This upcoming Monday, May 6th, is known as Yom HaShoah – Holocaust Remembrance Day. Given the tragedies of earlier this year, and more recently the serious events of the past few weeks, Yom HaShoah has more poignancy this year than others in recent memory.
We just celebrated Passover and the seder meals, and millions of Jews the world over read the following words in the Haggadah, “In every generation (nations) rise up against us to annihilate us” and yet they do not succeed in wiping us out. Why? As the Haggadah concludes that paragraph “for the Holy One Blessed be He rescues us from their hand.”
But there is one important and remarkable thing that they have failed to destroy over millennia of Jewish suffering: the humanity of the Jewish people.
The recent Iranian attacks on Israel were widely celebrated in both Iran and in Gaza – with residents joyously flooding the streets. Who can forget the festivity displayed on the streets of Gaza after 9-11 or the horrific events of October 7th? But I have never seen such celebrations in Israel over civilian casualties.
At the end of the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC there is a little amphitheater playing short video clips. In one, a man relates that while in a death camp, he saw his friend praying at a time that was too late for the morning service and too early for the afternoon service. He asked his friend what he was praying. The friend responded, “I am thanking God.” “For what?” inquired the man, “Look around you, we are surrounded by death and starvation! What do you have to be thankful for?” His friend replied, “I am thanking God that I am one of us and not one of them!”
The source of this moral compass inherently present within the Jewish people is the Torah. This week’s Torah reading highlights this very clearly, and in fact, a portion of this week’s reading is part of the afternoon service on Yom Kippur – the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. In introducing a whole litany of morally perverse acts that are prohibited, the Torah begins:
“Speak to the Israelites and say to them, I am God. Do not follow in the ways of Egypt where you lived, nor of Canaan where I will be bringing you; do not follow their customs” (Leviticus 18:2-3).
The newly minted Jewish nation is being given its own code of ethics and mores to live by. They are forewarned not to descend morally to the levels of the nations that are around them, and to not capitulate to their own baser desires. The Torah ends this introduction with a rather odd statement:
“You shall observe my laws and decrees, which a man shall fulfill and live by them. I am God” (Ibid 18:4).
The great medieval biblical commentator known as Rashi makes an equally enigmatic statement on the words “live by them.” Rashi says, “This refers to the World to Come, for if you say that this refers to this world – how can that be? After all man is destined to die!”
The real problem with Rashi’s comment is that the Talmud uses this verse for an interpretation that is, on the face of it, exactly the opposite of what Rashi seems to be saying. According to the Talmud (Yoma 85b) with a few exceptions, one may violate any of the commandments of the Torah to save a life. This is because there is value in life right now.
But Rashi seems to be saying that life on this “mortal coil” is essentially meaningless because everyone is destined to die and that the only “real” life is that of the World to Come. In fact, according to Rashi one may even argue that it is better to let a person perish so that he can get to the “real” life of the World to Come more quickly!
Mankind is preoccupied with death; either obsessed with actively evading it or obsessed with actively trying to avoid thinking about it. But at some point in our lives we must come to terms with it. A person is called a mortal (from the Latin mortalis – subject to death) because from the day we are born we are all in the process of dying. (The word “murder” comes from the same root.)
The Talmud (Bava Kama 26b) has a fascinating discussion regarding certain laws of property damage that, quite remarkably, also has far-reaching philosophical implications.
Imagine the following scenario; an unhappy couple are arguing in their penthouse apartment on the 18th floor. In frustration the husband picks up his wife’s much beloved, and quite expensive, Chihuly vase and angrily flings it off the balcony. Meanwhile, on the street below a person sees this vase hurtling toward the sidewalk and he decides to smash it with a heavy 2x4 that he’s holding, prior to it actually hitting the sidewalk.
Now the Talmud wants to know – who is responsible to pay for the vase: 1) the husband who threw it off the balcony or 2) the person that actually shattered it with a 2x4?
