaphor for the condition of the Jewish nation in exile: a body stricken with a fatal illness, virtually dead and buried, recognizable as living in only one respect - in that it acutely feels the troubles and blows that afflict it.
בַּמֵּתִים חׇפְשִׁי כְּמוֹ חֲלָלִים שֹׁכְבֵי קֶבֶר אֲשֶׁר לֹא זְכַרְתָּם עוֹד וְהֵמָּה מִיָּדְךָ נִגְזָרוּ׃ - "Free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom You remember no more, and who are cut off from Your hand."
Rashi explains: Behold, among the dead I am free from the world. There is a textual variant, "and all who are dead are free from the world," which is rather perplexing, and there is another variant, "and all the dead are free from the mitzvot," which is more readily understood. The meaning is that the dead person is already free from the world, no longer destined to suffer everything that occurs here. "Cut off from Your hand" - by God's decree they were cut off and severed from the realm of life; the Holy One, blessed be He, decreed that they be cut off from the land of the living.
Ibn Ezra takes a similar approach: From what is he free? Both from the mitzvot and from all bodily labor and agricultural work. In short, the dead can no longer be governed - neither by obligating them in mitzvot nor by subjugating them. Ibn Ezra further analyzes the phrasing, "whom You remember no more [od]," and notes something remarkable: this is a sign that a time will come when the dead will be remembered. That is to say, here lies an allusion to the resurrection of the dead (Techiyat HaMeitim).
Radak seemingly explains in the opposite direction. First, the interpretation: It would be better for me to be among the dead and then be free, compared to now when I am a slave to men who subjugate me; and when I die I will be free, in the words of Iyov, "and the servant is free from his master." "Like the slain that lie in the grave" - now in exile I am like the corpses lying in the grave; "whom You remember no more" - that You do not remember them to raise them from their dust. So am I, Master of the Universe, as though You have forgotten me and do not take me out of exile. "And who are cut off from Your hand" - You decreed death upon them, and similarly You have decreed exile upon me without any rising again.
From here Radak asks: The phrasing "whom You remember no more" and "they are cut off from Your hand" implies that You will never remember them again - yet we believe in the resurrection of the dead! He answers: "And this does not negate the future resurrection of the dead," for he was speaking of the natural order of the world, wherein the dead naturally never live again. From the natural perspective, one who dies does not arise; but from the standpoint of faith, there will certainly be a resurrection of the dead, as in Yechezkel's prophecy of the dry bones coming to life. King David did not intend, Heaven forbid, to deny resurrection, but rather to present a parable: just as a dead person does not rise in the natural course, so too am I cast down like a dead man who does not rise.
Similarly, later in the psalm: "Will You work wonders for the dead, or shall the shades arise?" - this too is said according to the natural order. Likewise, Iyov states: "So man lies down and rises not; till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be roused out of their sleep." Did Iyov deny the resurrection of the dead? Rather, he was speaking of nature, whereas the resurrection of the dead is not natural, but miraculous and wondrous. Radak further adds: Not all will arise. Some will rise and some will not, and there will be those who awaken to shame and everlasting contempt. And according to the view of many of our Sages, resurrection will be reserved only for the righteous, just as they said, "Greater is the power of rain than the resurrection of the dead" - for resurrection is for the righteous and not the wicked, whereas the power of rain benefits both the righteous and the wicked.
Radak himself quotes Ibn Ezra: "'Whom You remember no more [od]' - is a sign that a time will come when the dead will be remembered." How did he derive this? The word od can mean "yet" or "as of now," as in "for the day is yet [od] long," meaning the day is still broad daylight, or "I will yet [od] make you dwell in tents." If so, "You have not remembered them od" means: You have not remembered them yet - implying that there is a time when You indeed will remember them. How wonderful.
