#633: The Rabbi Who Died Joyfully
A Story for Parashat Vayeḥi, Bereshit/Genesis 47:28
וַיְחִ֤י יַעֲקֹב֙ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם שְׁבַ֥ע עֶשְׂרֵ֖ה שָׁנָ֑ה וַיְהִ֤י יְמֵֽי־יַעֲקֹב֙ שְׁנֵ֣י חַיָּ֔יו שֶׁ֣בַע שָׁנִ֔ים וְאַרְבָּעִ֥ים וּמְאַ֖ת שָׁנָֽה׃
Jacob lived seventeen years in the land of Egypt, so that the span of Jacob’s life came to one hundred and forty-seven years.
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Gimme Some Torah #633
The following true story describes how R. Yaakov Berlin (1790-1887) managed to keep smiling even as he was dying.
When Rabbi Yaakov Berlin—the father of the Netziv from Volozhin—turned sixty years old in 1850, he decided to leave the community of Mir, where he had served as its rabbi and Jewish legal authority, and emigrate to the Holy Land.
When he arrived in the Holy Land, he established his residency within the walls of Jerusalem and lived there for seventeen years in dignity and prosperity. (He died on the 14th of Ḥeshvan in the Jewish year 5628 (Nov. 12, 1867.)
When Rabbi Yaakov fell ill and was lying on his deathbed, the great sages of Jerusalem came to visit him. They were led by Grand Rabbi Shmuel of Salant, the chief rabbi of the Ashkenazi community in the Holy City. Rabbi Yaakov lay on his bed with his eyes closed, and the visitors sighed over the approaching death of this brilliant but very sick rabbi.
Suddenly, Rabbi Yaakov opened his eyes and said to his guests: “Why are you sighing at a time like this? Thank God, for 77 years I have lived a life of Torah and piety.
“Moreover, I have been blessed with the fact that my portion of life is better than the portion of our forefather Jacob whose name I share. Of Jacob it is said: “And Jacob lived in the land of Egypt seventeen years” (Gen. 47:27); and in contrast to him, I lived my last seventeen years not in Egypt, but in Jerusalem, the Holy City.
Jacob testified about himself that his days were "few and evil" (Gen. 47:9). But I, thank God, have been blessed with good and pleasant days all my life. Therefore, there is no room for expressing sorrow that the hour of my departure to a world that is all good has come!”
A broad smile spread across Rabbi Jacob's pale face, and after a short pause he added: There is one thing I regret at this time. All my days I have endeavored recite as many blessings as possible in honor of God, the Blessed One: blessings over the performance of mitzvot, blessings for eating, drinking, and the senses, and blessings of praise and thanksgiving to the Creator of the world. But regarding the final blessing "God has given, and God has taken away; blessed be the name of God!" that is a blessing only you can bless after my departure, not I. — From Parpera’ot LaTorah, Menahem Becker, ed. (Omen Publishers: Jerusalem, 1983), vol. 1, p. 223, translation mine.
What I find most interesting about this story is that Rabbi Yaakov felt happy for a different reason than I expected. I had thought he would emphasize his joy over his forthcoming arrival in heaven. But he didn’t—he primarily expressed joy for what God had already done for him, not what he believed to be coming in the future.
This, in my opinion, is the attitude that everyone should have about death. We should live our lives in the hope not so much that we go to Paradise but that we will be able to look back on a life well lived, a life filled with love and learning.
If one truly has lived such a life, then a timely death need not be seen as a tragedy. Whatever post-mortem reward awaits us is up to God; we should rather concentrate our thoughts on the lives we have lived.
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Discussion Questions:
What is your “why” for moral behavior? Why not just do whatever you want?
How does one go about living a “life well lived?”
Living a life without morals has a very real, practical societal cost. It's generally an awful idea if you want to have any kind of success in life. That's at least one practical answer, but I can give you a much deeper answer some other time. TL;DR: having a "why" isn't tied to religion for me, but it's very clearly tied to my own internal compass. We humans are very much wired to take care of and cooperate with one another just as much as we're wired to compete, and I like tapping into that.