The Birthday of the World

It’s Rosh Hashana, so I went out to the Chabad ceremony this morning for the blowing of the shofar. (No jokes, please.) Before they got the horn out, Rabbi Zvi gave a sermon.

He talked about the notion of “haras olam.” It’s a phrase that shows up in a prayer that’s recited multiple times during the day’s prayers, as “ha-yom haras olam,” which means “today is the birthday of the world.” Rabbi Zvi explained that the phrase also comes up in the Bible, although not in the Torah.

In Prophets, Jeremiah has been imprisoned for telling the Jews that they’ve become so debased they’re going to get conquered]. While in prison, he says that his sorrows are so great that he wishes he’d never been born, that his mother had stayed pregnant forever with him. The phrase for “pregnant forever”? It’s also “haras olam.”

So he talked about the difference between those two meanings of the same phrase. Are we born, or are we in a state of eternal pregnancy? Do we stick with possibilities, or become real? You may or may not recall That Damned Hegel Quote that I’ve gone on about over the years, the notion that we need to make decisions to become real, that preserving ourselves in a potential state is lifeless.

Rabbi Zvi illustrated the concept by telling a story about a rabbi who wrote commentaries on the Torah, the Talmud, the Haggadah and others. The story goes that, when the rabbi was a young student, he half-assed it and his parents got pissed. (Note: this is my vernacular, not Rabbi Zvi’s.) He overheard his parents discussing whether they should keep wasting money for him to attend yeshiva, since he could just get to work on their farm and contribute to the household. The youg man panicked, ran in, and begged for one more chance. Which he made the most of.

Years later, at a ceremony for one of his new commentaries, he told the audience this story, and said, “What would happen if I’d become a carpenter? I’m sure I’d have been very good at it. But when I die, the angels would ask, ‘What about your commentary on the Torah? What about your commentary on the Talmud? What about all the books of commentaries you could have written?’

Rabbi Zvi said, “There’s nothing wrong with being a carpenter. But if you have the mind to write on Torah, it’s wrong for you to deprive the world of that!”

Coincidentally, I made a Writing Vow this morning, because it’s a new year, and maybe I can finally discipline myself into regular, unfrivolous writing. I’m not going to tell you about the criteria I’ve set, because I don’t need to disappoint anyone else. But really: I need to be remembered for editing Contract Pharma?

To wrap up, Rabbi Zvi told a story about the Rebbe Schneerson’s father and the need to express one’s Judaism, but before that, he offered up a joke. I’d rather tell the joke.

Two old Jewish ladies haven’t seen each other for years, so they meet for lunch. The first one asks, “How’s your lovely daughter doing?”

“Well,” says the second. “She married a doctor.”

“How wonderful!”

“. . . But they got divorced.”

“Oh, no!”

“But then she married a lawyer!”

“Great!”

“. . . But they got divorced, too.”

“That’s terrible!”

“But then she married a very successful CPA!”

“Ah! So much nachas from one child!”