Counting Time — Sermon for Sukkot

“Find a moment in the day, look at your community, and think where you were one year ago.” 

That was the advice my teacher and mentor, Rabbi Joseph Edelheit, gave me for Yom Kippur. Rabbi Edelheit is an experienced rabbi who has walked beside me through so many seasons, teaching me the things that rabbinic school doesn’t quite cover.

I followed his advice — and standing there on that brightly lit stage, which was our bimah, I felt as though I was in a parallel dimension. But perhaps that’s the feeling we bring to Yom Kippur: a deep connection with ourselves, with our community, and with God — as if our souls are inhabiting another world entirely.

Yet even after Yom Kippur ended, I found myself still looking back — still asking, “Where was I a year ago?” And I remember it vividly. It was Sukkot morning. I was walking to synagogue, the ground covered in beautiful autumn leaves, singing a song from Rent:

“Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, 

Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear. 

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes — 

How do you measure, measure a year?”

That song connects deeply with Sukkot, when we read two passages from the Torah that both speak about time — about counting it, marking it, sanctifying it. Today, in Exodus 23, we read of counting time through sowing and resting the earth, through work and rest, through festivals held for the Eternal.

“In daylights, in sunsets, 

In midnights, in cups of coffee, 

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife — 

In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, 

How do you measure a year in the life?”

So today, if you look back — where were you last Sukkot? Were you hopeful? Fearful? Beginning something new? How do you measure your own year — in words written, in steps taken, in sleepless nights, in quiet worries?

“How about love? 

Measure in love. 

Seasons of love.”

In Torah, time is not counted for our own sake, but always with an eye on the other. We let those in need — and even the wild animals — eat from our fields. We let our servants and our animals rest alongside us. We are called to act justly, even towards our enemies, as we read earlier in our sidra. Time, in the Torah, is measured in moments of relationship — with each other and with God — in seasons of joy, zman simchateinu.

We count days from evening to morning; we count new moons; we count new years (and we have four of them!). We count offerings and we count blessings. Our sages taught, in the Shulchan Aruch, that we should say at least a hundred blessings a day. As Rabbi Ed Feinstein reminds us in his sermon Cultivating Hope:

“A hundred times a day, we stop to say thank you — to acknowledge all the miracles that keep us alive in this world.”

“Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, 

Five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan — 

How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?”

As we reach Sukkot, we are called to place our feet firmly on the ground, to face our fragility, to connect with the earth and with one another, and to plan for the year ahead. We reap the grains that will sustain us. We pray for good weather — for rain in just the right measure. We have looked back and sought forgiveness; now we return to the world, ready to face reality — however difficult — and to plan a hopeful future.

As Rabbi Lea reminded us so beautifully yesterday (do listen to her sermon if you haven’t yet), we are still counting days after the terrible attack on a synagogue in Manchester, and years after the horrific events of 7 October in Israel. This evening, here in our own synagogue, we will gather for a memorial service — a moment to stand together, to hold our grief and our hope side by side. Our hearts remain bound with our brothers and sisters in Israel. Our communal hopes remain the same: for peace, for safety, and for strength.

But Sukkot also invites us to make personal plans — to think about our own time: What blessings do we hope to count? What do we want our lives to be measured by? What do we want to be remembered for?

“In truths that she learned, 

Or in times that he cried, 

In bridges he burned, 

Or the way that she died.”

This is the time to make it real. To turn intentions into action. To take the dreams we’ve tucked away and turn them into plans. To call that person we’ve been meaning to reach out to. This is the season for planting our feet on the ground, facing reality, and choosing to live fully — even when life feels uncertain or fragile.

“It’s time now to sing out, 

Though the story never ends. 

Let’s celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends. 

Remember the love — you’ve got to remember the love. 

You know that love is a gift from up above. 

Share love, give love, spread love. 

Measure your life in love — seasons of love.”

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. 

May we take this year to plant good seeds, to reap a plentiful harvest, and to make each minute count as a blessing.

Chag Sameach — Moadim leSimchah.

Jonathan D. Larson, Seasons of Love lyrics © Universal Music Corp., Finster & Lucy Music Ltd. Co.