The Malbim explains: If only I were among the dead, for the dead are free from suffering. I am undergoing such afflictions that I would already rather be among the dead, who do not have to suffer. This is akin to what Iyov said: Would that I had died from the womb, that my mother had caused my death in the womb - that I had been stillborn and not had to endure all this agony. And even if it were decreed upon me to be a slain corpse - after all, if one buries someone alive, he must inevitably die by being covered with earth - would that I were "like the slain that lie in the grave," "whom You remember no more," meaning those who are no longer alive.
Yet my state is worse than theirs: they "are cut off from Your hand" - they have already been separated from the blow of Your hand and have no further suffering in this world; whereas I, who am effectively the living dead, continue to be struck and bruised. My situation is worse than theirs, for "You have laid me in the lowest pit, in dark places, in the depths."
שַׁתַּנִי בְּבוֹר תַּחְתִּיּוֹת בְּמַחֲשַׁכִּים בִּמְצֹלוֹת׃ - You have laid me in the lowest pit, in dark places, in the depths.
"The lowest pit" (bor tachtiyot) - this refers to the exile, says Rashi. You have placed me like a person lying in darkness within the depths, a description of plagues and illnesses. And the Radak adds: exile is harder than the grave. The grave is called She'ol tachtiyah - in the singular, whereas here it says bor tachtiyot - in the plural, because there are many deaths in exile. As the Gemara says concerning captivity: "all of them are in it" - it contains everything: the decree of death, the decree of the sword, and the decree of famine, and captivity is the harshest of all. A person who dies dies only once; but a living person who is tormented again and again is as if he dies many times. Therefore, it is not a pit of the depths in singular (tachtiyah), but a pit of the lowest depths in plural (tachtiyot).
"In dark places, in the depths" - he likens the exile to dark places and the depths of the sea: a reality of darkness, without hope of rescue, placed under the hand of enemies with no way out. And once again, the state of the dead is better, for a dead person can no longer be struck or harmed; whereas I am the living dead, and life itself works against me - for I can be put to death over and over again, tormented and afflicted time after time.
The Radak points out a grammatical detail here: in the word bimtzolot, the letter tzadi has a cholam, and there are three such occurrences according to the Masorah. This is what we recite every day: "Metzolot bemayim rabim" ("depths in mighty waters") - and some mistakenly pronounce it otherwise; the correct pronunciation is bimtzolot. What is the Masorah? There is the Masorah Gedolah and the Masorah Ketanah, and the Masoretes noted for every phrase how many times it appears in Tanach. A unique word or phrase is marked with the letter lamed (leita), meaning it appears nowhere else; when it appears elsewhere, they write "3 in the Masorah," "4 in the Masorah," and so on. Frequently, we draw insights from one instance to another, in the manner of the Baal HaTurim, who finds thematic connections whenever a phrase appears across several places.
עָלַי סָמְכָה חֲמָתֶךָ וְכׇל־מִשְׁבָּרֶיךָ עִנִּיתָ סֶּלָה׃ - Your wrath lies heavy upon me, and You have afflicted me with all Your waves. Selah.
"Your wrath lies heavy upon me" - Your anger and wrath lean upon me, resting and suspended over me. "And You have afflicted me with all Your waves. Selah" - the crashing waves You bring upon me afflict me continually. What are "Your waves" (mishbarecha)? We know this from the verse, "All Your billows and Your waves passed over me" - mishbarim are the waves of the sea, so named because they break (nishbarim) upon the pier and the shore. When one wishes to express troubles that strike and surge, one says: they come like waves crashing and breaking over me. And since he likened himself to the depths of the sea in the previous verse, he continues here with that same imagery - that what comes upon him are crashing breakers.
The Malbim explains the parallelism: one might have thought that once a person is already in the lowest possible state, in the pit of depths and in darkness, Hashem would finally lift His hand from him. The psalmist says: no. Even at the lowest point, I continue to take blows. The verse is structured in parallel clauses: "You have laid me in the lowest pit" corresponds to "Your wrath lies heavy upon me," meaning that even there in the pit Your wrath presses down; "in dark places, in the depths" corresponds to "and You have afflicted me with all Your waves. Selah," for there in the depths the waves wash over me and Your breakers afflict me. As if to say: even after I have been buried with those who go down to the pit, I still feel the troubles and suffering coming upon me, Selah.
