We continue through the chapters of Hallel, arriving at Chapter 116. Rashi notes that David uttered this psalm after Shaul died and he ascended the throne. All the verses here express King David's thanksgiving as he returns to reign: "Return, my soul, to your rest, for Hashem has dealt bountifully with you" - Hashem has bestowed lovingkindness upon you; "You have delivered my soul from death." This is the chapter of one who emerged from distress and comes to give thanks.
אָהַבְתִּי כִּי־יִשְׁמַע ה' אֶת־קוֹלִי תַּחֲנוּנָי׃ - I love that Hashem hears my voice, my supplications.
Rashi explains: "Ahavti" means ta'avti, I longed for Hashem to hear my voice. Ta'avti with a beit, from the root of yoveh, meaning desired or wanted, which is also related to ta'avah (desire) with a vav. In other words: I yearn, I deeply desire that Hashem hear my voice, my supplications.
Radak, on the other hand, writes: "'Ahavti ki yishma' - 'Hashem' connects in meaning with 'ahavti.'" In our printed editions, someone corrupted the punctuation and placed a period after the Name of Hashem, making the text unintelligible - what connects to what? Rather, the reading should be: "'Ahavti ki yishma' [period]; 'Hashem' - its meaning attaches to 'ahavti.'" That is to say, it is as if the verse reads, "I loved Hashem." After all, the verse says "I loved," so we must ask what was loved - and to this Radak explains: I loved Hashem. Why? Because He hears my voice and my supplications. "I loved Him, and it is right and proper for me to love Him" - justice dictates and requires that I love Hashem, for He listens to me whenever I call upon Him.
The Malbim explains differently: "Ahavti" connects with "tachanunai" (my supplications). Even when I was in a state where everything was fine, robust and well - even then, I loved my supplications, that Hashem would hear my voice. I loved to plead and pray before Hashem. This is a lofty virtue, for in reality, when do we tend to plead, to ask, or even to remember that there is a Creator of the universe? When troubles strike, to our shame. A person ought to remember the Holy One, blessed be He, every single day and every single hour, giving thanks: Master of the Universe, thank You that I am healthy, thank You that the children are healthy, thank You that my wife is healthy, thank You that there is livelihood, that there is life, that there is a world - thank You for everything. Yet we remember only when troubles begin, and then suddenly a person realizes how much gratitude is due for healthy legs, healthy hands, and functioning eyes. Regarding this David says: I loved my supplications; I love to pour out supplications before Hashem, for He constantly hears my voice.
כִּי־הִטָּה אָזְנוֹ לִי וּבְיָמַי אֶקְרָא׃ - For He inclined His ear to me, and in my days I will call.
The Malbim explains: "For He inclined His ear to me" - like a person who inclines his ear toward his only child, waiting to hear his voice, because that voice is sweet to him and he desires to hear his supplications. The Holy One, blessed be He, inclines His ear to hear me, and therefore I love to plead before Him. Consequently, I feel that I always have an address to turn to and speak with.
"And in my days I will call" - the Malbim explains that this refers to my good days. He holds a consistent rule: wherever the word "days" appears without qualification, it refers to good days, whereas "d'mi yamai" (the cut-off of my days) is an expression for bad days. What is "d'mi yamai"? Ibn Ezra explains it as related to damim (blood), decrees against a person's lifeblood. Most commentators, including Radak, explain it as cut off or severed - that one's days were cut short. The Malbim explains it as silence (dumiyah), that his days were silenced in the middle, as in "and Aharon was silent" (vayidom Aharon). In any case, it denotes days of misfortune. Accordingly, David says: Even in my good days I call out and plead before Hashem, not only in bad days.
From Rashi it appears differently, that the days here are days of distress: "And in my days I will call" - in the days of my distress I call upon Him, and in the days of my redemption I praise Him. When I am in distress I call out to Hashem, and once I am redeemed I thank Him that all is well and running smoothly.
Radak explains: He inclines His ear to me, and all my days I will call upon Him for help - specifically to Him, and to no other. And this is as explained previously: not like those who rely on the Holy One, blessed be He, plus someone else: "So-and-so will help me, and if not, Hashem will help me." No. A person turns in advance to the correct address, and only afterward makes the required human effort (hishtadlut). He does not trade in backup options - "If it does not work out here, Master of the Universe, You are also an option" - heaven forbid! First of all, the Master of the Universe, and only then the practical effort.
