Some view time as a merciless force that forever marches forward, leaving our lives in its wake. Like a conveyor belt that never stops, every moment moves us closer to our end. This understanding of time can be deeply unsettling. In the words of the poet William Carlos Williams: “Time is a storm in which we are all lost.”

But is this the only way to view time—as a rapidly dwindling and limited resource that we must hoard or frivolously spend before it’s all gone? Or might there be another way to view time—one that doesn’t necessarily lead to feelings of scarcity, urgency, and anxiety?

Whereas the English word moment comes from the Latin word momentum, implying the relentless march of time, the Hebrew version of the same word, rega, stems from the word ragua, a state of calm or rest.

It’s not that in Judaism time stops—time doesn’t stop for anyone—instead, time itself consists of a sequence of stops. In other words, you are not on the conveyor belt of time; rather, the conveyor belt is passing before you, delivering new moments in rapid succession for you to enter and inhabit. This is suggested in the Biblical phrase for the process of aging, ba bayamim,1 which literally means entering one’s days.

Rashi2 suggests that the root of the word r’g’a (moment) means to be folded like an accordion. Time is thus comprised of a sequence of moments tightly packed together. We can choose to unfold these moments, seeing each one for the unique opportunity it represents; or we can leave time folded up, allowing the unrepeatable moments to pass by unnoticed and unappreciated. This is our choice to make.

The Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, R. Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, writes: 3 “Whether time is long or short is completely up to us. Sometimes many hours can pass in moments, and other times a few hours can seem like a very long time.”

This empowering approach to time focuses our attention on the crystalline present rather than on the blur of time’s passage, and it is expressed in the many Biblical words that refer to time.

For instance, the word eit—the most common Biblical reference to time—is related to the word atah, now; not a movement or progression, but a particular point and “stop” in time.

The word zman, the Hebrew word for time, is related to the word hazmanah—an invitation.

Time itself is a kind of invitation, with each moment calling out to us, inviting us to take advantage of the opportunity it represents. Zman is also an acronym for zeh man—what is this? At face value, every moment appears the same; yet this word for time begs us to unfold each moment and seek out its singular significance.

Similarly, the word shaah, an hour, also means to turn towards or to pay attention to something, as in G‑d shaah—paid attention to Abel and his gift.4

This view of time as a series of distinct moments rather than an uninterrupted current or passage is based on Judaism’s perspective on existence itself.

Judaism does not view creation as a one-off episode that, once put in motion, continues to exist on its own; rather, creation is a miraculous event that requires constant renewal in order to continue to exist. This is alluded to in our daily prayers, where in the blessing preceding the Shema, we say: “Who, in His goodness, renews the works of creation every day, constantly.”

Why does creation require constant renewal? This is because, unlike a craftsman, who merely fashions an item out of existing materials—materials that existed before his interference with them and continue to exist after he finishes reshaping them—the act of creation entails bringing matter into existence ex nihilo, generating something from absolutely nothing.

Philosophically speaking, the necessity of a creative force itself indicates that the natural state of existence is a state of nothingness, and like everything that runs contrary to its natural state, creation thus requires a constant and active force to renew it at every moment. For if the creative force would stop creating for even one moment, all of creation would immediately revert to its natural state of nothingness.5

From this perspective, as similar as every moment looks to the one that preceded it, it is not part of a continuum at all. Rather, each moment is an entirely new reality that is being created anew. And because, as the Talmud6 teaches, “G‑d doesn’t create anything without purpose,” every moment has its own unique objective and opportunity that never existed before and will never be available again.

It is therefore our task, as messengers of G‑d in this world, to bring that purpose to fruition by utilizing the present moment to fulfill its raison d’être.

This cinematic view of time as a sequence of stills that play out one after the other changes the way we ought to utilize our time.

The Zohar7 interprets the verse,8 Abraham was old, coming with days to mean that “Abraham brought all of his days with him.” According to this view of time, days are “collectibles,” each with its own distinct calling and value. Abraham’s success in distinguishing all of his days derived from his ability to fully enter into the unique potential of every moment.

