Anyone else would have thrown in the towel. That’s it – utter despair! It’s not enough that you have enemies on every border, everyone in the kingdom is plotting against you, but now your son is leading a rebellion to take away your throne!

The Yezter Hara – the evil inclination – yells in your face, “Get out of here, loser! Hashem can’t stand you! You’re finished! Go find the most painless way to kill yourself, because your life is over. You’ve got no hope!”

At this point, many people do try to take their own lives. But not king David…

What did King David do when the yetzer hara tried convincing him that the game is over, that there’s no hope? King David fled from Jerusalem into the desert. There with no other audience but his Maker, David poured out his heart. David’s words spilled onto the dry desert earth like the blood of sheep and goats, rising to the highest Heavens, the throne of the Almighty. That’s what the Torah calls the type of genuine prayer that’s tantamount to a sacrifice on the altar.

Let’s eavesdrop on King David’s personal prayer:

Stunned by a sudden bizarre turn of events, King David contemplated his predicament: “Hashem, help me understand what it means when my own son rebels against me?”

Hashem illuminated King David’s soul. As a result, King David found a silver lining in his dark cloud, a small penetrating ray of light shining in the midst of an overwhelming darkness. King David exclaimed, “Betz’ar hirchavto li—even within my troubles, Hashem, You give me a great opening.”

And what was that precious ray of light David found? The threatened king rediscovered an old forgotten key to unlocking the darkness of life. Kind David rediscovered the age-old secret that was first revealed to our forefather Abraham: No matter what, Hashem loves me!

As soon as he realized that Hashem loves him – the opposite of what the Yetzer was trying to say – King David began to see the good in everything, the silver lining of the dark cloud. Sure, his son Absalom wanted to be King, but he was not out to slit his father’s throat, G-d forbid. This was indeed an extraordinary kindness, an act of love from Hashem—King David’s own son rebelling against him—in place of an implacable cruel enemy. Hashem had performed a miracle, creating something unnatural, a son trying to overthrow his father, the king.

The words of praise King David composed when he recognized Hashem’s hidden loving-kindness became what today we call Psalm 3. Now let’s look at this very first passage: “Mizmor l’David —David’s song of praise, as he fled from Absalom his son.” Take a moment to reflect on this. His son is trying to overthrow him, and David, running into the desert to save his life, sings a song of praise? Can you imagine somebody’s chasing after you—a person bent, G-d forbid, on killing you—and you sing a song of praise? “King David, just what’s going on here?” King David recognized this extraordinary combination of events as none other than a custom-made sign of love, stamped all over with Hashem’s signature.

With these things in mind, we can begin to understand Psalm 3, a psalm demonstrating how we are able to turn opposition into our strongest weapon. The second verse says, “Hashem, how many are my adversaries. [Hashem you have sent me so many enemies.] Many are they that rise up against me.” This is the yetzer’s doom and gloom diagnosis of the situation, with AP, Reuters and CNN scoop photos of great hordes of enemies assembling against King David. Continuing, “There are many are they that say to my soul (Hebrew, nafshi), there is no salvation to him from G-d.” Who is speaking to “my soul”? King David could have said “Many say to me?” But instead he says, “Many say to my soul.” The reference to “soul” suggests that King David’s war was a war for the control of his own soul.

The result of this battle was that King David sent the yetzer packing. The yetzer with his loaded propaganda came and said, “Forget it, King David, there’s no salvation. Nobody is here to help you. Hashem doesn’t care about you.”

And in verse 4, King David answers the yetzer: “But you Hashem, are a shield for me, for my soul. You uplift my head.” Here is King David picking himself up off of the floor, so-to-speak. There for a time he was deep in the mire, almost, almost fallen into depression, sunk into despair like a boxer knocked down for the count. But here David is back on his feet, ordering the yetzer, “Get out of my life. Hashem loves me. Hashem is my shield. Hashem is my glory. Hashem uplifts my head.”

Now finally, he sees things in true perspective, after G-d has intervened in his situation: (verse 5) “With my voice I called out unto Hashem.” Here is King David in the desert, calling out to Hashem. “Hashem, I’m calling you. Now I’m in trouble. Yes, I’m in trouble, but I know that “trouble” is all it is. The only thing that really counts is that You love me. The Psalm continues: “…and He answered me from His holy mountain.” That is to say: “Hashem is going to bring me to His holy mountain.” From here, King David knew that Hashem would return him to His holy Temple in Yerushalayim.

King David refused to surrender – not to enemies of the body and certainly not to enemies of the soul. He didn’t give up. In a bizarre and terrifying situation of fleeing from his son, he placed his confidence in personal prayer, hitbodedut, calling out to Hashem. “I lay down and slept, yet I awoke, for Hashem supports me.” (verse 6) David says [paraphrased] “You know I’m not worried anymore. Despite all the threats I’m facing, I will put myself to sleep. In the morning, I will wake up refreshed. And it’s all because Hashem sustains my life.” Who do you know that could say something like this in the middle of a war, chased by an enemy that he himself brought into the world? Looking up fresh from the barrel of a gun pointed at his head, a sure recipe for raw nerves and insomnia, King David doesn’t miss a wink of sleep from stress or worry. You know why? It’s all because the king is assured of Hashem’s love for him.

You too can let Hashem fight your battles.

King David says, “I’m not afraid of tens of thousands of people, who have set themselves all around me.” King David is demonstrating a vital principle. Neither the enemies within nor the enemies without—no matter whether loved ones from his own family, or trusted friend—had the potential of unsettling his trust in the Almighty, the sustainer of his life. Fear of Hashem is a fear all of its own. When you have fear of Hashem, you don’t have to fear anything. “No fear!”

Now put a smile on your face and move forward.

King David exclaims, “Rise up, Hashem, save me, my G-d, for you have struck the jaws of my enemy. You have broken the teeth of the wicked.” King David assures himself, “I don’t have to fight. You Hashem are going to fight my battles.” King David is delivering the knockout punch to the yetzer. Why does King David use the terms “teeth” and “jaw,” as in “the jaw of my enemies”; and “You’ve broken the teeth of the wicked”? Hashem has given the yetzer a knock-out blow right in the jaw—the source of intimidating words that turn hearts to stone. Like a mother eagle teaching her fledgling family to fly, Hashem drops His dearly beloved children; then hidden from their sight, He swoops down to their level and breaks their fall with His awesome “spread-out wings”—until they learn that no adversary can ever separate them from their Redeemer, the Savior of their souls.

At the conclusion of this sensational psalm, King David draws an assurance for the future of Israel out of his own personal deliverance: “Salvation is from Hashem. Your blessing shall be upon Your people, Selah.” Selah is an expression relating to infinity. Here, King David is telling us, “Not only does Hashem love me, but Hashem loves all of our people for posterity. Hashem’s blessing shall be upon His people.”

By Rabbi Shalom Arush
Translated by Rabbi Lazer Brody