הִרְחַקְתָּ מְיֻדָּעַי מִמֶּנִּי שַׁתַּנִי תוֹעֵבוֹת לָמוֹ כָּלֻא וְלֹא אֵצֵא׃ - You have removed my acquaintances far from me; You have made me an abomination to them; I am imprisoned and cannot go forth.
Who are these acquaintances who have grown distant? The Radak cites an explanation that refers to the nations of the world: those who were friendly acquaintances when I was in my own land now despise me and keep their distance in exile, viewing me as an abomination. Alternatively, this can be understood as spoken by each individual in exile about his fellow - not the nation vis-a-vis other nations, but rather that from the overwhelming distress of exile, no one has the capacity to show interest in anyone else. It is not the enemies who distance themselves from me, but my acquaintances, relatives, and friends, for each person is consumed by his own personal misery and has no spare moment to look upon his fellow. Each one feels that his brothers and friends are far from him, as though he were an abomination in their eyes. "I am imprisoned and cannot go forth" - I am trapped and shut inside this exile without exit, as though the exile will never come to an end.
The Malbim explains: Until now, the psalmist described himself allegorically as buried in a grave, where the only sign that he is still alive is that he feels the blows he continues to receive - "Your wrath presses upon me," for the wrath of Hashem pursues him even within the pit. Now he portrays the reality behind the allegory: "You have removed my acquaintances far from me" - they do not come to me because I am an abomination to them, nor can I go to them, for "I am imprisoned and cannot go forth." This is the reality signified by "You have placed me in the lowest pit": I am placed as if in a pit, isolated from my loved ones; neither do I go out to them, nor do they come to me.
עֵינִי דָאֲבָה מִנִּי־עֹנִי קְרָאתִיךָ יְהֹוָה בְּכׇל־יוֹם שִׁטַּחְתִּי אֵלֶיךָ כַפָּי׃ - My eye wastes away from affliction; I have called upon You, Hashem, every day; I have spread out my hands to You.
"Wastes away" (da’avah) - related to anguish of soul (de'avon nefesh). My eyes have grown faint from the affliction I endure; my eye has been lifted toward You until my sight is exhausted from prolonged waiting. I call to You every day and spread my hands toward You, yet You do not deliver. "I have spread out my hands to You" - the Metzudat David explains: I have extended my hands in the manner of those who pray, for one who stretches out his hands toward heaven is said to spread his hands.
The Malbim cites here the verse in Yeshayahu 38:11: "I said: I shall not see Yah, Yah in the land of the living; I shall gaze upon man no more with the inhabitants of cessation" - where "inhabitants of cessation" (yoshvei chadel) is akin to the dwellers of this fleeting world (cheled), mortals whose end is to vanish from the world. In other words: I am in a state where no one visits me and no one cares about me - "You have removed my acquaintances far from me" - yet I see the affliction clearly; the misery stands beside me, as it were, waiting to torment me. There is a poignant insight here: I thought perhaps I had an eyesight problem, since I cannot see my close friends. But I am told: No, your vision is excellent - see how clearly you perceive the afflictions coming upon you; those you see all too well. And in the wake of that poverty and suffering - "I have called upon You, Hashem, every day; I have spread out my hands to You."
הֲלַמֵּתִים תַּעֲשֶׂה־פֶּלֶא אִם־רְפָאִים יָקוּמוּ יוֹדוּךָ סֶּלָה׃ - Will You work wonders for the dead? Can the departed rise and praise You forever? Selah.
