Rest Assured

One of the epigrams I have written which I get most requests to quote – particularly from authors of “self-help” type books – says:

“Sometimes the most urgent and vital thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest.”

But not everyone agrees with this philosophy. One of my favorite poets, A.E. Housman, has what I consider a magnificent poem called “Reveille,” dedicated to the need to get up and be active, and not lie abed dreaming. It concludes with this stanza:

Clay lies still, but blood’s a rover,

Breath’s a ware that will not keep.

Up, lad: when the journey’s over

There’ll be time enough to sleep.

Yet Nature herself seems sold on the idea of taking time off, whether in the form of occasional naps, or of annual hibernation, or the eight or so hours of slumber which are so popular in my neck of the woods. Surely this can’t be unrelated to the astronomical facts concerning the Earth’s rotation and tilt, and our position with regard to the sun, a set of circumstances which produce the phenomena we are pleased to call “day” and “night,” and also, depending on where you are, “summer” and “winter.”

And, just to complicate matters, while most of us are in the arms of Morpheus, there are other creatures – even some humans – who are “nocturnal,” and actually enjoy a lifestyle dwelling in the dark.

But, whether oriented by noon or by night, it seems we all need rest – and we generally go through that mysterious cycle of waking and sleeping, which somehow represents and ultimately foreshadows the circle of our entire lives.

“Rest In Peace” would have made a good slogan for any chain of hotels or motels – but it was, fortunately or unfortunately, appropriated much earlier by the inscribers of tombstones. The three words conveniently have the same initial letters as the original phrase in Latin: “Requiescat In Pace” – so “R.I.P” covers both languages.

It all goes back – as so many things do – to the Bible, which assures us that God made the world in six days, and that on the seventh day, He not only rested, but He declared that day Holy. Our word “Sabbath” comes from the Hebrew word for seven – and hence we get “Sabbatical,” with the idea of every seventh year, or every seventh something, being time off.

Various religions have adopted the idea of the seventh day of a seven-day week as being something very special. In Judaism, the faith in which I was raised, there are very strict rules about what may or may not be done on the Sabbath – carrying the concept of “rest,” in the most orthodox circles, to what a rational observer might consider almost ridiculously extreme lengths.

For example, the lighting of a fire was not permitted – and in modern times, this has been interpreted as even the switching on of an electric light. But of course, even in Israel, non-Jews – “Goyim” –  are not bound by such restrictions. And it is not forbidden for Jews to hire non-Jews to come to their homes and turn on lights and do whatever other chores might be religiously tabooed. In Israel there are actually “employment agencies” providing what are known as “Sabbath Goys” so that the residents of Orthodox homes may fulfill their religious obligation to “rest.”

Of course, different religions and sects have chosen to honor different days of the week as being number seven. For that reason, for example, let me caution you that, in the unlikely event that you ever visit Pitcairn Island – one of the Earth’s most isolated, inhabited spots – if you arrive on a Saturday, you should not expect a very warm welcome. Why? – because most of the residents are likely to be in church. Some years ago, they were visited and converted by Christian missionaries, who happened to be Seventh Day Adventists – believers that Saturday, not Sunday, is the true Sabbath.

I was tempted to conclude this piece about “Rest” with Hamlet’s last words: “The rest is silence.” But I couldn’t resist pointing out that, in our delicate times, the term “rest” has acquired euphemistic connotations, as in the term “rest room.” There are, however, those among us who favor more direct speech. I recall a “novelty” postcard, of the kind which was once very popular. The illustration was simply the face of a very vulgar-looking female grimacing, and the caption said,

“Rest Room? Hell! I ain’t tired! – where’s the can?”