Psalm 137 is the lament of the exiles by the rivers of Babylon. The Malbim explains that this psalm was composed for the first year in which Cyrus conquered Babylon. The Metzudat David explains that the chapter was authored by King David. And if you ask: David passed away before the Beit HaMikdash was even built, so how could he speak of the Destruction? The answer is that David was the master of prophetic inspiration, and through ruach hakodesh he foresaw that Nebuchadnezzar would exile Israel to Babylon. And as we will see later, he also foresaw the exile of Titus, which is the Roman exile.
עַל־נַהֲרוֹת בָּבֶל שָׁם יָשַׁבְנוּ גַּם־בָּכִינוּ בְּזׇכְרֵנוּ אֶת־צִיּוֹן׃ - By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and also wept, as we remembered Zion.
Rashi explains: "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat" - when we went down into exile. Nebuchadnezzar demanded that they sing for him, just as they used to sing upon the platform in the Temple, but there, in that place, we sat and also wept as we remembered Zion. The Ibn Ezra adds that the psalm is spoken in the voice of the Levites, who sang this when they were exiled to Babylon. And what is the significance of "by the rivers of Babylon, there we sat"? They isolated themselves from the Babylonians so that they would not hear their weeping. Therefore, they did not weep inside their cities; rather, they would go out to the distant rivers, and weep there. And as we will see later, they also hung their harps there, which was why they needed to go to such a remote place.
What is the meaning of "there we sat"? This is a question everyone asks - what does this expression of sitting convey? The Ibn Ezra explains: we sat despondent. We were like a person stunned and terrified, sitting in bewilderment. The Radak explains that the psalm is spoken in the voice of the singing Levites exiled to Babylon; there we would seclude ourselves, and not only were we desolate, but we also wept when we remembered Zion. The Metzudat David interprets: we sat in the manner befitting exiles - like someone cast down to the ground, as appropriate for one plunged into depression and sorrow, remembering ruined and desolate Zion, and over this we wept.
The Malbim explains: our weeping in Babylon and mourning over Zion was not because we had lost material goods - that we once owned fields, vineyards, and abundance, and were forced to leave it all behind. On the contrary - even by the rivers of Babylon, "there we sat"; we established permanent settlements there, with fields and vineyards, just as they were commanded: "Build houses... and plant gardens and eat their produce." We see that in Babylon they were instructed not to sit in paralysis and say: in seventy years we will be redeemed, so I will do nothing. Rather, they were told: in the place where you find yourselves, build up your material lives, plant vineyards, eat their fruit, and build houses. Thus, from a material standpoint, we lacked nothing.
And despite all this, when we remembered Zion, we wept. Why? Because Zion always represents the place of holiness. Jerusalem is the dwelling place of the people, but Zion is the core, the site of the Temple. We remembered the sanctity of Zion - that the Beit HaMikdash was there, the Temple service was there, the Shechinah dwelt in our midst - and it was over this spiritual bliss, now absent from our lives, that we wept.
According to the Malbim, the well-known difficulty is resolved: what is the meaning of "also" (gam) here, when sitting and weeping are not complementary actions? Rather, the meaning is: even though (hagam) we settled down - having established homes, vineyards, and dwellings - we nevertheless wept, because we remembered Zion. Material comfort is no substitute for the spirituality we lost when we lost Zion.
עַל־עֲרָבִים בְּתוֹכָהּ תָּלִינוּ כִּנֹּרוֹתֵינוּ׃ - Upon the willows in its midst we hung our harps.
When would there be "Arabs" in Babylon? In Babylon there are Babylonians! Rather, the reference is to willows (*aravim*), to willow trees by the brook. Ibn Ezra cites an innovative interpretation in the name of Rabbi Moshe: "in its midst" means within Zion, before their exile - meaning, we laid down the harps and did not take them with us, but left them behind in Zion. Ibn Ezra himself, however, rejects this explanation, asserting that in his view "in its midst" refers to Babylon. This is the plain meaning explained by all the commentators: upon the willows within Babylon, we hung our harps.
The proofs for this are: First, it says "By the rivers of Babylon," and willow trees grow in close proximity to rivers; thus, by the rivers we sat, and upon the willows beside them we hung our harps. Second, it must be speaking of the rivers in Babylon, for in the Land of Israel, in Jerusalem, there are no rivers; there was only one river there, the Gichon, and even that was stopped up by Chizkiyahu. Third, for in Babylon they said to us, "Sing to us from the songs of Zion" - a sign that the harps were right there with them, since "sing" implies both singing and playing music.
