Not surprisingly the Mishnah is drawing upon the Torah when it says this. The Kohanim (Priests) in the Temple were able to take part in more of the service of the Temple sacrifices when they reached 30 because they were considered at their full strength and could carry many of the heavier accoutrements that were part and parcel to the sacrifices.

When I reflected on that verse again this year I saw a little deeper into myself and came up with my own p’shat (simple derived meaning) that I’d like to share here:

I think that Judaism usually puts little emphasis on actual physical strength and more so on mental prowess and refined character traits. So in this case in one’s 3rd decade I reasoned that the strength that is talked about in the Mishnah must also be another kind of strength than merely physical. I then looked at what strengths do I possess that I only acquired in my 30th year? The conclusion was an easy one to make.

My whole life I was always very judgmental of others (although I rarely expressed this outside of myself), and I was also extremely pessimistic and cynical. Thank G-d that I’ve eradicated the pessimism and cynicism a few years ago with Hashem’s help and am now a bonifide “optimist”. But the character trait I gained in the beginning of my 3rd decade was an ayin tov (good eye). A good eye is generally understood to be the ability of one to see the good in others around him with little to no effort…that you’re everyone’s biggest fan and that you want them to be given honor over you and to be successful, etc. I can say that genuinely I feel this way about most people I meet, and for sure the guys here at my yeshiva (school).

So what’s really my strength that I only gained at turning 30/31 more specifically? That B”H I can see the support and good that I’m surrounded with, and that I feel nothing but thanksgiving to G-d for blessing me with such excellent family, friends and rebbeim. I came to the conclusion that truly I am the man I am today because of my family, friends and rabbis that are in my life…and especially the fine examples of human beings that I have the privilege of attending yeshiva with, and this is of whom I write now.

Never before in my life have I been grouped with such a chashuv and inspirational group of people! Men who want to change the world…starting with themselves. We have guys here that are fresh out of college (and a few still in) who’s driving desire is to get closer to G-d and to be made into better people, better Jews, better sons, and G-d willing one day, better husbands and fathers. Unbelievable! I literally tear up when I think about it. When I was fresh out of college I was light years behind these guys. Imagine what they’ll be like when they turn 31? It gives me such chizuk (encouragement) for the future of klal Y’srael (people/greater community of Israel) to see so many of her future leaders in my midst.

I look over and I see such-and-such, and I think, “Wow…he’s really good at ‘X’ and I want to learn that from him…” and then I look at another and think the same thing for a different reason. Everyone here is an expert in something for me to emulate and learn from. I sit at my teachers’ feet. It is this inspiration and proximity to greatness that lifts me up and makes me want to struggle and stretch and grow to be counted among them! I am a pauper among kings and I’m standing on the shoulders of giants…and I thank G-d for everything…for allowing me to reach this day and for giving me this understanding.

May I have another year full of growth and insight and closeness to Hashem…

I am enticingly incomplete.
The suspense of a page-turner building into its climax,

I am a seedling breaking through.
Growing towards the light, rebelling against gravity,

I am a desperate whisper.
Heard and cherished by the Creator of all,

I am a push, a kick and a scream.
Struggling with all my might to be kinetic,

The best of me is yet to come.

Hope’s constant companion is
Doubt,

Suffocating on air and choking from
Water,

But soft, that light from yonder window combusts the
Skin,

Despair invading from
Without,

Wavering walls fortify from
Within,

Betrayed by the closest
Kin,

Bring an end to this
Drought,

Stood up to dance but started to
Spin,

Hold me closer and speak gently
Father,

Reading a book not knowing what it’s
About,

Peace and sleep and rest so hard to
Find.

My hometown, I know, is of ill-repute…but I moved so far way, so long ago (and I’ve lost the accent).

My intentions are disguised in stereotype, but they are as pure as I can make them…can’t you tell?

Please, ma’am, if only you’d be so kind, notice that my tears have watered a lush garden.

My hands and clothes are dirty…but only because I planted an orchard in muddy soil.

Please understand that my weaknesses are my greatest strengths.

Please, oh, please, dear Lady, investigate beneath the dross…and see how I shine!

I am weighed down by so much yesterday…won’t you lighten tomorrow’s today?

Stoop to visit upon me your keenest eye and softest breeze.

Oh! How we would soar, you and I…never letting go…

Street called Sesame

Seed bun in which they place the burger

King is having it his way despite the capitalist message

In a bottle the genie sleeps until you wake him up

Jump the boogey

Nights spent dreaming of day

Trading and afternoon napping wishing for slumber

Party like it’s 1999 just in time

Keeps on slipping into the future

Passed the eyes of the guard dog

Eat dog world with the huddled masses

Are for Catholics and cows eat grass

Root movements are doomed from the word “Go!”

