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Bereishit 5766
by Rabbi Dr. Barry Leff
Congregation Bnai Israel
Toledo, OH
In all the excitement over the big events that happen in the beginning of
this week’s parsha – like “in the beginning” – a lot of times we don’t pay
so much attention to what’s at the end of this week’s parsha. In fact poor
chapter 5 of the book of Genesis is undoubtedly the least noticed and least
commented on chapter of the first parsha of the Torah, Bereishit. It is the
sefer toldot Adam, the book of the generations of Adam. It lists the nine
generations from Adam to Noah – carefully recording the age at which each of
the people had children and how long they lived.
Probably one reason we don’t talk about it much is the ages are entirely
fantastical. Metushelach – known in English as Methuselah – takes the grand
prize with a life span of 969 years. A life span of 969 years seems so
amazing in fact we might be tempted to poke fun at it – like in the song
from Porgy and Bess: Methuselah lived 900 years… "but who calls dat livin’
when no gal'll give in, to no man what's 900 years?"
The Biblical narrative records outrageously long life spans in those early
generations, and succeedingly shorter life spans as we come down to the days
of Moses, by which time the “standard” life is 70 years, and 120, like Moses
is the maximum.
All sorts of explanations are given for those outrageously long life spans –
and those who take a scholarly approach might assume that some ancient
mythology was incorporated into the older strands of the Torah.
But it is interesting to note that whether or not those ages reflect
historical reality, they are all recorded. As are the ages of Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob, Moses, and many of the other important figures in the
Torah at important events in their lives. To put the Torah into journalistic
form, it tells us “the Lord appeared to Avram, 99, and said … “ “Moses, 80,
and Aaron, 83, spoke to Pharaoh.”
Some things never change. You open the newspaper to a random article and
read “Jesse Morris, 24, his 24-year-old wife, Christina, and Lonnie Scurles,
34” and the paper then goes on to discuss whatever it was they are alleged
to have done. We seem to be obsessed with people’s ages. And have been ever
since the days of the Bible.
Why?
It’s presumably because we believe that knowing a person’s age tells us
something significant about him. It’s one thing if an 18 year old gets
arrested for armed robbery. It’s a much different sounding story if an 80
year old gets arrested for armed robbery.
Even organizations make a point of advertising their age. Go to Tony Packo’s
web site and the first thing you see is “A Toledo family tradition since
1932.” And as a further case in point, today we are having a nice lunch in
honor of a birthday other than mine—the 100th birthday of the UJC/JCC in
Toledo. For an organization like the UJC to be around for 100 years
signifies organizational stability and commitment. What do different ages
signify for people?
Yehuda ben Temah tells us in Pirkei Avot that different ages are suitable
for different things. Keep in mind that the following teaching was written
at least 1800 years ago:
HE USED TO SAY: FIVE YEARS [IS THE AGE] FOR [THE STUDY OF] SCRIPTURE,
TEN-FOR [THE STUDY OF] MISHNAH, THIRTEEN-FOR [BECOMING SUBJECT TO]
COMMANDMENTS, FIFTEEN-FOR [THE STUDY OF] TALMUD, EIGHTEEN- FOR THE [BRIDAL]
CANOPY, TWENTY for serving in the military THIRTY-FOR [FULL] STRENGTH, FORTY
FOR UNDERSTANDING, FIFTY- FOR [ABILITY TO GIVE] COUNSEL, SIXTY-FOR MATURE
AGE, SEVENTY-FOR A HOARY HEAD, EIGHTY [IS A SIGN OF SUPERADDED] STRENGTH,
NINETY [IS THE AGE] FOR [A] BENDING [FIGURE], AT A HUNDRED, ONE IS AS ONE
THAT IS DEAD, HAVING PASSED AND CEASED FROM THE WORLD.
I find it absolutely remarkable that despite the tremendous increases we
have in life expectancy today, those ages given in the Mishnah still seem to
correspond with what we might expect today. You might argue that people
don’t get married at 18 any more – and I would counter, no, but many people
do become sexually active at 18, we have simply become a society that
tolerates people being sexually active without the benefit of marriage.
I hope you will pardon my indulging myself by sharing a few reflections on
the significance of turning the “age to give counsel,” otherwise known as
the “big five-oh,” a milestone which Bill Gates and I achieved yesterday.
It may be indulgent to talk about one’s birthday, but there’s some Torah in
there too.
So why does the Mishnah tell us that fifty is the age for advice? The
commentary Magen Avot points out that we learn this from the Levites, as it
is written in the Torah (Numbers 8:25) “from the age of fifty the Levites
stop doing the service in the Temple.” But what do they do? The Torah in the
next verse tells us “they serve their fellow Levites.” How do they serve
them? By giving them advice. Machzor Vitry says it is appropriate advice on
how to do their jobs and other matters.
Of course, aging is not all lightness and joy. The Zohar says the reason the
Levites were retired from active service at age 50 is because their voices
no longer sounded so sweet when it came time to sing the psalms in the
Temple. And to add insult to injury, the Zohar says that at fifty “the
strong fire that is within him is cooled down,” and the Levites need to be
able to sing with full vigor. OUCH!
