How effectively do we use our time?
While I can’t remember all the details of life’s journey, I can, in a general sense, remember when my time was spent wisely and when it wasn’t. So, when reflecting on our past, it is healthy to learn some lessons and pivot to the future.
The years ahead (G-d willing) are each comprised of months. The months are a string of weeks, weeks a collection of days, days an aggregate of hours, hours a succession of minutes and minutes a sequence of seconds. So, the broad structure of our lives is actually constructed through individual ‘time-bricks’, individual moments that coalesce to create a lifetime.
While it is important to consider life’s 'big picture', if we want to maximize our effectiveness, we need to tackle life in bite-sized pieces. Each second, minute and hour is an opportunity for substantive living, and they can each meaningfully contribute to a purposeful life.
A teacher of mine once told me that he'd changed his life 'in ten minutes'. When I appeared incredulous, he explained that he was always alert to productive use of time. So, when he had ten minutes with 'nothing to do', he would search for a positive way to use that slice of time. When we have relationships we'd like to strengthen, topics we'd like to research, etc., even ten minutes can be used productively.
It’s about our attitude toward time. We need a conscious, pro-active approach in order to use time purposefully and meaningfully. If I take time to call a friend, it shouldn't be a 'time-filler'; it should be a thoughtful decision to deepen a relationship. If I take time for prayer and reflection, it should be a considered decision to connect my life with something Higher.
The Rebbe once noted the curious fact that G-d created a world in which we are forced to spend time sleeping. Torah is productivity-oriented, so why the unavoidable need for ‘down time’?
The Rebbe explained that rest (or vacation) should not be viewed as an escape from productive life; it’s an opportunity to recharge one’s batteries for re-engagement. It’s all part of the creative journey.
Life is about making a difference. Your next moments are a slice of that life. Use them for your own growth and for the benefit of others.
Rabbi Mendy Herson's Blog
Life, Minute By Minute
Off The Island
I can understand why someone would want to be a rock. Or, for that matter, an island. After all, a rock feels no pain and an island never cries.
Maintaining thick psychological walls, hearing without listening and speaking without communicating, can seem like an effective way to cope. After all, why should you allow yourself to feel someone's pain when you’re not feeling too great yourself? Why should you share your personal struggles, fears, aspirations or ambitions, laying bare your vulnerabilities and raw nerves? It just doesn't seem safe or prudent.
At the same time, insolation from the world's heartache inevitably means self-imposed exile; it means closing the door to one of life's treasures, the beauty of human relationships. It means cheating ourselves.
In the Torah's portrait of a meaningful life, one should certainly protect one’s self and property. But that’s just the beginning. The primary richness of life is when we brighten our existence with deep and substantive connections. We create meaningful bonds, with the Divine and with each other. We forge relationships that allow us to share our lives.
It's not easy to share what's beneath the surface.
It's difficult enough to be honest with G-d. It's even more difficult to open up to other humans.
I'm never afraid that I'm boring G-d with the story of my life, never afraid that He doesn't understand, that He'll think less of me or that He'll use my revealing information against me.
But with people, it sometimes seems safer to be a rock or an island.
The Torah wants us to take the risk of sharing our lives with others. Because sharing our lives, at whatever level, enriches our lives.
If I have a friendly acquaintance, I'm not going to expose my deepest self. But I can get beyond meaningless chatter to share something of myself, and I can care enough to listen authentically.
Two people - not even the closest of friends – can each invite the other into his/her life. And they're no longer islands. We can even go one step further and invite people into our lives by inviting them into our homes. In the Covid era, this may need to be curtailed for the time being, but we need to keep the Torah value, dating back to Abraham, alive in our hearts and minds.
Having guests doesn't mean calling friends to show off your new entertainment center. It means inviting others into your life by inviting them into your home as your sanctuary.
When we open our hearts, and open our homes, we are islands no more.