Fly a kite and retrieve the egg from a chicken

Little is better than none, still too much for some

Thing tells me I’m not alone…

The sails flap violently, tattered and torn,
Rapid foam floods the creaking deck,
The wheel spins out of control,

Angry clouds, dark and menacing fill the sky,
Rain and wind swell the in-between,
Panic rules in their company,

Bitter salt fills the mouth and burns the eyes,
The sound of chaos gusting surrounds,
I’m immersed in darkness,

The compass is spinning, speedily irrelevant,
The Captain is noticeably absent,
I beg for light and calm,

The wind usurps my voice, the waves my tears,
Taking on water and can’t give it back,
When I’m a rickety ship, sailing on fears.

A few weeks ago I was sick. Despite my poor health I felt obligated to meet up with a friend in the Old City and spent quite a bit of time with them. My health continued to decline and the fact that my hair was soaked with sweat with no exertion on my part was a big clue. I excused myself and instead of walking back to the yeshiva like I usually do (from everywhere), I decided taking a cab would be more beneficial for my health in this rare exception. So I took a cab.

For reasons I have only one theory about, the majority of cab drivers at night seem to be Arabs. That night was no exception. Usually the routine is that they’re extremely quiet the entire time except for the casual update to me of the ever-increasing fare (Tip: always ask for the meter with an Arab cab driver—even still, most seem to try to talk you out of it…or am I alone in this?) This time however was a little different. The driver was VERY talkative. He picked up almost immediately that I was American and when I answered his Hebrew questions with English he also continued speaking in English…and surprisingly well.

He talked of how awful it is to live in Israel. How one has to be rich to be happy here. How it’s very hard and all one does is work all day and then goes to sleep, and the cycle is never-ending. He went into much detail (all of which was unnecessary and unwelcome), and harped on the proof of his view being the fact that the Jewish government in Israel can’t even get Jews from the U.S. to move here anymore because they’re too comfortable where they are (some truth to this statement struck a chord with me), etc, etc. Meanwhile, I’m in the back seat falling asleep/drooling/sweating to this guy’s propaganda speech, but I finally managed to ask him a few questions of my own.
He spoke so highly of life in the U.S. how it’s easier, etc I asked him if he’d ever been there. He answered in the negative (of course) and proceeded to tell me that if he had gone to the U.S. he would stay there (my immediate thought was that he should go there then; anywhere but Israel). At this point I realized I was unsure of his intent for sharing this information. Was it a ploy to get me to leave so his 20 kids and his 20 kids’ 20 kids can takeover in a generation or two from now in this ill-fated democracy? I’m not sure. Here comes the punch line…

We stop where I want to get off and I ask him the price which of course is higher than the usual fare for the same distance/time of day/day of the week, etc. I tell him such and he assures me that the prices have changed and only he and a “few others” know about it. He apparently thought that I am stupid. Regardless he held that the price was 50 shekels and that was that. I tried haggling down to 40 he wouldn’t have it…I moved up to 45 and he started talking again about price changes, etc. I started to feel worse and a surge of defeatism with hope of the reward of sleep overwhelmed me. I then in (feverish frustration) said, “60 shekel, right?” His response was eager and immediate, “Yes! 60! Yes!” So I gave it to him and just before tumbling out of the cab in a cooked-brain stupor I stopped to tell him that I hope his life gets better here soon or something like that. I left the cab, make my way up the stairs in the apartment building that my yeshiva is, and headed up to my room. It was on the way that it finally hit me…

Why would I haggle down to 40 if he told me 60? I wouldn’t jump 20 shekels. I usually start with ten and then we argue a bit and then settle with the halfway point. I then realized that I gave him ten more than what he asked for. I became upset. Then I remembered that I also gave him a b’racha (blessing) on the way out that he should have an easier life here. I became FURIOUS. Why would I do that? I don’t want him here to begin with!
The fact that I overpaid an already greedy, negative-vibe giving, Jew-hating cab driver was bad enough, but when I realized I gave him a b’racha at the end of that experience I became angrier than I have in a long, long time. I laid in bed fuming, going over in my head what happened and how upset it made me. When my roommate came in I told him about it…when visitors stopped by I shared it with them (I have no idea what they thought about it, considering the fact I’m never angry and all of a sudden I was fuming—it must have been an awkward experience for them, and for that I apologize if so).
It was also not a short-lived anger like usual. I was angry the rest of the night and most of the next day about the experience. The fact that I was physically ill on top of it didn’t make things conducive to tranquility it also seems. Now, here we are at several weeks later. I’ve had plenty of time to analyze the events and I’ve come up with some ideas about why I was angry and what that says about me, and maybe what I can do in the future to prevent the same situation (I’d also like to take this opportunity to point out [just in case you’re one of those readers that misses the over obvious] that I really enjoy parenthetical statements, and I use them often).