If a person, heaven forbid, has a medical problem, the very first thing is: "Master of the Universe, I have a problem, please help me." Afterward, he certainly should go to a doctor; no one tells him not to visit a doctor. But the Holy One, blessed be He, is the primary address, rather than only remembering there is a Creator after the doctor throws up his hands. We are speaking of what is demanded of a person, not where each individual currently stands. A person gets a headache - what does he do? Immediately takes a pill. Where is the Master of the Universe? "Master of the Universe, my head hurts, please heal me." Ten minutes or a quarter of an hour pass and it has not subsided - go take a pill, for we are obligated to make an effort. But first of all, speak with the Master of the Universe. We forget this, and therefore we live in such a material world, a world entirely of cause and effect: do this and that happens, take a pill and get well. A person must bring the Master of the Universe into this material world.
אֲפָפוּנִי חֶבְלֵי־מָוֶת וּמְצָרֵי שְׁאוֹל מְצָאוּנִי צָרָה וְיָגוֹן אֶמְצָא׃ - The cords of death encompassed me, and the straits of the Netherworld found me; I found trouble and sorrow.
Rashi interprets "cords of death" (*chevlei mavet*) as bands of my enemies seeking to kill me, from the usage of "a band of prophets" (*chevel nevi'im*) or "a band of men" (*chevel anashim*). "And the straits of Sheol found me" - the boundaries of Sheol, which is Gehinnom, have already found me; I reached the very threshold of Gehinnom. By way of homiletic hint (remez), one might also say: *metzarei Shaul* - those who distressed me on King Saul's mission found me. The Ziphites came and said, "Is not David hiding with us in the hill of Hachilah?" and likewise others who came to inform to Saul - these are the *metzarei Shaul* who found me.
Radak explains "the cords of death encompassed me" - whenever the pangs of death surround and encompass me, meaning I was in imminent mortal danger. In his view, *chevlei* is not from the term for groups or bands, but from the pangs and birth-throes of a woman in labor - the agony of death. "And the straits of Sheol found me" is a poetic parallelism (repetition of the concept in different words), and *metzarei* is a noun, like "they distress (*tzorerim*) you." As explained previously, there is a distinction between a verb and a noun: "getting angry" is a verb, an action; "anger" is a noun, the concept itself. Here, the straits of Sheol have already found me, to the point that I am on the very threshold of death.
And why does the verse first say "they found me" (*metza'uni*) and then "I find" (*emtza*)? Radak explains: Circumstances find a person and he cannot escape them - hence "they found me"; and he also finds them, by walking toward the place where he will encounter them unwittingly, sometimes setting out to find good and finding evil instead. That is, sometimes distress pursues a person and he cannot escape it, while other times a person brings distress upon himself, acting in a way that invites it. Just as we saw with King Chizkiyahu, who brought the emissaries of the king of Babylon to show them his treasure house after the miracle the Holy One, blessed be He, performed for him by turning back the sun; and the prophet said to him: These men whom you brought into your house - they will come and conquer the house, take all the treasures, and destroy it. That is distress a person brings upon himself: Why did you go and bring them here to boast before them? Yet there are troubles where a person behaves properly and nevertheless trouble descends upon him. Concerning this our Sages said: "A person's feet are his guarantors; to the place where he is summoned, there they carry him" - sometimes a person sets out to find good, yet his feet carry him toward evil, because that is where he is summoned, and that is where his feet lead him.
The Malbim adds: If even in good times I loved to beseech Hashem, how much more so now that "the cords of death encompassed me," and even more - "the straits of Sheol found me," Sheol being what follows death, and "trouble and sorrow I find." In such situations, I will certainly call upon the Name of Hashem. In his lexical analysis (Be'ur HaMilot), he also notes the difference between *metza'uni* ("they found me") and *emtza* ("I find"): these are two distinct stages. First, the afflictions found him, and then, once that evil became entrenched within him, he began to feel them acutely - and then he found the trouble and sorrow as they truly are.
וּבְשֵׁם־ה' אֶקְרָא אָנָּה ה' מַלְּטָה נַפְשִׁי׃ - And I call upon the Name of Hashem: "Please, Hashem, deliver my soul!"
