Why My Smallest Book Suddenly Feels Like My Most Important

I have written countless blog posts and four books, with a fifth now underway. Yet strangely, the work that has affected me most is not one of the larger projects. In some ways, I guess this is a plug, but it is a well-earned plug after a lot of work.

It is a small booklet: my Guide to Psalms (Tehillim).

Link to the free download is here:

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And I think PSP is the reason why.

Over the last few years, various groups of people have organized Tehillim for me. In Jewish life, saying Psalms for someone who is ill is a very normal response. It is an act of kindness, care, hope, and prayer.

But if I am honest, I have always found it slightly uncomfortable.

Part of me still thinks there are people more deserving of prayer than me. People who are sicker. People facing harder situations. People more worthy.

But the reality is what it is.

I have PSP, and it is progressing.

Yesterday I went for my second Botox treatment. During the appointment it became painfully obvious that the doctor could not properly hear or understand me, even though we were sitting barely a metre and a half apart. Through absolutely no fault of their own, they turned to my wife and asked her to explain my situation instead.

Outwardly, it was a very small moment.

Internally, it was not.

For someone who likes clarity, communication, and control, it hurt deeply to realize I could no longer fully explain my own condition.

That moment stayed with me.

Then this morning I suddenly saw the broader picture more clearly than before.

The vision problems.
The speech difficulties.
The anxiety.
The flashes of anger.
The exhaustion.

PSP is slowly and steadily playing itself out in front of me.

And one of the hardest parts is accepting how little control I truly have over it. There is currently no cure. No treatment that stops the disease. Much of this journey sits beyond medicine, planning, or determination.

And strangely, that realization brought me back again to Psalms and Tehillim.

Because when you read the words of King David carefully, you begin to understand why Psalms hold such a unique place in Jewish life.

They are not polished theological essays.

They are raw human cries.

Fear. Hope. Gratitude. Despair. Loneliness. Faith. Anger. Vulnerability. Relief. Confusion.

They are the words of someone living through danger, uncertainty, and emotional extremes. Someone trying to reach God from the depths of human experience.

And perhaps that is why they endure.

Only for many of us, myself included, that emotional connection is often lost. We rush through the words mechanically. We mumble them without understanding their meaning on either the simple or deeper level. They become just letters, words, sentences, or chapters. Whether in English or Hebrew almost becomes secondary.

The most repeated prayers in the world can sometimes become the least understood.

So I decided, in my own small way, to try to change that.

Using a mixture of my own reflections and the remarkable assistance of AI, I began building a guide to help people connect more deeply to the Psalms they are saying.

Not academically.

Not comprehensively.

Simply emotionally.

The goal was never to explain everything. It was to help people pause for a moment and feel what they were saying.

Unexpectedly, creating the guide changed me as well.

Some of the feedback I have received has genuinely moved me. A number of people have told me the guide helped them slow down, focus more deeply, and connect emotionally to prayers they had said for years almost automatically.

Hearing that has meant more to me than I expected.

Perhaps because if people are praying for me anyway, uncomfortable as that still makes me feel sometimes, then I want those prayers to feel meaningful. I want people to have something that helps them connect more deeply, think more deeply, and pray more deeply.

Today Israel once again returned to the familiar tension of war and uncertainty, realities that would not have been unfamiliar to King David himself.

And for the first time, I turned to my own guide for comfort.

The first Psalm listed for times of war is Psalm 20. In my reflection on that Psalm, I found the following line in my guide:

“Doctors and medicine are the chariots of our time, but the true healer guides them all.”

Reading it today felt almost uncanny.

Psalm 20 is traditionally associated both with war and with surgery. The message behind it feels timeless. We may have weapons, technology, surgeons, and medicine, but ultimately, for those who believe, G-d remains the guide behind them all.

Sometimes the answers we receive are not the answers we hoped for.

Sometimes we do not understand them.

Sometimes we cannot even see them.

But faith means believing we are still heard.

That is ultimately why I created this guide.

Not because I think it is perfect. Far from it.

But because PSP has forced me to search for deeper meaning in vulnerability, prayer, dependence, and faith. Somehow this small booklet became part of that journey.

Oddly enough, my smallest book suddenly feels like my most important one.

And if it helps even a few people pray with more understanding, concentration, or emotion, then I will feel grateful.

If you feel the guide could help others, I would genuinely appreciate your help sharing it, whether by printing it, forwarding it, or simply sending feedback.

Thank you.