Rabbah, a famous third century Talmudic sage, makes a revolutionary statement. Rabbah posits that the person on the sidewalk is not responsible for shattering this very expensive vase because he merely “broke a broken vessel.” In other words, from the moment this vase was thrown from the balcony it was already considered shattered due to its inevitable end on the sidewalk below, and the person who hit it with a 2x4 (a split second before it hit the sidewalk) is not liable because he broke something already deemed worthless. Thus, the husband who put the vase into motion towards its inexorable demise is the one responsible to pay for it (he, of course, will be paying for it in a variety of ways).
Just like the Chihuly vase that is considered shattered once it begins its path to destruction, so too all of mankind is in an elongated, but inevitable, process of death – and we instinctively know it. Why is it that we are preoccupied with death? Because it is hard to come to terms with the emotional pain of non-existence. Even things we accomplish are ultimately temporal, and thus rendered meaningless. There are many ways people try to deal with this; some try to evade it; they build monuments to their life’s achievements, and others focus on passing on a piece of themselves in some shape or form like a child or a literary work (“publish or perish”).
Still, almost everyone tries to avoid thinking about it. According to an AARP study, most people over 55 do not even have a written will. Instead, they preoccupy themselves with behaviours that makes them feel more alive – sometimes it takes the form of death-defying acts like sky diving and the like.
But the most common way to deal with this gnawing feeling of emptiness is to engage in hedonistic pleasures that make a person feel like he is really living. This is really just a futile attempt to drown out the pain of non-existence. The reason this is futile is because physical pleasures have a limit and, like a drug, they require an ever-increasing series of doses to have any dulling effect on the mind.
In this week’s Torah reading the Torah gives the real antidote to the feeling of mortality and non-existence; being connected to the Almighty gives one an eternal and everlasting existence. This is exactly what Rashi is saying – the fact that there is a World to Come is what gives a person reality right now! This is why we are permitted to violate almost any commandment to save a person’s life, because living in this world gives us the opportunity to connect to the Almighty and increase our share in the World to Come.
A few years ago, I read an eye-opening op-ed piece in the Wall Street Journal by therapist Erica Komisar. The title of the piece was compelling: Don’t Believe in God? Lie to Your Children. She quoted a 2018 study in the American Journal of Epidemiology that examined how being raised in a family with religious or spiritual beliefs affects mental health. Harvard researchers examined religious involvement within a longitudinal data set of approximately 5,000 people.
The result? Children or teens who reported attending a religious service at least once per week scored higher on psychological well-being measurements and had lower risks of mental illness. Weekly attendance was associated with higher rates of volunteering, a sense of mission, forgiveness, and lower probabilities of drug use and early sexual initiation. She went on to say that, in her opinion, the reason depression and anxiety are so common among children and adolescents is a declining interest in religion.
After all, nihilism is strong fertilizer for anxiety, depression, and a general dissatisfaction with one’s own life. Living in a narcissistic, materialistic, and lonely society – one that often feels meaningless – can be quite depressing. Small wonder that Gen-Z and Millennials are totally obsessed with the escapism of social media and living within other people’s lives. This is just another approach to dulling the pain of non-existence through hedonism, and equally ineffective.
Just a few weeks ago, Tyler VanderWeele of the Harvard Gazette reported a similarly amazing observation. A systematic review of The Journal of the American Medical Association documented 215 studies, each with sample sizes of over 1,000 participants, suggested that weekly religious attendance is longitudinally associated with lower mortality risk, lower depression, less suicide, better cardiovascular disease survival, better health behaviours, greater marital stability, and greater happiness and purpose in life.
This message is best delivered through the Torah’s statement in Deuteronomy 4:4: “You that cleave to the Almighty are alive today!”,
The message could not be clearer: In order to get the most of this world, one ought to connect to the eternal existence of one’s soul through its relationship to the Almighty.
This connection provides meaning and satisfaction to one’s life. This is also the secret to the longevity of the Jewish people; a real purpose driven life delivering a meaningful existence communicated through the wisdom of the Almighty – the moral compass of the Torah.
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