To quote Hayom Yom:9 “Time must be guarded... Every bit of time, every day that passes, is not just a day but a life’s concern…”

Every person is given an allotted number of days to live.10 Our task is to optimize them by constantly asking ourselves, “What does G‑d want from me at this moment?”

The Talmud11 relates that when R. Yochanan ben Zakai lay on his deathbed, he wept. When his disciples inquired why he was crying, R. Yochanan replied: “I see two paths before me...and I do not know down which path they will lead me. Should I not weep?”

This episode evokes the question,12 why did R. Yochanan wait until he lay upon his deathbed to question the trajectory of his life? Shouldn’t a person always reflect on their life’s direction?

One of the explanations13 is that R. Yochanan was too absorbed in utilizing each moment of his life to think about his personal standing and the sum of his actions—i.e., down which path he was headed. Instead of constantly asking himself, “Where am I headed?” R. Yochanan asked, “What does G‑d want from me at this moment?” Only when his time had come did he understand that G‑d wanted him to spend those last moments to make a reckoning of his life achievements, which is why it was only then that he looked back upon his life as a whole.

While this may be an unreasonably high bar for the average person to set for themselves, it does provide perspective into how we might choose to live more in the moment and to heed its call.

Ultimately, there are two ways to experience time. One can either be completely preoccupied with the past or the future, without paying attention to the present moment; or he can live completely in the present moment as if nothing else exists. Living in the past or future is often regret- or anxiety-inducing, as the rebuke in Deuteronomy describes,14 In the morning you shall say, “If only it were evening!” And in the evening you shall say, “If only it were morning!” Living in the moment, on the other hand, as the Hebrew word rega suggests, is grounding and calming.

However, it is important to point out that the mystical Jewish idea of living in the moment differs radically from the version of this idea put forward by pop psychology. In the Jewish view, living in the moment is not just a way to free ourselves from the regrets of the past or from worries about the future by temporarily disconnecting from reality and choosing not to think about it. It’s not a glorified state of mindlessness; instead, it is the conscientious practice of mindfulness. To live in the moment is to be eminently aware of and connected to the Divine energy and purpose unique to each moment.

This idea is beautifully expressed by R. Schneur Zalman of Liadi in the Tanya: 15 “Every moment brings with it a new and unique lifeforce emanating from the spiritual cosmos, leaving the energy of the previous moment to return to its source and carry up with it all of the good deeds and Torah study that were accomplished in it.”

By shifting our mindset from thinking about how quickly time is running out and focusing instead on the sui generis opportunity embedded within each moment, we discover that we are not helpless victims drowning in the raging rapids of a fleeting life; rather, we are sacred musicians playing the song of our soul on the Divine accordion of time.

The Big Idea

In Jewish thought, a life is not measured by jubilees, decades, years, months, or even days, but by how deeply and fully each moment is utilized.

It Happened Once

R. Shlomo ben Avraham ibn Aderet, known as Rashba, was considered the leader of Spanish Jewry during his time. He served as rabbi of the main synagogue of Barcelona for fifty years. Additionally, his reputation as an outstanding rabbinic authority was world renowned, and people from all over the world sent him questions regarding Jewish life, Torah, and Jewish law.

In addition to his extensive halachic knowledge, Rashba was a highly sought-after doctor. Jews and non-Jews alike traveled from all over Spain to see him. He was also the royal physician, which often required him to travel to the palace and remain there for many hours.

As if this wasn’t taxing enough, Rashba was the head of a yeshivah and gave three Torah lectures to his students every day, which required much study and preparation on his part.

And yet, he managed to take a walk every day for health and relaxation!

How did he do it? How did he manage his time? What was the secret?

During a talk he gave in 1970, the Lubavitcher Rebbe explained, “There is a concept called ‘success in time.’ We cannot make our days longer, nor can we add additional hours to our nights. But we can maximize our usage of time by regarding each segment of time as a world of its own.

“When we devote a portion of time—whether it is an hour, a day, or a minute—to a certain task, we should be totally invested in what we are doing, as if there exists nothing else in the world.

“You must of course be aware of the differences between things of greater and lesser importance, between means and ends, between journeys and destinations. But whatever it is you are involved in, be fully invested there.”16