Rashi explains: "For the dead" - this refers to the wicked, who even in their lifetimes are called dead; would You perform wonders and miracles for them? "Can the departed (refa'im)" - these are the nations, called refa'im because they slackened (ripu) their hands from Your service, having refused to accept Hashem's mitzvot and lacking any desire even to observe their seven Noahide laws - from the root denoting laxity and slack hands. Will they arise and thank You? In essence, he is pleading: Master of the Universe, only we, Israel, will thank You, praise You, and laud You! If so, it is fitting that You remove these troubles from me, for the wicked will not thank You, and the nations, even if You were to perform wonders for them, would not praise You. It is therefore proper that for us, who serve You, You perform signs and wonders, so that through them we may acknowledge You and give You thanks.
The Radak applies this verse to the exile: If we die in exile, for whom will You perform wonders afterward? Whom will You redeem once we have all perished? And the reality is that we are steadily dying off. Therefore: Master of the Universe, redeem us while we are still alive! "Can the departed" - that is, the dead - "rise" from their grave and "praise You"? Surely that is not the way. And if You do not perform wonders for us now, while we are alive and able to thank You for Your miracles, when will You perform them? For once we are dead, there is no one left for whom to perform them, and no one to give thanks. As King David said: "The dead do not praise Yah, nor do any who go down into silence."
What is the difference between meitim (the dead) and refa'im (shades)? The Malbim explains this in his commentary to Yeshayahu 26 (a typographical error in the printed editions cites chapter 28): at the moment a person dies he is called meit, but once he has already lain in the grave he is called refa'im. The Metzudat David adds: refa'im derives from rifyon (weakness and slackness), for they have been weakened and undone by the Angel of Death. Immediately upon death the body is still strong and intact, but after lying in the grave it gradually rots, weakens, and deteriorates - and then it is called refa'im.
הַיְסֻפַּר בַּקֶּבֶר חַסְדֶּךָ אֱמוּנָתְךָ בָּאֲבַדּוֹן׃ - Shall Your kindness be recounted in the grave, Your faithfulness in the place of destruction?
If we die at the hands of the enemies, will we be able to recount Your praise in the grave? "The dead do not praise Yah." The Radak notes that this repeats the theme of the preceding verse, serving to reinforce the idea. "Avaddon" (destruction) refers to the grave, where the body perishes and is lost.
The Malbim delves deeper: even if one could imagine You performing a wonder for the dead - what is the purpose of performing a wonder? A miracle is performed so that the matter becomes known, so that man recognizes it, and so that he can recount it to others. Chazal consider it a diminished state that "the beneficiary of a miracle does not recognize his miracle." This is the essence of the Thanksgiving Offering (Korban Todah): one who offers a Todah thanks Hashem, and also spreads his story - "I was saved and am obligated to publicize it." And why publicize it? Because through this, the Creator is praised and exalted. After all, one who brings a Todah brings forty loaves of bread with it, and he and his guests must consume them in a single day. How many loaves can one person eat? He is inevitably forced to make a celebration so that he has people to distribute them to, otherwise the loaves will become notar (forbidden sacrificial leftovers). Hence, the very design of the Thanksgiving Offering is that one will publicize and praise Hashem in the assembly of the multitude.
So too is the essence of the Seder night of Pesach, when we sit and praise Hashem for the miracles He performed for us. Likewise, someone for whom a miracle was performed recites the blessing "Who performed a miracle for me in this place" - there is an imperative to publicize the miracle. Similarly, one who gives thanks with Birkat HaGomel requires ten men, in order to publicize the miracle and thank Hashem for His salvation. Thus, the purpose of miracles is both that we recognize them and that we publicize them onward. Regarding this the Psalmist says: "Shall Your kindness be recounted in the grave?" - even if you were to say that the dead person grasped the miracles performed for him, he cannot recount them.
הֲיִוָּדַע בַּחֹשֶׁךְ פִּלְאֶךָ וְצִדְקָתְךָ בְּאֶרֶץ נְשִׁיָּה׃ - Shall Your wonder be known in the dark, and Your righteousness in the land of forgetfulness?
