To Number our Days  – Erev Rosh Hashanah (5769)

Anshe Chesed Fairmount Temple – Beachwood, Ohio

Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff,

When we lose someone dear to us at an early age, we start to look at our own life in different ways.  My father died when he was 51 years.  I was 24 years old.  His death forced me to face the reality that time moves quickly.  It certainly forced me to face my own mortality earlier than I would have liked.

Despite all the technology designed to help us save time – including cell phones and computers -- it is clear that time has a mind of its own. Judaism teaches us that since time is limited, our only alternative is to use it well and give meaning to the years allotted to us. 

There is an old story concerning Satan who one day gathered his assistants to discuss the most effective methods of destroying the meaning of people’s lives. 

One devil said: “Tell them there is no God.”

Another said: “Tell them there is no punishment for sin and they have nothing to worry about.”

A third proposed: “Tell them their sins are so great, they will never be forgiven.”

“No,” replied Satan, ‘such things will not matter to them.  Tell them, simply;  there is plenty of time.”

Think of times when you called a person one day too late.  One day after she slipped into depression. One day after he had a medical procedure and needed emotional support.  

Many times in my life, Abraham Joshua Heschel has opened doors to deeper understanding and wisdom for me. When Heschel was a child in Poland, his rabbi told the story that we read tomorrow morning: 

Isaac was on his way to Mt. Moriah with his father, Abraham.  Then he lay on the altar bound.  “My heart,” said Heschel, “began to beat even faster.  I almost sobbed with pity for Isaac.

“Behold, Abraham now lifted the knife.  Now,” said Heschel, “my heart froze within me with fright.

“Suddenly, the voice of the angel was heard: ‘Abraham, do not lay your hand on the lad.  Now I know that you fear God.’

“And here,” said Heschel, “I broke into tears and wept.”

“Why are you crying?” asked the rabbi, “You know Isaac was not killed.

“But rabbi,” I said to him, still weeping, “suppose the angel had come a second too late?”

Heschel then added:  “An angel cannot come late, but, we, made of flesh and blood, we sometimes come late.” 

I recall sitting with a family in their home.  We were reflecting on the life of a man who had just died.  He was husband, father, and grandfather.  With a warm smile of gratitude, his wife made this observation:  “One thing we felt good about:  we never put off doing things and we never put off helping others.  We decided early on that we would not wait…until it was too late. “

As soon as she uttered those words, we knew that we had just heard her entire philosophy of life.  At that moment, a spark of holiness illuminated the room.  Every person there realized that by numbering their days that couple had created a marriage that was truly a holy covenant.   By treating every day as precious, they had elevated their relationship to the point that it felt as if God was a partner in their union.                            

As in our personal lives, so our larger society, we often act as if we have forever.  I grew up in Atlanta.  As a child, when I visited the zoo, I noticed that there were four kinds of bathrooms, each precisely labeled:  white women, white men, colored girls, colored boys.  As a teenager, the only people of color I had ever met were domestic servants and laborers in my uncle’s tire business.  As far as most people were concerned, it could have just as well remain that way forever.  After World War II, most southerners felt that there was no urgency to change a thing.

And yet, among a few, there were stirrings.  I recall my father giving speeches to civic groups throughout the region insisting that the south had to change or history would pass it by.  And in Montgomery, Alabama in December, 1955, a seamstress named Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a city bus to a white passenger. Her act sparked a citywide boycott of the bus system that lasted more than a year and raised an unknown clergyman named Martin Luther King, Jr. to national prominence, resulting in the U.S. Supreme Court decision outlawing segregation on city buses.  What if Ms. Parks had felt that she could wait…a week, a month, a year…forever?

Forty five years ago, I asked the members of my synagogue to cancel whatever they had planned to do on August 28to do so they could fill a chartered bus with Terry and me for a six hour trip to Washington.  There we joined our prayers and linked our arms with a quarter of a million Americans on the Mall where we heard Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,  challenge us all to make the dream a reality. 

