"On the seventh day, G‑d completed His work that He had made."1

And I was under the impression that G‑d stopped working Friday before sundown, not sometime mid-Saturday. Shabbat, I was taught, was G‑d's first day of rest, not His last day of work!

Yet, as quoted, the Bible reports differently: that "on the seventh day G‑d completed His work . . ."!

Alerted to our question, the acclaimed Bible troubleshooter, Rashi, presents the following solution:

Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said: [A human being of] flesh and blood, who cannot [exactly] know his times and his moments, must add from the profane to the holy [i.e., he must abstain from work some time before the Shabbat, to give some "breathing room"]. The Holy One, blessed be He, however, who can judge His times and His moments, entered a hairsbreadth into Shabbat,2 and it [only] appeared as if He completed the work on that day.

Why didn't G‑d break for a few moments, leaving the matter of His Shabbat observance crystal clear?And for what purpose, might I ask? Why create an illusion to begin with? Why didn't G‑d break for a few moments between Friday and Shabbat, leaving the matter of His Shabbat observance crystal clear?

But this feat of precision had a point. G‑d worked all the way to Shabbat, leaving not a hairsbreadth un-worked, to impress upon mankind the preciousness of time.

A moment passed is a moment forever lost.

Money, a good name, and even health can be regained, but a tick of the clock can never be retrieved. (Is that why the present is thus called—to highlight the unique gift of this moment?)

On that busy Friday afternoon—incidentally, G‑d managed to create ten things during twilight of that day3—G‑d taught us something about time and the importance of its management: every moment has an exclusive energy to be utilized, a calling to be heeded, and a purpose for which it alone was created.4

A Time-Honored Tradition

Learning from the Creator of time, many of our sages, originating with our forefathers, were known for their timekeeping.

Indeed, the subject and value of time is at the heart of one of the most puzzling Biblical conversations recorded.5

The setting is a historic encounter in Egypt. The king of Egypt and the Patriarch of Israel, two of the most influential nations of antiquity, are about to meet for the first time:

Joseph brought Jacob, his father, and presented him to Pharaoh, and Jacob blessed Pharaoh. Pharaoh said to Jacob, "How many are the days of the years of your life?"

Jacob answered Pharaoh, "The days of the years of my sojournings have been a hundred and thirty years. Few and bad have been the days of the years of my life, and they have not reached the lifespans of my forefathers in the days of their sojournings."

Then Jacob blessed Pharaoh, and left Pharaoh's presence.6

Of all the questions Pharaoh might have asked this great man of faith and of the world, he chose to ask about his age!

Here was a man who was steeped in a distinguished spiritual tradition, a man whose courage and resilience was legendary, having outsmarted notorious murderers and crooks; a man who, to quote G‑d's angel, "contended with the Divine and man—and prevailed."7 And yet, with the chance to ask anything, Pharaoh seems to ask nothing.

But we've been rash.

Pharaoh saw before him a man of incomparable stature, and accordingly sought to compare notes on a matter of utmost importanceHere were two great men with thoughts of mortality, fulfillment, and impact on their minds.

Pharaoh, far more perceptive than we made him out to be, saw before him a man of incomparable stature, and accordingly sought to compare notes on a matter of utmost importance to him—namely, time.

There are those who live life by the year. They look back on a year and judge it in its entirety. Was the bulk of this year productive and maximized? If yes, they had a good year.

Then there are those who live life by the day. Each day is treated as a chapter in their life, every hour a paragraph, and every moment a sentence.

This was the essence of Pharaoh's inquiry, "How many are the days of the years of your life?"

In the broader sense: "In Jewish tradition, are days as important as years?"

And on a personal note: "Were each of your days productive; did you reach your potential on a daily basis?"

As for Jewish tradition, Jacob explained, the value of days has been prominent ever since Abraham and Sarah, about whom the verse testifies, "And Abraham and Sarah were old, they came with their days."8

And on a personal level, Jacob humbly responds:9 "Few and bad have been the days of the years of my life, and they have not reached the lifespans [or potential] of my forefathers in the days of their sojournings."

In the words of King David's poignant prayer to G‑d:10 "Teach us to count our days, and then we shall acquire a heart of wisdom."

Timely Stories

The Lubavitcher Rebbe was once notified that morning prayers would begin a little later than usual, at 9:10-9:15 a.m.

He responded, "Which one . . .?"

The Rebbe's father-in-law, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, was not prone to exaggeration. He once said, "In the eyes of my son-in-law, one minute is an entire year . . ."

And the minutes, they add up.

"In the eyes of my son-in-law, one minute is an entire year . . ."The story is told about a sage who surprised his family by making a celebration to commemorate his completion of the entire Talmud, a great achievement. This distinguished scholar, however, had completed the study of the Talmud numerous times previously, so it seemed odd that he chose to make a big deal on this one occasion. When asked what was special about this particular completion, he explained: "Today I am celebrating my 'five-minute siyum hashas [completion of the Talmud].'

"You see," he continued, "when I was a young man, I studied in a yeshiva away from home. Each night we would wait in line for our dinner to be served. I once made a calculation that the average time it took to receive the dinner portion was five minutes. So I decided to make use of that time, and brought a volume of the Talmud along with me to keep me company while waiting. I continued this custom after leaving yeshiva, and over the many years that passed, I would bring a Talmud with me wherever I went, just in case I had a short wait. Over the many years, those 'five minutes' added up, recently amounting to my conclusion of the entire Talmud!

"Tell me," he concluded, "is this not a siyum worth celebrating?"11

In sum, to quote one Chassidic master, "A summer day and a winter night is an entire year!"