Our ancestors grappled with this too, and they spun some pretty amazing stories to explain it. Let’s dive into one from Midrash Tehillim, a collection of teachings that unpack the Book of Psalms.
This particular passage, Midrash Tehillim 19, deals with something we all experience: the changing seasons and the ebb and flow of daylight. But it frames it in a really intriguing way, almost like a cosmic loan between day and night.
Rabbi Yochanan, a prominent sage of the Talmud, offers a fascinating perspective. He says that as the elders – meaning those who possess wisdom and understanding – move from one year to the next, they engage in a kind of cosmic accounting. They “subtract from the day and add to the night,” and then “subtract from the night and add to the day." What’s going on here?
He’s describing the cyclical nature of the year, marked by the four seasons. Think about it: From Tevet (around December/January) until Nisan (around March/April), the nights are longer. Then, from Nisan to Tammuz (around June/July), the days take the lead, borrowing an hour from the night every thirty days, slowly but surely. After Tammuz to Tishrei (around September/October), the nights reclaim their dominance. And finally, from Tishrei to Tevet, the days give back what they borrowed, again an hour at a time.
But here's where it gets interesting. Rabbi Yochanan points out that during Nisan and Tishrei – the times of the spring and fall equinoxes – day and night are equal. They owe each other nothing. And the way they "borrow" and "repay" isn't like human debt at all! There's no court, no witnesses, no contracts. It's a natural, harmonious exchange. We don't say, "There is no such thing"– meaning, we accept that this is how the world works, a miraculous balance.
Now, the text contrasts this cosmic harmony with the human realm "below the elders." Here, we also subtract from day and add to night, and vice versa, but there's often objection, resistance, a feeling of unease. Why the contrast? Perhaps it's suggesting that humans struggle with the natural cycles of give and take, of abundance and scarcity, unlike the seamless exchange between day and night.
The passage concludes with a vivid image. When the elders leave their assembly, there's commotion throughout the land. People are asking, "When is Rosh Hashanah? When are the holidays?" Their fame – the elders' wisdom – reaches the ends of the world. They’re masters of time, understanding its rhythms, and guiding others through it.
What does it all mean? Perhaps it's a reminder to pay attention to the natural world, to the changing seasons, and to the wisdom of those who understand them. Maybe it's an invitation to accept the ebb and flow of life, the times of light and darkness, with grace and understanding. To recognize that sometimes we "borrow" and sometimes we "repay," and that this cycle is essential to the balance of the universe. Ultimately, Midrash Tehillim 19 is asking us: Are we living in harmony with the cosmic dance, or are we resisting its rhythm? It's a question worth pondering as we journey through our own days and nights.