Why are we here? What is our purpose in life?
Of course, these are the most existential questions people often think about, especially when they’re young and idealistic.
The opening lines of our Torah reading this week are Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem, “You are standing here today, all of you, before God.”
Just before he left this world, Moses brought the people into a covenant with God (Deuteronomy 29:9). And a few verses later, he adds, “Not with you alone do I forge this covenant and oath, but with all those standing here today and with those who are not here with us today.” V’eit asher einenu poh (verse 14).
Rashi, quoting the Midrash Tanchuma, states quite plainly that Moses’ covenant was entered into with all Jews, including those yet unborn and of future generations.
But how could later generations enter the covenant? How can one be committed to a covenant without their knowledge and consent?
Rabbi Judah Lowe—the famous Maharal, the 16th-century chief rabbi of Prague—argues that Moshe and his Supreme Court (Sanhedrin) had the authority to do just that. It was the ultimate authority, and no other future court could challenge it.
The mystics say that all the souls of future generations were indeed present at Mount Sinai when the Torah was given, and so they, too, accepted the Torah, the covenant and all of its obligations. Spiritually, they were considered to have been there and actually did accept the covenant themselves.
May I humbly add to that another rather simple idea—what we do and the choices we make will most certainly affect future generations to come. Will they be part of the Eternal Covenant? Our decisions will make the difference.
The education we choose to give our children will deeply affect their ability to participate in this covenant. And the example we set for them by how we choose to live our lives will undoubtedly affect them profoundly.
There’s no question that making the right choices isn’t always easy. We all have our weak link, our inner voice of temptation—the yetzer hara and his cunning tactics.
You feel inspired to give tzedakah? That little voice inside you may start arguing with you.
“Did you know that according to the Talmud, it is a bigger mitzvah to provide someone with an interest-free loan than giving them outright charity? Maybe you should hold onto your money and wait for that greater opportunity.”
And that’s only one of an infinite number of arguments the little voice puts forward to discourage us from doing good now.
What is our underlying motivation to do good? Some people obsess about it so that when their physical life comes to an end, they will go to heaven. But if we’re just looking after our own skin, then our priorities and values may need some repair and upgrading
Otherwise, we may look like the fellow with the smelly chicken.
Sarah tells her husband that she thinks the chicken in their fridge may be off. Abie smells it and says, “Yes, it does smell a bit, but why don’t you give it to our poor next-door neighbors? They really struggle to put food on the table.”
Sarah is uncertain. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, it’ll be fine,” says Abie convincingly.
So she gives the chicken to the neighbors.
A few days later, they hear that the fellow next door was taken to the hospital with food poisoning. The woman who gave them the chicken feels terrible. So they go and pay a visit to the man in the hospital. By this time, he was in the ICU.
Two days later, the man dies. Now the woman who gave them the smelly chicken is completely inconsolable. But she and her husband go to the funeral. And the next day, they visit the house of mourning to pay a condolence call.
When they come home, the wife unburdens herself. She is weeping uncontrollably, feeling responsible for the poor man’s passing.
Her husband comforts her. “Sarah, just look how many mitzvahs we accomplished with that one chicken. We gave charity. We visited the sick. We accompanied the deceased on his final journey. We comforted the mourners! So many mitzvahs from one chicken!”
Tell me: Who’s the smelly one here? The chicken or the “donor”?
The question is: Are we here to help ourselves or help others? Are we here only for ourselves and for our own next of kin?
If going to heaven is your only concern, then you may not care if someone else goes to hell.
Why are we here, you ask? Heaven is a reward and consequence of our good behavior. There is much more to why we are here than just to go to heaven. After all, we were in heaven as pristine souls before we were born. What was the point of it all, if we’re only destined to go back where we came from?
Clearly, we have a job to do down here, each of us. Heaven will be a natural outgrowth of lives that are lived meaningfully, purposefully and productively.
All of us have a mission and a mandate for why we were brought into this world by God, over and above the responsibilities common to all Jews. But regardless of our personal talents and expertise—where we can offer our contributions to making the world a better place—there is the fact that we create a legacy and that we perpetuate the covenant to our children and grandchildren down the generations.
As we read towards the end of Nitzavim: Ubocharto bchaim ... l’maan tichyeh atoh vzarecha! “Choose life so that you and your descendants will live.”
The choices we make in life are critical in answering the question of why we are here. Future generations depend on us. One single decision may well determine the quality of future generations.
Will they be part of the Eternal Covenant? One single act, one correct choice, impacts generations.
Rosh Hashanah is almost upon us, a mere week away. May we resolve to choose life, to choose wisely and to choose correctly. And may our good decisions reverberate down the generations.
Wishing all my readers, together with the whole House of Israel, a Shana Tovah, filled with all the Almighty’s bountiful blessings.
