Tehillim 137

The Levites who crushed their own thumbs

Rashi (the classic commentator, France, died 1105) says the king of Babylon asked the exiles to sing for him, as they had sung in the Temple on the Levites' platform. The Pesikta Rabbati (an old collection of rabbinic teachings) tells what the Levites did. They hung their harps on the willows and crushed their own thumbs in their mouths, so they could not play. When asked for a song, they held up their hands and said, "How can we sing?" This story comes from the rabbis. The verses only say the harps were hung up.

God's right hand, too

Verse 5 says, "may my right hand forget." The Midrash on Tehillim (an old collection of rabbinic teachings) has Rabbi Zeira, quoting the sage Reish Lakish, say that when enemies entered Jerusalem they tied the hands of Israel's warriors behind their backs. God said, "I am with them in trouble," and drew back His own right hand (Eichah 2:3). Speaking to the prophet Daniel, God says: as long as My children are enslaved, My right hand is enslaved with them. When I redeem My children, I redeem My right hand.

He wept with them

The verse says, "we also wept." Also who? The Midrash on Tehillim says they wept, and God wept with them. It also tells that Nebuchadnezzar (the king of Babylon who destroyed the First Temple) had sacks of sand loaded on the shoulders of the captive kings of Judah until they were bent over. God sent the angels down to take the loads off. Then the Midrash says God did more: He carried the load Himself, as it says in Yeshayahu 43:14, "For your sake I have sent to Babylon."

Who is singing?

The psalm has no title line naming a writer. The Midrash on Tehillim says God showed King David both destructions of the Temple: "By the rivers of Babylon" is the First, and "Remember, Hashem, the sons of Edom" is the Second. Radak (Rabbi David Kimchi, a commentator in southern France around 1200) says the first six verses are in the voice of the Levite singers exiled to Babylon. The last three, he says, are the psalmist's own words: while prophesying about Babylon, he also saw the Second Temple's exile.

Why Edom?

Edom is the nation that came from Esav, Yaakov's brother. Ibn Ezra (a Spanish-born commentator of the 1100s) says verse 7 is not about the Second Temple, as many thought. It means the real Edomites, who cheered when Babylon took Jerusalem and burned the Temple, and urged the Babylonians to raze it to the ground. He points to Ovadyah (a short prophetic book about Edom), which warns Edom not to gloat on the day of Judah's disaster. Ibn Ezra says that mocking hurt Israel more than the disaster itself.

The ninth of the ten

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (a Chassidic teacher who died in 1810) listed this as the ninth of the ten psalms of the Tikkun HaKlali. The Tikkun page tells the story of the ten. In Likutei Moharan (his main book of teachings), part II, section 92, he ends the list by saying that in the merit of this repair, the Mashiach (the Messiah) will come to gather the scattered, as it says, "Hashem builds Jerusalem, He gathers the outcasts of Israel" (Tehillim 147:2).

A burned house hurts its owner

The Zohar (the central book of Kabbalah) asks about the first verse: why does it say "when we remembered Zion" and not "Jerusalem"? Rabbi Yeisa, a sage in the Zohar, answers with a story. A man had a beautiful palace, and robbers came and burned it. Whose pain is that? The owner's. In the same way, the Divine Presence is in exile, and the pain belongs to its owner, God. So "remembering Zion" means remembering God's own grief. Now read "when we remembered" again.

לב"נ דהו"ל היכלא יקירא, יאה ושפירא, אתו לסטין ואוקידו ליה. צערא דמאן הוא, לאו דמאריה דהיכלא.

Even there, we sat

Rabbi Zev Wolf of Zhitomir, an early Chassidic master, finds good news inside the bad news of this verse. After the Temple, he writes, the words of our lips stand in place of the sacrifices, and the table stands in place of the altar. So "there we sat" means that even in Babylon we still had work to do: to settle the Divine Presence, which goes into exile with Israel wherever they go. And still, he says, "we also wept."