Radak explains the hanging: We would sit on the riverbank with our harps in hand, seeking to uplift ourselves with song as had been our custom in Zion. But whenever we remembered Zion, from overwhelming sorrow we would let go of the harps and hang them on the willow trees, unable to play. They had thought the harps would stir their memories, but ultimately found that the memories struck them with such intensity that listening to music and engaging in it was no longer sweet to them at all - so they hung up the harps in deep sorrow and grief, and sat and wept.
Metzudat David explains differently: they hung the harps in hidden places among the willow trees so that the enemies would not see them and demand that we sing for them, as we will see later in the chapter.
The Malbim offers an innovative interpretation here: "upon the *aravim*" does not derive from willow trees, but from sweetness (*areivut*) - something pleasant and delightful. Although in Babylon we had all the pleasant, sweet comforts for the body, on that very account we hung up our harps. We did not want to rejoice in its bounty, and that bounty itself became a source of mourning for us. How could I rejoice in the land of the enemy? How could I indulge in earthly pleasures when the House of Hashem lies in ruins? On the contrary, that very sweetness would show that, to some degree, we had forgotten Zion - and because we could not bear to forget Zion, we were incapable of playing music. It was precisely because of what the Babylonian empire offered us that we hung up our harps.
From this we learn what many great figures have stated, famously cited in the name of the Chasam Sofer, who said that he did not fear that the exile would destroy us, but rather feared that the exile would become pleasant to us. In truth, what devastated the Jewish people in exile was not persecution - persecutions actually caused the nation to draw together and cling to its faith. What caused destruction was emancipation. When the Chasam Sofer was told that Napoleon had granted equal rights to the Jews, he began to weep. He said: When we are persecuted, when a Jew feels uncomfortable among the gentiles, he remembers his Jewishness; and if he forgets, the gentile will remind him. But when he enters the grand salons, becomes part of the government, he gradually changes his appearance: the peyot drop off, then the kippah, then he speaks their language and becomes part of them. And that is far more terrible. If the exile is sweet to us, we no longer have anything to seek in the Land of Israel and no interest in redemption. "Upon the sweet pleasures within it" - the exile was sweet to us, and that was the terrible tragedy, and over that the weeping was all the greater.
The Meiri questions the standard interpretation that we set aside the harps and hung them on the trees. He raises two difficulties: First, how did they carry harps with them? A person going into exile does not take musical instruments, but rather the bare essentials of an exile. Second, if the harps were merely hung up - the enemies ruling over them could have simply forced them to play; why did they not compel them?
Therefore, the Meiri explains: The enemies who were there in the place to which they were exiled held the vessels of the Temple, for the conquerors had carried off to Babylon all the gold and everything that was in the Temple, including the harps. And they commanded the Levi'im, "Sing to us from the songs of Zion," and the Levi'im were forced to comply. They brought out the harps and placed them into their hands, and they stretched out their strings and tuned them - for to play a harp one must stretch the strings, just as any musician does before playing: tuning the strings, tightening a bit and loosening a bit, to ensure that the instrument sounds properly.
That tuning and stretching is called *teliya*. To "hang" (*litlot*) means to stretch something out, to set it up and draw it taut in its proper form, as in the verse "He hangs the earth over nothingness" (*toleh eretz al belimah*). So too, Chazal said, "One may hang the wine strainer (*tolin et hamesameret*) on Yom Tov" - stretching the strainer over the mouth of the vessel and pouring into it, so that the dregs collect on top and the wine flows through. Similarly, "On the fourth day the luminaries were hung (*nitlu me'orot*)," meaning they were positioned and established. If so, "upon the willows within it we hung our harps" means: there, in that place, we tuned and stretched the strings of the harps to play. "In its midst" - within Babylon, for whatever lies within Babylon's borders is called "in its midst." And "upon the willows" means not on the willows themselves, but amidst the willow trees. The lament here is that they were coerced into singing the song of Zion.
כִּי שָׁם שְׁאֵלוּנוּ שׁוֹבֵינוּ דִּבְרֵי־שִׁיר וְתוֹלָלֵינוּ שִׂמְחָה שִׁירוּ לָנוּ מִשִּׁיר צִיּוֹן׃ - For there our captors asked of us words of song, and our tormentors asked for mirth: "Sing to us from the songs of Zion!"
