“It’s hard to make plans these days.” In the years preceding her Alzheimer’s diagnosis (perhaps in a sign of things to come) I remember my mother saying these words regularly. I’m sure there was truth to it: the effects of aging on the body made it harder to know how she or my father would feel about traveling, or even just going someplace, when the time came. It was harder to make plans.
I’ve been hearing my mother saying these words in my mind recently as we’ve begun a new strategic planning effort at IJS—because it does, indeed, feel hard to make plans these days. We had a quarterly board meeting this week and I thought about so many big things that have changed in the world just since our last meeting three months ago: the return of the last of the Israeli hostages from Gaza; the violence in Minneapolis; US military action in Venezuela, and now a bona fide campaign against Iran; saber rattling about Greenland; not to mention the continuing saga of the Epstein files, the latest advances in AI and increasing worries about its effects on employment; the Supreme Court ruling the President’s tariffs illegal, and uncertainty about what happens next; oil at $120 a barrel and concomitant economic effects. Oh, and ever-present and seemingly increasing worries about threats to Jewish safety, whether in the form of missiles in Israel or violence directed at synagogues, including yesterday’s events in West Bloomfield, not far from my home town of Ann Arbor.
That’s just a partial list, yet reading it I can’t help but hear my mom: It’s hard to make plans. As a not-for-profit, we rely on fundraising for about 40 percent of our revenue. A lot of that depends on the economy. The more volatility there is in the market, the harder it is for us to plan. Likewise, as a Jewish organization serving a broad range of folks, we have to be mindful of the assumptions we bring into our work: about what Jewishness means to our participants, about whether and how they relate to Israel or experience antisemitism. And as an organization serving human beings, we have to be aware of AI, and other technologies, and the effects they have—and might have—on those we aim to serve and support, as well as how safe they feel: physically, emotionally, intellectually, or otherwise. All of that is churning amidst this typhoon of change.
I’ll add one more wrinkle to all this. Our organizational tagline is, “Grounded in mindfulness. Guided by wisdom.” Mindfulness, of course, invites us to let go of planning. The only thing we can really know in any given moment is our experience of that moment. When I’m meditating and notice my mind starting to plan, I’ll often say to myself, “Oh, planning is arising. Got it. Let me set that aside for the moment and return my attention to my breath.”
That can perhaps lead to the mistaken notion that mindfulness eschews planning—or its twin, thinking about the past. I don’t think that’s right. It’s mindless not to plan—whether we’re going to the grocery store or going to war (though it goes without saying that the stakes of one of those are immeasurably higher than the other). It’s also less than mindful to overinvest our plans with a feeling of firm knowledge. The problem is not planning per se; the problem is when we allow planning to become an escape from this moment, which is the only thing we can genuinely know.
Parashat Vayakhel opens with a final mention of Shabbat in the context of building the Mishkan: “On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have a Shabbat Shabbaton, a sabbath of complete rest, holy to YHVH” (Exodus 35:2). Throughout this series of Torah portions, the text has consistently juxtaposed the workweek activities of building the Tabernacle with the sacred rest of Shabbat. This impresses upon us the inverse relationship of the two: Not only is the specific labor involved in constructing the Mishkan prohibited on Shabbat, but Shabbat in its fullest manifestation is the absence of that labor.
“When Shabbat arrived, rest arrived,” says the Midrash. Building on this, Rabbi Mordechai Twersky of Chernobyl (1770-1837) observes, “Rest is an aspect of wholeness, of completion—which one arrives at after much effort. And so too the opposite: Something that requires effort reflects an element of lack. Thus, those things which we regularly experience as missing in our lives, like money or personal honor, are spiritually akin to the workweek. But not so Shabbat, which instructs us about wholeness.”
The six days of the workweek are not just a time. Like Shabbat, they are a mindset—and the two mindsets exist in relation with each other. Or, better yet, they are two parts of a single mindset. Just as on Shabbat the Torah prohibits us from planning or preparing (hachana), during the workweek we invest our planning and preparation with an awareness of Shabbat, with purpose and intention (melechet machshevet). In an ideal world, the rhythm of planning and pausing, doing and resting, helps us invest whatever moment we’re in with awareness and presence. When we can live in that way, our planning and our doing become our own versions of the sacred service to build a home for the Divine in the world.
For Reflection & Conversation
How do you experience planning? Is it easy or hard, enjoyable or unpleasant? Why? Has your relationship with planning changed over time? If so, why? How might your Shabbat practice support a healthier relationship with planning?
