A good death
Parshat Hukat-Balak

by Rabbi Lawrence A. Hoffman
author and speaker on Jewish ritual, prayer, and spirituality; professor of liturgy at the Hebrew Union College in Manhattan.

How will I die? What (if anything) happens to me (if there even still is a “me”) next? How will my death impact those I leave behind?

The Talmud asks these questions in response to the death of Miriam and Aaron, part of this week’s portion.

In the 1,500 years since the Talmud was compiled, life expectancy has risen, but only on average, and the average of those who die remains 100 percent. However much modern painkillers and enlightened attitudes have “improved” the act of dying, the specter of not being around any more is as frightening as ever. Does anyone believe we will ever stop fearing our last and final moment on this earth? Medicine addresses none of this. So I turn to the Talmud.

“Normal” death, says the Talmud, occurs at old age, providing ample time to say good-bye and order our affairs. But unaccountably, good people die young, sometimes instantly (mitah chatufah, a life “snatched away”), sometimes within 24 hours (mitah d’chuyah, death “pushed off,” however briefly). The Rabbis naturally seek out meaning in such matters, but they know better. “What difference does it make, whether ‘snatched away’ or ‘pushed off?’” the Tosafot ask. The Talmud itself reports Rava’s conclusion: “Length of life depends less on merit than on mazal” – “fate” he would have said; we call it “luck.”

Lesson #1: We should live as if goodness is rewarded by longevity, recognizing, however, that it is not. What we need is mazal.

What will that final moment be like? We all fear painful death, so the Talmud holds out hope that we will die like Moses, Aaron, and Miriam – with a gentle kiss from God. Centuries later, the Malbim sums this up beautifully:

Aaron was not killed by the angel of death; he died with a kiss. Rather than being struck down by external causes, his soul gradually extended beyond him, moved by joyful anticipation of being freed from the prison of the body and being allowed to be gathered up into the state of eternal life with God.... That is why instead of saying ‘Aaron died,’ Torah reports, ‘He was gathered to his people,’ meaning that his soul departed the material world in order to return to its ‘people,’ the place, that is, where the souls of all the righteous dwell.

Lesson # 2: With luck, we will die the death of the righteous, looking forward to release from this life into a blissful state of being we cannot even imagine.

In any event, our death will impact others. The Torah’s report of Miriam’s death is followed by the incident at Meribah – where the Israelites thirst for water. Miriam had nurtured her people with a magical well that accompanied them through their wilderness wanderings. With Miriam gone, the well’s water dried up.

Lesson #3: When loved ones die, we miss their nurturing. The bottomless well of love that they provided becomes an gaping hole within us.

As the story of Meribah follows Miriam’s death, so a similarly significant discussion precedes it: the sacrificial ritual of the red heifer that was said to atone for sin. Its contiguity with Miriam’s demise leads the Talmud to conclude that the death of the righteous too provides atonement.

Lesson #4: “Atonement” is “theologese” for the need to come to terms with our shortcomings. When the gaping hole finally begins to recede, we discover altogether new blessing in those who loved us: their lives, well led, become models of “atonement,” our ability to overcome compulsive cravings and moral flaws. We too, in turn, prepare to depart this earth as a model for those whom we will some day leave behind. Zekher tzaddik livrakhah – “The memory of the righteous is a blessing.”

If we are fortunate – if we get the mazal we want — we will die of old age, with time to prepare and say good bye. That depends on luck. But we do have it in our power to leave behind a model of righteous living that suggests the power of atonement. Be assured: for at least a short while, our loved ones will inevitably be struck with indescribable emptiness. But awaiting the moment when that first terrible stage of mourning dissipates, there can be one last enormous gift. Seeing how we have died willingly, whether with a kiss or not, our friends and heirs can strive to depart this life as we did. Whenever their time to go arrives, they can see, as we did, that death is really a blessing, the gateway to another stage of being that our tradition describes as beyond and incomparably better than what we now know.