But on a more positive note, another rabbinic commentator, the Meiri says
that fifty is the age for counsel because counsel requires two things,
intelligence and experience. When a person reaches fifty, he’s had a lot of
experiences, and isn’t yet getting senile, so he has the two things one
needs to give good advice.
But what advice to give? The modern social commentator George Will points
out “Looking forward from age fifty is no bowl of blueberries, but looking
back, and distilling lessons from things, is difficult to do without
sounding like Polonius when he was loading down Laertes with bromides.”
If your Shakespeare is a little rusty, in Hamlet Polonius gives his son
Laertes lots of advice which we have all heard a million times even if we
forget where it comes from, such as: “Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of
husbandry. This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as
the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
So I will try to refrain from sounding like Polonius.
If as the Meiri says, fifty is the age for counsel because we have
intelligence and experience, what do we learn from the experience of turning
fifty?
Fifty is the first time I have felt any sense of unease with a birthday.
Thirty was great – I was a corporate CEO when I was 27, so when I turned 30,
I figured people wouldn’t be quite so freaked out about my age.
Besides, as R. Yehuda said, 30 is the “age for full strength” – and I think
that saying would still hold up today.
Forty, the age of understanding, was also no problem – once you’re forty
you’re still young, but you can be taken seriously at any endeavor.
Finally I was no longer always the “youngest.” When I was in my 30s and
served on boards of directors for various organizations I was always the
youngest one on the board. No one ever treated me differently for it, but I
was still always aware of it. Not a problem any more when you’re 40.
But fifty, somehow, has felt different. For one thing, not only are you no
longer the youngest to do anything, but you become increasingly aware that
you are older than a lot of the people you run into. You’re older than any
major league sports star, you’re older than the stars in the hit movies,
you’re older than the people you see in commercials on TV, and you are older
than at least some of your doctors. I used to be younger than the people I
taught how to fly—now I’m older.
As Bill Cosby put it, “Fifty is a nice number for the states in the Union,
or for a national speed limit, but it is not a number that I was prepared to
have hung on me. Fifty is supposed to be my father’s age.” I was talking
with someone about feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea of turning
fifty, and he pointed out some math that might have something to do with it:
if you make it to 40, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll make it to 80. And
at least in America, statistics bear that out: a forty year old man in
America has a life expectancy of over another 40 years. But when you turn
50, you are no longer likely to live another 50 years. In fact the 50 year
old still has a life expectancy of a little over 80, or only another 30
years. By the time you reach 50, the chances are pretty good that you’ve got
more of your life behind you than in front of you.
As Jack Nicholson said regarding turning 50 “you’re aware of the rings in
your tree.” You can see the candle getting shorter. And that awareness is
especially there for a rabbi. It is a great honor and privilege that I get
to share in some of the moments of greatest joy and some of the moments of
greatest sorrow for all of you. On a few occasions I have had the sad duty
of burying someone younger than I am—there’s nothing quite like that
experience to emphasize the growing awareness of one’s mortality that comes
with getting older.
We often have dreams or ideas for things that we want to do—and we tell
ourselves, “when I have more time.” The great enemy of the important is the
urgent. The email or phone call that wants an answer right now somehow kills
all the time we have to do the things that are really more important.
But turning fifty can bring you face to face with the advice of the great
rabbi Hillel: Do not say I will study when I have leisure. For perhaps you
will never have leisure.
If you haven’t had the time by the time you’ve turned fifty, when will you
find the time?
Fifty of course is not too late to take on something new. I know people who
started rabbinical school in their fifties. Malcolm Forbes learned to ride a
motorcycle at 50 and how to fly a hot air balloon at 52. Paul Cezanne didn’t
have his first solo show until he turned 56.
And I confess I have something I’ve wanted to do for a while and haven’t
gotten around to in a serious way. Getting a book published. I came close
once—I almost got my doctoral dissertation published, reformatted for the
mass market—but the deal fell through. But what better goal for the age of
advice that to write some of that advice down in book? Only this time
instead of writing about ways to achieve material success I’ll write about
ways to achieve spiritual success.
I’m not making a vow—even though Judaism allows for vows, the rabbis of the
Talmud discourage the taking of vows. But by making my goal public
knowledge, maybe that will have some of the same effect as a vow—to nudge me
to greater commitment to accomplishing something I want to do.
And if you are one of the people here today who is younger than fifty, don’t
think that this message doesn’t apply to you—it applies to you more than to
anyone else. Anyone who has turned fifty has already learned the lesson I’m
sharing today, through their own personal confrontation with gray hair in
the mirror, wrinkles, bifocals, slower 10k times, and more aches and pains.
So whether you have just BECOME 21, or TURNED 30, or are PUSHING 40, this
message is really for you. Don’t wait until you REACH fifty to figure these
things out.
Think about how it is that you can fulfill the teaching of Rabbi Eliezer in
Pirkei Avot. R. Eliezer tells us you should repent one day before your
death.