Though the Earth Reels

Rabbi Sarah Weissman
Apr 10
7 min read

April 10, 2026

Raise your hand if you’re feeling just slightly unsettled. Or more than just slightly. OK, good – I’m glad it’s not just me. It has been another rollercoaster of a news cycle this week, from threats to destroy an entire civilization to a fragile semi-ceasefire. What will the president do next? Will the war resume? Will there be a global financial crisis? Will gas ever be less than $6.00 a gallon? During the pandemic, Mark Lilla wrote in the New York Times, “People facing immediate danger want to hear an authoritative voice they can draw assurance from; they want to be told what will occur, how they should prepare, and that all will be well. We are not well designed, it seems, to live in uncertainty.” So, Lilla points out, for thousands of years, societies have sought out prophets who could speak to gods or soothsayers who could read the signs of the natural world and tell the future. Today, we look to our prophets – scientists and economists and political pundits – begging for answers that simply don’t exist. It’s exhausting and, ultimately, unsatisfying. So, Lilla argues, “Let us retire our prophets and augurs. And let us stop asking…public officials for confident projections they are in no position to make — and stop being disappointed when the ones we force out of them turn out to be wrong.... We worsen the situation by focusing our attention on litigating the past and demanding certainty about the future.”

It’s a conclusion that Jewish tradition would certainly support. While the Bible is full of prophets -- extraordinary individuals selected by God to deliver God’s message to the people -- Judaism has long warned against the dangers of seeking answers from human beings who have no business predicting the future. We read in Deuteronomy, “Let no one be found among you who... is an augur, a soothsayer, a diviner, a sorcerer, one who casts spells, or one who consults ghosts or familiar spirits, or one who inquires of the dead” (Deut. 18:10-11). By listing all the different sorts of people who might try to predict the future, the Torah makes it clear that trying to divine the future is not only futile but sinful, since the future belongs to just that -- the Divine -- and is not meant for human beings, at least not average human beings. That is why the passage in Deuteronomy continues, “For anyone who does such things is abhorrent to the Eternal... [Instead] You must be wholehearted with the Eternal your God” (Deut. 18:12-13). The command to be wholehearted, “tamim” in Hebrew, is often translated as “perfect” or “innocent,” but really it means “whole.” Being tamim in this case means being devoted only to God, not having divided loyalties to other beings who might promise answers. As the great medieval scholar Rashi explains, “You shall be perfect with the Eternal your God — walk before Him wholeheartedly, put your hope in Him and do not attempt to investigate the future, but whatever it may be that comes upon you accept it wholeheartedly, and then you shall be with Him and become His portion.” Easier said than done, I know. Accepting our limited knowledge of the future is an act of humility before God, which actually allows us to have a more intimate relationship with God. We can’t have a relationship with God until we accept that we are not God.

So if we’re not supposed to try to foresee the future, how do we manage our anxiety about this very uncertain world in which we are living? Jewish tradition gives us many tools, but I’d like to focus on three of them tonight.

The first is to keep the long view in mind. As historian Rabbi Berel Wein notes, “Judaism always preached this doctrine of uncertainty. There is no people in the world that has existed as long and as dangerously in the milieu of uncertainty as has the people of Israel. Lately, I have been studying works of rabbinic responsa spanning four centuries. All of them carry the caveat that circumstances can change rapidly and that their decisions are not to be taken as prophecy, for ‘plague, war, expulsion and persecution’ may certainly intervene. Yet, interestingly enough, there is almost never any note of pessimism or depression in their words and writings. They apparently all acquired the knack of living productive, meaningful and even holy lives in a world of complete uncertainty.” When we think about all of the trials and tribulations that our ancestors survived and even thrived in, we might feel less anxious about our ability to weather this current turmoil.

There’s a famous story, told in many traditions including ours, that demonstrates the power of taking the long view.

One day King Solomon decided to humble Benaiah Ben Yehoyada, his most trusted but proud advisor. He said to him, “Benaiah, there is a certain ring that I want you to bring to me. I wish to wear it for Sukkot, which gives you six months to find it.”