Not only is he unable to recount it, but it will not even be known to them at all. For through knowing the miracle we arrive at gratitude and praise to Hashem, and the purpose of knowing wonders is that through it one grasps Hashem's omnipotence and righteousness - and none of this can be known once a person is already in the grave and in darkness. "The land of forgetfulness" (eretz neshiyah) - neshiyah is an expression of forgetfulness (shichchah), and the grave is the place of oblivion, for it is decreed upon the deceased that he fade from the heart. Can Your righteousness truly be remembered in a place ruled by oblivion, which is the grave?
וַאֲנִי אֵלֶיךָ יְהֹוָה שִׁוַּעְתִּי וּבַבֹּקֶר תְּפִלָּתִי תְקַדְּמֶךָּ׃ - But as for me, to You, Hashem, I cry out, and in the morning my prayer comes before You.
As long as I am alive, I constantly cry out to You, and each and every morning my prayer anticipates You - my prayer takes precedence over any pursuit I have, as the Radak explains. And there is a profound lesson here. Men awaken in the morning and pray; but for women, one prayer a day is sufficient, and they often ask: Shacharit is inconvenient for me, Minchah or Maariv is more manageable, is that permissible? According to the basic letter of the law it is proper that she pray one prayer, and if she can pray Minchah - she should pray Minchah; and if she can only pray Maariv, that is the lowest priority, since Maariv is originally voluntary (reshut). But the greatest virtue is Shacharit - that a woman awakens in the morning and, before occupying herself with anything else, prays. Opening the day with prayer is a great virtue. If she is occupied with caring for young children and this causes her such stress that she cannot tend to them properly, she should pray a different prayer. But when she is not yet caring for young children, or is no longer caring for them and has free time - the prayer most fitting for her is specifically Shacharit. All this is beyond the halachic rule that a man is likewise cautioned not to engage in his affairs before prayer: not to set out on his business or travels, or feed animals and only then come to pray; rather, these things must be done after prayer.
Ibn Ezra explains "and in the morning" from another perspective: "for then the suffering of most sick people eases slightly." In the morning, the sick look better; at night a sick person is more withdrawn and ailing, whereas in the morning he receives renewed vitality. That is also why doctors make their rounds every morning, to see the patient's condition and how it has changed. Where do we find an allusion to this? It is written, "a sun of healing" (shemesh marpe), suggesting that the morning sun has the power to heal. But there is a verse that hints at this even more clearly: Amnon's companion asked him why he looked so unwell "morning after morning" (baboker baboker). What was the question in "morning after morning"? It is that sick people typically feel and look better in the morning, so when I see you specifically in the morning looking so ill, it is a matter of great astonishment.
And what is the meaning of "To You"? Ibn Ezra explains: and not to physicians. I am not seeking flesh-and-blood doctors, but awaiting salvation and healing from You. Indeed, on a very high spiritual level, the Ramban wrote: what place do physicians have in the house of those who serve Hashem? But that applies only to a person at an extraordinarily high level. In our state, a person certainly must consult doctors and not rely on prayer alone. And not only us: even the Chazon Ish had a personal physician, and other gedolim regularly consulted doctors when necessary, rather than relying on the claim, "I will pray to Hashem and He will send healing." On the one hand, one is obligated to consult a doctor; one who is sick and does not go to a doctor, claiming, "I prayed" - "And surely your blood of your lives will I require," the Holy One, Blessed be He, will hold him accountable for his life. On the other hand, we must remember: we never place our ultimate trust in the doctor. I go to him because I am obligated to do so, as the Torah says, "and he shall cause him to be thoroughly healed" (verapo yerapei), from which our Sages derived that permission was granted to the physician to heal, and at my level I must take this path. But to rely on him and believe that salvation comes from him - certainly not. Healing comes exclusively from Hashem, and we pray that the doctor will be a good messenger.
