by Rabbi Steven Saks
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed here are that of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Union for Traditional Judaism, unless otherwise indicated.
Early one June morning, I received a text message from my friend Howard’s wife, Sandy, asking if we could speak as soon as possible. The news was far worse than I had anticipated. My friend Howard, at the age of 65, had suddenly died of a heart attack.
As I drove down to Delaware to officiate at the funeral, it struck me that this was the second unexpected loss I had suffered in the past two years. Almost two years ago to the day, my father had died of pancreatic cancer. Just a couple of months before his diagnosis, my father had been a “young” 85-year-old, walking two and a half miles each way to shul on Shabbat. Yet cancer quickly brought my father’s life to an earlier close than anyone had anticipated.
These losses reminded me of the words of Psalms (144:4), which appear at the beginning of the Yizkor service: “Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow.”
It struck me as deeply ironic that both Howard and my father had been planners by nature, always playing the long game of life. Yet their lives did not last as long as they had anticipated.
Obviously, Howard and my father were right to play the long game. The ability to plan ahead is crucial to succeeding in life, as demonstrated by the famous Stanford Marshmallow Experiment, led by Walter Mischel in the late 1960s and 1970s. In the experiment, preschoolers were given a choice: they could receive one marshmallow immediately, or wait 15 minutes and receive two. Children who were able to delay gratification were found to have better long-term outcomes, including higher SAT scores, lower BMI, and better coping skills.
Just imagine your financial advisor’s reaction if you announced that you no longer wanted to invest for the future because your only concern was the present. Your advisor would probably laugh you out of the room and tell you to forget about retiring.
Yet being overly focused on the future can also lead to a life of constant anxiety, robbing us of our ability to live in and appreciate the present moment.
Daniel Murphy, while playing for the New York Mets, provided us with a powerful example of the importance of not missing the moment. In 2014, Murphy chose to miss Opening Day so that he could be with his wife as she gave birth to their child. Although many people called sports radio shows to criticize the ballplayer’s priorities, Murphy made the right call.
Undoubtedly, Murphy will not lie on his deathbed lamenting that he failed to play all 162 games in 2014. Rather, he will remember with fondness the moment his child entered the world.
Daniel Murphy’s actions demonstrate that he understood the message of Psalm’s statement—a message that is often misunderstood. The Psalmist’s message, clearly associated with the attitude of the Book of Kohelet, is often interpreted as teaching that life is futile, as in Kohelet’s repeated refrain that all is hevel (vanity).
But before we dismiss life as hevel, let us pause to remember that Hevel was also the name of Adam and Eve’s younger son, whose life was snuffed out by his brother in an instant.
Perhaps Kohelet is telling us something far more profound. Life may indeed be as fleeting as Hevel’s life was, but that does not mean it has to be futile.
In a subtle manner, Kohelet demonstrates how to live a meaningful life within the limited window of time we have been given. Sefer Kohelet is associated with Sukkot, which is referred to as Chag HaSimchatenu, the festival of our joy. Remarkably, the word simcha—joy—appears 17 times in Kohelet, more than it appears in the rest of the Tanach, the Hebrew Bible, combined.
Unlike the word ashrei, which connotes a more enduring sense of happiness or blessedness, simcha speaks to the experience of joy in the moment. When you attend a simcha, such as a wedding or brit milah, you celebrate the occasion itself.
Kohelet is teaching us that if our lives are to have meaning, we cannot allow our concerns about the future—and the realization that life does not always go according to plan—to diminish our ability to enjoy the present. Before we know it, life fades away, and the opportunity to appreciate those moments is gone.
Because of life’s ephemeral nature, Rabbi Eliezer teaches in Pirkei Avot (2:10) that we should repent one day before our death. That is certainly sound theological advice. Of course, what he really means is that we should live every day as if it were the day before our last, because we simply do not know when that day will come.
Yet when we become caught up in the day-to-day bustle of life, it is difficult to keep its fleeting nature in mind. Sure, you can try to estimate how much time you have left. Just Google “Death Clock.” It asks you a series of questions about your health and lifestyle and then estimates how much time you have left.
While the Death Clock may be morbidly fascinating, do you really want to plan the rest of your life around an algorithm based on a handful of generic questions?
The Talmud, written long before the Death Clock, provides us with a far better way of reminding ourselves that every day is a gift to be appreciated and embraced. In Shabbat (30b–31a), we find the legend that God informed King David that he would die on a Shabbat. To protect himself, David spent every Shabbat immersed in Torah study, because the Angel of Death could not touch him while he was studying God’s holy words. Only when a distraction interrupted David’s Torah study was the angel finally able to take the king’s life.
Until David’s death, at the end of each Shabbat that he had survived, the king would throw a party to celebrate the fact that he had been granted yet another week of life. This Motzei Shabbat celebration is associated with what we know today as Melaveh Malkah—literally, “escorting the Shabbat Queen” on her way out.
David understood that each additional week he was granted was a gift to be celebrated immediately, as well as an opportunity to be lived to the fullest. It is often said that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. The Melaveh Malkah reminds us to squeeze every last drop from the lemons of life we have been given.
Shabbat itself is the curve in the road of life that forces us to slow down and appreciate the journey and all of its wonderful moments. It reminds us that we do not have to respond to the ringing of a cell phone as Pavlov’s dogs responded to the ringing of his bell.
As you look into the flames of the Havdalah candle on Motzei Shabbat and think about the week ahead, let those flames serve as a reminder that although life is fleeting, it does not have to be meaningless.
We make the most of life, on the one hand, by planning ahead and pursuing our dreams. While rejoicing in the moment may be spontaneous, much planning and effort are often required for us to arrive at that blessed moment.
Furthermore, rejoicing in the moment is not an end unto itself. Rather, it is the celebration of a milestone that inspires us to look ahead toward the future. When a baby is named and we celebrate that moment, we also pray that the newborn will be imbued with a love of Torah and go on to perform many mitzvot throughout his or her life.
On the other hand, by allowing ourselves to pause and celebrate moments of simcha, we ensure that life remains not only meaningful, but livable.
Life is short. We should therefore plan for the future—but we must never become so consumed by tomorrow that we fail to appreciate today.
For life may be fleeting, but it is not futile.
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