“If it exists anywhere on earth, your majesty,” replied Benaiah, “I will find it and bring it to you, but what makes the ring so special?”

“It has magic powers,” answered the king. “If a happy man looks at it, he becomes sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy.”

Solomon knew that no such ring existed in the world, but he wished to give his advisor a little taste of humility.

Spring passed and then summer, and still Benaiah had no idea where he could find the ring. On the night before Sukkot, he decided to take a walk in one of the poorest quarters of Jerusalem. He passed by a merchant who had begun to set out the day’s wares on a shabby carpet. “Have you by any chance heard of a magic ring that makes the happy wearer forget his joy and the broken-hearted wearer forget his sorrows?” asked Benaiah. He watched the old man take a plain gold ring from his carpet and engrave something on it. When Benaiah read the words on the ring, his face broke out in a wide smile. That night the entire city welcomed in the holiday of Sukkot with great festivity.

“Well, my friend,” said Solomon, “have you found what I sent you after?”

All the advisors laughed and Solomon himself smiled. To everyone’s surprise, Benaiah held up a small gold ring and declared, “Here it is, your majesty!” As soon as Solomon read the inscription, the smile vanished from his face. The jeweler had written three Hebrew letters on the gold band: gimel, zayin, yud, which stood for the words “Gam zeh ya’avor” — “This too shall pass.”

When we take the long view of history, whether it’s Jewish history or world history, we see that every community, every civilization, has its highs and lows, times of war and illness, peace and prosperity. Gam zeh ya’avor -- This too shall pass.

Another lesson that flows from gam zeh ya’avor leads us to our second tool for managing anxiety about the future. When we take the long view, we recognize that all things eventually pass and so will this challenging time. And when we know that all things eventually pass, we might be motivated to appreciate the good things while they are here, to take an extremely short view. In other words, we are invited to live in the moment. If we can manage to stop wondering and worrying, even for just a little while, about how the next weeks and months will unfold, we can focus on and appreciate the here and now, the little moments of joy we make for ourselves each day: a phone call with a friend, a walk in the sunshine, a good cup of coffee. This is how I understand the commandment in Deuteronomy to be tamim, wholehearted, in life: to be fully present. If it is a painful moment, to accept the pain, knowing that it will pass; and if it is a joyful moment, to be grateful for it and savor it, knowing that it too will pass.

One final strategy that Judaism gives us for managing our anxiety about an uncertain future is to focus on what we can be sure of. For Benjamin Franklin, it was death and taxes. For many Jews throughout history, the one thing we could be sure of is God. The Bible is full of reminders that while everything in the world is finite, God is eternal. As Psalm 90 says, “You have been our refuge in every generation. Before the mountains came into being, before You brought forth the earth and the world, from eternity to eternity You are God” (Psalm 90:1-2). God’s eternal, unchanging, immovable being is a source of protection and comfort, as Psalm 46 says, “God is our refuge and stronghold, a help in trouble, very near. Therefore we are not afraid, though the earth reels, though mountains topple into the sea.”

For those of us who are less certain about God’s nearness or God’s existence, we might look to what and who else we can depend on. For some, it might be comforting to notice the regular, ongoing rhythm of times and seasons, or to reflect on the laws of physics that don’t change. We might reflect on the values that we hold as enduring and timeless: the pursuit of justice, the preciousness of life, the importance of hope. And if we’re lucky, we have relationships with people on whom we can totally rely. I don’t know if George and Ira Gershwin were Bible scholars, but they did capture the spirit of Psalm 46 and give it a modern spin. “In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble, They're only made of clay, But our love is here to stay.” This simple love song is made more poignant when you know that it was George Gershwin’s last composition before his death, and his brother Ira wrote the lyrics after he died as a tribute to him. “Our love is here to stay,” even after death.

I wish someone could tell us when this time of fear, loss, and uncertainty will end. But in the absence of a prophet, here’s what we’ve got: a long view of history, the ability to be present in the moment, a belief in something eternal and transcendent, the unconditional love of someone dear to us. These are the anchors that can keep us moored as we weather this storm. Gam zeh ya’avor -- this too shall pass, but in the meantime, our love is here to stay.