The Wisdom of Psalm 121 

I never really had a favorite Psalm until one day in 2006, when I was back east visiting my uncle, who was in the hospital. As I sat there and watched him sleep, my aunt started talking about the sorts of things that come to mind when the love of your life for more than 50 years is dying. One of those things she mentioned in an offhand sort of way was Psalm 121. It was her favorite, and she wanted to make sure it was said at the funeral. 

My uncle passed away a few days later, and when I was honored to lead the shiva minyan at the house, I made sure to include the meaningful psalm. Psalm 121 was now a favorite of mine, as well. 

A Song of Ascents, one of the many said to be written by King David, is recited in times of trouble. In fact, it was taught that David himself was feeling hopeless when he composed this psalm (see Psalm 120 for insight to his troubles). The psalmist was looking for a ray of light, a modicum of peace. In a time when he was seeking hope and inner strength, he asks, “Who will help, and where will that help come from?” And before asking the question, of which he surely knew the answer, he turned his eyes to the mountains. 

Rabbi Ellen Wolintz-Fields, WLCJ executive director, taught one of the more interesting aspects about this first verse during a June 2020 Makom B’Yachad session. For those who don’t know, the Zoom-based Makom B’Yachad started as a way for WLCJ members to stay in touch, pray, learn, and say kaddish during the early days of the COVID pandemic when we were under quarantine. 

In Rabbi Wolintz-Fields’ teaching, she said the Hebrew word for “the mountains” is “haharim,” but there is a question as to if it should be “hahorim,” meaning “the parents,” our forebears. When we turn our eyes to the mountains to ask where our help will come from, maybe we are really turning to the generations who came before us. That would make sense, of course. Who hasn’t at one time or another looked to a parent or a mentor and asked for guidance? 

Whether we turn our eyes to the mountains or to our parents, the answer is that God is going to help. God won’t let us fall, not in the day nor at night; God doesn’t sleep. As Rabbi Wolintz-Fields said, “God is always on call, 24/7/365.” Those are very reassuring words at a time when we need such reassurance the most. 

It is easy to see why Psalm 121 is said during times of uncertainty, unrest, and in times of crisis, including racial upheaval, the terror in Israel, or at the bedside of a dying loved one. When my mother was in a coma before her passing in April 2021, I recited the psalm more than once while at her side in the hospice. As we were in Las Vegas, Nevada, I was able to turn my eyes toward the snow-capped peaks of Mt. Charleston, the comforting view outside the window. 

A few days later, the same familiar mountains were around us at the cemetery as we laid my mother to rest. I couldn’t help but wonder if, when looking at those mountains and asking for help in dealing with this devastating and sudden loss, I was also looking toward my mother and asking for her help, as well. But one thing I know for sure is that the guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.