Our Sages pondered this very idea. Rabbi Levi, in Bereshit Rabbah 6, shares a profound thought: There are three things whose sound, whose impact, travels the entire world, and yet we, creatures in the middle of it all, often don't fully grasp their magnitude. What are these things?

First, he says, is the day. You might think the sun glides gracefully across the sky, right? Smooth and serene. But Rabbi Yehuda offers a different image. He compares the sun's journey to a saw relentlessly sawing through wood! Can you imagine that? The sheer force and energy involved, a constant, powerful action happening right above us. We see the light, feel the warmth, but rarely contemplate the cosmic effort behind it all.

Next, Rabbi Levi mentions the rains. Where does this idea come from? He references Psalms 42:8: “Depths call out to depths in the sound [of your waterways].” Think of a torrential downpour. It’s more than just water falling from the sky. It's a conversation between the heavens and the earth, a powerful exchange of energy that reverberates across the landscape. The Psalmist captures this feeling in the image of the depths calling to one another. But do we always truly hear it?

And finally, and perhaps most poignantly, Rabbi Levi speaks of the soul at the moment it leaves the body. This one hit me. There’s a story attached to this, a story that brings it home.

Rabbi Shmuel, the brother of Rabbi Pinḥas ben Rabbi Ḥama, was dying in Tzippori. His colleagues were there, sitting with him, offering comfort, perhaps grappling with their own feelings of loss. As it sometimes happens in difficult moments, something humorous arose, and they began to laugh.

But Rabbi Pinḥas, the dying man’s brother, was deeply affected. He rebuked them, saying, "How the soul of the brother of that man [the soul of my brother] is hewing cedars and hewing trees… and you are sitting and laughing and are oblivious to it!" He knew, he felt, the enormity of what was happening, the monumental transition his brother was undergoing. The image of “hewing cedars and hewing trees” – a powerful metaphor for the soul's final struggle and release – juxtaposed with the mundane laughter of his colleagues… It’s a stark reminder of how easily we can miss the truly significant events unfolding around us.

This story, found in Bereshit Rabbah, really stays with you, doesn't it? It's a reminder to pay attention, to be present, to recognize the profound events – both joyful and sorrowful – that shape our lives and the lives of those around us. Are we truly listening to the world around us? Are we seeing the immense in the everyday?