Self Care
Does taking care of myself make me selfish? Hillel (our famous 1st century Sage) taught us the immortal lesson: “If I am not for myself, then who will be for me?” I need to watch out for me.
At the same time, we need to consider the rest of Hillel’s statement: “…And if I am only for myself, then what am I?”
So, taking Hillel’s entire statement into consideration, he’s telling us that we need the correct framing as to why we are taking care of ourselves. If we are tending to our own needs so that we might be properly functioning human beings – which includes fulfilling our responsibilities to the world – that’s fine. But when we’re looking out for ourselves because we feel like we’re the center of the universe, then we have a self-centeredness issue.
If everything is about me, then, in the final analysis, “what am I?”
The problem doesn’t lie in me looking after myself; it lies in the fact that I’m not targeting an objective beyond myself.
As a way of addressing this problem, the Torah calls on us to ‘circumcise the foreskin of our hearts’. This obviously doesn’t refer to a physiological cardiac layer. Our Sages tell us that the Torah is referring to the self-indulgent ‘overlay’ that prevents us from truly connecting with others. The Torah is pointing out a psycho-spiritual ‘membrane’ of self-centeredness that turns self-reliance into self-absorption. We need to cut through this stifling approach to life in order to liberate our hearts and souls.
How?
From the outside in.
We start with our behavior. ‘Circumcising’ our conduct means cutting through our layers of self-indulgence. For example, even though we do not hurt anyone when we gorge ourselves on a scrumptious meal or engage in material excesses, we exercise our ‘self-absorption muscle’ and open the door to a chain of ‘me-centered’ conduct that then crowds out 'we-centered' behavior.
The 'circumcision' process peels away the unhealthy layers so that there’s less self-absorption in the way we act and in the way speak. We can then take the step of peeling back the overlays - the divisive blockages - from our hearts and from our minds.
The disappointments, hurts and setbacks that are a natural part of life can lead one to build up pretty strong emotional barriers that can lock them into a lonely world.
By healthily penetrating our obstructive layers, we can begin to truly take care of ourselves and find our interdependent place in a meaningful world.
It gives a whole new meaning to self-care.
Turning the Tide
Water.
It's simple and unpretentious. Yet, paradoxically, it is powerful – the elixir of life. Water is the base of our amniotic fluid, our pre-birth surrounding. And – as we go through life – it’s our cleansing friend.
Water creates an aura of tranquility. The sound of rain is a favorite sleeping aid. Whether it's a rustling brook, or a majestic fountain, water creates a personal island of serenity. And, of course, water is the foundational sustenance of all life.
In Torah thought, immersion in a pool of water – known as the Mikvah – is a 'conduit' that helps guide us from one spiritual stage to the next.
Women immerse themselves as part of their journey through life's cycles. And men regularly use the Mikvah as part of a 'rebirthing' process, shedding one level of personality in the aim for a higher one.
In the Jewish conversion process, the candidate actualizes his/her journey through immersion in Mikvah-waters, which brings his/her new identity into full blossom.
So why does water also serve as a metaphor for life's difficulties?
Why do we speak – even Scripturally – of the 'rushing waters' that threaten to extinguish one’s flickering flame of hope, or the ferocious tide that threatens to knock you off balance?
How do I reconcile the Mikvah’s serenity with the raging waters of Noah's flood?
Then again, maybe that's the point.
The babbling brook’s tranquility is calming, relaxing, stress reducing.
So much of life is actually about facing the raging tide, because that’s the way to access our inner potential.
I shouldn’t be afraid of the rushing water, I just need to be prepared.
I need my ark. When I’m emotionally and spiritually cocooned, when I've found internal fortitude and focus, when I'm anchored to firm principles and vision….I can face the rushing waters, and have them lift me higher.
Contemplative prayer and study is our protective boat, our personal Ark, protecting us from life’s deluge. And helping us use the challenges, life’s waves, to rise higher and higher.
Welcome aboard.