The Torah ends with sadness. Moses, the Torah’s author, dies, and its final sentences are written with tears.
Moses liberated the Jewish people from slavery and led them to the edge of the promised land. But after 40 years of difficulties, Moses is left behind; not even his body gets buried in the holy land. This is a bitter irony. Moses, who personally carried Joseph's bones from Egypt for burial in Israel, is himself interred in a forgotten unmarked grave on the other side of the Jordan River. The life of the greatest man in Jewish history comes to an abrupt, unpleasant end.
Lurking under the surface is a universal tragedy: death. Kohelet reminds us that both the fool and the wise man meet the same end. Spiritual excellence is irrelevant to the Angel of Death. And that intensifies the Torah’s tragic ending; a book that in Genesis began with the promise of eternal life for all ends with the death of the greatest man to ever live, Moses. The conclusion of the Torah makes it clearer than ever how far we are from the Garden of Eden.
This tragedy is the focus of Gerald Blidstein’s book Etzev Nevo, a study of the Midrashim written about Moses’ death. Most of the Midrashim grapple with this riddle; why did this person, who was more angel than man, die? The question is so large, that one text denies his death entirely; instead, it insists, Moses continues to perform his holy tasks in heaven. Other Midrashim depict Moses outsmarting the Angel of Death, who eventually needs to ask God to take Moses’ soul Himself. In another, the angels ask God “Why did Adam die?” God responds that Adam had sinned. Then the angels ask “Why did Moses die?” God responds: “It is a decree of mine, which must equally apply to every human being.” Moses isn't worthy of death, but he dies because all humans must die.
This is the supreme tragedy of life; no one can escape death, no matter how good or worthy they are. And the Torah ends on this note to teach its most important lesson: how to find personal fulfillment in a tragic world.
Whether we like it or not, death is our constant companion. Ernst Becker argues that Freud failed to recognize that the fear of death is the primary psychological drive. The question asked of us is whether we will look away, or face death directly. Will we choose to “tranquilize ourselves with the trivial” and amuse ourselves with pleasure, or will we find a sense of purpose? To live without a higher purpose is simply marking time until the inevitable end.
Becker explains that only through meaning can the tragedy of life become worthwhile. When we live lives of true purpose, we can transcend the ordinary. And there are so many ways to grasp eternity; through spirituality, family, community, charity, and more.
This is the lesson of the final passage of the Torah: how to face death. And that is what the Midrashim focus on. The Torah writes that Moses blessed the community “before his death.” This unusual phrase is seen by the Midrash as indicative of a struggle between Moses and the Angel of Death; in his last gasp, Moses must use every last ounce of strength to offer this moving blessing “before his death.” No matter what, he will leave one last gift for his people.
The Midrash also explains Moses' strange burial. It writes that Moses chose to be buried anonymously in the desert. The generation he had redeemed from Egypt had all died there, buried in unmarked graves. God told Moses “If you are buried here with them, by your merit, they will come with you.” In other words, once the ultimate redemption comes, Moses will finally lead those unfortunate freed slaves into the promised land. Caring for the freed slaves has always been his mission; and even in death, he is Moses, their leader, waiting for his chance to bring them home.
Even when looking the Angel of Death in the eye, Moses never stops thinking about the future.
The importance of meaning is not just a spiritual teaching; it is a psychological insight as well. The worst pain is bearable when one has a purpose. Victor Frankl recounts how this gave a great deal of relief to one of his patients. He writes:
Once, an elderly general practitioner consulted me because of his severe depression. He could not overcome the loss of his wife who had died two years before and whom he had loved above all else. Now, how could I help him? What should I tell him? Well, I refrained from telling him anything but instead confronted him with the question, “What would have happened, Doctor, if you had died first, and your wife would have had to survive you?” “Oh,” he said, “for her this would have been terrible; how she would have suffered!” Whereupon I replied, “You see, Doctor, such a suffering has been spared her, and it was you who have spared her this suffering—to be sure, at the price that now you have to survive and mourn her.” He said no word but shook my hand and calmly left my office.
In some way, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice.
When you love another, even the most difficult sacrifices are possible.
A year ago Simchat Torah became a day of mourning. This year, everyone is struggling with how to rationalize celebrating a holiday on the yahrzeit for nearly 1,200 members of our extended family. We know we must celebrate; we just don’t know why.
The answer lies in our mission. Like Moses, we now confront the Angel of Death face to face; and like Moses, we must never lose sight of our goals. It would be more comfortable for us not to celebrate this year. Celebrations are particularly painful for the brokenhearted; it's much easier to stay home. But we can’t take the easy path. Jews celebrated Simchat Torah in the ghettos, and they celebrated just days after the Yom Kippur War. They did so in defiance, people with broken hearts letting the world know that they were not broken in spirit.
We must be defiant as well. We can’t allow Hamas to destroy Simchat Torah.
Instead, we will carry those who have fallen with us, even as we dance. Hundreds of synagogues have joined the Simchat Torah Project; it has provided the synagogues with a new Torah cover dedicated to the memory of one of those who have died in the past year. As we dance with the Torah, we will be thinking of them.
There are times when we best honor the dead by celebrating; and this year, that is our responsibility. We must make it clear that there is, and always will be, a bright Jewish future. We must make it clear that those who died have not died in vain, and that we will never forget the sacrifice they made for a Jewish future.
We must make it clear, to the living and the dead, that Am Yisrael Chai.
And that’s why we will celebrate.