As the World Turns

There’s no place in this world where I’ll belong when I’m gone

And I won’t know the right from the wrong when I’m gone

And you won’t find me singin’ on this song when I’m gone

So, I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.

—“When I’m Gone” (Lyrics by Phil Ochs)

It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.—Rabbi Tarfon

As the world turns dark, my job is to shine a light as best as I can, and to try, if only a little, to brighten this ailing world back up. I have no illusions that I can fix the world. I am only one person. So perhaps the scope of that light won’t shine much farther than on my family, some of my neighbors, a few friends, and my audiences that come to laugh and forget. But that’s OK. That’s a start. At least I am doing something.

Because as Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur gallop toward me, hopefully I’ll be given another chance and more time to fix the twisted and broken branches of this world. Then I will use the broom of wisdom to sweep clean the debris from this past year.

Because as Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur gallop toward me, hopefully I’ll be given another chance and more time to fix the twisted and broken branches of this world.

Because the alternative of doing nothing is a paralyzing thought. To do nothing is to give up my citizenship as a person. To do nothing is to be barely human. To not correct is incorrect. We have seen the direction the world takes when people either do or say nothing, either consciously or unconsciously. It’s too late to do nothing. The clock will not tick backward. We are now within its grip.

As hatred grows like unpulled weeds, it chokes the roots of a fragile civilization. As we are now witnessing, it’s much easier to destroy than it is to build. Since I have become aware of these changes, my soul has been ignited. I have always cared about people, goodness and fair play.

I haven’t always acted like I cared, though. I spent many years silently riding the merry-go-round, feeling proud just to pay my bills on time. I worried about my credit rating. But what about that ultimate rating: the one for your soul. The rabbis might say I was asleep, and that saddens me. I lost precious time. I personally feel somewhat responsible for the decay. But thank God, caring was always in me and, to whatever degree, I now recognize it. I finally hear an echo from the mountain. The supreme voice is angry when I sit still, as if I have not earned idle time. The voice asks that I do something. Something to show I care. Something that proves I am not just words. Something that shows I believe in him and his children.

As the curtain falls on my 60s and I realize I have little time left, my eyes have snapped open. I feel the need to protect my family now more than ever. A day does not pass where I don’t worry about their safety. I care more about being a good husband, father, grandfather and friend. I care more about being helpful. I care more about helping to stop the madness. And it is madness. I care more about being a good Jew. I have never been prouder than I am today of my Jewish soul. I have never been more grateful for the gift I was given when I entered this world. It makes me think that, because of the depth of my love for being a Jew, the roots of these feelings, coupled with my anxieties for my people, are connected to the long, arduous and treacherous roads my people have had to march down—many times, to their deaths. These feelings are so strong it makes me think that this is not the first time my neshamah (soul) has entered the Jewish maze. It all feels so eerily familiar.

So, while the roots of our lives are being torn away, prayer, kindness and especially our time is more important than ever. A hello, a smile, or a phone call asking how a person is has more power than ever before. People are scared. People are angry. People need assistance. A simple hello can reach the heart as quickly as any bullet.

The rabbis have told us that we can’t solve this. We can’t fix this. But we still must do our part.

Mother Teresa never finished the job she was put on earth to do. The streets of Calcutta remain full of the sick and the dying. But she did what she could.

The Chofetz Chaim, the famous work on guarding one’s tongue, did not end lashon hara (negative speech), but Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan, its author, did what he could.

The Jewish souls that walked their last steps, shoeless and into stone buildings, still believed with the Shema on their dying lips.

So now, God forbid, before the dark turns permanent and the door is sealed behind us, on this Yom Kippur I choose to light the few candles I have left. A little light is better than none. I believe that each flicker of a candle is a wink from God to keep going.

Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.