Reflecting on 40

The journey

Today, the calendar flips, and so does a significant page in my personal story. Forty. It’s a number that, for decades, resided comfortably in the realm of "someday", as in a distant, almost mythical age that belonged to grown-ups with mortgages and sensible shoes. And yet, here I am, standing squarely on the threshold of my fifth decade, and the view from here is surprisingly clear, remarkably hopeful, and punctuated by a few more laugh lines than I remember having last year. I'm already enhancing my joke “dadabase.” (Get it?)

In Jewish tradition, the number 40 is far more than just a number. It’s a spiritual marker, a recurring motif that signals not just the passage of time, but periods of trial, transformation, and renewal. As I reflect on my own journey to this milestone, I find myself thinking about three iconic episodes in the Torah where the number 40 isn't just a count, but a catalyst for change, each offering a unique lens through which to view the first 40 years of life and the promise of what lies ahead.

Forty Days of Rain: Renewal

Our first encounter with the number 40 in the Torah is perhaps the most dramatic: Noah’s flood, a relentless downpour lasting 40 days and 40 nights. This wasn't just a storm but a cosmic reset, a cleansing that washed away the old world to make way for a new beginning. It signifies a complete, often turbulent, but ultimately purifying, renewal.

As I look back at my own journey, I see echoes of this deluge. The first 40 years are, in many ways, a period of constant, often chaotic, renewal. We shed old skins, sometimes willingly, sometimes dragged along by life's currents. There are the "floods" of youthful naiveté washing away, replaced by the sturdy ground of experience. The deluge of early career anxieties giving way to a clearer sense of purpose. The overwhelming torrent of new parenthood, which, while utterly consuming, somehow cleanses you of self-absorption and reveals a boundless capacity for love you never knew existed.

This isn't to say it's always comfortable. Renewal, much like a flood, is often disruptive. But at 40, there’s a newfound appreciation for this process. We learn to trust that even when the waters rise, they will eventually recede, leaving behind fertile ground. It’s the wisdom to see the inherent promise in endings, understanding that sometimes, the only way to truly begin anew is to let go of what no longer serves us. It's the joy of recognizing that the "old me" wasn't wrong, just… less evolved. And maybe a little less witty. As one of my favourite songs goes, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

Forty Days on Sinai: Wisdom

Next, we journey with Moses, who spent 40 days on Mount Sinai, not for a scenic retreat, but in a profound communion with the Divine, receiving the Ten Commandments and the wisdom of the Torah. In dad parlance, “downloading the cloud onto his tablets.” This episode signifies a new era of wisdom, a deep understanding forged in solitude and intense focus, and the stoicism required to carry immense responsibility.

Turning 40 can feel like descending from your own Mount Sinai, not with stone tablets, but with a backpack full of hard-won lessons. The first four decades are a relentless curriculum. We learn about resilience when plans unravel, about patience when progress stalls, and about humility when our ego tumbles. We gather wisdom from mentors, from friends, from mistakes, and from the sheer, bewildering complexity of human relationships. These have always been hardest to navigate.

This accumulated wisdom isn't just theoretical, but practical. It’s the confidence that comes from having navigated storms and realizing you didn't just survive, you learned to sail better. It’s the dawning of a certain stoicism, not an absence of feeling, but the ability to meet life's challenges with a steady gaze, an inner calm, and a moral compass. You learn that not every battle is yours to fight, but for the ones that are, you now have a clearer sense of strategy and a deeper well of inner fortitude. It's the era where you finally start to understand why your parents said what they said, and you realize, with a slight wince, that they were probably right all along.

Forty Years in the Desert: Hardship and Foundation

Perhaps the most resonant of the 40-year narratives is that of the Israelites wandering the desert. This wasn't just a detour but a crucible or a necessary period of hardship and formation that transformed a scattered group of former slaves into a nation, ready to inherit their Promised Land. Zionism 101. It was in the desert that they learned to rely on each other, to trust, to build, and to understand their collective purpose.

One’s first 40 years have their "desert" moments. This is the wilderness where we stumble through finding and making a career, navigating the often-baffling landscape of professional ambition, and more missteps than we wish to count. It’s the arid, yet fertile, ground where we lay the foundational stones of a family, a beautiful, chaotic, and utterly demanding process that requires immense teamwork with an incredible spouse (and a surprising amount of coffee). This is our personal "nation-building" phase, forging deep connections within our respective communities, learning the give-and-take of relationships, and understanding that true strength lies in collective effort.

The hardships of this desert, including sleepless nights, the moments of self-doubt, the career pivots, the relationship challenges, were not punishments. They were the experiences that forged resilience, clarified values, and deepened empathy. To me, they taught the importance of perseverance, the dignity of showing up even when exhausted, and the unparalleled joy of collaborative success. These are the lessons that set the foundations for being able to thrive in the next phase, after "entering the promised land." The desert didn’t, and doesn’t, break us, but rather builds us, piece by painstaking piece, into somebody ready for what's next.

Stepping into the Promised Land

Bringing these narratives together, turning 40 feels like a powerful transition. The rain of renewal has washed away old anxieties, the wisdom from Sinai has sharpened our perspective, and the foundational hardships of the desert have equipped us with resilience and purpose.

Our world is complex and turbulent. Often downright insane. Political divides persist, misinformation abounds, and the challenges facing our planet, and our people, feel immense. Yet, armed with the lessons of these Biblical "40s," I am more hopeful than cynical. It is important to choose action over apathy, and intentionality over indifference. As I take stock of where I am, of course I want to continue to do everything I’m already doing, and more: write more, work harder, be more present as a husband and father, and do what I can for Israel and the community. Of course, reading that back, it sounds pretty grand, and I'm well aware that much of it remains aspirational. If you ask my wife, I'm still figuring out how to consistently put my socks in the laundry basket and fold my shorts, let alone single-handedly do so much more. But hey, a man can dream, right?

The Moses analogy, in particular, offers a critical, humbling reminder. Despite his immense leadership and vision, Moses never entered the Promised Land himself. This teaches us something about legacy, that it's not about personal reward, but about what we leave behind for others. As Socrates famously said, "The only thing I know is that I don't know anything." This humility and recognition of the vastness of what remains unknown, is perhaps the most valuable lesson at 40. As the old analogy goes, we plant trees whose shade we may never sit under, hoping our efforts will benefit future generations. It’s still an important reminder - especially as a parent - to lead not just for today, but with an eye on tomorrow, understanding that our greatest contributions often extend beyond our own lifetimes. In this respect I am thinking a lot about my grandparents today. My mom gifted me my great-grandfather’s old pocket watch today, a critical reminder that times ticks forward whether we are here or not. Whether we notice or not. Whether we make the most of it, or not. But there is always something we leave behind for the next generation.

This year, as so many people I have lived life with through school and life also celebrate 40 years, I think it’s important to acknowledge the privilege of reaching this threshold. I'm personally grateful to the people in my life - my parents, siblings, my wife, my children - who have given me everything I have thus far, and who have tolerated my I’m-almost-40-let's-buy-a-new-car-with-no-roof-moment. I’m excited for what lies ahead: an opportunity to enter this next chapter with intention, humility, and boundless hope, determined to contribute to making this promised land better not just for myself, but for everyone who journeys alongside and after me.