The Ides Have It
And I went back and saw all the oppression that is done under the sun: the tears of the oppressed who have none to console them, and from the hand of their violent oppressors there is none to console them. And I praised the dead, who have already died, more than the living, who are still alive. And better that both is he who has not yet been, who has not seen the evil deeds that are done under the sun. Qohelet 4:1-3 Robert Alter
Has not yet been – Today is the fabled Shakespearean day of Caesar’s assassination. A day of treachery and betrayal. A reminder of evil intent below the surface of human relationships. If Qohelet had written the history, he would not have been surprised. The world is a nasty and uncertain place. I am reminded over and over of Heschel’s insightful comment: “History is a nightmare.” It’s no wonder that the Teacher echoes the words of the more ancient poet Theognis: “Not to be born is the best of all things for those who live on earth, And not to gaze on the radiance of the keen-burning sun. Once born, however, it is best to pass with all possible speed through Hades’ gates And to lie beneath a great heap of earth.”[1] There are certainly days when this ancient wisdom seems appropriate. Like the day Caesar discovered his friend was really his assassin.
Of course, there are more ways to kill a relationship than with a knife. Wasn’t it Rod Stewart who sang, “The first cut is the deepest.” To my shame, I’ve been on both ends of that blade. Sometimes I wonder if our desperate efforts to find true connection aren’t also the grounds for our inner emptiness. Would that we could cure the insatiable quest by excising the need from our souls. But that would mean becoming something other than human, which, of course, is exactly what those religions that promise freedom from desire actually attempt to achieve. To not be human anymore. To not be victim to the needs that plague our earthly existence. Whether you follow the path of the Buddha or opt for Christian rapture, the real motivation is to get rid of this fleshly shell so that I’m no longer trying to fill the emptiness.
But it’s the emptiness that makes me who I am.
What an odd religious solution. Escape from me in order to be disengaged from my struggles. Ah, that world of blissful harmony where nothing disturbs me anymore, where my life of perfect tranquility erases all those past anxieties, where I don’t have to be me. I’ve often wondered what heaven could possibly be like, or, for that matter, what the Millennial Kingdom would be like if there is no longer any contention, any struggle, any unfilled desire. A place without human beings, it seems. Or, as Qohelet and Theognis might say, a place of the dead.
Maybe my idea of heaven, even heaven on earth, needs some serious revision.
Topical Index: heaven, death, human, Ecclesiastes 4:1-3
[1] Theognis of Megara, Theognidea, lines 425-428.
At the outset of this Torah portion, Moses announced to Israel that he was about to die. He told the people that God had forbidden him to cross over the Jordan with them.
According to a long-standing tradition, the LORD announced to Moses, “Behold, the time for you to die is near” (Deuteronomy 31:14), on the seventh day of the month of Adar in the biblical year 2488. It happened to be Moses’ birthday. He was one hundred and twenty years old to the day, which is why he said, “I am a hundred and twenty years old today” (Deuteronomy 31:2). Therefore, Jewish tradition honors the seventh day of Adar as the anniversary of the birthday of Moses and his yahrzeit, the anniversary of his death.
Before that day was over, Moses ascended Mount Nebo and willingly surrendered his soul to his Maker.
In legend and midrash about the death of Moses, however, he does not go passively or willingly to his death. Instead, he argues vociferously for life. In anguish of soul, he implores God to spare him the indignity of death. He beseeches God for mercy and attempts to counter the heavenly decree.
It seems strange that the traditional stories would paint Moses—the hero of heroes—as reluctant to accept death. Why would Moses resist striding boldly into that dark night?
The example of Moses teaches us that we are not to accept death passively. Moses tells us, “Choose life in order that you may live” (Deuteronomy 30:19).
Some religious circles foster an unhealthy and morbid fascination with death. Since “to be absent from the body is to be home with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8), it might seem natural to look forward to death and embrace it when it comes. On the contrary, death is the enemy—the last enemy. Though death comes with inevitable certainty, it should never be our hope. Our hope is in life. We find comfort in death only because we have seen life overcome it.
Death feels offensive to the human soul, for God has set eternity in the heart of man. God made man for immortality; death is a sacrilege to our inner-being. This explains why Moses resisted death, even though his hope was certain.
In a similar way, the second Moses struggled against death in Gethsemane. He said, “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me!” (Matthew 26:39). How is it, when so many martyrs have gone bravely to their deaths, that the Master flinched in the face of His own—especially when He knew that His death would purchase the redemption of Israel?
Yeshua followed in the example of Moses, who strove against death to the end.
Death is abhorrent, and one has an obligation to strive against it. Just as Moses beseeched God for reprieve, so too Yeshua struggled for life. Ultimately, both Moses and the Master surrendered to the will of the Father: “Not as I will, but as You will” (Matthew 26:39). They found life in submission to the Father. They chose life, even in death:
Thank you for sharing this, David. 👍🏻
Revision? By entering speculative wastelands? I think it far better to consider what was said by the one who came to his own as one resurrected from the dead… And that testified by those disciples who brought the testimony of his 40 days of resurrected presence and instruction at the price of their own martyrdom.
Like a pregnant woman on the point of giving birth, she writhes;
she cries in her labor pains.
So we were because of your presence, Yahweh.
We became pregnant, we writhed;
we gave birth to wind.
We cannot bring about deliverance on the earth,
and no inhabitants of the world are born.
Your dead shall live; their corpses shall rise.
Wake up and sing for joy, dwellers of the dust,
for your dew is celestial dew,
and the earth will give birth to dead spirits.
(Cf. Isaiah 26:16–19)