When I was in distress, I would call upon the Name of Hashem, saying: "Please, Hashem, deliver my soul" from the clutches of Sheol. Radak notes that *annah* is an expression of supplication and entreaty, and this is one of six places in Scripture where it is spelled with a final *heh* (אָנָּה), for it is usually spelled with an *aleph* (אָנָּא). Radak further comments on its pronunciation: the accent is on the first syllable (*mil'el*), as the *aleph* has a *kamatz* and the *nun* has a *dagesh*, as is the case with every *annah* that denotes entreaty. In contrast, in verses like "Where (*anoh*) shall I flee from Your presence?" or "Where (*anoh*) shall I turn?", the *nun* has no *dagesh* (*rafah*). When the *nun* has a *dagesh*, it is an expression of plea.
In the work *Tehilot Maharitz*, a beautiful point is noted: observe what David is asking for. There are "straits of Sheol" that found him, there is "trouble and sorrow" - yet despite this, his supplication is not about physical distress and sorrow or bodily affliction, but about spiritual matters: "Deliver my soul" - act for the sake of my soul, for the sake of my spirit. For when a person undergoes distress, he is liable to suffer an inner crisis and decline spiritually: "Why is Hashem doing this to me? I cleave to Him, yet specifically now troubles come upon me!" Regarding this he pleads: Master of the Universe, this is my primary concern - that this should not cause me spiritual weakness. "Please, Hashem, deliver my soul" - the affairs of the soul are far more critical to me than the physical concern.
חַנּוּן ה' וְצַדִּיק וֵאלֹהֵינוּ מְרַחֵם׃ - Gracious is Hashem and righteous, and our God is merciful.
Pay attention to the pronunciation: "Ve-loheinu", without sounding the Alef. This is a rule where many stumble, and it is worth reviewing: when prefix letters precede a word beginning with an Alef, the mnemonic rule is "Moshe motzi ve-Chelev machnis" (Moshe brings out, Chelev brings in). With the prefix letters Mem, Shin, and Heh, the Alef is pronounced: "Me-adoni", "She-adoni", "Ha-adoni". But with the prefix letters Vav, Kaf, Lamed, and Beit, the Alef is quiescent and not pronounced at all: "Vadoni", "Kadoni", "Ladoni", "Badoni". This occurs frequently in prayer - for instance, at the end of "U-va Le-Tzion", or "Kol ha-botechim bo" - where many mistakenly articulate an extra Alef sound. Remembering this rule will help us read accurately.
As for the meaning of the verse: this is why I would call out to Him, for He is gracious, righteous, and merciful, and I know He will have compassion on me. The Malbim counts three reasons why Hashem will hear my prayer: First, because He is chanun (gracious) - He grants an unearned gift even to one who is undeserving. This is what we mean when we say "Kel rachum ve-chanun": rachum means He has compassion on His creations, while chanun means He gives them a free gift. Second, because He is tzaddik (righteous) - He acts justly in all He does and rewards the righteous according to their righteousness; since I conduct myself righteously before Him, it is fitting that He show me kindness. Third, because "our God is merciful" - the Holy One, blessed be He, has compassion on the poor and the downtrodden, and as I am now persecuted and impoverished, it is fitting that He show me mercy. Thus, "gracious and righteous" are the reasons Hashem always hears my prayer, and now I also invoke the attribute of mercy, that He may behold my plight and have compassion.
שֹׁמֵר פְּתָאיִם ה' דַּלּוֹתִי וְלִי יְהוֹשִׁיעַ׃ - Hashem protects the simple; I was brought low, and He saved me.
Here too, the Alef is quiescent: "peta'yim", read as though there were no Alef at all, and many stumble over this (though it is unrelated to the previous rule). The Radak explains: a simple person (peti) does not know clever tactics to escape distress, and the Holy One, blessed be He, watches over him when he relies on Him. Yet even the wise person must not place his trust in his own wisdom and clever schemes, for whatever scheme one devises - if Hashem does not desire it, nothing will work. A nation can possess the most advanced technology and the most sophisticated sensors that detect every slight vibration from tunnels, and then a drone costing three thousand shekels appears, a tractor costing ten thousand shekels breaches a five-million-dollar barrier, and another drone drops a bomb that destroys a remote-controlled weapon station. One is certain that we are protected, that if anyone approaches, everything is under control. But no; peasant fighters with cheap Kalashnikovs wreaked devastation unseen since the Holocaust. What does this demonstrate? That even if one is wise, astute, and immensely knowledgeable, as the Radak writes, one's wisdom and strategies will be of no avail if God does not will it.
