Community Blog

          Shabbat Shalom v’Yom Tov. This morning, we read the words of Deuteronomy 30, “I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life – if you and your offspring would live.” Rabbi Eliezer Davidovitz, an early 20^th century Slovakian rabbi, asked, “Is there a person who would choose death?” In our new prayer books, Rabbi Josh Zweiback, a contemporary Reform rabbi, adds “Wouldn’t most everyone prefer life to death, blessing to curse?”

          And sure, the way it’s presented in the Torah, where life and blessing are synonymous, of course none would choose death and curses. But in the real world, that is simply not the case. One can be virtuous and try to live well, for themselves and for others, and still feel cursed. A life of debilitating mental illness, chronic pain and fatigue, terminal illnesses, memory loss and a sense of losing one’s self, may all lead to an informed decision to choose death.

          We know that Jewish law places great value on preserving life. The concept of pekuach nefesh – saving a soul/life – is a top mitzvah, for which we may violate almost any other commandment in order to fulfill. Even in the strictest interpretations of ritual observance, one may drive on Shabbat or otherwise perform acts of forbidden work, eat on Yom Kippur, eat treyf, forego praying in a minyan, if it means saving lives, including our own. But we also saw our own limits to that commitment throughout the last three years, as Covid vaccines were introduced yet the disease still raged, and though it is less deadly for most people now, there were still over a million Covid-related deaths just in the last three months in the United States. And yet, once most of us were vaccinated and felt reasonably safe, we decided to stop enforcing quarantines and masks or other life-preserving measures. We reasoned that being in quarantine for over a year was also damaging to our lives. We needed human interaction, live contact. I know I missed singing in community. It was great saving myself my long commute down here, but doing services by myself in my apartment throughout most of 2020 and 2021 was just not the same as being in the room with you all, feeling the energy, and hearing our voices sing together. So, we made compromises on safety, particularly compromising those who are chronically ill or otherwise immunocompromised. Therefore, we must understand that there are limits to our willingness to give up all else for the sake of staying alive. At the time, we talked a lot about reasonable safety measures balanced with keeping life feeling worth living. Now so many have moved on, but there still others who don’t feel life is worth living, and no amount of mood stabilizers or SSRIs will fix that feeling.

          In the Talmud, there are at least two stories where a sage prays “for mercy” and then dies, the implication being that God saw death as a mercy to end their suffering. One is the surprisingly depressing conclusion to the otherwise whimsical story of Honi the Circle Maker – the man who teases another for planting a carob tree, knowing the planter will not live to see the tree bear fruit, and then falls asleep for 70 years and wakes to find the planter’s grandson enjoying the tree and the carobs. That’s usually where the story we read on Tu BiShevat ends, with a neat little lesson. But the Talmud continues, “He went to the study hall, where he heard the Sages say about one scholar: His halakhot are as enlightening and as clear as in the years of Ḥoni HaMe’aggel, for when Ḥoni HaMe’aggel would enter the study hall he would resolve for the Sages any difficulty they had. Ḥoni said to them: I am he, but they did not believe him and did not pay him proper respect. Ḥoni became very upset, prayed for mercy, and died. Rava said: This explains the folk saying that people say: Either friendship or death, as one who has no friends is better off dead” (Ta’anit 23a). Similarly, a different tractate tells the story of Rabbi Yohanan’s heartache when his study partner died. Another sage tried to go to his home to comfort him and learn with him, but he only agreed with everyone Rabbi Yohanan said. This made Rabbi Yohanan all the sadder, missing how his previous partner would challenge him, and together they would find deeper truths and clearer elucidations of the halacha. This story concludes, “Rabbi Yoḥanan screamed until his mind was taken from him, i.e., he went insane. The Rabbis prayed and requested for God to have mercy on him and take his soul, and Rabbi Yoḥanan died” (Bava Metzia 84a).

          It is incredibly hard to acknowledge when it is someone’s time to leave this world, and all the more difficult to accept if the person isn’t imminently dying of natural causes, but decides they don’t want to “fight” for themselves. Whether that means choosing to forego painful treatments that may extend life in order to live out a shorter time with more comfort, or it means refusing to live a life of constant pain, or however else you might perceive someone to be “giving up,” the natural impulse might be to urge them to keep going, to keep trying, to take all the experimental medications and therapies, to look on the bright side. And that’s definitely good for some people, or for some period of time. I am absolutely not advocating for full acceptance of death by suicide. When in a moment of acute mental crisis, we should absolutely call the suicide prevention hotline, reach out to friends, go to the hospital, try in-patient therapy, whatever is available. And if we see a loved one in a moment of acute mental crisis, we should aid them in these things. We should still support suicide prevention measures, and raise awareness for all the contributing factors to persistent depression and suicidal ideation, and work to alleviate those stressors.

However, when not in a moment of acute crisis, but rather as a result of a drawn-out illness for which there is no cure, the decision to be in control of one’s own suffering should be between the person in pain and their health care providers. Many healthcare providers might also urge their patients to keep trying, and certainly in Virginia and many states in America where there is no legal medically assisted suicide, they don’t really have any other choices. If a person has the option, though, and chooses that, after deliberation and with full clear-headedness, those of us that love them must accept that choice and hold them close without resentment as they leave us. 

          This afternoon, we read in Leviticus, “You shall not hate your kin in your heart. Reprove your friend; thus, you will not bear guilt because of a friend. You shall not seek vengeance or bear a grudge against members of your people – but love your neighbor as yourself.” This teaches us that we should address our interpersonal conflicts head on, try to find resolution, and then move on. We cannot harbor negative feelings about someone else’s actions or sentiments that we have no control over. It can be so, so difficult to let go of those feelings, of the desire to make someone we care about behave in ways that we think will be better for them or for our relationships with them. But ultimately, it is up to them to take your rebuke or not, and you must allow them to make their choices.

          When someone dies from suicide or a drug overdose, there’s an anger it’s hard to ignore. If not at the person who made the choice to leave us, then at their parents who didn’t show them enough love, or at their friends who were bad influences, or at yourself for not seeing the signs and getting them help. As I’ve said throughout this High Holy Days, acknowledging that anger, letting yourself feel the bad feelings, is a good and important part of healing. And so is letting go. Recognizing we can only have so much control over others’ actions, and if that’s true for us, it’s also true for their parents and their friends who we want to blame. They were in control, and we can be sad or angry about that choice, but if we harbor that anger, let it turn to resentment, we will tarnish their memories. We not only lose them in life, we lose their love and the blessings they brought to us in life.

          In 5785, I hope more people choose life. I wish blessings of health and happiness and peace upon us all. And I know that it isn’t possible for some people. I pray that those who choose death are able to do so surrounded by supportive loved ones. I pray that those left behind remember it’s possible to accept their deaths and still continue to choose life for yourself. May we all find comfort, may we be able to make informed decisions to control our own health and lives, and may we be blessed in life and in death. Amen and G’mar Chatimah Tovah.