That sense of urgency, of wrestling with our mortality, is something that's been contemplated for millennia. And it’s right there, at the heart of Psalm 90, which is explored in Midrash Tehillim.
The verse "For all our days have passed away in Your wrath..." sparks a powerful image. But what does it truly mean? Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, delves into this. Rabbi Yehuda interprets it as referring to bitterness – the inherent bitterness that can sometimes permeate our lives. But the Rabbis offer a different take, seeing it as a metaphor for a youth cut off too soon. A life unfulfilled.
The Midrash continues: "We have completed our years... Our days pass away with toil and trouble..." Oof. Doesn't that hit a little too close to home sometimes? Even a king isn't immune, according to Rabbi Chanina bar Yitzchak, who points to the verse, "I will recall Rahav and Babylon..." to illustrate that even a kingdom can be filled with hardship. The Rabbis see it as harsh shearing and affliction. Rabbi Yudan, however, offers a glimmer of hope, noting that even amidst the toil, there were good deeds.
Then comes the question: "Who knows the strength of Your anger?" It's a question that Rabbi Abba bar Kahana answers with a chilling thought: perhaps our transgressions have filled up God's hand, so to speak. And Rabbi Chanina bar Yitzchak adds a stark warning: whoever hastens the Day of Judgment in this world will have their sins come first. Heavy stuff, right?
But within this somber reflection, there's a call to action: "Let us calculate our years, so that we may bring wisdom to our hearts." It’s not about dwelling on the negative, but about using the awareness of our limited time to live more intentionally. Rabbi Eliezer famously said, "Repent one day before your death." His students, quite reasonably, asked how anyone could know when that day would be. His answer? Repent every day. Live each day as if it were your last, and thus all your days will be spent in repentance. A powerful idea, urging us to constant self-reflection and improvement.
The Midrash then shifts to a plea: "Return, O Lord; how long will it be? Rejoice us according to the days You afflicted us, the years we have seen evil." This echoes the longing for redemption, for an end to suffering. It's tied to the days of exile in Babylonia, Media, and Edom. But also, intriguingly, to the days of the Messiah.
And that raises another question: how long will the days of the Messiah be? Here, the Midrash offers a fascinating range of answers. Rabbi Eliezer suggests a thousand years, based on the verse, "A day that is like a thousand years." Rabbi Yehoshua doubles that, proposing two thousand years, linking it to the verse "For the days of our life are seventy years," and the idea that a day of the Holy One is like a thousand years. Rabbi Baruchya suggests six hundred years, connecting it to the lifespan of a tree. Rabbi Yosei offers a shorter timeframe of sixty years.
Then the Midrash tackles the length of a generation. Rabbi Akiva says a generation is forty years, linking it to the forty years the Israelites spent wandering in the wilderness. The Sages, however, argue for three hundred and fifty-four years, corresponding to the number of days in the lunar year. Rabbi Abbahu goes even further, suggesting a generation is seven thousand years, mirroring the seven days of the week. Talk about generational differences!
What do we take away from all of this? This passage from Midrash Tehillim isn't just a dry theological discussion. It’s a deeply human exploration of time, mortality, and the search for meaning. It's a reminder that even in the face of life's inevitable challenges, we have the power to choose wisdom, repentance, and a life lived with intention. And maybe, just maybe, to hasten the coming of a better world.