I was going to apologize for writing in response to Norman Fischer’s version of the psalms, in particular Psalm 27.
Here’s the first verse:
“You are my light and my help Whom should I fear? You are the fortress of my life Whom should I dread.”
Here’s the King James version of the same verse:
“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
Here’s the Jewish Publication Society, 1985 version:
“The LORD is my light and my help; whom should I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life, whom should I dread?”
And here’s Robert Alter:
“The LORD is my light and my rescue. Whom should I fear? The LORD is my life’s stronghold. Of whom should I be afraid?”
Finally, for those who know or are interested in the original:
יְהֹוָ֤ה אוֹרִ֣י וְ֭יִשְׁעִי מִמִּ֣י אִירָ֑א יְהֹוָ֥ה מָעוֹז־חַ֝יַּ֗י מִמִּ֥י אֶפְחָֽד (Adonai ori v’yishi mimi eraw Adonai mawoz chayai mimi efchad)
“Salvation,” “rescue,” “help”: you can easily hear the tonal differences and recognize the different connotations among these three translations of the Hebrew “yishi”. “Fortress,” “stronghold,” “strength”: again, clear differences, including the difference between imagistic (“fortress”) and abstract (“strength”) language. The differences are significant, but perhaps the most striking, profound, even radical difference is between “Lord” and “you”.
Norman Fischer is an influential American Zen-Buddhist, a poet and writer, an inspiring teacher, and a Jew. He wrote Opening to You: Zen-Inspired Translations of the Psalms after spending a week with the Trappist monks at Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky, where he experienced for the first time the Christian monastic practice of daily recitation of the psalms. Troubled by “the violence, passion, and bitterness” expressed in some of the psalms but recognizing the power these psalms held for “the good brothers of Gethsemani,” Fischer decided to investigate the psalms and his relation to them by creating his own versions of some of them.
“Relationship,” writes Fischer, “is the theme of the Psalms—specifically that most difficult of all relationships, the relationship with God.” But, Fischer notes, “For many of the religious seekers I encounter, the word God has been all but emptied of its spiritual power.… For me, what is challenging about ‘God’ is exactly that it is so emotional, metaphysically emotional. The relationship to God that is charted out in the Psalms is a stormy one, codependent, passionate, confusing, loyal, petulant, sometimes even manipulative.… [T]o emphasize this relational aspect, … I decided… [to] use the one English word that best evokes the feeling of relationship, the word you.”
I said I was going to apologize for focusing on Fischer’s version of Psalm 27. Apologize to whom? Well, you. So, who are you? You are a lover of language, including, perhaps, the lyrical, lofty language of the King James version. You are an observant Jew, a traditionalist opposed to tampering with our sacred texts. You are a devout Christian for whom the word “God” is charged with spiritual power. You are all of these and more, or you are none of these. The truth is, I don’t know you. I imagine you. I don’t know you, but I fear you, the story I tell myself of who you are. I am afraid of being rejected by you. I am afraid of my Being being rejected by you. To protect myself, I was going to apologize to you and ask for your forgiveness.
I’m thinking about this during the month of Elul. For Jews, Elul is a month devoted to reflection and introspection as we prepare for what comes next: ten Days of Awe, beginning with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and concluding with Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. One of the practices we engage in throughout this period is the daily reading of Psalm 27.
The psalm begins with a statement that expresses the unwavering trust the speaker has in God to protect him.
“Even if a royal army were camped outside my gate My heart would not fear”
Following this, the psalmist’s faith in God as protector seems to weaken:
“One thing I ask for, one thing I hope— To live in your house All the days of my life”
Next, the psalmist’s sense of being protected is completely gone:
“Do not hide your glowing face from me Do not reject me in anger because of my shortcomings…“
At the beginning of the psalm, the psalmist is secured in a fortress. Then, he is protected from harm in a tent, a “billowing shelter.” Finally, the psalmist is totally exposed, out in the open:
“Against the ever-present cliffs and thickets Protect me”
The psalm moves from fortress to wilderness, from a state of defensiveness, even self-defensiveness, to vulnerability. It may be easy to trust in God when one feels secure, and less easy when one has little left but his or her faith that, finally, God will save him or her.
“If I did not have faith in your rightness That it would bloom in this living land— It is unthinkable I wait only for you With strength and good courage— I wait only for you”
The psalm enacts the kind of inner journey that Jews are encouraged to take during this period in the Jewish calendar. By the time we arrive at Yom Kippur, a day during which we fast and wear our kittels—simple, white ritual robes that will, one day, be our shrouds—we should have shed our self-defenses in order to stand with our lives entirely dependent on… you.
You, who?
God? Reader? Friend? Colleague? Spouse? Neighbor? Pharmacist? Therapist? Cashier? Server? Stranger? Fellow congregant? None of the above? All of the above?
Because I am afraid of not pleasing you, I was going to apologize for dwelling on Norman Fischer’s version of Psalm 27. I apologize for almost everything I do, everything I am. But I’m not going to apologize. This Elul, I’m going to ignore my story of you. I’m going to ignore my story of me. Here are the cliffs. Here are the thickets. And here I am, naked, vulnerable, open to you.
Richard Chess has published four books of poetry, the most recent of which is Love Nailed to the Doorpost. Professor emeritus from UNC Asheville, where he directed the Center for Jewish Studies for 30 years, Chess serves on the boards of Yetzirah: A Hearth for Jewish Poetry and Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center, where he co-directs its Faith in Arts project. You can find him at www.richardchess.com .
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