strength, courage and wisdom

I instinctively find endings a bit sad, especially the end of something delicious. The end of a good book, a great movie, the last bite of pie, the last moments of a trip, the final days of summer, the last shofar blast of Neilah. It's all so beautiful and full and what I have been reading, praying, living towards. But then it’s over and I am left to savor it, crave it, miss it. I can’t get those moments, those laughs, those bites back. I am left to wonder, was I present enough? Was I aware and alive enough?

Jewishly we know of this nostalgic ending in the custom of singing songs of deep longing in the darkening room at the end of Shabbat. The third meal can be surprisingly somber. The end of something good is almost tragic. Which is ironic because it's actually not yet over, it's still there. The ooze of blueberry still on the fork awaiting another lick. The quiet search for three stars in the sky,

This week we read the parashat Vayechi, the final Torah portion in the book of Genesis. It begins by telling us that Jacob, aka Yisrael, would live for 147 years and these are his final days. Which he spends drawing close to each of his 12 sons and blessing them. The end of our origin story is also the end of our ancestral namesake’s life. The parsha savors the end of his life, and I find myself feeling sad, like its my loss, its my end. 

Which is why I find such great comfort in the ritual that succeeds the reading of the end of a book of the Torah. The reader recites the words, “Hazak hazak v’nithazek” and then the entire congregation sings them back, “Hazak hazak v’nithazek.” The meaning of these words is manifold, often meaning strength and courage. I can’t help but hear it in the words of India Arie’s song Strength, Courage and Wisdom. 

The thrice repetition of the word hazak is notable. Twice it appears almost as a command, and the third time in the self-reflexive form, as if to say, “Strength, strength, may you find the strength that is within you!” 

In my experience, the end is sad even when the next thing is beautiful, something to look forward to. The changing colors of fall, a sip of warm tea, the sequel, the book of Exodus. All the more so when the end is followed by something harder, less pleasant. The inauguration is looming and dreadful. Next week we will read in the Torah about the troubles that occur when a new King arises in ancient Egypt. 

In this time of endings and beginning again – biblically, politically, ecologically, personally – may we feel the deep blessing that Torah offers us this week, to gather strength to meet the next chapter with courage, curiosity, and compassion.

I have many times read the poem Aristotle by Billy Collins, but mostly I dwell in The Beginning, and maybe once I lingered in The Middle. But today let us indulge in The End. 

He writes, 
“And this is the end,
the car running out of road,
the river losing its name in an ocean,
the long nose of the photographed horse
touching the white electronic line.
…
This is the final bit
thinning away to nothing.
This is the end, according to Aristotle,
what we have all been waiting for,
what everything comes down to,
the destination we cannot help imagining,
a streak of light in the sky,
a hat on a peg, and outside the cabin, falling leaves.”

May you feel yourself part of the great river losing its name in the ocean of time. 
May you remember the words of June Jordan, “We are the ones we have been waiting for.”
May you feel inspired to keep imagining your destiny.