Eternal life?

 Chukat-Balak

Num. 19:1 – 25:9

 

Précis: Chukat begins with a discussion of the Red Heifer, used for ritual purification after one comes into contact with a dead body. The story then shifts to the death of Miriam, and the mourning by the entire people for her. With her death, the well of water which had accompanied their travels disappears, and Moses strikes a rock to provide water to the People. Soon thereafter, Aaron also dies, and the Israelites engage in a series of battles which conclude the parasha.

In Balak, the King of Moab is fearful because of the success of the Israelites in war against other peoples. He hires a local magician named Bilaam to place a curse upon the Israelites. Bilaam begins the journey riding upon his ass, which refuses to proceed and actually talks to Bilaam, protesting Bilaam’s foul treatment of the poor beast. Bilaam sees an angel and refuses to complete Balak’s mission. Balak reiterates his command to Bilaam to curse the Israelites, but instead Bilaam pronounces a blessing, frustrating Balak.

            The parasha ends with an interesting narrative episode: Pinchas, the grandson of Aaron, sees an Israelite having sexual relations with a Midianite woman (a violation of a commandment not to fraternize with the local population), and he slays both of them and, in the process, staves off a plague that had been threatening the Israelites.

 

Sabbath and Festival Prayerbook (Rabbinical Assembly of America and United Synagogue of America, 1973): “Faithful art Thou to grant eternal life to the departed. Blessed art Thou, O Lord, who callest the dead to life everlasting.”

 

Why do I cite this verse from the siddur this week? Rabbi Sacks suggests that Chukat is really about mortality (Covenant and Conversation, 6/21/18), noting that within it we read of the deaths of Miriam and Aaron, and we learn that Moses will not enter the Promised Land, a kind of death sentence as well.  But before the deaths are mentioned, we read about the Red Heifer, a symbol of life (red, like blood). It is burned to ash, reminding us that we are all mere "dust and ashes" (Gen. 18:27). But at the end of the Red Heifer ritual, the ashes are scattered into water. Water changes, but the river remains.             

            From this, Sacks draws two conclusions: we are not just physical beings made from the dust of the earth because God gave us the "breath of life" (Gen 3:7). There is something about humans which is immortal, as is noted in Ecclesiastes (12:7): “The dust returns to the earth as it was but the spirit returns to God who gave it.”
            Second, something about us remains here on earth, either through descendants or via the influence we have had on others. We are all part of the unending river of life.

            In this context, I ponder on the meaning of a central part of our liturgy: “mechayeh metim.” This phrase can also be translated as “who revives the dead” or “brings the dead to everlasting life,” or “gives life to the dead.” These words are found in the beginning of the Amidah, and whichever translation one thinks appropriate, it certainly connotes some kind of continuation of existence after death. Some commentators focus on the literal meaning, while others focus on the phrase in Ecclesiastes about the “spirit” returning to God. (It is because of this theological concern that the Reform Movement has redacted the Hebrew to state “mechayeh hakol” which they translate as “the source of life.”)

            Our tradition has had an incredibly wide range of opinions regarding “the life to come.” In Second Temple days, the Pharisees and Essenes believed in the immortality of the soul, while the Sadducees did not.  By the medieval period, a belief in a “world to come” for the souls of the righteous became normative (as per Maimonides). But virtually all scholars opined that the details of these matters were by definition transcendental and beyond the capacity of human beings to understand.

            Some have suggested that the Jewish concept of life after death resulted from the influence of Christian theology. Others have thought that the concept became prevalent at different periods of Jewish life to help explain suffering, and to suggest a kind of “reward” for living a righteous life.

            I admit that I have not come to terms with the phrase “mechayeh metim” even as I recite it regularly. Do I believe that once I am dead and buried, that’s all there is? Do I believe that living a righteous life merits a post-life reward, or that living a good life is the reward itself? When I have conversations with my deceased parents in my dreams, is that wishful thinking or a sign that their “spirits” still exist? I don’t “know” and I will never “know.” In a quotation attributed to a Hindi philosopher, Sadhaguru, “What I know, I know. What I do not know, I do not know. Once you come to this sincerely, your knowing will constantly go on expanding.”