Overwhelmingly I think the essence of what set me off was the injustice of the events that transpired. I was essentially ripped off in the fare, and I felt that I gave an important and good thing to someone undeserving. To me this is further evidence that my possible shoresh neshama is emes. Essentially what I’m referring to is the Jewish belief that everyone has a root type of personality or drive “imprinted” in them of one of three types: Chesed (Kindness), Mishpat (Strict judgment) and Emes (Truth). My intent is to not go into detail here about each three (nor am I qualified to do so), but I personally think that I lean closer to emes because my drive is to constantly seek out truth despite any personal consequences, with an emphasis apparently on justice/fairness too. I don’t know…Anyway, this is the most immediate thought and the train it took that came to mind after reflecting on this event.

Secondly, I feel VERY strongly about Zionistic topics and already have a strong bias towards Arabs in general and Arab cab drivers in particular. It has been the custom since I arrived last year for Arab cab drivers to change the price of the fare in route, to flat out agree to something in the beginning and then change it at the end, or to just all around not be pleasant to me. Jewish drivers in contrast have historically given me a different experience. One relevant experience that comes to mind is when I first arrived and needed a cab (and was just learning the numbers in Hebrew) and he told me the price and I gave him over the amount and he handed back to change according to what he originally said. In other words…honesty. So I think I was mad that yet again I was ripped off, but the coup de grâce was the fact that I helped him this time. This couched with the fact that I’m very much in love with Israel (and this guy was bad mouthing it), and that I don’t even believe he belongs here but I gave him a blessing that not only should he stay but that it “be easier” for him. Even thinking about it now frustrates me a little bit.

So what did I learn about myself from this secondary impetus? The primary thing is that obviously I feel very passionately about Israel the Land, the State and for its people and future. I notice this more and more in that I can’t read an article about this topic without getting incensed by how ignorant the world is, and how unjust their treatment/view of Israel and Jews is. Already being sensitive to such things (especially in a physically weakened state) I think made it easier to set me off.

Regarding the b’racha, although it upset me after thinking about it, the fact that my first reaction to this guy’s ranting was to bless him says a lot about my character. My subliminal reaction was to see his life better and for him to be happier, despite the fact that we have serious religious and ideological differences. (Trying to remain objective here) I think that means deep down I’m a loving, caring person who looks at big picture stuff over personal grievances or distaste. Also of note, I didn’t turn around and wish him ill or curse him either, no matter how angry I was from the experience. It’s good to take into account one’s good attributes in the midst of the bad.
Nu? So what? What can I learn from this and how can I avoid it in the future? Let’s attack the latter question first. So I don’t think I could become less passionate about Israel nor do I want to, so perhaps in the future I should avoid involving myself in discussions about it, especially when nothing fruitful comes from them. That way, I never get that feeling of aggravation that acts as tinder for a bigger anger.

Secondly, do my best to avoid Arab cab drivers, or at least learn to count.

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of feasting, because that is the end of every man, and the living takes it to heart. Koheles (Ecclesiastes) 7:2
———————-
Just to the north of my school rests one of the largest cemeteries in Israel. From any window on the rear or north face of the building you can’t help but see it (see photo). I’ve had the somewhat macabre opportunity to take part in several ceremonies at this cemetery which makes it an even more striking place for me, and not just simple scenery. That being the case, whenever I do catch a glimpse and see the rows of graves nestled neatly in the ground, shaded by trees, and resting without sound for who knows how much longer…I don’t see a serenity, and I don’t hear silence.

From their rows the legions of those who came before me call out to me from their restless rest–they struggle and strain to return; to walk, only to run again and never cease, to sing, dance, eat and drink, to love and be loved, and to forgive and be forgiven—debts paid and regrets unmade…and in the complete silence of this struggle their souls shout what their dry lungs cannot…they cry out to me in unison with the force of A THOUSAND TRUMPETS, but I hear it as a soft, singular whisper in my heart. The screaming whisper is always the same…it says to me in its penetrating softness, “live…just don’t be alive…LIVE!”

I see them lying there in the distance, knowing that is my fate someday, my days are literally numbered, and I always ask myself, am I really living or just merely alive?

Will be easier by far,

What’s long and long is short for some,

Can you see my scar?