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Two weeks ago I flew to South Africa for my nephew’s bar mitzvah. As a child, I loved flying. I looked forward to it—getting on the massive jet, having my own seat (which felt so spacious!), walking up and down the aisles feeling very important, etc. Now my kids love flying, but I seem to have outgrown the thrill. Perhaps it’s because of my age, or maybe it’s because I’ve flown to South Africa approximately 55 times thus far!

At any rate, I found myself on one of the world’s longest flights, from New York to Johannesburg, and time seemed to crawl. I had a nice chat with the person sitting next to me, I caught up on some work, got a drink, ate something, learned some Torah, walked around the plane several times looking for Jews to do a mitzvah with (no luck—nobody else had even ordered a kosher meal). I took a nap, prayed mincha and visited the restroom. After all that I consulted the flight map on my screen and realized we had only been in the air for three hours, with another twelve to go.

The flight feels endless. You fly and you fly and you fly… and there are still hours to go. In fact, my entire trip there and back lasted 96 hours: 40 travelling, 56 on the ground.

With so much time on my hands, I got thinking. Isn’t life just one big flight? Ethics of our fathers tells us, “This world is like a corridor. Prepare yourself to enter the palace at the end of the corridor—the World to Come.” How many hours do we spend preparing ourselves for our Final Destination? How much time do we have to accomplish something useful before we arrive?

 Here’s what my calculation looks like:

There are 24 hours in a day, and the average person sleeps 6-8 hours, which I’ll average as 7. So a day now consists of 17 hours.

Now think about how many of those 17 hours we waste on things like watching television, waiting on line at Starbucks, Googling ourselves, checking Facebook for the umpteenth time, etc. Then there are necessary things like meals, bathroom breaks, getting dressed, cleaning, commuting—all of which take time. For many people it’s probably more, but let’s be conservative and deduct 7 hours for all of the above.

That leaves us with 10 hours per day to be productive, kind and spiritual. We have 10 hours per day to make this world a better, holier place.

Let’s say you’re 25 years old. The average American lives until the age of 75. That leaves you with 50 years to live. Ten hours per day may not seem like much, but at that rate you have 182,500 hours remaining, which is nothing to sneeze at!

If you are 35, you have 146,000 hours left

If you are 45, you have 109,500 hours left

If you are 55, you have 73,000 hours left 

If you are 65, you have 36,500 hours left. 

In this week’s parsha we read about Abraham, who the Torah describes as, “Coming in days,” meaning that he lived every day of his life to its fullest. He utilized every moment, every opportunity to accomplish. He did not waste time; he knew his time here was limited.

Every hour that passes by unutilized is gone forever, and every hour that passes brings us closer to the World to Come. Let’s make sure we are adequately prepared, by using that time to make this world a better place.

The world is an airplane; life a journey—one which lasts much longer than my 15-hour flight. Nevertheless, it will eventually end, and we will arrive at our destination. Now you know exactly how many hours you have left, go and utilize them!

This week the US finally finished an extremely long and divisive election. Despite all the pundits and pollsters predicting a win for Clinton, after a mutually ugly, vitriolic race, Trump pulled off a win that will be remembered as the most stunning upset in American history thus far.

This election has divided us unlike any other. It has pitted friends and even family members against one another. Shul member against shul member. Brother against sister. Husband against wife. Families have been torn apart; friendships demolished.

I received dozens of phone calls and emails yesterday, from people on both sides—those wishing to celebrate Trumps win, and those looking for comfort after Clinton’s loss. And, as always, Facebook and Twitter provided a very public platform for everyone to air their feelings, whether jubilation or outrage.

And I found myself wondering, who really won the election? 

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As a young child, Reb Zalman Aharon (the “Raza”), the older brother of Rebbe Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch (the “Rashab”), often complained that he was noticeably shorter than his younger brother.

One day, the Raza snuck up behind his brother and pushed him lightly into a small ditch. As the Rashab stood up in surprise, the Raza seized the moment and pointed out that now he was taller.

Rabbi Shmuel of Lubavitch (the "Maharash"), the father of the two boys, observed the entire episode. The Rebbe asked for a chair, ordered the Raza to stand on it, and asked him, “Tell me, who’s taller now?”

The Raza answered excitedly that yet again he was taller.

 “Aha!” said Rabbi Shmuel. “There you are! To be bigger than your friend, there is no need to pull him down. Simply elevate yourself!”

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When it comes to our lives, we all ultimately want the same things—peace, security, jobs, healthcare, comfort. And when election time comes, we argue and debate endlessly about which path will bring us to that shared goal.

But all too often we get caught up in the debate, and make the mistake of degrading and belittling those who feel differently. We have extremely strong opinions about who should lead the country but Instead of lifting ourselves up, we push the other person down. We all have faults, and it's easier to point out the other person's faults than to elevate and fix our own.

So, in that sense, we all lost the election.

Now we are finally post-election and can begin the healing process. We need to rekindle the love we feel for each other, the love that may have become hidden over the last few months because we were so busy debating our election choices.

Let’s focus on what unites us—our love for each other!

We read about the covenant G-d made with Abraham, the first Jew, in this week’s parshah. The Covenant of Parts—a guarantee that no matter what comes between us, we will remain connected eternally. We are all part of the same family, we share the same destiny and the same G-d.

It’s time to remember that we’re in this together, for the long haul. By shaking off all the election drama, and reuniting with our brethren, we can and will make America kind again.