Judaism is a tradition replete with a variety of practices and rituals intended to foster comfort and resilience in difficult moments. One of these is reading the Psalms as a way of crying out to the Divine and connecting with the deepest place within. 

Why Psalms?

Psalms—Tehillim in Hebrew—is the first book in the Ketuvim or Writings section of the TanakhAn acronym for the name of the Hebrew Bible: Torah, Neviim, and Ketuvim. Read more. Traditionally ascribed to King David and a variety of other sources, it is an anthology of poems and songs that covers the vastness of the human emotional inner landscape. Many of them appear in daily and Shabbat liturgy while still others are recited customarily in times of communal or individual distress, in a house of mourning, to pray for the recovery of one who is unwell or at times of boundless joy and celebration.  

Sometimes, it can be so difficult to find our own words to cry out to G-d. One of the most powerful things about Psalms is its ability to help us find words when we have none. 

Psalms also connects us to generations of Jews who faced many of the same spiritual, moral, and ethical questions that we are struggling with today. It is helpful for me to remind myself that even in the depths of greatest despair, this emotional experience is a shared one.  

I’m not alone. Many who came before me also felt this way.  

They, too, cried out to the Divine from the depths (Psalm 130). 
They, too, wondered how long would the Divine conceal the Divine’s face (Psalm 13)?

I want to start saying Psalms more regularly. How do I get started?

The first step is finding the Psalms that mean something to you. Here are four ways to approach that: 

1. If you have a prayer practice and use the Siddur, you are already saying multiple Psalms daily. Most of these are in Pesukei D’zimra in the morning service. Familiarizing yourself with Psalms that show up in the liturgy is a wonderful place to begin.  

2. As you deepen your connection, you may find that those particular Psalms evoke certain emotional states in you. For me, this happens most often with Psalm 147 and Psalm 150. In Psalm 147, I am moved deeply by the reminder that the Divine heals the broken-hearted and is the binder of their/our wounds. The Divine counts the stars, calling each one by name. 

I particularly love the final line of Psalm 150 — every soul praises the Divine. 

3. You might also look to the Psalms of Assent (Psalms 120-134), a mini-collection within the book of Psalms. Some have the practice of saying these on Shabbat afternoons. Others incorporate Psalm 121 and Psalm 130 into their daily prayers. 

4. You may also find, as you explore, that a particular Psalm really calls to you. In my experience when taking on a new practice, I am most successful when I start small. If there’s one Psalm that really calls to your soul, say that whenever you feel moved to. 

What about a broader practice of reciting Psalms?

If you want to begin a practice of reciting the entire Book of Psalms, there are different approaches. Some choose to divide the book into 29 or 30 portions based on the number of days in a Hebrew month with the goal of completing the book monthly. In some siddurim, you can find the Book of Psalms in its entirety divided into these daily portions. 

Some choose to join with others in reciting the book collectively. Groups of folks tend to do this organically and it most often happens at times of great turmoil and distress.  

These groups tend to work like this: someone will divide the book up and invite folks to choose specific Psalms to recite or people will simply begin from the beginning, noting the Psalms they said and the next person will pick up where they left off until the book is complete. 

Perhaps you want to just start at the beginning and recite all the way through. That’s great, too! There’s no one way to do it. 

You might be feeling: The world is really terrible right now and I’m not okay

Are you telling me that by saying Psalms everything is going to be okay and the terribleness is just going to disappear? Is this some kind of new age-y manifestation practice? Power of positive thinking? 

Not at all, not even a little bit. 

We are living in extremely challenging and destabilizing times for the Jewish people and the world. When we engage in spiritual practice of any kind, our goal isn’t that somehow our practice will magically make all the horrible things disappear and go away. Though many of us find ourselves fantasizing about if only I did XYZ everything would be okay, we know from our lived experience that this isn’t how the world works.  

For me, I find that when I am in that fantasy mind state, a spiritual practice helps me reorient back into my body and the present. Through this practice, I am not trying to turn away or pretend that the circumstances I’m in aren’t what they are. Instead, the practice helps steady and ground me, allowing me to build a muscle of resilience. I am able to then actually be present to what’s going on, especially when what’s going on isn’t what I want. 

Having a spiritual practice also helps me actually access the emotions that I too often numb either out of conditioned habit or overwhelm. When I am flooded by the overwhelm of the world, one line might emerge for me from Psalms that helps me articulate that, when the words won’t come. 

Saying Psalms in difficult times is both a practice of profound connection and yearning.  

Psalms connects us to its original authors and to the generations of Jews who turned to these sacred words in times of trial. It is also profoundly comforting. The vastness of our emotional terrain as human beings is articulated here. Crying out, doubt, celebration, anger, lament. It’s all here for us to take hold of.