There have been times in my life when I have felt as if I was transported beyond my usual sense of self—experiences of true liberation—moments when I felt lifted into a transcendent space. During those times, I have often called others to join me in that higher, sacred realm, hoping they too might experience a taste of that divine elevation. I understand why, within the Jewish tradition, some of these interpretive ideas might seem confusing or even unsettling, especially considering their deep historical and spiritual roots. I often find myself pondering why even Orthodox Jews sometimes cling to superstitions—why such tendencies persist across different faiths and cultures. It can be frustrating to observe how some Christian interpretations of the Old Testament draw clear parallels with the New Testament, yet tend to overlook or dismiss the superstitious elements embedded in the older texts. Even among reformers, who are often meticulous in their biblical exegesis, there seems to be a reluctance to directly confront these superstitions, perhaps because they are so ingrained in the tradition. The doctrines I cherish—those that form the core of my faith—seem inherently designed to guide our minds away from superstitious fears and cursed thinking. I have never been easily swayed by superstition; growing up with a Greek mindset, I learned early on that knowledge is power, and that understanding the divine requires clarity and reason. When I read Scripture, I see echoes of my theological tradition—Reformed in doctrine—but over the years, I have also cultivated a practice of meditative reflection on various passages, allowing their meaning to unfold gradually within my heart and mind. Recently, I have been grappling deeply with physical suffering—hypertension and headaches caused by weight loss—that weigh heavily on me, especially during the quiet hours of the night. I recognize these symptoms because I maintain high standards for my health and well-being; I notice when something is amiss, and this awareness sometimes feels like a form of superstition—a fear that I might be cursed or that divine displeasure is at work when I experience pain. There is a subtle, unspoken fear woven into the Christian experience—an anxiety that misfortune could be a sign of divine anger or punishment. Yet, I believe that the superstitious elements woven into our spiritual journeys are part of the human effort to understand the divine—an effort that, through prayer and meditation, can ultimately lead to true liberation. The poetic words of Job serve as a powerful testament to this longing—to speak honestly amidst life's mysteries, to find freedom beyond superstition, and to embrace divine mystery with reverence and sincerity. I often reflect on Job’s concerns about curses and the safety of his children. Many New Testament theologians tend to overlook this aspect, perhaps because they lack direct experience with practices like Psalm chanting or meditative prayer. Job’s fear that his suffering was evidence of divine cursing reveals an intertwined reality of genuine faith and superstition—both present in his understanding. His friends’ approach—treating his suffering as retribution for sin—further illustrates how superstition can distort true understanding of divine justice. The poetic lament in Job, often underappreciated, bears witness to this internal struggle—the tension between trusting God's sovereignty and succumbing to fear and superstition. Having endured depression myself, I am acutely aware of how superstition can infiltrate even our spiritual pursuits. There is no clear, established link between depression and the ability to find joy in Christ, yet my superstitious tendencies have led me to the Psalms—those ancient songs of lament and worship—in my quest to understand this complex relationship. Through hours of chanting, meditative prayer, and reflection, I have experienced shifts in mood and awareness, glimpsing deeper currents beneath the surface of Scripture. These experiences have prompted me to interpret other parts of the Bible with renewed insight—still rooted in tradition but enriched by personal encounters with divine mystery. This is also why I have written extensively about curses—because my initial exegesis was often superficial, lacking the depth of pastoral wisdom and spiritual discernment. I believe Scripture is not merely for doctrinal correctness but for the transformation of the heart; this mystical application of biblical wisdom reaches into the core of human experience. Our words, writings, and reflections are the fruit of that inner transformation. Even Job’s wife, in her despair, told him to curse God—an accusation rooted in her own understanding that suffering was a sign of divine wrath. I have faced similar accusations—being told that speaking openly about my struggles might invite curses or divine anger. But I do not own the Psalms; I am not responsible for how others interpret my words. I simply hold that some depression and life's mysterious suffering carry a superstitious quality—an element of fear and misunderstanding about divine silence and divine mystery. My motivation for writing stems from frustration—how easily others misread my words because they lack the experience of these mysterious encounters with Scripture and divine presence. There is a profound enigma here—not just in what Scripture addresses but in how it is engaged with in prayer and meditation—mysteries that remain largely unexplored. I am not referring to theological mysteries but to the personal, mystical depths of engaging with God's Word in quiet reflection. I am willing to accept what I do not fully understand—whether blessings or curses, positive or negative—as personal mysteries that invite reverence. In this vein, I align with Job’s approach—seeing suffering as a poetic act of liberation, a way of speaking beyond oneself to find something greater. Every engagement with Scripture is not merely a ritual but an invitation to transformation—leaving behind old fears and discovering our true identity in Christ. This process involves a detachment from superstition—seeing God not as a distant or superstitious force but as the glorious presence who enraptures, heals, and transforms us from within.