Welcome to Soulful Jewish Living: Mindful Practices for Every Day with me, Josh Feigelson.
I’m grateful you’re here, and I hope you benefit from our time together.
Ep. 4-27: This Too Shall Pass
I have a wonderful friend named Marvin. We’ve known each other for about six years now and have become very close.
Marvin is in his late 70s, and to me, he is a model of what growing older gracefully can look like. He has an extraordinary ability to listen—to me, to his friends and family, and especially to his grandchildren, whom he loves to talk about.
One of Marvin’s unique traits is that whenever I ask him, “How’s it going?” he responds, “Good–so far.” By which he means something like: The day isn’t over yet. While thankfully things have been good so far today, who knows what might come next?
Now you could hear that and think, Dude, that’s kind of negative. Maybe a little fatalistic. But that’s not what I hear when I talk to Marvin. He’s saying it from a lot of life experience. Gam zeh ya’avor, as we might say in Hebrew: right now, whether it’s good or bad or neutral, this too shall pass.
There’s a lot of value in this orientation to life. We don’t have to be stuck clinging to the past, and we don’t have to be bound up with worry about the future. We can be present in the moment, and we can rest in the knowledge that, whatever is happening, ultimately it’s going to change. That, at least, is a sure bet.
I’m thinking a lot about this right now, for a couple of reasons. The first is that, as I write this, I’m sitting in my sukkah, and Sukkot is all about “this too shall pass.” A sukkah is this fragile thing that really is here one minute and gone the next. It is, by definition, temporary. And that reminds us that we’re really just passing through.
The other reason I’m thinking about “this too shall pass” is because, as I sit here in my sukkah, on Thursday, October 9, we’ve just observed the second anniversary of October 7. And, thank heaven, it seems like a deal has been reached to bring the hostages home and stop the fighting and bloodshed. With God’s help, by the time you listen to this, the ceasefire will be fully in effect, and the hostages will be on their way home.
Throughout the last two horrible years, I have found myself coming back to this idea—that this too shall pass. There have been so many dark days, so many false hopes. For so many people, it has been 700-plus days of trauma and anxiety.
In the face of that, “This too shall pass” has been really helpful to remember. For me, it has functioned as both a mantra and a prayer. No matter how hopeless I might think things are, I can tell myself, Gam zeh ya’avor: This too shall pass. And I can say it as a prayer: May it be so.
In 1939, as darkness descended over Eastern Europe, and especially over its Jewish population, one of the great leaders of the neo-Hasidic movement in Europe, Hillel Zeitlin, had some powerful words about the idea of “this too shall pass.” “It won’t always be a time of sorrow and darkness,” he said. “The time will come when light and radiance will return to the entire world and to the Jewish people within it… It is not yet the present,” he concluded, “but good days are yet to come.”
In classic mindfulness practice, the aim is to let go of the grip of both the past and the future. To be, as we say often on this show, present with the present. But Hillel Zeitlin is saying something different. He’s articulating a pretty traditional Jewish belief that things will, ultimately, get better—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even soon or for the rest of your life… but eventually, they will change, and they will get better.
I actually don’t think there’s anything wrong with this from a mindfulness point of view. No, we shouldn’t delude ourselves by clinging to a rosy view of the future. We can and should be present with the present. But I think it’s also totally fair and realistic to believe in and pray for some day in the future when enough human hearts are changed that justice will roll down like a mighty stream and the joyful voices of young people can be heard singing in the streets. I, for one, need the hope of that vision. The key, I think, is to hold it, but hold it lightly.
The word that comes to my mind in this moment is healing, refuah in Hebrew. We all need time to heal. If there’s anything I feel like I’ve learned in the last two years, it’s that there is no road to peace that doesn’t involve healing. And so for our practice this week I want to offer a prayer set to music by my friend Rabbi Shir Meira Feit. The words are from Psalm 147. They’re a simple request—for refuah, for healing.
So please listen along to Shir and feel welcome to sing too. Every day, but especially this one, I think we can benefit from this prayer—that helps us stay present in the present, but with a gentle yet firm hope for the future.
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you.
ENDING
Thank you for joining us for Soulful Jewish Living: Mindful Practices for Every Day, a production of Unpacked, a brand of OpenDor Media, and the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. This episode is sponsored by Jonathan and Kori Kalafer and the Somerset Patriots: The Bridgewater, NJ-based AA Affiliate of the New York Yankees. If you like this show, subscribe, share this episode with a friend, give us five stars on Apple Podcasts. Check out our website, unpacked.media for everything Unpacked-related, and subscribe to our other podcasts, and check out the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. Most importantly, be in touch–about what you heard today, what you’d like to hear more about, or to dedicate an episode. Write to me at josh@unpacked.media.
This episode was hosted by me, Rabbi Josh Feigelson. Audio was edited by Rob Pera and we’re produced by Rivky Stern. Thanks for joining us.