The Malbim emphasizes: as long as I am alive, my entire cry is only to You - "To You, Hashem, I have cried." And not merely intermittently, like someone making a phone call once in a while, but rather "and in the morning my prayer greets You" - the first thing I do in the morning, immediately upon rising, is to pray to You. Consistently, and at the head of all matters.
לָמָה יְהֹוָה תִּזְנַח נַפְשִׁי תַּסְתִּיר פָּנֶיךָ מִמֶּנִּי׃ - Why, Hashem, do You cast off my soul, hide Your face from me?
If I cry out to You in this way, the question immediately arises: Why, then, do You hide Your face from me? The Radak explains: You do not pay attention to the misery of my soul, and You do not turn to the cry and the prayer that I pray to You. And the Malbim elaborates: Since I see my wretched and destitute condition, it must be one of two things - either You have utterly abandoned my soul and do not watch over me at all, leaving me subject to chance, which is why all these troubles befall me; or You are hiding Your face from me so that I do not see You, like someone who watches over his friend and peers through the lattices - seeing him from afar while the other does not see him. Even if You have not completely abandoned me to chance, You are nonetheless hiding Your face and looking at me only from a distance.
עָנִי אֲנִי וְגֹוֵעַ מִנֹּעַר נָשָׂאתִי אֵמֶיךָ אָפוּנָה׃ - I am afflicted and expiring from youth; I have borne Your terrors, I am distraught.
Anyone looking for the word "afuna" (peas) in the Tanach - here it is written; though this is not the pea served at lunchtime, and now we will examine what it actually means. Rashi explains "expiring from youth [minoa'ar]" - dying a sudden death from suffocation, as the Targum translates "And Hashem shook out [vayena'er]"; and Menachem interpreted it as an expression of beating and shaking, as in "who shakes [no'er] his hands from holding a bribe," "Shake yourself [hitna'ari] from the dust, arise and sit," "the strong one shall be as tow [li'ne'oret]," and "the wicked are shaken [veyina'aru] out of it" - meaning, like someone who is shaken and emptied out of the world, left with nothing. "I have borne Your terrors" - the dread of You and the fear of You; "afuna" - from the phrase "a word spoken properly [al ofnav]," meaning something settled and established. That is, this terror is firmly established and settled in my heart, taking up permanent residence - not solely out of awe of Heaven, but from the afflictions and waves of suffering that pursue me day by day and hour by hour.
Ibn Ezra explains "and expiring from youth [minoa'ar]" - ever since my youth; even back then I was not considered healthy and strong, but rather as one dying - like those of whom it is said from their youth that they will not last many years. "I have borne Your terrors" - these are the illnesses that I have suffered throughout all this time. And "afuna" - from the root pen ("lest"). The Radak explains Ibn Ezra's words: "afuna" relates to pen, meaning that I am constantly afraid and saying, lest such-and-such happen to me, lest I suffer this or that harm. In other words, I am constantly immersed in Your dread, out of fear that perhaps something evil will befall me.
And the Radak adds that this also contains praise for him: even though all my days have been full of misfortune, from my youth until my old age, through all of this I have not cast off Your yoke from upon myself. And even though You do not save me, and at all times I bear Your terror and fear lest another trouble, another curse, or another affliction come upon me - through it all I have remained clinging to You. And this is his great virtue.
עָלַי עָבְרוּ חֲרוֹנֶיךָ בִּעוּתֶיךָ צִמְּתוּתֻנִי׃ - Over me Your burning angers have passed; Your terrors have cut me off.
Radak explains: Charon is an expression of burning wrath (charon af); bi'utecha is like "and Haman was terrified" (niv'at) - with the letter tav, an expression of terror and fear (be'atah), not kicking (be'itah) (even though he was actually kicked at a later stage, when Mordechai mounted the horse and gave him a solid kick). Thus: Your burning wrath has swept over me, and also Your terrors - like night terrors, the terrifying things, the troubles that strike fear into me.
