USCJ Review - Spring 2007
Spiritual Retirement - A Jewish Guide to Making Retirement Meaningful
I am a retired rabbi.
That is not to suggest that I currently do nothing but relax, sleep late and play golf! To the contrary, I find myself busier than ever. I serve as part-time rabbi to a small and wonderful congregation in Annapolis, Maryland, called Kol Ami, and I teach a range of students, from first-graders at a Solomon Schechter day school to graduate students at Yeshiva University’s Wurzweiler School of Social Work. This new juncture in my life has prompted me to contemplate the spiritual challenges of this new chapter called retirement.
What is increasingly clear is the fleeting passage of time and the stark reality of time’s inescapable growing limitation as I advance into my senior years. I seem to draw nearer to a recognition of my own mortality. This new reality confronts me with new questions. What does Judaism, what does God want of me at this stage of my earthly journey through life? Do I continue to live with a businessas- usual attitude although the business of living is vastly different now than it has ever been before? Do I re-evaluate my priorities in light of this changed circumstance? Is there guidance for me and for others that can be drawn upon from the tradition to which I have been committed to all my life?
It is apparent that the transition from being a fully occupied person to someone no longer enjoying the psychological gratification that accompanies work and earning a livelihood is not an easy one. So much of our identity and selfworth are derived from work that without it we find ourselves aimless and confused. Our daily routines are suddenly altered; we often approach the day bewildered, even frightened. While we relish our freedom we yet falter without an organized structure to our lives.
I firmly believe that one particular statement of the rabbinic tradition can serve as a powerful program for spiritual rejuvenation and growth that can transform our later years into our best years. Before I share this prescription let me say what I believe to be profoundly true regarding the blessings of old age. I don’t wish to give the impression that the so-called golden years are often not beset by much difficulty – illness, loss, mental and physical enfeeblement. But to reflect upon the truisms contained in the Book of Ecclesiastes, a work written, according to tradition, by King Solomon in his old age, we discover the profound truths about life’s reality that only older people can attain.
Spiritual wisdom, although a treasure open to all, and to all of all ages, nonetheless is more within our reach when we are older. For the young, insights of the soul are often abstract and theoretical. Bodily hormones and the psychological demands of growing up all conspire to conceal the bare spiritual realities of human existence. The young, by nature “lay waste their [spiritual] power getting and spending!” What is left for the old is the remarkable gift of spiritual wisdom, recognizing the ultimate meaning and value of life. It is no accident that our sages interpreted the meaning of the word “‘elder” in Hebrew – zaken – as someone who has acquired understanding and wisdom – ze shekanah chochmah! It is with the recognition of the special gifts of retirement that the following statement from the “Ethics of the Sages” can point us in the direction of greater spiritual fulfillment and renewal.
“Shimon ha-Zadik [Simon the Righteous] was one of the last members of the Great Assembly. This was a favorite saying of his: The world rests on three things – Torah, service of God, and deeds of compassion and love.” The beauty and blessing of retirement lies in the privilege granted us to devote ever larger portions of our time and effort to the efforts of Torah study, prayer, and the fulfillment of compassionate acts and deeds of loving kindness. These three pillars of the Jewish spiritual life can serve as a foundation of emotional, intellectual, and spiritual strength and security in our twilight years.
First, Torah. This enterprise may be seen by many as daunting. We may not be proficient in Hebrew and may consider the material much too abstract and beyond our comprehension. As a result, we are dissuaded from engaging in this effort. The reality is that never before in the history of the Jewish people has information about the richness and value of Judaism been so available and so accessible. Virtually most texts of traditional Jewish lore have been translated into English, and study groups and classes abound in every single Jewish communal institution – schools, synagogues, community centers, fellowship groups, and so on.
We know from medical science that the continuous use of the human mind is greatly salubrious to human health and well-being. The Torah in all of its magnificent dimensions and levels of understanding and application is “not in the heaven and not beyond the sea”; it yearns to be taken hold of like a beloved partner and studied with deep gratefulness and love. Study of Torah is a wonderful way to exercise the intellect, preserving the alertness and creativity of our Godgiven minds.
