We recite Psalm 92 during Kabbalat Shabbat services on Friday evening and again on Shabbat morning, during the early part of the service, P'sukei D'Zimra. The custom is quite ancient, since the Talmud notes that this Psalm was chanted by the Levites in the Temple service each Shabbat. The central theme of the Psalm seems to be one of thanksgiving for God's faithfulness and love in caring for the world - but it contains no explicit mention of Shabbat. What, then, is the connection?
The great commentator Rashi tells us that it refers to "the world to come, which is an unending Sabbath." Reverend Dr. A. Cohen, the editor of the 1960 Soncino edition of the Psalms, offers the following intriguing theory: Underlying Rashi's comment there seems to be the understanding that the world actually inhabited by the author was probably one of hardship, danger, and constant anxiety. Contrary to the Psalm's suggestion that the wicked inevitably receive their just punishments, the author must have lived in a world where he could see the flourishing of iniquity all around him. How could he feel free to praise God lavishly when faced with the harsh facts of life?
Dr. Cohen finds in Rashi's comment the suggestion that on Shabbat, we turn to our spiritual side, which in turn allows us to adopt an optimistic outlook. We can put aside the transitory burdens of the physical world - at least for a little while - and look to a vision of the world to come, thus enabling us to praise God wholeheartedly, even before the wicked in fact meet their doom.
In reading the text of Psalm 92, I am not personally convinced that the author was fully transported by a vision of the world to come. I digress to say that one of my earliest and lasting recollections of law school was an observation by my Contracts professor - he told us to always look for the point in an opponent's brief where the argument was said to be "obvious" - and there, he said, we would find our opponent's weak spot, the place where the argument would be anything but obvious. Likewise here, the author protests just a bit too much when he tells us, in verse 7, that only the coarse and the foolish can't understand that when the wicked seemingly flourish, it is only that they may be scattered and vanquished. In all probability, the ultimate victory of good over evil was far from obvious to our stalwart writer. What I hear, in this declaration, is the anxiety and uncertainty of someone who sees the triumph of evil on a daily basis but who insists - vehemently and almost desperately - that God will nonetheless ensure the defeat of the wicked. The expression of faith becomes almost frenzied in verse 12, if only momentarily, where the author moves from the general concept of punishment for the wicked to a more specific, personal vision, where he can see the destruction of those that lie in wait for him and hear their cries of dismay.
Having proclaimed the triumph of God and the destruction of the wicked in full measure, the author's vision of vengeance seemingly fades. The text takes on a calmer tone in describing the rewards of the righteous. We cannot fail to be moved by the qualities of strength, dignity and, perhaps most important - a vigorous life-force - that the image of a cedar tree conveys. The prospect of continuing fruition and thus, graceful aging, is arguably more comforting and inspiring than any vision of retribution - or, for that matter - angels and thrones could ever be. While some parts of our liturgy might seem remote in time and in tone, in my opinion Psalm 92 is not one of them. I would not be surprised if it wore as well for the next three millenia as it has for the past three thousand years.
On a personal note, I will share the fact that I treasured this Psalm long before I began to think about what it really meant. As a camper at Camp Ramah, many years ago, I used it as a time marker. It was one of the first Tefilot that we sang communally at Kabbalat Shabbat services every Friday night and thus, on each such occasion, marked the end of one of the eight precious weeks of summer camp, an experience that was then and to some extent still is my own personal vision of Heaven on earth. The somewhat mournful traditional tune tolled the passing weeks a little bit sadly for me then. But I later learned, as those of you familiar with Israeli dancing know, that you could dance, and maybe even move a little bit like a cedar of Lebanon, to another tune associated with this Psalm. In fact, at a Retreat several years ago, we did that dance, rather joyfully, right in the middle of Shabbat morning services.
Personally, I associate this Psalm with both my earliest recollections of spiritual Judaism and my growing confidence, as I grow older, that our life forces may thrive with aging. In this sense, it seems to me that Rashi was right in telling us that the Psalm for Shabbat gives us a taste of the world to come.
Madeline Nesse, 1/98