Here's some physics humor for you: What do you do if you are in a falling elevator? Wait till you are one foot from impact, then jump as hard as you can! [It's physics humor because: (a) it isn't funny. (b) we physicists would never tire of discussing why that wouldn't actually work. (c) That "not working" is more of a biology, material science, and engineering question; not real science.]
Here's something, though, that does work: Do תשובה -- real, complete תשובה -- even up to an including the very last moment of your life. A person who does real, complete תשובה in that last moment of his life merits עולם הבא, enjoying for eternity the sublime pleasure of basking in the radiance of the Divine Presence along with the entire community of the righteous.
That being the case... why should I do תשובה before the last moment of my life? Leave aside (for the moment) the practical question of how you would manage to know when that time is. Leave aside (for the moment) the equally practical question of how you make such sweeping changes to your thoughts and attitudes after a lifetime of sinning. Leave aside also (again, for the moment) the equally practical question of your quality of life as a sinner versus your quality of life as shomer Torah and mitzvos Jew. All that aside (for the moment): why should I do תשובה before the last moment of my life? What's in it for me?
A lot. I have been davening at the same minyan in the morning for a long time; בלי עין הרע. I sit in the same place every morning. I know it will be open, even if I arrive later or earlier than usual. I have a shtender there that has my tallis, t'fillin, siddur, and a couple of s'farim. In fact, I've been using the same siddur for all most as long as I have been davening at the vasikin minyan. I know the page numbers of all the regular sections of the prayer service. I have book marks for the less frequently said portions; such as Hallel and S'lichos. When I walked in on Rosh HaShanah, I didn't have to look at the seating chart. As we davened, I didn't have to try and figure the tune for the parts we sing nor the responses for the responsive readings. I could completely focus on the content of the prayers and not have to worry about the mechanics of actually getting the prayers said.
On the first day of Rosh HaShanah, though, I saw someone talking the gabai and overheard the gabai say, "I am sorry; but all the seats are occupied." This was said as a simple matter of fact. The seats were assigned from before Rosh HaShanah and everyone showed up (90% on time, btw; just saying). The guest responded, "Ok; I'll stand." He did. I felt badly for him, but also knew there was nothing to be done at this point. The seats were already taken. He was treated the same as every other person there, but I am sure he felt out of place. Not because of the way anyone treated him, but just because that was the reality into which he had placed himself.
I thought afterwards about the many people who have not davened there regularly as long as I have (the majority, in fact). Yet, they all also knew exactly where they were sitting and were able to focus on the content of the prayers and not have to worry about the mechanics of actually getting the prayers said. Even someone who had decided to become a regular the day before Rosh HaShanah would have his regular seat. That's huge.
Now back to those things we left aside. Take a smoker who decides that he will stop smoking right before he gets lung cancer. It's impossible to know that, so it won't happen. Suppose he just decides he'll keep smoking till he stops enjoying it so much, then he'll just stop. Bad habits are not at all easy to change; especially for someone who has never made change a priority. Basically, it won't happen. Now let's talk about quality of life. Everyone -- everyone -- who has smoked and stopped will testify that the improvement in their quality of life is beyond measure.
Sinning is just like smoking, except infinitely worse.
Here's something, though, that does work: Do תשובה -- real, complete תשובה -- even up to an including the very last moment of your life. A person who does real, complete תשובה in that last moment of his life merits עולם הבא, enjoying for eternity the sublime pleasure of basking in the radiance of the Divine Presence along with the entire community of the righteous.
That being the case... why should I do תשובה before the last moment of my life? Leave aside (for the moment) the practical question of how you would manage to know when that time is. Leave aside (for the moment) the equally practical question of how you make such sweeping changes to your thoughts and attitudes after a lifetime of sinning. Leave aside also (again, for the moment) the equally practical question of your quality of life as a sinner versus your quality of life as shomer Torah and mitzvos Jew. All that aside (for the moment): why should I do תשובה before the last moment of my life? What's in it for me?
A lot. I have been davening at the same minyan in the morning for a long time; בלי עין הרע. I sit in the same place every morning. I know it will be open, even if I arrive later or earlier than usual. I have a shtender there that has my tallis, t'fillin, siddur, and a couple of s'farim. In fact, I've been using the same siddur for all most as long as I have been davening at the vasikin minyan. I know the page numbers of all the regular sections of the prayer service. I have book marks for the less frequently said portions; such as Hallel and S'lichos. When I walked in on Rosh HaShanah, I didn't have to look at the seating chart. As we davened, I didn't have to try and figure the tune for the parts we sing nor the responses for the responsive readings. I could completely focus on the content of the prayers and not have to worry about the mechanics of actually getting the prayers said.
On the first day of Rosh HaShanah, though, I saw someone talking the gabai and overheard the gabai say, "I am sorry; but all the seats are occupied." This was said as a simple matter of fact. The seats were assigned from before Rosh HaShanah and everyone showed up (90% on time, btw; just saying). The guest responded, "Ok; I'll stand." He did. I felt badly for him, but also knew there was nothing to be done at this point. The seats were already taken. He was treated the same as every other person there, but I am sure he felt out of place. Not because of the way anyone treated him, but just because that was the reality into which he had placed himself.
I thought afterwards about the many people who have not davened there regularly as long as I have (the majority, in fact). Yet, they all also knew exactly where they were sitting and were able to focus on the content of the prayers and not have to worry about the mechanics of actually getting the prayers said. Even someone who had decided to become a regular the day before Rosh HaShanah would have his regular seat. That's huge.
Now back to those things we left aside. Take a smoker who decides that he will stop smoking right before he gets lung cancer. It's impossible to know that, so it won't happen. Suppose he just decides he'll keep smoking till he stops enjoying it so much, then he'll just stop. Bad habits are not at all easy to change; especially for someone who has never made change a priority. Basically, it won't happen. Now let's talk about quality of life. Everyone -- everyone -- who has smoked and stopped will testify that the improvement in their quality of life is beyond measure.
Sinning is just like smoking, except infinitely worse.
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