What Kind of King? – מְלוֹךְ עַל כָּל הָעוֹלָם כֻּלּוֹ
Tomorrow we will sing, מְלוֹךְ עַל כָּל הָעוֹלָם כֻּלּוֹ, crowning God as our king, and king over the whole world.
A number of years ago, on Rosh Hashanah, my father pointed out to me his observation, that while God as king is so central to Rosh Hashanah, in the theme of Malchiot, in the liturgy of songs and Tefillot, the idea of God as king does not really exist in the Torah. In fact, the only reference to God as king is one line at the end of Az Yashir, the Song of the Sea, ה’ יִמְלֹךְ לְעֹלָם וָעֶד: God will reign forever. God is referred to by many different names in the Torah, but not as Melech, not as King.
My father’s theory, which makes a lot of sense to me—is that in the more ancient times of the Torah, kings were not figures you would want to compare God to! They were usually in charge of small tribes or peoples, and would get into squabbles with other kings, often failing or getting into trouble. They were not very impressive or wise, or very powerful, or long-lasting.
It was only later in history, that a king was a powerful ruler in charge of a huge empire, revered and honored… It was then that it made sense to refer to God as “king.” And in whatever way a human king was powerful and in charge, a divine King was infinitely more so: human kings have power over great empires, but God has power over the whole world; human kings are kings over their subjects, but God is the King of kings. A powerful, honored human King became not only the metaphor for relating to God, but the comparison for us to express God’s even-more-so, infinite qualities.
Over time, God as king of the world became central to how we worship and speak of God. It permeates the language of our Brachot throughout the year—every brachah attains significance from the words, “Melech Ha-Olam”; King of the world. The Shma is called, “kabalat ol malchut shamayim,” accepting the yoke of God’s kingship. And on Rosh Hashanah, one of the day’s central ideas is coronating God as King.
The metaphor of God as King of the world makes sense, as human kings became so powerful and majestic. But why does Kingship, malchiut, become SO important to us, for it become so central to our tefillot?
I can imagine, that when the Jewish people were living at the mercy of powerful kings whom they could not trust to care or treat them fairly, or to be just, let alone compassionate… when they suffered under the rule of powerful kings that were corrupt or oppressive… calling out to God as our actual and only king was a way to pray for a world that was more just and compassionate.
We say in the weekday Amida,
הָשִֽׁיבָה שׁוֹפְ֒טֵֽינוּ כְּבָרִאשׁוֹנָה וְיוֹעֲצֵֽינוּ כְּבַתְּ֒חִלָּה וְהָסֵר מִמֶּֽנּוּ יָגוֹן וַאֲנָחָה וּמְלוֹךְ עָלֵֽינוּ אַתָּה ה’ לְבַדְּ֒ךָ בְּחֶֽסֶד וּבְרַחֲמִים וְצַדְּ֒קֵֽנוּ בַּמִשְׁפָּט
Restore our judges as before and our counselors as at first. Remove sorrow and sighing from us, and be king over us, just You, Hashem, with kindness and compassion; and make us righteous with justice… Blessed are You, Hashem, King who loves צְדָקָה וּמִשְׁפָּט
These prayers express what it feels like to be under the power of an unfair, unjust, uncaring ruler, and praying for the day when a fair, just, caring God rules over all.
In these prayers, appealing to God as King, is not only about honoring God’s majesty and praising God to the highest degree; it’s our yearning for a day when the world will be governed with צְדָקָה וּמִשְׁפָּט.
Like we sing in Aleinu, in our Rosh Hashanah Musaf, “Le-Taken Olam Be-Malchut Shadai”—to fix, to repair the world, with the Kingdom of God.
