Avriel Bar-Levav Jewish Attitudes towards Death: A Society between Time, Space and Texts The aim of this paper is to present a framework for depicting and understanding the varied Jewish attitudes towards death, mainly (but not only) since the medieval period; or, in other words, to suggest an initial map and coordinates for this topic. The basic map for western attitudes towards death was supplied by Philipes Ariès, who, as Frederick Paxton wrote in the Macmillian Encyclopedia of Death and Dying, almost single-handedly established attitude to death as a field of historical study.1 Ariès proposed a model of four attitudes: ‘tamed death’, in which death is perceived as a natural part of life; ‘death of the self’, in which final judgement motifs emerge; ‘wild death’, in which death is seen as terrifying; and the ‘forbidden death’, in which death is considered to be a failure, with the dead removed from society.2 Ariès suggested that the interaction between four factors causes the transitions between the different attitudes: human awareness of the self, social defences against wild nature, belief in an afterlife, and belief in the existence of evil. It is a wonderful story, said Robert Darnton, but is it true? Darnton, along with other critics, called Ariès’s system ‘historical impressionism’.3 In any case, it seems that, as beautiful as this model is and as fruitful as it was for the historical study of attitudes to death, it is of little if any relevance for the Jewish approaches to this topic. Moreover, no attempt has yet been made to present an overview of the Jewish attitudes to death, and I would now like to rectify this. I am not, however, aiming at presenting here a comprehensive bibliography of the topic.4 What I am offering, as an initial proposal, are the coordinates for what, some fifty years ago, Joseph Weiss termed ‘the evolutions of the death-sensa1 Frederick S. Paxton. Art. ‘Ariès, Philippe’. Macmillan Encyclopedia of Death and Dying (2003). Encyclopedia.com. (June 1, 2011). http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1G2-3407200020.html. See also John McManners, ‘Death and the French Historians’, in Mirrors of Mortality: Studies in the Social History of Death, ed. by Joachim Whaley (London: Europa Publications, 1981), pp. 106–30. 2 The major works of Ariès in English are: Western Attitudes towards Death, Eng. trans. Patricia M. Ranum (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1974); The Hour of Our Death, Eng. trans. Helen Weaver (New York: A. A. Knopf, 1981); and Images of Man and Death, Eng. trans. Janet Lloyd (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1985). 3 Robert Darnton, The Kiss of the Lamourtette: Reflections in Cultural History (New York: Norton, 1990), p. 279. 4 See the most useful and comprehensive bibliography of Falk Wiesemann, Sepulcra Judaica: Jewish Cemeteries, Death, Burial and Mourning from the Period of Hellenism to the Present: a Bibliography (Essen: Klartext, 2005). 4 Avriel Bar-Levav tion in the Jewish spirit and religion’.5 The imagery of coordinates is especially apt for this topic, since it reflects a broad view of a map with different regions, and not of rigid and one-dimensional focal points or definitions. The rich and diverse Jewish culture, which has existed in some sort of continuity for many centuries, contains a broad diversity of approaches to death.6 As I will show, the coordinates that I will suggest function as axes at different points along which the phenomena are to be examined. The conception of axes is necessary because of the great diversity of sources, regions, and periods that this culture encompasses, and because of its links with neighbouring cultures, primarily the pagan, Christian, and Muslim. These ties are expressed in the conceptions of death and accompanying customs. I will present several conceptions, some theoretical, and others anchored in the historical context. 1 Death as a reality and as an idea The main distinction that we should make is the one between death as an idea and death as a reality. Needless to say, reading about death and related issues such as the afterlife, is something totally different than experiencing the death of someone near or dear. This distinction is relevant also for Jewish literature about death. Death as an idea appears almost everywhere. The following are the main types of sources in which shared or singular conceptions of death can be characterized: the Bible, rabbinic literature (while noting the distinction between the Land of Israel and Babylonia),7 geonic literature, ethical teaching and homiletic literature (philosophical, rabbinical, kabbalistic, and that of the Ashkenazi pietists), Jewish philosophy, kabbala,8 halakha, custom, piyyuṭ 5 Joseph Weiss, Studies in Braslav Hasidism, ed. by Mendel Piekarz (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1975), p. 173. 