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September 10, 2004/Elul 24 5765, Vol. 57, No. 1
Our days pass like a shadow
Torah study
RABBI SHLOMO RISKIN
Parshiot Nitzavim, Vayelech, Rosh Hashana/Deuteronomy 29:9-31:30
Rosh Hashana ushers in a period of 10 Days of Repentance, culminating in Yom Kippur, the Day of Forgiveness. But if we truly believe in a God of compassion and love, who "extends graciousness freely and forgives excessively" (as we recite in the Amidah three times a day), then why not call every day a day of repentance and forgiveness?
I view the 10 days from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur as a metaphor for all of life. We cast away the old calendar and open a new one, mindful that time is passing, that we are mortal and finite, that life is short.
I remember the last time I visited my maternal grandmother, a very special woman with whom I studied Bible and Talmud and who was my greatest religious influence. She was then 90 years old and suffering from cancer. When I entered her room, she looked up at me and said, "My beloved child, that is precisely how life is: an opening of the door and a closing of the door. It passes by as the blink of the eye, even if you live to be 90. Just make certain that before the door closes you have significantly touched enough people and you have made the world a little bit better than it was before you came into it."
I do not believe that the finitude of human existence is necessarily a bad thing. Awareness of the limited span of life may inspire us to make the most of every day and every hour. Rav Shmuel Salant, chief rabbi of Jerusalem a century ago, had a sundial clock placed on a high point in the city. Its 12 numbers were Hebrew letters spelling out the verse "Our days pass like a shadow." He explained that he wanted people to see the clock, note the setting sun and resolve to utilize every available minute before sunset, after which it would be too late. A verse in Psalms reads: "I shall be protected in the shadow of your divine wing" (Psalms 52:2). I have a clock in my office that bears both verses, to remind me to utilize every minute to its fullest.
Rabbi Jacob Joseph, chief rabbi of New York in the early 20th century and a renowned speaker, suffered a stroke at a comparatively young age. He was released from the hospital a few days before Shabbat Shuvah, and the Norfolk Street Synagogue on the Lower East Side was filled with hundreds of worshippers eager to hear his sermon. He shakily rose, carrying a sheaf of papers, as he had uncharacteristically written his words out in advance. He began: "My masters, ladies and gentlemen. ... My masters, ladies and gentlemen." Then he began to weep.
When he composed himself, he spoke: "I prepared this sermon so carefully first in the hospital and after I got out, but now I have no recollection of what I prepared. I can't even read my own writing. My masters, this is what a human being is. This can happen to any of you. Repent before it is too late." It is said that this was the most powerful Shabbat Shuvah sermon he had given.
Rav Levy Yitzchak of Berditchev often said that he learned the most important lesson of his life from the shoemaker who lived in the apartment above his. He noticed that the expensive gaslight in the shoemaker's workroom was burning past midnight. When he inquired if everything was all right the shoemaker responded, "Thank God, yes. As long as the light is still burning, it is possible to keep repairing." As Rav Levy Yitzchak explained: "Would that we all understood that as long as the light of our life is still burning there is yet time for us to repair ourselves and repair the world."
Rabbi Shlomo Riskin is the leader of Efrat, Israel.
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