And it’s a frustration the ancient rabbis grappled with, too.

Rabbi Shimon ben Rabbi Yosei bar Lakoneya, a sage whose name echoes through the ages, had something powerful to say about this very feeling. He looked at the world around him, a world much like our own in many ways, and observed a painful truth: "In this world," he said, "one person builds a building and another demolishes it, one person plants a sapling and another eats from it."

Ouch. Doesn't that hit a little too close to home? The idea that our efforts, our hard work, can be so easily undone, consumed by someone else… it’s enough to make you wonder, what’s the point?

But here’s the thing: Rabbi Shimon didn't stop there. He didn't just point out the problem. He offered a glimmer of hope, a vision of a different future. He contrasts the present with a Messianic future, drawing on the prophet Isaiah to paint a picture of a world redeemed.

"However in the future," he proclaims, things will be different. Isaiah 65:22-23 promises: “They will not build and have another inhabit, they will not plant and have another eat… they will not exert themselves in vain, and they will not give birth to panic; for they are the descendants of the blessed of the Lord…”

Imagine that. A world where your efforts bear fruit, where your creations endure, where your children inherit a legacy of blessing, not of struggle. It's a powerful image of stability, of continuity, of purpose. A world where the cycles of creation and destruction are finally broken.

And it doesn't stop there. Isaiah 61:9 adds another layer to this vision: “Their descendants will be known among the nations and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them will recognize them, for they are the descendants of the blessed of the Lord.”

Think about the implications of that. Not only will your work endure, but your very lineage, your zera (seed) will be recognized and honored. Your children and grandchildren will carry the mark of blessing, a visible sign of the goodness you brought into the world.

The passage comes to us from Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a rabbinic commentary on the Song of Songs. It’s a collection of interpretations, stories, and reflections that draw out the deeper meanings hidden within the text. Here, the rabbis are using the imagery of the Song of Songs, with its themes of love and longing, to explore the relationship between the present and the future, between the world as it is and the world as it could be.

So, what are we to make of this? Is it just a nice story, a comforting thought for a distant future? Or is there something more we can take away from it right now?

Perhaps the message is this: even when we see our efforts undone, even when we feel like we’re building on shifting sand, we can still plant seeds of hope. We can still strive to create a better world, knowing that even if we don't see the full fruits of our labor, we are contributing to a future where goodness and blessing will ultimately prevail.

And maybe, just maybe, that future starts with us, with the choices we make today.