6 See for example Simcha Paull Raphael, Jewish Views of the Afterlife (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1994); Chaim Z. Rozwasky, Jewish Meditations on the Meaning of Death (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1994); Michael Swirsky (ed.), At the Threshold: Jewish Meditations on Death (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1996); Shmuel Glick, Light and Consolation: The Development of Jewish Consolation Practices, Eng. trans. Fern Seckbach (Jerusalem: Ori Foundation, 2004); Maurice Lamm, The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning (Middle Village, NY: J. David Publishers, 2000); Yechezkel Shraga Lichtenstein, Consecrating and Profane: Rituals Preformed and Prayers Recited at Cemeteries and Burial Cites of the Pious Midrash (Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Hameuhad, 2007); and the various citations in this paper. 7 Nissan Rubin, The End of Life: Rites of Mourning in the Talmud and Midrash, (Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Hameuhad, 1977). 8 See Moshe Idel, ‘The Light of Life: Kabbalistic Eschatology’, Sanctity of Life and Martyrdom: Studies in Memory of Amir Yekutiel, ed. by Isaiah Gafni and Aviezer Ravitzky (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Shazar Center, 1992), pp. 191–211; Yehuda Liebes, ‘Two Young Roes of a Doe: The Secret Jewish Attitudes towards Death: A Society between Time, Space and Texts 5 (liturgical hymns) and poetry,9 popular literature in Jewish languages,10 and material culture.11 Wherever Jews lived we find texts on death, the most prominent among these being the specific conceptions of death found in the Land of Israel and Babylonia, Philo, Byzantium, Ashkenaz in the period of the Ashkenaz pietists, Spain, Italy, Poland, and the Islamic lands. Most of these belong to the realm of death as an idea. Yet there are also texts that belong to the realm of death as a reality, or combining both aspects. These are mainly the genre that comprises books for the sick and the dying which I will discuss below. 2 Presence and absence There is an occupation with death in all the centres just listed, which include almost all the spheres of Jewish culture and its literary corpus (possibly similar to the standing of this topic in human culture as a whole). Notwithstanding this, such an occupation co-exists with a significant Jewish cultural choice, concerning the marginality of death. This marginality finds expression in the fact that in almost every realm of Jewish creativity the occupation with death is partial and generally brief. As well phrased by Meir Benayahu, in his important study of death customs, ‘everyone is present in times of joy and no one is present in times of sorrow or grief’.12 This is not necessarily true for some of the public Jewish mourning customs, such as the shiv‘a, which is sometimes crowded,13 but it is certainly true for the study of death in Judaism, which is still in its initial stages, especially in comparison with the study of death in other cultures, mainly western. Sermon of Isaac Luria Before his Death’, Lurianic Kabbala, ed. by Rachel Elioar and Yehuda Liebes (Hebrew: Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought X) 1992, pp. 113–69. 9 See Raymond P. Scheindlin, Wine Women and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life (New York et al.: Oxford University Press, 1999). 10 See Eli Yassif, Jewish Folklore: An Annotated Bibliography (New York: Gerland, 1986). 11 See Michael Brocke and Christiane E. Müller, Haus des Lebens: Jüdische Friedhöfe in Deutschland (Leipzig: Reclam, 2001). 12 Meir Benayahu, Ma‘amadot u-Moshavot (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Yad Harav Nissim, 1985), p. 8. 13 See for example Samuel C. Heilman, When a Jew Dies: The Ethnography of a Bereaved Son (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001). 6 Avriel Bar-Levav 3 A society between time, space and texts Jewish attitudes towards death are delineated by four parameters: society, time, space and texts. In Jewish culture (as well as in other cultures) death is a social phenomenon.14 It is forbidden, for example, to leave a dying person alone. Moreover, the ritual of saying the qaddish, which is central among the Jewish mourning rituals, can be said only in a minyan, that is a group of ten men. One needs to have a community in order to mourn properly or to mark properly days of remembrance (by reciting the qaddish), such as the yearly yahrzeit. Time is another factor – mourning rituals being timed for seven days (shiv‘a), thirty days, a year and then the annual day of remembrance. The dead are mentioned (by saying texts in synagogue) at certain times of the year – Yom Kippur and the three festivals. Again this can be done, according to the Jewish law, only when there is a minyan. The space of the dead is the cemetery, which is the most minor factor of the four. The space of the mourners is the home (during the shiv‘a) and then the synagogue, where the qaddish is recited. 