Those who captured us demanded that we sing for them from the songs of Zion, and in response we wept and asked them: How can we sing the song of Zion? And what is the meaning of "v'tolaleinu simchah" ("and those who tormented us, joy")? Radak explains: with the harps that we hung (talinu) upon the willows, they asked joy of us - that we rejoice with them and sing for them. Some explain "tolaleinu" as related to wailing (yelalah): they were the cause of our wailing, yet instead of wailing they demand joy from us. Rashi cites Menachem, who explains that tolaleinu refers to musical instruments, so called because they would hang them - like percussion instruments suspended in the air to be struck, such as that metal triangle with a beater that everyone remembers from kindergarten. And Rashi himself explains: "Tolaleinu" refers to our enemies who mock and deride us, related to the verse, "and those who mock me swear by me" (u'meholalai bi nishba'u). Holelim are reckless, frivolous people acting foolishly, and they wanted us to behave recklessly as well.
As is often noted, whenever a word is obscure, interpretations proliferate. Here we already have four explanations for the term "tolaleinu": the harps hung on the willows, an expression of wailing, the name of a musical instrument, and an expression of mocking and derision.
The Malbim explains: "There our captors asked us for words of song" - the custom in ancient times was to sing songs recounting the praise of the land and country in which one lived, just as songs were sung in praise of Jerusalem. Even today, people sing songs in praise of their homeland, and such is the way of all nations; every nation has a song praising its land.
And incidentally, what song in praise of Jerusalem do we all sing every Shabbat? Lecha Dodi. Few realize that Lecha Dodi is primarily a hymn in praise of Jerusalem. Only the first and second stanzas pertain to Shabbat: "Shamor v'zachor b'dibur echad," "Likrat Shabbat lechu v'neilcha." From there onward, the hymn turns to speak of Jerusalem: "Sanctuary of the King, royal city, arise, depart from the midst of the upheaval; you have dwelled long enough in the valley of tears, and He will have compassion upon you"; "Shake off the dust, arise, don your garments of glory, my people, through the son of Yishai the Beis-hachmi, bring redemption near to my soul"; "Awake, awake, for your light has come, arise, shine"; "Do not be ashamed, do not be humiliated, why are you downcast"; "And those who despoiled you shall become a spoil, and all who devoured you shall be far removed"; "To the right and to the left you shall burst forth" - as is said of Jerusalem, that it will expand in the future to come. Only at the very end does the song return to Shabbat: "Enter in peace, crown of her husband, in gladness, song, and jubilation," "Come, O bride, come, O bride." Thus we see that all communities and traditions sing a hymn every Shabbat in praise of Jerusalem, and this was the ancient way.
This, then, was the request of the Babylonians: You are now in Babylon - sing for us in praise of Babylon. "And our tormentors, joy" - they demanded words of joy, asking us to sing them joyful songs. "Sing us from the songs of Zion" means: the very same song you used to sing in praise of Zion, sing it for us now. Adapt it so that it becomes a song for the land of Babylon, for the land of the Chaldeans is now your homeland. The successes you enjoyed there - ancestral homes, fields, and vineyards - you now have here as well, so why not sing this song about Babylon?
The Malbim adds a fifth interpretation for the word "v'tolaleinu": it is equivalent to "v'sholaleinu" (our plunderers), as the letters tav and shin interchange in Aramaic - tora is shor (ox), and pesher and pitar have the same meaning, as in mefashei chelmin, an interpreter of dreams. If so, "those who plundered us" refers to our robbers who carried off our spoil, and it is they who demand that we rejoice in their land and sing its praise and glory.
אֵיךְ נָשִׁיר אֶת־שִׁיר־יְהֹוָה עַל אַדְמַת נֵכָר׃ - How can we sing the song of Hashem on foreign soil?
To this they responded: How can we sing the song of Hashem on soil that is the antithesis of Hashem's song - foreign soil, the very opposite of holiness? The Metzudat David explains that we said in our hearts: How can we sing the song of Hashem in a place other than the Temple? And because we dreaded this demand, we told them that the harps had been lost along the way - for according to his approach, they had hidden the harps among the willows so that the captors would not demand the song of Zion from them, and when they nevertheless came and asked, they answered that the harps were lost and they had no way to sing.
The Malbim explains: Although we could sing all sorts of songs in foreign lands in praise of material success - prosperity, fertility, economic abundance - there is no barrier to that. But the song of Hashem? The song of Hashem encompasses the sacred songs, the Shechinah that rested in the Holy Temple, the manifestation of Ruach HaKodesh, prophecy, the glory of Hashem, the Torah, the Temple service, and the miracles. How can we sing this Divine song on foreign soil, which is not attuned to these spiritual virtues? I might sing you songs of nature, but to adapt the song of Hashem so that foreign soil takes the place of Jerusalem? Such a thing is inconceivable.