Prayer, the service of God. I cannot think of a more uplifting way to begin the day than by setting aside a few moments and meditating on the preciousness of the gift of a new day. Attendance at a daily minyan holds out many benefits and pleasures – camaraderie, the ambience of a sacred space, perhaps a breakfast, all of which add up to a deliciously divine dimension to the start of our day. Do we fully realize, I wonder, as we awaken in the morning, how great a gift each day is in our lives? More often than not, we find ourselves in a sleepy stupor, barely able to prepare ourselves physically for the day ahead. Is that not the purpose of prayer – to cultivate our never-ending sense of gratefulness for life in its fullness and its infinite manifestations? Personally, I find nothing quite as refreshing and spiritually satisfying to do the first thing in the morning as sitting in my favorite spot – the right-hand corner of our living room sofa – and meditating on the opening prayer of the morning service, Modeh ani lefanecha. I thank God for restoring my soul, my life energy, on the threshold of a new day. This allows me to focus on a sense of gratefulness that provides me with a calming and centering perspective that is so helpful in approaching the day and all its unexpected exigencies with greater clarity and inner balance. For prayer to be meaningful, we call upon our hearts to open and receive all the giftedness of life.
The rabbis understood the centrality of the heart, especially in prayer, when they declared Rachmanah libah ba-ay –The All- Merciful One desires the heart. Each phase of the unfolding day invites us to respond with heightened gratefulness for each changing moment, “morning, evening and noontime.” Attendance at evening prayers, especially at a house of shiva, fulfills not only the promptings of our hearts but embraces our need to reach out to those who suffer and need our companionship and help.
Finally, the most challenging and rewarding of the spiritual paths is the third leg of the tripod that supports the spiritual life. Linked to the tangible expression of love toward others, it is gemilut chasidim, acts of compassion and lovingkindness. Opportunities for deeds of chesed, of compassion, are limitless. Hospital, schools, nursing homes, synagogues and churches, communal organizations, all abound with human needs that cry out for a compassionate response. While skills are generally required to succeed in life, the essential prerequisites for chesed are simply a willing heart and a sense of empathy for other human beings. (Parenthetically, I do not wish to omit the spiritual blessing obtained in caring for all of God’s creatures, especially in light of Judaism’s insistence on the humane treatment of animals, “tzaar baalei chayim.”)
A personal digression. Rarely is someone blessed with a spiritually saturated peak experience. I was privileged to have such an experience, which I have been trying to recapture and retrieve for all the years since it happened. I was on my way home from the synagogue, walking along 14th street in Manhattan, when I was overcome by an all-pervasive and gripping desire to devote my life simply to helping needy people, to spend my days performing acts of compassion. Nothing else seemed to matter, and the anticipated joy associated with this desire was indescribable. As I continued on my way, I randomly approached an elderly woman and helped her board a bus; I invited a homeless person sitting on the sidewalk for a cup of coffee and something to eat at a diner nearby; I gave money to someone else on the street who seemed to need it. These acts were certainly not earthshattering! But they represented this unexplainable, deeply embedded feeling of altruism that I had never experienced before and sadly never since. I have approached psychiatrists, rabbis, social workers, and others in an attempt to understand that powerful experience. To no avail. Finally a friend, a psychiatrist, said, “Henry, you received a gift!”
To perform an act of chesed is to emulate God, for if God is anything, God is the ultimate and infinite source of compassion and love. In the Torah God is described as possessing 13 attributes, all of which are centered on compassion, forgiveness, and kindness.
Each of the paths I have described may be pursued in unequal measure. Some people will naturally incline toward study, others will be more comfortable with prayer, and still others will find the greatest satisfaction in engaging in acts of kindness toward others. However you balance the pursuit of these three paths, any or all of them can be avenues of extraordinary spiritual fulfillment. Any can make the golden years indeed “precious above all rubies”!
It is autumn as I write; in the Northeast the trees have been touched by God’s paintbrush, displaying a canvas of luscious color. Soon the leaves will fall from their branches, but before they do they proclaim a swan’s song of utter enchantment. In the tradition of midrashic metaphor, to what can human life be compared? To a tree, with each age of life compared to the growth and changes of the leaves. Retirement represents the dusk of our days, the autumn of our lives. Like the stunning colors of autumn leaves, we can beautify and enrich our spiritual lives with the hues of study, prayer, and the doing of that which is compassionate for others. Then it will be said of us: How magnificent is your handiwork, O Lord!
Rabbi Henry Glazer retired as the rabbi of the Fair Lawn Jewish Center in Fair Lawn, New Jersey.