4 Marginality and centrality Jewish culture’s basic position regarding death and the dead is in various respects to accord them a marginal standing. The occupation with death is marginal, and in some ways so are the dead themselves. Using the four parameters given above, death is marginal in time – mourning is structured and restricted to certain times and therefore is not supposed to be expressed in other times; regarding space – the dead are put in the cemetery which is almost always isolated and marginal; and, in the matter of society, death is also socially marginal, and has only a limited place in the Jewish community. These are different categories, but they share this marginality. In the Garden of Eden narrative, death is presented as a punishment for the primordial sin. The central expression of this marginality is the impurity of the corpse, which is the deepest form of impurity: the corpse is the progenitor of impurity, from which all ritual impurity is derived. And (since the time of the talmudic rabbis) cemeteries have been located on the outskirts of settle- 14 See Richard Huntington and Peter Metcalf, Celebrations of Death: The Anthropology of Mortuary Ritual (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979). Jewish Attitudes towards Death: A Society between Time, Space and Texts 7 ments, as a marginal quarter whose inhabitants are marginal.15 The Bible mentions other burial possibilities, including family burial, in which the situation is different, but beginning in the talmudic period, and especially since the medieval period, Jewish cemeteries acquired a nature similar to what we now know. Jewish mourning practices restrict the possibility of expressing any connection with the dead, and they are limited to fixed and delineated times and modes. Nonetheless, there are periods and places in which death has a more noticeable presence. The main (and almost sole) day in which the presence of death is palpable is Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), in the liturgical context and ancillary philosophical conceptions of which much attention is paid to death. This is because of its perception as a day of judgement, and because the prayer includes the Yizkor ceremony of mentioning the dead. The Yom Kippur prayer service is perceived as encompassing both the living and the dead, in which the living pray and can be of avail to the dead, and the dead, too, come to the synagogue. R. Moshe Isserles cites R. Ya‘aqov Weil: ‘Therefore Yom Ha-Kippurim is in the plural – for the living and for the dead.’ 16 The High Holy Days, of which Yom Kippur is part, are also the period in which the cemetery has a more central place than the rest of the year, and it is customary to visit the cemetery and conduct various rites, such as that of encompassing the cemetery with a string that is afterwards used as wicks for the Sabbath candles. Elsewhere I have set forth eight cultural functions of the Jewish cemetery: neighbourhood, gate or portal, communication centre, stage, setting or backdrop, refuge, trap, and centre of identity17. Each of these roles reflects a different aspect of the cemetery’s cultural significance.18 The cemetery is what Michel Foucalt called ‘heterotopia’, that is, ‘another space’, one that is beyond any place, but nevertheless possible, specifically because it is one that encompasses all places. As such, the cemetery reflects social values in a complex fashion. 15 On the cemetery in Jewish culture see Avriel Bar-Levav, ‘We Are Where We Are Not: The Cemetery in Jewish Culture’, Jewish Studies, 41 (2002), pp. 15*–46*. 16 See Avriel Bar-Levav, ‘The Concept of Death in Sefer ha-Ḥayyim (The Book of Life) by Rabbi Shimon Frankfurt’, doctoral dissertation (Hebrew; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997), p. 180. 17 See Bar-Levav, ‘The Cemetery’. 18 See Elliot S. Horowitz, ‘Speaking to the Dead: Cemetery Prayer in Medieval and Early Modern Jewry’, Journal of Jewish Thought & Philosophy, 8 (1999), pp. 303–17. 8 Avriel Bar-Levav 5 Punishment or desideratum Most Jewish conceptions view death as something daunting and disheartening, which is to be avoided or delayed, if possible. Thus, it is related that Moses and King David sought to defer their deaths, to the extent that the Angel of Death, who executes the divine sentence, had to outwit them in order to fulfill his mission. At the other end of this scale is the notion that death (to be precise, mystical death) can be the culmination of a theurgic or unio-mystical process. Such, for example, was the death of R. Simeon bar Yoḥai, as related in the Zohar. The death of Moses, too, at least according to some conceptions, possessed such a dimension, but more prominent in his case is the legitimization – rare in the Jewish sources – of expressing fear of one’s own death. A phenomenon of another sort, namely, choosing death, also exists in instances of Qiddush ha-Shem (martyrdom), both in practice – for example, during the time of the Crusades, as we learn from the important book by Shmuel Shepkaru19 – and as a matter of principle, as in the spiritual aspiration to die a martyr’s death for the ‘Sanctification of the Name of God’ that appears in the mystical diary of R. Joseph Caro, Maggid Mesharim.20 6 Disintegration and combination Death is perceived as the disintegration of an integral wholeness: ‘And the dust returns to the ground as it was, and the lifebreath returns to God who bestowed it’ (Eccl 12:7). This dismantling is not total, and according to most understandings, a certain connection remains between the material part that is consumed after death and interred in the grave, and the spirit or soul, and this bond turns the grave into the address of the deceased’s personality. When people desire to address a deceased person, they usually go to his or her grave. For example, the book Ma‘ane Lashon, that was printed in scores of editions and with textual variations in Central Europe beginning in the middle of the sixteenth century, includes personal prayers to be recited