What is the summer for? As a matter of fact, this may be the time to reflect upon why so many negative things have been happening to Klal Yisrael. As we slowly approach the difficult Three Weeks and days of churban, we have a moment in time when we can take stock and take advantage of some incredible opportunities. As we have explored in these pages, the plague of Covid changed the world in ways no one had anticipated. Of course, much of it was a bitter pill to swallow. Some people are still suffering with the aftereffects of the pandemic, while, of course, others have been lost forever. Gedolei Yisroel passed away in solitude without proper hespeidim. Perhaps the summer, when many change their venue, is another opportunity to effect the changes Hashem wants from us.

Since this column has turned a bit into an adventure into the wisdom of Pirkei Avos  our seasonal encounter with the wisdom of Chazal in our daily lives  let’s look at this week’s perek for some answers.

Ben Azai taught us, “There is no person without his hour” (4:3). There is a well-known beautiful story with Rav Moshe Feinstein (quoted in Otzros HaTorah, Rosh Hashanah, page 278) that can illuminate our way. An elderly man who had not grown up religious was zoche to a have son who became frum. The father, who enjoyed hearing his son learn Gemara and wanted to try it himself, asked his son to teach him. The young man reluctantly tried to dissuade his father. “Dad, you can’t even read Hebrew, let alone Aramaic. I am so happy that you’ve started praying and putting on tallis and tefillin, but this is beyond you.”

The old man was adamant, so out of kibbud av, the son tried his best, and after a year of intense effort, the pair managed to complete one daf. The father was so ecstatic that he wanted to make a formal siyum, but the son demurred, explaining, “For this ceremony, you must complete an entire tractate.” But the father was insistent, so the son promised, “I will ask one of greatest sages, Rav Moshe Feinstein.” To his immense surprise, Rav Moshe said, “Of course you should, and if you will invite me, I will come as well.” The gadol hador arrived, the event was beautiful, and that night the man peacefully returned his soul to its Maker. At the levayah, Rav Moshe said, “Some people gain their world in a moment. Some gain their world with a daf.”

But Rav Moshe was also a no’eh doresh veno’eh mekayeim  he was consistent in everything he did. His neighbor, Rav Tuvia Goldstein, arrived one day to discuss a shailah and noticed that the man leaving was a difficult person who had once insulted Rav Moshe in print and in a speech. “Did this man finally come to ask forgiveness?” Rav Tuvia asked his friend. Rav Moshe was silent. “Well, if he didn’t come to do teshuvah, what was he here for?” Now Rav Moshe had to respond. “He came to ask for a letter of recommendation for something,” the gadol hador responded. Rav Tuvia was apoplectic. “This man insulted the Torah and the rosh yeshiva is rewarding him with a letter?”

There are two versions of what Rav Moshe said, and perhaps both are correct. One was that Rav Moshe responded, “Well, it’s after Yom Kippur and the man must certainly have done teshuvah, so I must assume that all has been resolved.” The other version is that Rav Moshe quoted the Gemara we mentioned above. “Some people gain their world in a moment. Perhaps this is my moment.” According to this version of the story, as related by Rav Tuvia’s son-in-law, Rav Osher David, Rav Moshe felt that this was a moment for his own sheviras hamiddos, wherein he chose to break out of the mold of responding to disrespect in kind and, in fact, performing a great act of chesed instead.

In any case, we can learn from Rav Moshe Feinstein another major lesson, that no matter what else we may have done well, we never know when or how we are validating our creation and very existence in this world. Every moment must be treated like that magical opportunity.

The Imrei Emes (Bamidbar, page 14, line 9-10) adds that “this can be the moment for which one was born.”

Rav Aryeh Tzvi Frommer, the Kozhiglover Rov (Eretz Tzvi, Moadim, page 21), adds that when we have even a split second of spiritual inspiration, we must seize it and not let it go.

Rav Dovid Povarsky (Mussar Vodaas 2:48) shares a story someone told him about the Chofetz Chaim. The man was sitting in Radin with the great sage, when, suddenly, the Chofetz Chaim jumped up, declaring with profound feeling the words from Lecha Dodi, “Shake off the dustArise.” The Chofetz Chaim continued with the words of the Medrash (Bereishis Rabbah, beginning of Parshas Vayishlach), “Like the hen that flutters its wings to shake off the dust.” He explained that this means that when a chicken or rooster becomes full of the dirt in which it resides, it can shake itself clean, whereas if anyone else was to try, it would be an endless task. The same thing is true for us all. We must “give ourselves a shuckel (a shake) and cleanse ourselves.” Now this was the Chofetz Chaim speaking of himself. What should we all say? The Mishnah Sachir (Parshas Balak) sees this as the meaning of Bilam’s prophesy (23:10): “Who has counted the dust of Yaakov?” meaning, “Who can even estimate the power of Yaakov even when he is on the ground, seemingly filthy? He still has the power to emerge clean and pristine from his grime.”

The Imrei Noam (Parshas Shoftim 4) quotes the Baal Shem Tov (also from Toldos Yaakov Yosef, Parshas Emor) that this concept is also referenced in the words of Chazal that “every single day, a heavenly voice rings out from Har Sinai.” That voice is the thoughts of repentance we all have once in a while. We ignore them at our peril, but when we embrace them, we have that special time when we can change easily and gracefully. Rav Izak of Zidichoiv (see Sefer Tefillah L’Moshe, introduction) writes that this, too, is a reference to the daily moments of inspiration Hashem sends us when we can change for the better in a split second.

Some meforshim (see Butzina D’nehora, Tefillin) reveals that even the angels have better days and worse days. The Gemara (Chullin 91b) tells us that some malachim sing to Hashem once a week, some once every seven years, some once every fifty, and some only once in their lives. Of course, our goal is to make every second and certainly every day count, but we never know which is the moment for which our soul was pining and waiting since our birth. Rav Elimelech of Lizhensk (Noam Elimelech, Parshas Bo) explained that when Chazal said that the “early Chassidim used to wait one hour before davening and one hour after,” it meant this moment of contemplation. This is our opportunity to elevate whatever we have done  whether our davening, learning or mitzvah  to a higher level.

All of this is when we have a personal moment. But we, as a nation, and even the entire world, have been living through events that have been both challenging and life-changing. This is a different world than we inherited from our parents and grandparents. We can ignore these messages or we can make them work for our eternal benefit. Some people have taken advantage of working at home to have new chavrusos in shul, on the phone and on Zoom, things our ancestors never dreamt of. Some have begun davening with minyonim, which was difficult for them, but Hashem has sent them a divine gift. Others have been able to move to Eretz Yisroel and learn at hours that were previously closed to them. Hashem is certainly sending us his bas kol and telling us to give a shuckel, but what are we doing with the heavenly sounds?

We have heard throughout our history that anti-Semitism, whatever its sociological, historical or even psychopathological reason, is actually to become stronger as an inspiration to worship Hashem better and more closely. As the outside world becomes more hostile to us, it is a time to look inward and savor the moments of closeness to Hashem, even as other things that were once alluring are now clearly dangerous and abominable. These include the lure of the Ivy League universities, which are clearly now cesspools of anti-Semitism and cultural residue. Politicians to whom we may have once looked for leadership have turned on us and reminded us that our only salvation is in Hashem. What seem to be the lazy pleasant days of summer, just before we commemorate the sadness of churban, should be for us to reflect upon who we really are and what Hashem wants from each of us. We are each being given more than a precious moment. We have been granted entire days and weeks to contemplate our lives and make decisions that will hopefully bring us all the geulos and yeshuos we seek so profoundly.