We should be planners

Centuries ago, in a shtetl in Eastern Europe, a rabbi was lying on his deathbed surrounded by his worried family and his concerned community. The rabbi’s son continued to offer him sips of milk for his dry lips and his thirst. Everyone stood by the bed patiently, waiting to hear his final, sage words.

Then, the village drunk, Yitzy, stumbled forward while carrying a bottle of schnapps, pushing his way to say goodbye to the rabbi who had always been so good to him. As he stumbles toward the bedside, a bit of his schnapps spills into the glass of milk.

Trying to ignore the scene that the drunk is making in the solemn moment, the rabbi’s son encourages his father to stay calm, “Drink this. It’s good for you.”

After the rabbi drinks the glass of spiked milk, his eyes open, and he looks around the room. The rabbi struggles to sit up a bit in bed. The entire community, his family, even Yitzy the drunk, stand patiently, waiting in anticipation of the rabbi’s final words.

The rabbi clears his throat and motions for his people to come closer. They draw their heads together, holding their breath. “Listen to me,” the rabbi whispers. “Whatever happens…” He points at the milk. “Don’t ever sell this cow!”

It’s ironic that I am speaking about the Jewish quality of patience. I suspect that if you asked my friends and family, or my colleagues, or my Board of Directors, I don’t think any of them would describe me as a patient person. And the joke above and so many Hasidic stories that I read about patience – in the super secret rabbi joke manual, known as the internet – they don’t really express patience, per se. They portray the low tolerance that Jews maintain for waiting.

The Hebrew word for patience is savlanut, and it is derived from the Hebrew root samech-bet-lamed, which correlates to words that mean to bear or to suffer. Hebrew, our people’s language, claims that a patient person is one who can tolerate the burden of waiting. Hebrew forms a linguistic DNA – in its ancient and modern forms – that always manages to capture the truth about our people. Reconnecting with an ancient part of the Jewish identity takes patience, and at my synagogue, Valley Beth Shalom, we are proud to have inherited American Jewish University’s world-class online Hebrew through the new Community Hebrew Program at VBS that aims to connect Jews across the world with access to their ancient language. Studying Hebrew takes time, effort, and the patience to overcome challenges that stand in the way. It is the students who are able to withstand the burden of waiting to understand who end up succeeding in learning Hebrew.

There is no direct Hebrew word for impatience. Perhaps in modern Hebrew, the phrase choser savlanut, which literally means without patience. The Torah uses a different word to describe a lack of patience. In Exodus, Chapter 5, Moses and Aaron’s first approach to Pharaoh is disappointing as they demand “Let my people go” and Pharaoh doubles the brick mandate. When Moses returns to the Children of Israel, the Torah tells us that they have no patience for his message for their spirits were crushed, “They would not listen to Moses, their spirits crushed by cruel bondage” (Ex. 6:9) Perhaps kotzer ruach, their crushed spirit, meant that because of their slavery they were incapable of tolerating any extra burden of waiting for Moses or God to fulfill the prophecy of redemption.

We certainly run the risk of kotzer ruach from reading the news and feeling helpless and depressed. All of the news breaks our spirit, and we want to feel better right away. But I don’t think that kotzer ruach is as much a threat to us today as is the impatience and expectation of nowism. What is nowism?

Recently, I read an essay in Sapir, a wonderful quarterly journal of Jewish ideas run by Bret Stephens. The essay was written by Amit Segal, who many of us know from his regular appearances on the podcast Call Me Back with Dan Senor, and his essay is titled, If Not Now, When? On the Virtues of Patience. In his essay, Segal reflects on the popular teaching by Hillel from Pirkei Avot – “If not now, when?” – and its effect on Israeli politics. He discusses the influence of nowism, a push for movements to manifest ideas immediately.

Segal reflects on how the Hebrew word achshav, or “now,” appears in political slogans from the peace movement on the Israeli left to the calls for settlements on the Israeli right. Today, it is used to implore the government to make a deal now for the hostages before it’s too late, and it is used to recognize that this moment now is the best opportunity to defeat Hamas once and for all. Achshav or nowism is a threat to stability. It reflects the tumultuous reality in which we live.

The modern Hebrew word achshav, which we use to mean “now,” does not appear in the Torah at all. A slightly altered version of achshuv appears later in the Book of Psalms (Ps. 140:4) to mean venom or poison, clearly dangerous. This kind of eagerness or haste is clearly not seen as a virtue by the Hebrew Bible.

The Hebrew word used in the Torah for “now” is atah with an ayin, which is related in etymology to eytim with an ayin, which means “season”. According to the definitive dictionary of Biblical Hebrew (Brown Driver Briggs) atah is also related to anah with an ayin, which means “answer”. According to biblical Hebrew, the concept of the present reflects an answer delivered in the correct season. For example, our crop right now reflects our efforts for this season, an answer to our prayers. Good crops reflect good planting in the past. A poor harvest season reflects a poorly planned planting season.

The same is true for all aspects of life. Our current political reality reflects an answer to a season of tumultuous unrest. If you’re not satisfied with our choices at the ballot box this year, then we have to plant better, and we must do it long in advance.

I’m not sure if patience is a Jewish virtue, but I know that planning is certainly one. All of our calls for the hostage negotiations or for increased war efforts reflect the lack of preparedness we had for a conflict in Gaza. Israel’s meticulous planning to respond to the threat of Hezbollah in the north necessitated none of these calls for nowism. Any call for immediacy reflects our seasonal planning gone awry.

The truth is that the true burden Jewish leaders have always shared is the burden of the future. We have always lost sleep at night planning for our future, for our upcoming seasons. We are a people that values planning and that desires a brighter tomorrow for our children, for all children. Pirkei Avot, the Wisdom of Ancestors, teaches us that, “Rabbi Tarfon said, ‘The day is short, the task is great, the laborers are lazy, the wages are abundant, and the Master of the house urges [us] on’” (Pirkei Avot 2:15). Rabbi Tarfon charges future generations of Jewish leaders to continue bearing the burden of leadership, the burden of planning.

Suffering through waiting is not our style of patience. Planning for all seasons is the way the Jewish attribute of patience is manifest in the world. That planning takes a willingness to bear the burden of today in hopes of a better future. Waiting has always been difficult, especially when we’re waiting for a task as awesome as a better world. However long and arduous the planning feels, is there any task more worthwhile?

Shanah Tovah, may this be a better year for us, and our families, and our people, and all of humanity, and may all of that blessing begin – as soon as possible.