The Yalkut expounds on these verses: Nevuchadnezzar said to them, "Why are you sitting and weeping? Prepare yourselves; while we eat and drink, I want you to stand and play before me and before the idols with your lyres, just as you used to play before your God." And makishim (literally "striking") means playing music, as in the phrase "the flute strikes before them" - meaning not that the flute hits anything, for it is not a drum, but that it plays music.
And the Midrash relates earlier that when they exiled them to Babylon, they did not give them a moment's rest, because they knew that if they rested for even one moment, they would stand up and pray. Therefore it says, "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat" - only there. Nor did they allow them to weep, knowing that if they wept, the Holy One, blessed be He, would bring them back. Only when they reached the rivers of Babylon were they able to sit down and also weep, which is the meaning of "we also wept."
Then Nevuchadnezzar makes a feast and demands music from them during the banquet. Germany did not invent this; this was practiced earlier as well. When the generals sat, they would bring Jews from the camps - among them phenomenal artists who had played on the most prestigious stages in the world - and make them stand and play before them, so that the German, to the sounds of piano and organ, could sip his glass of wine and celebrate. Scripture is telling you: this already began with Nevuchadnezzar.
They began looking at one another, saying: "Is it not enough that we caused the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash, that now we are to stand and play before this dwarf and before idolatry?" Rabbi Yitzchak bar Tavla would offer a parable: To a mortal king who married a princess. He said to her, "Stand and serve me a cup of wine," but she refused to serve him - she was a king's daughter, servants did everything for her, so how could she pour for him? He became angry with her and expelled her from his house, and she went and married a man afflicted with boils. He too said to her, "Stand and serve me a cup of wine." She said to him, "You fool! I was a king's daughter and married to a king, and because he told me 'serve me a cup' and I refused to serve him, he grew angry with me and cast me out of his house; for had I served him, I would have added honor to my honor. And now you, afflicted with boils, tell me, 'Stand and serve me'?" So too did Israel say: "There, in our own land, we did not act properly and did not do the will of Hashem, and you expect us to do your will?"
They all took mastery of themselves, put their thumbs into their mouths, and bit them off, so that they could no longer pluck the strings. Then they said to them: "Sing us from the songs of Zion" - and they replied: It does not say "We will not sing," but "How shall we sing?" See how precise the wording of the verse is: they did not say, "We will not play the song of Hashem on foreign soil," but "How shall we play?" - for they had bitten off their fingertips and had nothing left to play with.
And so Scripture says: "And I gathered them to the river... and I looked among the people and the priests, and I found none of the sons of Levi there" (Ezra 8:15) - they were indeed there, but they could not play on the lyres. That is to say, although it says he found no Levites there, in truth there were Levites present, but they could not play music, just as we explained that they had severed their fingertips. And from where do we know that those very Levites who were exiled returned? As it is said: "And many of the priests and Levites and heads of the fathers' houses, the old men who had seen the first Temple..." (Ezra 3:12).
When Nevuchadnezzar realized this, he arose and cast down from Israel heaps upon heaps of slain, pile upon pile. And even so, they rejoiced that they had not sung before idolatry, as it is said, "and our tormentors [sought] joy" (vetolaleinu simchah). Here we have a sixth explanation of the word tolaleinu: from the root tel, the mounds upon mounds that they made of us.
אִם־אֶשְׁכָּחֵךְ יְרוּשָׁלָ͏ִם תִּשְׁכַּח יְמִינִי׃ - If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its skill.
At that moment, the Holy One, blessed be He, swore to Israel: "You mastered yourselves and severed the fingers of your right hand; I too shall draw back My right hand before the enemy, and it shall not return until I remember you, as it is said, 'If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let My right hand be forgotten.'" And from this the Holy One, blessed be He, says: I will remember Jerusalem forever, to redeem you with an eternal redemption.
The psalm opens with the exiles sitting by the rivers of Babylon, sequestering themselves from the Babylonians and weeping. According to the Malbim, the primary pain was not over the loss of material well-being - for in Babylon they built houses, planted vineyards, and settled permanently - but over the loss of Zion and holiness: "Even though we settled, we wept." It was specifically the comfort of the exile that prompted hanging up the lyres and entering mourning, echoing the warning of the Chasam Sofer against exile becoming pleasant to us. The captors demanded a song in praise of their land, asking that the song of Zion be repurposed into a song of Babylon, to which the Levites answered, "How shall we sing the song of Hashem on foreign soil?" - songs of nature and worldly success can be sung anywhere, but the song of Hashem cannot be adapted. And as the Midrash relates, the Levites severed their thumbs and sacrificed themselves rather than play before idolatry, and in the merit of that devotion, the Holy One, blessed be He, swore to remember Jerusalem and redeem Israel with an eternal redemption.