The Nobel Prizes are the world's most famous awards. Presented for outstanding achievement in literature, peace, economics, medicine and the sciences, they were created a century ago by Alfred B. Nobel (1833-1896), who amassed his fortune by producing explosives; among other things, Nobel invented dynamite.

What motivated this Swedish munitions manufacturer to dedicate his fortune to honor and reward those who benefit humanity?

The creation of the Nobel Prizes came about through a chance event. When Nobel's brother died, a newspaper mistakenly ran a long obituary of Alfred Nobel, believing it was he who had died. Thus, Nobel had a rare opportunity: to read his obituary while alive. What he read horrified him: The newspaper described him as a man who had made it possible to kill more people more quickly than anyone else who had ever lived.

Realizing that this was how he was going to be remembered, Nobel established the awards in his name. Thanks to this noble act, people centuries later are familiar with the Nobel Prize, while relatively few know how Nobel made his fortune.

Shakespeare's Mark Anthony was wrong: the good we do lives after us. It is the most important thing that we leave behind.

Thinking about how one’s obituary will read can make us rethink our direction in life. Is it all just about how we lived extravagantly, took fabulous vacations, drove expensive cars, or built expensive homes? I never heard anyone praised for being too busy at work to find time for their children. A call to someone who is lonely; a listening ear to a person in need; a walk with our children, saying thank you to a spouse and to G-d, performing mitzvos – these are the essence of a life well lived.

The people most mourned and missed are not the richest, the most famous, or the most successful. They are people who enhanced the lives of others. They were kind and loving. They had a sense of responsibility. They gave to charitable causes. If they could not give money, they gave time. They were loyal friends and committed members of communities. They were people you could count on.

The great Sir Moses Montefiore was an outstanding figure who was knighted by Queen Victoria and became the first Jew to attain high office in London. His philanthropy extended to Jews and non-Jews alike, and on his one-hundredth birthday, The London Times devoted editorials to his praise. “He had shown,” said The Times, “that fervent Judaism and patriotic citizenship are consistent with one another.”

One reflection was particularly moving. Someone once asked him, "Sir Moses, what are you worth?" Moses thought for a while and named a figure. "But surely," said his questioner, "your wealth must be much more than that." With a smile, Sir Moses replied, "You didn't ask me how much I own. You asked me how much I am worth. So I calculated how much I have given to charity this year. We are worth what we are willing to share with others.”

Where are you?
In 1798 the great Hassidic leader, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, was imprisoned by the Czar. In prison awaiting trial, his warden asked him a question. “The Book of Genesis tells us that when Adam and Eve sinned, they hid among the trees of the Garden of Eden, and G-d called out, “Where are you?” If G-d knows and sees everything, surely He knew where they were. Why did He need to ask: Where are you?'

The Rebbe replied: “The words of the Bible have a meaning and message for all time. The question G-d asked Adam and Eve was also addressed to each of us in every generation. We squander our days and nights on temporary fleeting objectives; we become consumed with self-preservation and gratification, and think we can hide from the consequences. But after losing direction, we hear the Divine voice in our heart asking: What have you done with your life? “Where are you?” I have given you a certain amount of years, how are you using them?

In Herman Wouk’s novel, The Caine Mutiny, Willie, the central character, is serving in the Navy when he receives a letter from his father, who is about to die from cancer. Reflecting on his life, one in which he achieved much less than he had expected to as a young man, he cautions his son, “Remember this, if you can: There’s nothing, nothing, nothing more precious than time. You probably feel you have an endless supply, but you haven’t. Wasted hours destroy your life just as surely at the beginning as at the end, only at the end it’s more obvious.”

G-d decides the length of our chapter on Earth; it’s up to us to make every paragraph and sentence count.

Immortality lies not in how long you live but in how you live. Every day is a gift we should use to the fullest - to celebrate life and become a blessing to others.

If, G-d forbid, you would die tomorrow, what would your obituary say? Would it read the way you want it to read?