Jewish tradition teaches that Rabbi Akiva, one of the greatest sages of the Talmud, first learned the Hebrew alphabet at the age of 40. My mother used to say that she found this story inspiring — until she turned 40.
I turned 40 myself this year, so I have been thinking a lot about age and what we are meant to do with each stage of our lives. I find myself asking big questions about the best way to spend my time, what I really want to accomplish through my work and how I might continue to live purposely as I grow and age. Though my kids are young, I have already begun to wonder how different life may feel when they mature and move out. What will fill my time in the future if family and work are less demanding? I have been viewing my life not by the day, or even the year, but in its fullness. Turning 40 has pushed me to look backwards and forwards simultaneously, attempting to take in the full span of life.
So I shouldn’t be surprised that reading through this week’s Torah portion, my attention was drawn to the fact that the Levites, the tribe who do the priestly work in the Tabernacle, have both a qualifying age and a mandatory retirement age. After Moses details the specific work the priests are meant to do to keep the sacrificial system running, the text offers up this qualifier: “From 25 years of age up they shall participate in the work force in the service of the Tent of Meeting” (Numbers 8:24). We are used to this kind of age-based benchmark. We know them Jewishly — at three we begin learning, at 12 or 13 we observe mitzvot. And we know them in our secular lives — we can drive around age 16, vote at 18, drink at 21. Priestly work is not child’s play. It requires a certain maturity.
Rashi brings our attention to a contradiction between this verse and Numbers 4:3, which stipulates 30 as the minimum age of levitical work — not 25. He resolves the discrepancy by explaining that 25 is the age when the Levites begin studying the sacred skills. The actual work begins at 30. Apparently, our priests had to attend five years of ancient graduate school. From this we learn that their work requires both the maturity that comes with age and the knowledge that comes with devoted study.
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After entering the holy workforce at 30, the priests labor for only 20 years: “At the age of 50 they shall retire from the workforce and shall serve no more. They may assist their brother Levites at the Tent of Meeting by standing guard, but they shall perform no labor” (Numbers 8:25-26). Rashi steps in again to prevent us from imagining this as a full retirement. The labor that ceases at 50 is only the most physical kind. No longer “bearing loads on the shoulder,” these older priests are still called upon for three things: “closing the Temple gates, the service of singing and loading sacred articles upon the wagons.” Their role doesn’t end, it shifts.
Age brings change, as it should. These career shifts are not only normal and natural, they are part of the divine design. God wants the youth to take their time before fully stepping into holy work. There are different roles for the elderly. As their shoulders become weaker, their physical strength wanes, they step into a different phase of work, emphasizing different values and contributions.
Perhaps closing the gates is a security measure, a crucial job we think about a lot these days. Or maybe it’s a way of telling us that the older priests were the last ones to leave at the end of the day, divinely ordained to lock up after everyone else has gone home. These older Levites have not disappeared from the scene. They are even more present, waiting till the very last Israelite has left for the day.
Hearing that those over 50 continue the service of singing is also quite moving. I have experienced the intergenerational power of singing myself through a decade of attending communal singing intensives at Hadar’s Yeshiva. These programs invite participants to sit in a circle and sing together. While learning across large age gaps can be tense and complicated, signing together is often natural and easy. Song is for all ages.
And what about loading the sacred articles? The literal meaning seems to be that the elders helped transport various pieces of the Tabernacle to the next destination. But taken metaphorically, it’s powerful to imagine the older leaders deciding what wisdom is worth taking with us, applying the knowledge acquired over years to ensure nothing sacred is left behind.
I’m no longer a 25-year-old, early career professional, and at 40, I’m also not close to retirement. If I were a Levite, I would be right in the heart of my years of sacred temple service. So what do these levitical age guidelines offer me? How does this Torah answer my 40th-birthday questions? It offers me a vision of a full life’s work.
For now, I take inspiration from the 40-year-old priests. There is holy work to be done, and it is both a privilege and an obligation to contribute. This window of time is special — not a way station to be endured, but an opportunity to step in and carry the load for the community. Like my ancestors before me, it is my job to fully commit myself for at least another decade. These years were meant to be full. These years are for labor.
But If I’m being honest, much of the anxiety about turning 40 is not about this moment at all, but about anticipating future chapters. Here too, the clearly delineated Levite career arc offers me a model of what comes after. The priests remind us there is always another page to turn, and something meaningful ahead.
