Shavuos is upon us. Amidst the commemoration of matan torah, the night-long study sessions, akdamut, cheesecake and blintzes, we once again recite that most curious of brachos, the shehe-chiayanu, giving thanks to God for "bringing us to this time." Though it is recited at most every important occasion this invocation is most appropriate on Shavuos, for now we complete yet another cycle, begun on Pesach seven weeks earlier.

Whatever else it has come to represent over the centuries, in its most original form the interval between these two great festivals is a period of great anticipation, one in which Jews would come newly to appreciate time as the context of their lives. Liberated from centuries of bondage in Egypt, centuries in which their worth was equated only with how much they produced, the Israelites now were called to mark not things, but days --- 49 by careful count. In the midst of the barren wilderness, they lovingly reflected on each one, working to perfect their personal morality and spiritual development, preparing to confront the Divine, day by day. More than anything, it was a celebration of time.

It is strange that we mark not a place, nor a thing, but a time: something neither real nor concrete, but a subtle abstraction. In truth, the awareness of time has had immense significance for Jews ever since. Jewish historians have suggested that time was of particular importance for a people without a land. Absent a place to own and to hold over the long centuries of their dispersion, Jews still maintained the integrity of their faith, their common identity and their loyalty to a broad set of cultural values. They should have given up long ago --- most others did.

The key was an abstract awareness of time. To hold its people and to impress upon them their common history and heritage, nationhood more usually presumes an affinity of battlefields and burial grounds, of holy mountains and sacred soil. Move elsewhere and the linkage is lost. But for Jews it was a bond of time. Under duress, to be sure, they crafted a shared understanding of the past and a joint vision for the future, even if in the present they were wracked with pain. They idealized a Jerusalem on high and a messianic future when peace and justice would reign, even as they were beaten, plundered and driven from their homes. They were vindicated and inspired less by a pilgrimage to a holy site than by the anticipation of a holy season.

More recently, it underscored the thinking of a broad selection of Jewish thinkers, from a spate of Chassidic masters to Rav Eliyahu Dessler, from Abraham Joshua Heschel to Adin Steinsaltz. For them, as for their forebears on the ancient ascent to Sinai, time was the context of existence from the first. Our holy space would be built not with bricks and mortar, but with days and hours, each one special and different from the next. Using as a model the Shabbos and the Yomim Tovim, they wrote of an obligation to sanctify each day, marking it as holy and unique. Unlike ascetics and pietists, we were never asked to live a monastic existence, divorced from the demands of the world. Rather, here would be our "island in time," a serene sanctuary in a sea of turbulence and turmoil. These days were objectively special, whether or not we always appreciated their significance.

But there are practical implications as well. Those who value time put less emphasis upon material acquisition. They realize that "things" become obsolete and decay. More important than where we live and what we own or drive, is the mark we leave upon others over time. In truth, the most valuable resource is not concrete and material but ephemeral and passing. Ask any patient diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, one may easily trade time for cash --- but the reverse is far more complex.

And this awareness also arms us with greater patience and understanding. Like the return of the holidays each year, the events of our lives are often cyclical, paradoxically predictable and unique, always providing new opportunities to correct recurrent ills. Here time teaches that not every crisis signals defeat, nor is every success the ultimate vindication of our cause. Over time we learn that our adversaries are not entirely misguided or malicious. Nor is everything they say about us false.

Finally, an awareness of time encourages tolerance and perspective. The passions and rigors of youth readily dispose one to all-or-nothing solutions, to simple directives that form the singular path to redemption and salvation. But most of us who have lived more than two or three decades have learned an important lesson. Answers that are quick, concise, clear and crisp, are most likely crude, superficial, shortsighted and just plain wrong. At the very least, they should be immediately suspect. Life is far more complex, filled with ambiguity and nuance, riddled with subtlety and ambivalence.

And perhaps that's the real message in the shehe-chiayanu of Shavuos. Not only should we offer thanks for being privileged to reach this season amidst friends and loved ones, numbering each day even as we celebrate events salvaged from the mists of our history. But we offer this blessing as well, in hopes that we reach an awareness of time itself and an appreciation of its influence as the context for our lives.