​LIVING INTO THE PSALM

 
My first trip to Israel was the summer after I graduated from high school.  I was eighteen.  The eight weeks were transformative. Of course, I toured and saw the landmarks of history, ancient and modern. But there were experiences that could have happened only in Israel that made an impact on my soul.
 
One was the morning our guide took us to the top of Mt. Arbel in the Galilee to give us an overview of the land.  When he finished, he clapped and said, “Okay, back to the bus.” We stood and turned around, at which point he shouted, “Where do you think you’re going?” And then he pointed at our buses parked at the bottom of a sheer cliff. We climbed down together, astonished at what we accomplished.
 
Another was the week we spend excavating the archaeological dig at the south wall of the Temple Mount. I shlepped and sifted dirt from a small room, reaching deep into history, and recovering coins, dice, bones, and more. When I visit that now-completed dig, I can still identify the location of my very small contribution.
 
And then there was the singing. We were visited just a couple of times by a young woman with a guitar. We learned “Shoshana, Shoshana, Shoshana,” “A Night Like This,” and a modern setting of the end of Psalm 128: May God bless you from Zion. May you see the goodness of Jerusalem all the days of your life. May you see your children’s children. Peace on Israel.” These and other songs became the soundtrack of my life, right alongside the music of the Beatles, Stevie Wonder, and Linda Ronstadt.
 
I guess I could have been inspired by an encounter with nature anywhere in the world, and there is no shortage of opportunities to drill down (literally) into history wherever people have lived for many generations. And music triggers emotions that flourish in any setting.  But these were my memories, and fifty-plus years later, I still live into them.  Not too many years ago I got another chance to descend the Arbel cliffs. And I have participated in other digs. And Psalm 128 makes a regular appearance in both prayer and study.
 
But.
 
This summer, I was awash in the blessing that the psalm promises. In 1970 and since, I was blessed to see the goodness of Jerusalem, which has stayed with me all the days of my life.  In those intervening years, my wife and I had the privilege and joy of raising three extraordinary children; just this season, in the course of six weeks, all three of them were blessed with children of their own. I have seen our children’s children.  I am so full of gratitude that there is barely room for air.
 
Of course, there is one not-so-small piece of the blessing left: peace on Israel. It is the dream of generations, and not just modern ones. Is it overreaching to hope that the abundance that is mine, cherished and amassed over a lifetime, is one my children and children’s children will inherit?
 
Not if we work for it.  Not if we keep singing.