"They have cut me off" (tzimmtutuni) - Radak cites an interpretation that the word is a compound of tzimmtuni and tzimmtatni (as in Tehillim 119), but rejects it, as there is no reason for such a compound. Therefore, he explains that the third root letter was doubled along with the plural suffix to intensify the meaning - namely, the doubled tav. Doubling a letter always denotes intensification: yerakrak - the greenest of greens, adamdam - the reddest of reds, pitzetz - breaking repeatedly. So too, tzimmtutuni comes from lehatzmit, which means to cut off: they cut me down again and again and again, multiple cuttings. By the way, while today we use yerakrak and adamdam to mean light green and light red - although such an explanation does appear in Ibn Ezra, this is not the derashah of Chazal; Chazal expound that yerakrak is an intensified green, the greenest of greens, and adamdam is the reddest of reds.
The Malbim explains: Although I am poor and humble in spirit, and "expiring from youth" due to physical weakness since my youth, nevertheless "I have borne Your terrors" wherever I turn. That is, afunah, in his view, is not from the word pen ("lest") as Radak understands it, but from the root for turning (peniyyah): whichever way I seek to turn my face, the dread of You pursues me. "Your furies" are the punishments, and the terrors are the constant fears of what else is about to happen to me and what further trouble will come upon me - and they have "cut me off" (tzimmtutuni), severing me and plunging me into a state of constant dread and terror regarding what lies ahead.
סַבּוּנִי כַמַּיִם כׇּל־הַיּוֹם הִקִּיפוּ עָלַי יָחַד׃ - They surrounded me like water all day long; they encircled me together.
Just as water surrounds the world, so too my troubles surround me from every direction. The Malbim notes the repetition: "They surrounded me like water," and furthermore, "they encircled me together." "They surrounded me" (sabbuni) can be said even when something surrounds from three sides; but "encircled" (hikkifu) implies from all four sides, completely all around. Furthermore, one might have thought that the troubles come from every side but one after another, a blow from a different direction each time; therefore, the verse adds "together" (yachad) - they encircle me from every side and all the blows strike me at once.
הִרְחַקְתָּ מִמֶּנִּי אֹהֵב וָרֵעַ מְיֻדָּעַי מַחְשָׁךְ׃ - You have distanced lover and friend from me; my acquaintances are darkness.
As we saw in verse 9, "You have distanced my acquaintances from me" - You have distanced my loved ones from me, and it is as though my acquaintances are in a place of darkness and I cannot see them. Rashi explains "my acquaintances are darkness" (meyudda'ai machshach) - I have been darkened and severed from them; it seems he reads the word similarly to mechasach, meaning I have been withheld from them. It can also be understood in the literal sense of darkness: a dark thing is like something that has been extinguished, with which all connection is severed - so too I have been severed from them; I am as though in darkness, no longer seen.
The Malbim explains according to his approach: The dread of Hashem and the terrors surrounding him act as guards around him so that no one can approach him, and through them, "You have distanced lover and friend from me." Who, then, remains close to me today? "My acquaintances are darkness" - darkness and gloom are my companions; not the lover and friend, whom You have distanced, but darkness is my companion today, it is my acquaintance.
The Malbim concludes: The nimshal is self-evident. The overall character of the nation is like a body suffering from a terminal illness, as if dead, buried, and vanished from the world; and in what sense is it still considered alive? In that it still feels the suffering - as we have seen throughout the chapter, it continues to absorb blows and feels them. It is separated from mankind, shut up in prisons, dwelling alone like a solitary bird on a roof. This is the description of exile: distanced from our Land, and even in the places where we find ourselves, we are always considered an alien presence, like a solitary bird on a roof, pursued by dread, terrors, and the breakers of death. All the images described here ring true in the nimshal to one who understands - and this is why the psalm opens with the word Maskil: one must be a maskil, discerning, to understand these matters and see how all these descriptions are a parable and metaphor for the reality of the Jewish people in their exile.