HaYom. It’s a Hebrew word that means “the day.” The rabbis used it to refer to Yom Kippur, the most powerful day of the year.

But HaYom has another meaning, too. It means today. HaYom teaches us that every day is unique, that every day has the power to bring holiness, and that every day has the power to bring joy.

And so I looked out my window this morning, at the sunlight, at the turning of the leaves, and I thought, “HaYom.” Somehow, I thought, I can make this day as as powerful and as meaningful as Yom Kippur.

I looked at those leaves,and I realized some of them won’t be there tomorrow. They’re part of a tree we’ve had forever – a tree that’s slowly, inexorably, arching towards the roof of our neighbor’s house. And as I write this, the tree surgeons are cutting it down. By the time I finish this piece, those leaves will be gone.

Nothing lasts forever. But I can cherish the moment, and I can thank God for those leaves. And I can determine to make my life a thing of beauty, bringing holiness into the world.

Fall is a time of change. And for Jews, it’s a time to sit in our sukkot, exposed to the elements. And it’s a time to read the words of Ecclesiastes. “There is a time for everything,” he says, “a time to grow and a time to die.”

The leaves had their time, and in their place, something else will grow.

But for all of its melancholy, one facet of Ecclesiastes stands out. The Book of Ecclesiastes uses the word “joy” more than any other book in the Hebrew Bible.

“Eventually,” writes Rabbi Sacks, “Ecclesiastes finds meaning in joy – because joy lives not in thoughts of tomorrow, but in the grateful acceptance and celebration of today. We are here; we are alive; we are among others who share our sense of jubilation.” 

An ordinary day, says Ecclesiastes, can become a source of jubilation. And so today, I give thanks for the turning of the leaves, for my family, and for my community. I acknowledge that the world is constantly changing. But I can take joy in the moment.

Yom Kippur teaches us that our lives can change in an instant. But perhaps, Ecclesiastes teaches us something more important. Joy is not just about how much we have. It’s about what we allow ourselves to see, about allowing ourselves to appreciate what we have.

All of us have had pain. All of us have suffered. And all of us can spend a lifetime raging against the darkness, thinking about the unfairness of life. Or we can celebrate HaYom. We can celebrate the moment. We are here; we are alive. We are living in God’s land and enjoying His blessings.

And perhaps, that is the lesson of the High Holidays. The greatest sin is to ignore the moment, to dwell on the injustices of the past. “The past is gone,” wrote Nachman of Breslov, “and the future is uncertain. All we have is this moment.” All we have is HaYom.

Chag Sameach,
Art