Parashat B’ha’alot’cha: Making room for the rocks

One of the most meaningful parts of my work as a rabbi is supporting families after they have lost a loved one. I feel like I could write a book about those sacred moments together. There is holiness, vulnerability, and beauty shared during that sacred but raw time in their lives. But one of the themes that often saddens me is the extent to which people have big gaps in the life stories of their loved ones.

When I ask people to describe their parent’s childhood, they have few, if any, details. They often express regret, saying “if only I had more time, I would have asked them so much more” or “I really regret not spending more time with them.” Similarly, when I sit with people who are dying, they share that they wish they would have done things differently.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

In our Torah portion this week, parashat B’ha’alot’cha, Aaron mounts the lamps of the menorah, per God’s instructions. The Torah is very specific, outlining that the lampstand, made of gold, was “hammered from the base to the petal” (Numbers 8:4). We might ask ourselves why the Torah would pay attention to such a detail. And why from the base to the petal and not the other way around?

According to Rashi, “hammered from base to petal” is the equivalent of saying “from the largest detail down to the smallest and most delicate.” In other words, we take care of the base, the foundation, before we pay attention to the branches. We ensure the steadiness of the menorah before we even light it.

So often in our lives, we worry about the small details before the big ones. We become obsessed with lists. We live by them. We feel accomplished when we’ve made it through our day, but then we look back on our years and ask ourselves what we did with our time. Add to this the plethora of distractions, doom scrolling, and challenges that come our way. As a result, we lose the forest for the trees. But what I’ve learned by sitting with so many bereaved families is that it doesn’t have to be this way. Nor do we have to wait for a tragic wake-up call to make different life choices.

I’m reminded of the popular lesson about filling the “rocks” in our glasses before we add all the sand. Of course, if we fill a glass with sand first, there is no room for any pebbles, let alone larger rocks. This teaches us that we need to make room for the big, important priorities in our lives before we worry about the small stuff. This rock and sand demonstration is normally a lesson about time management, which is powerful — to a degree. However, it is often narrowly offered with regard to our professional or shorter-term life to-do lists.

Instead, when we widen the focus to include our entire life, can we better define for ourselves what our “big rocks” actually are? Are we prioritizing the base of the menorah before its branches? Are we ensuring the menorah is steady before we actually light it?

I am a big proponent of writing ethical wills. These are carefully written documents, books, even memoirs, that we leave for our loved ones about our own lives. We’ve held several workshops about how to write these in my synagogue. Nowadays, there are plenty of apps to help us keep track of this information. AI is a wonderful tool as well to help us keep track of our stories, pictures, and important documents.

However, it’s not just about writing the ethical will. The process of writing it is equally important. When we carefully reflect on what the foundation of our life is, we can better define for ourselves what our big rocks are. This process may include reaching out to family, having hard conversations, reconnecting with people with whom we’ve lost touch.

Sometimes we may even need to ignore the daily to-do lists, leave that pile of dishes in the sink a little longer while we take some quiet moments and think about our larger life goals. Through this process, as difficult as it might be, we confront our own mortality, but in doing so, we hopefully live a life with fewer regrets and more meaning. We can even ask ourselves not what we want to do, but who we want to be.

The light of your life’s menorah shines best when you ensure that the base is taken care of first.

Opinion

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