If so, why does the verse specifically say "Hashem protects the simple"? After all, the wise person also needs protection, since his schemes will accomplish nothing unless Hashem wills it! Rather, explains the Radak: the simple have no alternative and no other resort, whereas the wise person still thinks he has options and may still rely on his own wisdom. The simple person knows he has nothing at all - and therefore, "Hashem protects the simple."
"I was brought low, and He saved me" - the Radak notes that the stress is milra (on the final syllable): "dalloti", as indicated by the revia cantillation mark over the letter Tav. That is: when I was impoverished and destitute, with no savior, Hashem saved me.
The Malbim explains differently: the very fact that "I was brought low" through illness was itself an expression of "Hashem protects the simple." Hashem wished to guard me from falling into sin and to bring me to repentance, and the very condition of being brought low, ill, and distressed was what "saved me" - bringing salvation to both body and soul. At times, the very fact that a person finds himself in poor health or in dire financial straits exists precisely to prevent him from sinning. As we find regarding Chanoch: "and he was no more, for God took him" - for Hashem knew he could easily turn wicked, and had he remained, he would have sinned. The Holy One, blessed be He, brings hardship upon a person to distance him from transgression or to return him in repentance.
The Malbim further notes that the word dalloti ("I was brought low") also relates to illness, as Scripture says: "Why are you so haggard (dal), O son of the king, morning after morning?" - as Amnon's companion said to him, whereupon Amnon replied that love for Tamar consumed him, and his companion advised him to feign illness and have heart-shaped cakes made. We see from here that dal is an expression denoting illness. Accordingly, "dalloti" means: I was sick, and that very illness saved me.
In the sefer Imrei Pi, "I was brought low, and He saved me" (dalosi veli yehoshia) is interpreted homiletically: the Redemption will come in the merit of humility. If we become like the impoverished, like the humble - through this, the Holy One, blessed be He, will redeem us. And from where do we know this? Chazal say in Sanhedrin (98a): The son of David will not come until the haughty are eliminated from Israel. And we are right in the midst of this process - anyone who observes can see how all those haughty people who had solutions for every problem, who always knew what needed to be done and instructed everyone else where they were wrong, suddenly have had their wings clipped. All those whom people relied upon - cater to them, pamper them, heal them, assist them - and behold, it blows up in their faces. Slowly, the wings of those who held a monopoly on wisdom, intelligence, and knowledge, as though they understood everything, are being clipped.
And so Chazal said in the Midrash: Mashiach comes and stands on the roof of the Beis HaMikdash and proclaims, "Humble ones (anavim), the time of your redemption has arrived" - anavim with a vav, not anabim (grapes). Thus, the Redemption depends on humility: when we reach the status of humble ones, the Redemption will come. And this is "I was brought low" (dalosi) - when you reach a state of lowliness and humility, then "and He saved me" (veli yehoshia), salvation will arrive. And one could say that Dovid HaMelech is saying this about himself, as the redeemer: Be in a state of lowliness, and then "He will grant me salvation" (li yehoshia) - salvation will be mine to come and redeem the Jewish people, Mashiach ben Dovid.
And in the sefer Shem HaGedolim, the Chida brings in this regard: Know that I received from a person great in wisdom and fear of Heaven, who received from a great rav, who received from elders, that it was revealed in the generation of Maran Rabbi Yosef Karo that according to the needs of that generation, Israel needed a work that would assemble all the laws and reveal their roots to draw the halachic conclusions - namely, the Shulchan Aruch. In that generation, three rabbis were deemed fitting for this task, and all three were named Yosef: Rabbi Yosef Taitatzak, Rabbi Yosef Karo, and Rabbi Yosef ibn Lev (the Maharival). And Heaven decreed that the law be established through the holy Maran Rabbi Yosef Karo - on account of his extraordinary humility. Here you have "I was brought low, and He saved me": because he was humble and modest, he was chosen for all generations, fulfilling "Go to Yosef; whatever he tells you, do."