שם ישבנו כלומר גם שם שם לנו חוק ומשפט ליישב איברי השכינה

Remember Jerusalem inside your joy

A teaching of the Baal Shem Tov (the founder of Chassidut, who died in 1760), as his students wrote it down, speaks about the custom of crying on Rosh Hashanah. He says the crying is a crying of joy, because God kept us alive and brought us to this day. And since it is a day of joy, he says, it is right to remember Jerusalem, as the psalm says: "if I do not raise Jerusalem above the head of my joy." Now read "the head of my joy" again.

כיון שהוא יום שמחה ראוי לזכור ירושלים כמו שכתוב אם לא אעלה את ירושלים על ראש שמחתי

The tears come first

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (a Chassidic master who died in 1810) reads "the rivers of Babylon" as the Gemara made in the yeshivas of Babylonia. A new Torah idea begins as a small spring and grows into rivers that everyone drinks from. He says that anyone who wants to come up with new Torah ideas of real substance must cry first, so the ideas flow only to the right places. That is how he reads "there we sat, and also wept."

גם בכינו... כי צריך לבכות מקדם

Which psalm do I say before Birkat HaMazon today?

The Shelah (a 1600s work by Rabbi Yeshayahu Horowitz) reports the custom to say this psalm before Birkat HaMazon (the blessings after a meal), and Tehillim 126 on Shabbat and Yom Tov. Siddur Sefard prints this one for weekdays. The Mishnah Berurah (a key commentary on Jewish law, around 1900) and the Kaf HaChaim (a Sephardic one, early 1900s) also use Tehillim 126 on days without Tachanun (the prayer of pleading). The Eliyah Rabbah (1700s) suggests a reason: on Shabbat we do not recall the destruction.

Do I have to say it? What if I am in a hurry?

It is a custom. The Shelah calls it one and gives a reason from the Zohar (the central book of Kabbalah): someone who enjoys his meal should remember the ruined Temple, and God counts that sorrow as if he rebuilt it. The Magen Avraham (a 1600s commentary on the Shulchan Aruch, the main code of Jewish law) adds that the heart's intention is what counts, and the Mishnah Berurah that you should know what you are saying. If you are rushed, the Kaf HaChaim says to say at least the verse "If I forget you, Jerusalem."

What if I eat on Friday afternoon?

Say Tehillim 126 instead. The Mishnah Berurah, following the Peri Megadim (a 1700s commentary on the Shulchan Aruch), writes that someone who eats bread on Friday after midday does not say Al Naharot Bavel (this psalm). The Kaf HaChaim starts earlier, from the fifth hour of the day (the day counted in twelve equal hours), because the added holiness of Shabbat begins to show then. He bases this on Kabbalistic teaching.

When do I break it, and does the glass matter?

The Rema (Rabbi Moshe Isserles, Poland, 1500s) mentions it twice. In Orach Chaim 560:2 he says at the wedding canopy. In Even HaEzer 65:3 he is more exact: some places break it after the seven wedding blessings, and in his lands the groom breaks the cup used for the betrothal blessing. Each place, he adds, follows its custom. The Mishnah Berurah says to break a whole glass under the canopy, and that this is not forbidden waste, since it is done as a reminder so that people take it to heart.

Do I have to leave part of my wall unpainted?

The Shulchan Aruch rules that since the Temple was destroyed, a house should not be plastered and decorated like a royal building. Whitewash it, but leave a square cubit (a forearm's length on each side) bare opposite the door. The Mishnah Berurah writes that in his time people generally did not do this. He offers reasons, such as mixing sand into the plaster, then calls them strained and says it needs further study. Plain clay plaster needs no bare patch.

Is there another time people say it?

Yes, at midnight. The Shulchan Aruch (1:3) says every God-fearing person should be pained over the destroyed Temple. The Shulchan Aruch HaRav (the code of the first Chabad Rebbe, second edition) says someone moved by this should rise at midnight and mourn a little with Al Naharot Bavel or a psalm like it, and that a little with focus beats a lot without. The Ben Ish Hai (Rabbi Yosef Chaim of Baghdad, 1800s) writes that in his city they say it in a mourning tune, not with the usual chanting.