Seize the day! Make every day count!
How many times have you heard that? Or even said that? How many self-help gurus lead with that line? How many sermons…?
When I think of “seize the day,” I think of newborn babies clenching their fists, trying to hold onto everything, holding onto the world — sometimes, that world is just “mom.” Trust me, I’ve been through it a few times. They don’t know how to make every day count, they just know to hold on tight.
Now, this day, we are in the time of Sefirat Haomer, the counting of days and weeks between the second night of Pesach and the day before Shavuot, which is the fiftieth day. Night after night, we add to the count of seven times seven until we arrive at Sinai to receive Torah.
I know, I know, counting isn’t very exciting, is it? And I was always a right-brain kind of person: artistic, creative, musical. I was never good at math.
But tradition offers us the chance to improve ourselves during this special time. Some study Pirkei Avot, the Sayings of the Fathers, ethical tidbits from the Mishnah. Others turn to Mussar, a 19th Century series of moral and ethical teachings on how to act and live. It was developed in Lithuania by non-Chassidic Jews facing the challenges of the Enlightenment, but it has been revived and now encompasses all denominations. In a manner of speaking, it is the original self-help program. Let’s try it out…
Say you’re working on a home improvement project, and you need a saw that you know your neighbor has. “Hey Matt, can I borrow your saw?” And Matt says no.
Now the next day, Matt is working in his garage, and he needs a wrench. “Hey Jessica, can I borrow a wrench?” What? Okay, I don’t own any wrenches but just go with me here. So you think back to the day before. And you think, “Seriously? Are you kidding?” And you say to him, “No way.” The Torah says — that’s vengeance.
Or how about this. You go next door, ask to borrow a saw, Matt says no. The next day Matt comes over to ask for a wrench. And you say, “Sure, I’ll lend you a wrench, I’m not like YOU!”
What do you think the Torah says? (pause) That is a grudge. Surprised?
This grudge is made plain when you say, “I’m not like YOU!” But it can STILL be an aveira, a sin, when you say nothing and seethe in your heart as you lend him the tool — even though no one will ever know! That’s still a transgression! I didn’t say being Jewish was easy!
In this week’s parsha, Kedoshim, Leviticus 19:18 we are specially told the following:
לֹֽא־תִקֹּ֤ם וְלֹֽא־תִטֹּר֙ אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י עַמֶּ֔ךָ וְאָֽהַבְתָּ֥ לְרֵעֲךָ֖ כָּמ֑וֹךָ אֲנִ֖י יְהֹוָֽה׃
You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against members of your people. Love your fellow [Israelite] as yourself: I am יהוה.
This is one of the most challenging commandments in the entire Torah. It concerns not just our actions, but our innermost feelings. It is natural to want to hold grudges. Think about the ones you hold, ones you might take for granted. How has their hold on you affected you?
You weren’t invited to a friend’s daughter’s wedding, so you don’t invite her to your next simcha. You go shopping with a friend and she picks out the dress you were talking about buying for an event. (Granted, this one might not apply to everyone here…) But you aren’t going to go out of your way to help her any time soon, now are you?
Of course, there are more serious things which might lead us to hold onto grudges. Maybe even good reasons! Yet here God commands us to overcome them. How? It may seem that only saintly or pious people are capable of letting go of such things. Mandela forgiving apartheid. Pope John Paul the Second forgiving his assassin. How many self-help gurus also say “let go and let God”?
The rabbis teach that those who can let go of a grudge are like the “Sun rising in its might,” words from Judges. Or, in the words of this week’s episode of Ted Lasso, one character has been seriously wronged and wants vengeance, and his father comforts him, and teaches him this. “You know what will really drive them crazy? Forgive them.”
His father was right. Because this isn’t just for angels — God expects this from each and every one of us.
This is a complicated topic. There are countless books, thousands of pages, written on the Halacha of personal relations. It’s far more than I can cover in a few minutes on a Friday night.
One thing is clear. If someone is wronging you — and you speak up IN THE MOMENT and defend yourself — this is FINE. You are allowed by Torah to speak in the heat of the moment, we’re all human…although the greatest rebbes were able to overcome even this.
Think about my story with the tools. You’re still mad the next day and either say no — the petty revenge — or say yes with a sour face — the precious grudge. You had time to think about it, time to calm down, maybe you’ve slept on it — and this is how you react? That, my friends, that is the sin!
So how can we rise above? This is the power of Torah. Torah is a ladder. It’s not just a collection of stories, it is the secret of how to be better than we are, to overcome our basic nature.
Look at the second half of our verse, “Love your fellow (Jew) as yourself.” Achim. Brothers. Family. The rabbis compare this to your right hand cutting your left hand by accident while cooking. Okay, one hand hurt the other but what are you going to do — cut your own right hand in return? What good is that? Let it go.
Know this. We are all children of Hashem. We are all connected, we all make mistakes. Hurting your neighbor is only hurting yourself, the vengeance or the petty grudge souring you long after the offense is forgotten. We are all part of one whole. We are commanded to love our fellow as we love ourselves, so why on Earth would we hurt ourselves? We are all able to pause, take a breath…or two…or a hundred.
One way to reframe a grudge is to learn perspective. The Kotzker Rebbe taught, “This whole world isn’t worthy of one sigh.”
Let me close with a story from a shiur from Rebbetzin Shira Smiles who heard it from Rabbi Yoel Gold.
It was family day at summer camp, and a grandfather was visiting his granddaughters. Another elderly man walked past. The girls saw their grandfather nod to him, but neither spoke, neither stopped.
“Zayde, who was that? We didn’t think you knew anyone here?”
“Girls. In Poland before the war, I was in a chevrusah study with a partner, my best friend. One day, as war drew ever closer, I told him, ‘I was able to get a visa and tickets for myself, my wife, and my baby daughter. I keep these papers by my bed, I plan to leave with them in a few days. I will miss you, my friend.’ A few days later, I went to get these papers…but they were gone. My partner had stolen them and left with his wife and baby. I barely survived that camp, and my wife and daughter…did not.” He paused, took a breath. “After, I made it to the U.S. where I met your grandmother, and then we met your mother and aunts and uncles and they had you and your cousins and here we all are.” Another pause, another breath. “And there he is.”
“But Zayde!” they cried, “How could you walk right by him?”
“Girls, remember this. What was, was.”
What is better than the best revenge? By becoming a greater tzaddik or tzaddeket. A holier person, walking in God’s ways. In other words, “You know what’ll drive them crazy? Forgive them.”
I think of newborns and their fists clenched tight, holding on for dear life. But also I think about the end of our days, when the Chevra Kaddisha prepares us for burial. There is a specific action they must take. Do you know what that is?
They open our hands, straightening our stiff fingers. Because there is nothing to hold onto anymore.
What is, is. What was, was. Life is learning to let go. So let go.
Shabbat Shalom.