The sefer Tehillos Maharit explains this in another way: "I was brought low, and He saved me" - when many people need a collective salvation and pray to the Holy One, blessed be He, to save them, they have great hope that Hashem will listen to them, as it says, "Behold, God is mighty, and despises not any" (Iyov 36:5) - which Chazal expounded regarding the prayer of the public, that the Holy One, blessed be He, does not despise the prayer of the multitude. Therefore, Chazal said: A distress that befalls an individual is distress; one that does not befall an individual alone is not distress, for they will certainly be saved and find relief. Not so the individual who needs personal salvation and stands alone in prayer, whose strength is meager (dal) and who needs great merit for his prayer to be accepted.
From here stems what was mentioned earlier: that this whole new initiative of taking one single name to pray for, or adopting a specific soldier and learning for his success, runs counter to Halachah, counter to hashkafah, and counter to our age-old tradition. One must always pray for the collective; the salvation of the public carries vastly greater power than a plea for an individual. One who has a relative in need of salvation certainly prays for him by name, adding "among all the sick of Your people, the House of Israel," and mentions everyone else as well. But when one has no personal acquaintance, and there are two hundred and forty hostages - why on earth single out one of them and pray specifically for him? One must pray for the collective, for everyone. Rav Dov Lando also spoke out against this: Why designate a specific individual for an entire community to pray for? Moreover, that person may no longer be among the living, and it suddenly turns out that an entire congregation stood and cried out for the salvation of someone who is already gone. We have never heard of such a practice; where have we ever seen the Gedolei Yisrael instruct anyone to pick one name out of the collective and pray only for him?
Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz explains: Whatever can be included within the collective benefits from the virtue of the collective. "And your people are all righteous." If you begin inspecting each individual like an esrog, alas, how many flaws you will find in us! But as a collective - "You are all beautiful, my beloved" - if it is all of you together, the collective, you are entirely beautiful. When someone singles out an individual and prays specifically for him, they begin to scrutinize him in Heaven: Is he worthy or not worthy, deserving or undeserving? Why separate him from the collective? Plead for the salvation of the collective - there is a group in captivity, pray for them. You have no relative among them? There are currently two thousand sick people - pray for all the sick people here, for all of them. An individual is scrutinized; the collective is not scrutinized, and they are worthy of salvation as a whole.
It is told of Rav Eliyahu Lopian that while traveling with the yeshivah students of Kfar Chasidim along the coastal highway, he said to them: Look at the sea, what a magnificent sight - smooth, beautiful, blue, delighting the eye. But if we approach the shore, we see plastic bags, filth, tar, and dirt, and it no longer looks good at all. He told them: This is precisely the concept of the collective. Klal Yisrael as a whole is "And your people are all righteous"; begin looking up close and examining with tweezers, and matters do not look so pleasing. Therefore, a person must always remain part of the collective.
It is likewise told of Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz that during the shelling of Jerusalem, he saw students who went to study in other batei midrash, and he rebuked them: You are making a grave mistake. When you learn with the tzibbur, with the entire yeshivah, you possess the merit of the collective; when you isolate yourself and step out of the collective, you require special merits of your own - and are you certain you have them? Therefore, a person should always include himself within the collective and not separate or distance himself, and then the merits of the collective will stand by him as well.
In light of this, the Tehillos Maharit explains the verse: "I was brought low" (dalosi) - I am considered impoverished and destitute when I am in distress all alone; "and He saved me" (veli yehoshia) - when salvation must appear solely for my sake. At that point, I am in deficit, and they begin to examine me to see if I am worthy of salvation. But if He brings salvation to the collective, I am not impoverished at all, but, thank God, wealthy and worthy of salvation. Therefore, Hashem must save the entire collective, and within the collective, I am considered rich in merits.