Somehow on that sweltering Wednesday in August we sensed that we and our nation did not have another day to wait.  The Torah teaches: you shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.  We did not have the luxury to wait until it was more convenient to “March on Washington.”  Americans seized the moment.  Every one of us who traveled there by bus and plane, by train and car was changed forever by that non-violent protest.  More importantly, our nation was transformed and within four years, Lyndon Johnson signed historic civil rights legislation which led  us out of the jungle of segregation and racial persecution.  God was present on that sweltering Washington day.  I knew it then by the way those men, women, and children, black and white, Jew and Christian alike, treated each other, how they focused with the urgency of the Hebrew prophets, how they embraced a vision that sprang from the Torah itself.  Some of us might have missed that bus.  But we did not, because we did not want to tell our children, or our grandchildren, we did not want to tell ourselves, or our God, that we had something more important to do that day.                                                                                                                            

It is difficult to decide where our priorities lie.  Do we visit an elderly shut-in or spend extra time at work?  Do we view a movie we’ve been eager to see or hammer nails at a home-build by Habitat for Humanity? 

The Talmud teaches us that in the world to come each of us will be asked:  “Why, when you could have enjoyed something, did you fail to enjoy it?”  But you will also be asked:  “Did you ever stand idly by when you had the chance to help someone in need?” 

This is what I love about Judaism:  this amazing formula that BALANCES respect for our own needs and pleasures AND the mitzvah of service to others.   Everyone of us likes nice things and I’m no different than you:  a comfortable home that’s warm in January and cool in August; a safe, reliable car, and a fun-filled vacation. Judaism says it’s OK to desire those things and to work hard and, yes, even compete to acquire them.  But if that’s all that we do, Judaism teaches that we have fallen short of God’s plans for us.  We were created to be partners with God in making this world better than it is.

This year, being a presidential election year, we are especially aware of the challenges which confront our nation and the world.  As the planet warms, the glacial icepack is shrinking at an alarming rate.  One out of every six Americans has no health insurance.   We are moving slower than a snail in developing alternative energy sources.  Iran and other reckless governments are within a few years of deploying  nuclear weapons. 

Teach us to number our days, O God. that we will not stand idly by, that we will elect leaders who will address these issues.  And teach us not to leave these problems only to our leaders. Teach us to be part of the solution, to join effective organizations, to mobilize our friends and relatives, to turn Fairmount Temple into a Just Congregation where the bus – the social justice bus – does not leave without us.    

So we have come full circle.  I began with very personal references and I conclude in the same spirit.  This summer I was watching my grandchild at play – a common event in thousands of parks and backyards every day.  But this time I stopped and watched the playful rhythms and uninhibited exhilaration of this eighteen-month-old as he raced across the grass.  And then these words flowed from my lips:

“Baruch ata Adonai, ha-mechadesh b’chol yom tamid ma-aseh v’raysheet.  Blessed are You, Adonai, Who renews every day the work of creation.”

What happened that moment?  I stopped just long enough to count my blessings.  Something that happens only when I number my days. The number of our blessings is not infinite and the days we have to count them are not without end.  That Hebrew blessing could have been a dry, routine formula; instead, it was an explosion of gratitude.  In that moment, I perceived God’s presence and God’s plan for me…Baruch ata Adonai, Blessed are You, O God.”

Leo Tolstoy once wrote a story about a successful peasant farmer who was not satisfied with his lot. He wanted more of everything. One day he received a novel offer. For 1000 rubles, he could buy all the land he could walk around in a day. The only catch in the deal was that he had to be back at his starting point by sundown.

Early the next morning he started out walking at a fast pace. By midday he was very tired, but he kept going, covering more and more ground. Well into the afternoon he realized that his greed had taken him far from the starting point. He quickened his pace and as the sun began to sink low in the sky, he began to run, knowing that if he did not make it back by sundown the opportunity to become an even bigger landholder would be lost.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, he came within sight of the finish line. Gasping for breath, his heart pounding, he called upon every bit of strength left in his body and staggered across the line just before the sun disappeared. He immediately collapsed, blood streaming from his mouth. In a few minutes he was dead.

Afterwards, his servants dug a grave. It was not much over six feet long and three feet wide. The title of Tolstoy's story was: How Much Land Does a Man Need?

Life is too short to do all the things we would like to do.  But there is enough time, if we stop long enough -- to behold the beauty of a child at play…. or a flower in bloom. 

There is enough time to enjoy the blessings of life AND to lift up the fallen; to be the best partner or friend, the best parent or child we can be AND to comfort the bereaved and feed the hungry.

There is enough time if only we…. number our days so that we may get a heart of wisdom.