Once we started thinking about God as King, it became compelling, as we see in the Talmud and Midrash, to contrast our divine King with a human king. But these comparisons are not usually about God’s tremendous power compared to human kings, but rather, God as compassionate, God as caring, God as a listener: On the words of Tehillim, שֹׁמֵ֥עַ תְּפִלָּ֑ה עָ֜דֶ֗יךָ כָּל־בָּשָׂ֥ר יָבֹֽאוּ, Listener of prayers, to you all creatures will come, Chazal say: “a human king, can barely hear if 2-3 people are trying to talk to him; but our King God can hear every single person at once.”
And on the words, יְרֽוּשָׁלִַ֗ם הָרִים֘ סָבִ֪יב לָ֥הּ וַֽ֖יהֹוָה סָבִ֣יב לְעַמּ֑וֹ “A human King puts himself at the center, and surrounds himself with his people, to protect himself; but a divine King puts his people in the center and surrounds them.”
One of my favorite psalms from the morning prayers culminates in the words,יִמְלֹךְ יְהֹוָה לְעוֹלָם אֱלֹהַֽיִךְ צִיּוֹן לְדֹר וָדֹר הַלְ֒לוּיָהּ God will be king forever
But listen to the build up to God’s kingship:
עֹשֶׂה מִשְׁפָּט לַעֲשׁוּקִים נֹתֵן לֶֽחֶם לָרְ֒עֵבִים יְהֹוָה מַתִּיר אֲסוּרִים: יְהֹוָה פֹּקֵֽחַ עִוְרִים יְהֹוָה זֹקֵף כְּפוּפִים יְהֹוָה אֹהֵב צַדִּיקִים: יְהֹוָה שֹׁמֵר אֶת־גֵּרִים יָתוֹם וְאַלְמָנָה יְעוֹדֵד וְדֶֽרֶךְ רְשָׁעִים יְעַוֵּת
He does justice for the oppressed; He gives bread to the hungry; he releases the imprisoned… he loves the righteous; he protects strangers; the gives encouragement to the orphan and widow.
In so many of the prayers on Yamim Noraim, we hear God’s Kingship woven through, but transformed into a different kind of relationship:
כִּי אָֽנוּ עַמֶּֽךָ וְאַתָּה אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ. אָֽנוּ בָנֶֽיךָ וְאַתָּה אָבִֽינוּ…אָֽנוּ צֹאנֶֽךָ וְאַתָּה רוֹעֵֽנוּ: אָֽנוּ כַרְמֶּֽךָ וְאַתָּה נוֹטְרֵֽנוּ…אָֽנוּ עַמֶּֽךָ וְאַתָּה מַלְכֵּֽנוּ
For we are Your people; and You are our God. We are Your children; and You are our Father… . We are Your sheep; and You are our Shepherd. We are Your vineyard; and You are our Keeper….We are Your dear ones and You are our Beloved.… And, finally, We are Your people; and You are our King….
You are our King, but a king who shepherds, and tends, and nurtures, and loves.
We pray, אָבִֽינוּ מַלְכֵּֽנוּ Our father, our king. Perhaps this is not meant with a comma between, not as two items, but as a construct of a different kind of king—our Father-King. A King we call out to like a child to their parent. A King-Father who answers, I am here with you, when we call out to him.
How remarkable, to relate this way, to the King of the entire universe. And yet, we do.
We sing Adon Olam– you Master of the world, who was King before time itself.… and the song finishes with the most personal closeness
וְעִם רוּחִי גְּוִיָּתִי ה’ לִי וְלֹא אִירָא
And with my spirit, and my body, God is with me and I won’t be afraid.
When we wake up in the morning, the first prayer we say is
מוֹדֶה אֲנִי לְפָנֶֽיךָ מֶֽלֶךְ חַי וְקַיָּם
We thank the King of the world, for our individual soul. Even a 2 year old still in pajamas can address the King of the universe.
This juxtaposition, these coexisting ways of relating to God, as King of the universe on the one hand, existing infinitely before time, infinite in space…. And the one we address as “You” the moment we wake up, to thank for our unique soul, the one with thank for believing-in-us with compassion; and as we go to sleep, the one who is with us so we won’t be afraid…. They seem like such opposite extremes.