In this regard, that son said to his father: I see that Mother is about to die; what now - will you sell her? He then realized how foolish he had been when he went and sold the cattle and sold the houses. The Holy One, blessed be He, was meant to take the mother, and what did He do? He brought a plague upon the houses and the flock, saying: In this shall be your redemption. Blood touched blood (damim be-damim nagu) - blood in exchange for blood, for damim also means money. But you got rid of it and thought you had escaped the loss - yet you were not spared, because the loss then had to strike the source, the one who was truly destined to receive the distress. Therefore, a person must realize that in whatever happens to him, he should always say, "It is an atonement for sins," and say, "Thank You, Master of the Universe."
As we have mentioned before: when trouble befalls a person, he should say, "See, Hashem, my affliction and forgive all my sins." If trouble strikes, or a financial loss or damage is caused to him - Master of the Universe, look upon my affliction and through this forgive all my sins. I have sins, I have stumbled - Master of the Universe, forgive me through this; may it be Your will that what I am going through now will serve as an atonement for me.
If so, explains the Tehilot Maharitz, the Holy One, blessed be He, brings upon a person a condition that resembles death. And what resembles death? The Gemara states that a blind person is considered as dead, and likewise a poor person is considered as dead, and through this the Holy One, blessed be He, saves him from the calamity itself.
There is a story of a Jew whose financial situation was dire, and he came to consult his Rebbe whether to turn to his wealthy brother who could help him. The Rebbe told him: "I do not think it is advisable." The situation worsened, and he returned to ask: "Rebbe, perhaps after all?" He told him: "You may do as you wish, but I still do not think it is advisable." His wife pressured him and the situation deteriorated, so he came to ask again. The Rebbe said: "Do as you wish; I have told you my view." He went and turned to his brother, and the brother saw his plight and helped him substantially. A short time later, the man fell ill with a terminal illness from which he would not recover. He sent to ask forgiveness from the Rebbe for not heeding his words, thinking perhaps there was resentment (kpeidah). The Rebbe replied: "There is no resentment at all. I knew that the Holy One, blessed be He, brought poverty upon this man because a poor person is considered as dead, thereby sparing him from actual death. But the man sought to outsmart this decree, so Heaven had no choice but to bring death upon him, and now it is no longer in my power to help him." Therefore, a person should know: it is difficult, there are livelihood struggles - but there is always something worse, which is death, and it is very possible that through this very suffering the Holy One, blessed be He, is redeeming me from death.
שׁוּבִי נַפְשִׁי לִמְנוּחָיְכִי כִּי־ה' גָּמַל עָלָיְכִי׃ - Return, my soul, to your rest, for Hashem has dealt bountifully with you.
כִּי חִלַּצְתָּ נַפְשִׁי מִמָּוֶת אֶת־עֵינִי מִן־דִּמְעָה אֶת־רַגְלִי מִדֶּחִי׃ - For You have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling.
See how deeply all of this is hinted here. King David gives thanks to Hashem whose kindness has overwhelmed us and delivered us from evil - not only from death itself, but also from that which resembles death. This is why he says: "For You have delivered my soul from death," and not only from this, but also "my eyes from tears" - the Midrash teaches that tears blind the eyes, meaning: You saved my eyes from blindness, and a blind person is considered as dead. And also "my feet from stumbling" - our Sages said that what keeps a person on his feet is his wealth, as in "and all the substance that was in their possession (at their feet)" (Devarim 11:6), which refers to a person's wealth that keeps him on his feet; meaning: You also saved me from financial losses that would have brought me to the state of being considered as dead. For all of this, King David thanks Hashem for the abundance of His mercy and kindness.
Psalm 116 is David's song of thanksgiving for having emerged from distress. He opens by expressing that he loves to plead before Hashem - during good times as well, not only in times of distress - because the Holy One, blessed be He, inclines His ear to him like a father to his only child. From this we learned that a person's first address in every matter is the Master of the Universe, and only afterward comes human effort (hishtadlut). He describes the cords of death that engulfed him, and prays specifically for his soul - that his spirituality not be weakened on account of the adversity. He calls out to Hashem on the basis of His being gracious, righteous, and merciful, and testifies that "Hashem protects the simple" - that one must rely neither on cleverness nor on schemes. "I was brought low, and He saved me" - lowliness and humility are themselves salvation, and in their merit redemption will arrive; therefore, a person should always endeavor to be included within the collective and pray for the community, as the collective possesses special virtue and merits. And finally, David gives thanks not only for rescue from death, but also for rescue from anything that resembles death.