Recently, on a rare visit to the Museum of Natural History, I found myself at an exhibit called “The Universe,” walking a huge, multi-story spiral of pictures and explanations, from before the big bang through formations of galaxies, to planet Earth, and then life… it boggled my mind. And then, I went across the hall, to the exhibit on genetics and evolution, and as part of the exhibit, was a video of Francis S. Collins, former director of the NIH, and renowned geneticist, talking about his faith, and explaining how science and faith are not contradictory but rather “wonderfully supporting and harmonious” ways of understanding God’s creation. He explained science as answering “how” questions about the natural world, while religion addresses deeper questions about meaning, purpose, and the existence of a divine being. That day in the museum, going from the vastness of the Universe exhibit, literally across the small hallway to this human scientist talking about God… I felt like I was in the song Adon Olam. The King of the universe, and the God who gives is our souls, did not seem all that far apart.
How different is our Melech, our King, from any concept of human King.
During the darkest days of the pandemic, Yishai Ribo wrote a song, called the כתר מלוכה, Crown of Kingship. The name evokes the words of the beautiful, old Piyut, כתר מלוכה, found within the Rosh Hashanah Musaf right before the holy words of Aleinu. It is sung responsively with the leader singing each verse and the rest responding “ויתנו לך כתר מלוכה,” they will give you the crown of kingship.”
Ishai Ribo’s כתר מלוכה simultaneously refers to this beautiful piyyut, and to the pandemic’s virus, Corona, literally, meaning a royal crown, as the spikes around the virus make it look like a crown.
From the fear and isolation of the pandemic, Ribo’s כתר מלוכה asks questions:
ומה אתה רוצה שנבין מזה
איך מתרחקים ומתקרבים בכאב הזה
רוצה לחיות אותך
ולא להיות לבד
What do You want us to understand from this?
How do we distance ourselves and draw near in this pain?
We want to live with You
And not to be alone
ומה אתה רוצה שנלמד מזה
ואיך נדע להתאחד בפרוד הזה
עד שניתן לך
כתר מלוכה
What do you want us to learn from this?
How will we know how to unify in this separation?
Until we give You,
the Keter Melucha?
We ask our King, how are we supposed to serve you—to do all the things we think you want—to be together, to live?
If this were a ruthless, human king, one can imagine he might be doing this to us out of power, or cruelty, waiting for us to crown him out of our fear.
As the darkness of the pandemic lifted, Ribo wrote his next song, סיבת הסיבות, Reason of Reasons.
I hear in it as an answer.
רק פתח לנו
שערי אמונה, שערי הבנה
Just open for us
the gates of faith, the gates of understanding
שאין לנו מלך…
אלא אתה
סיבת הסיבות, עילת העילות
שומע תפילות
That we don’t have a king…
Other than you
Reason of reasons, purpose of purpose,
Who listens to prayers…
I hear an answer, that God is not like a human king who makes ruthless decrees who is indifferent to our suffering; God is a reason, a purpose; a mover who moves us. We don’t have a king, in the human way, but rather, we have You.
We have only our human experiences when we try to understand God; we have only our human words, when we try to talk to God. Calling God our King has meant important, powerful and beautiful things to us and to our relationship with Him. God never called himself King over us in the Torah. But he did ask us to be His kingdom –his Mamlechet Kohanim, entrusted to help make the world one of צְדָקָה וּמִשְׁפָּט, of righteousness and justice.
As we stand on Rosh Hashanah, singing our prayers together, we feel what it means to be the kingdom of this different sort of King—infinite but close by our side, listening to every voice, remembering every soul, wrapping himself around us, moving us to repair the world.
May it be a good sweet year, and a year of חֶֽסֶד וּבְרַחֲמִים, צְדָקָה וּמִשְׁפָּט.