at the grave of rela19 See Shmuel Shepkaru, Jewish Martyrs in the Pagan and Christian World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 20 See R. J. Z. Werblowsky, Joseph Karo: Lawyer and Mystic (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1977); Joseph R. Hacker, ‘Was the Sanctification of the Name Transformed in the Early Modern Period Towards Spirituality?’, Sanctity of Life and Martyrdom: Studies in Memory of Amir Yekutiel, ed. by Isaiah Gafni and Aviezer Ravitzky (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Shazar Center, 1992), pp. 221–32. Jewish Attitudes towards Death: A Society between Time, Space and Texts 9 tives, teachers, rabbis, and the like. This is a point of connection between the dead and a certain space, their space, which becomes also a partial space for the people who come to visit them. This disintegration is not only between the body and the soul, but also between the different parts of the soul. Thus, for example, Sefer Ḥasidim explains what enables the deceased to appear in a dream: 324. If two good people took an oath or pledged together during their lifetime, that if one were to die he would tell his fellow how it is in that world, whether in a dream or awake – if in a dream, the spirit will come and whisper in the ear of the living, or in his mind, as the angel of dreams does. And if they took an oath to speak with the other while awake, the dead will ask of the appointed angel to represent him as a garbed figure, and the dissipated spirit will come together, until he speaks with his fellow whom he promised to inform. How can he check that what appears to him is not a demon and a destructive agent? He is to adjure him, which would not be a case of uttering the name of Heaven in vain. Furthermore, the dead cannot mention [the name of God] Yah, because by it this world and the world to come were created, for he [the deceased] is beyond these worlds. And it is written [Ps 115:17]: ‘The dead cannot praise the Lord’ but rather [Ps 150:6]: ‘Let all that breathes praise the Lord.’ A situation is depicted in which there is an obligation to communicate between the dead and the living. The friends took an oath to give each other information regarding ‘that world’ – the world to come, where one goes after death. The oath taken by the living person obligates him when dead, as well. Since, however, death is the dissolution of the components of the individual’s identity, he must, in order to appear before the living and fulfil his obligation, ask the angel responsible for the dead (according to some conceptions this is the angel Duma, to whom the biblical phrase [Ps 115:17] ‘who go down into silence [dumah]’ refers) to represent him as a garbed figure, that is, an astral figure visible to the living, and bring together the dispersed parts of the soul that separated upon death. The dead of this type who return to the world of the living are similar in appearance to demons, hence the need to confirm that this emissary is indeed that deceased, and not a demon imposter. Sefer Ḥasidim suggests a technique for examining the origin of the astral entity with whom the living meets and who delivers this information. The conception of disintegration and combination is one instance in which the Jewish conceptions resemble those in other cultures, as demonstrated by Metcalf and Huntington. 10 Avriel Bar-Levav 7 Vestibule and banquet hall: this world and the world to come ‘R. Ya‘aqov says: This world is like a vestibule before the world to come. Prepare yourself in the vestibule, that you may enter into the banquet hall’ (mAvot 4.16). R. Ya‘aqov’s dictum distinguishes between this world, in which we live, and the world to come, where we will go after death. It is claimed that the next world is the more important, and therefore one should make efforts in this world to attain a suitable standing there. This world is one of action and building, while the next is the world in which recompense is given for the actions done in this world. According to some conceptions, the world to come is divided into Paradise, the region of reward, and Gehinnom, the zone of punishment. According to another understanding, the souls come to the Throne of Glory, and as Rami Reiner shows in a brilliant article, this conception is reflected on tombstones in Ashkenaz.21 R. Naḥman wrote of this world and the world to come in his book Liqquṭei Maharan: He spoke with us several times concerning the tribulations of this world, in which all are replete with sufferings; there is not a single person who possesses this world. And even the great wealthy ones, and even the mighty ones, do not possess this world at all, for all their days are anger and pains. All are filled with cares and sadness, woe and anguish always. Each one has his own tribulations, nor are there any among the worthies and the princes for whom everything is in order as he wishes always, but every single one is filled with suffering and cares, always […] there is no advice and stratagem to save one from this toil and woe, save to flee to the Lord, may He be blessed, and to be occupied with the Torah […] Our master, may his memory be for a blessing, answered: Behold, all say that there is both this world and the world to come. Concerning the world to come – all believe that there is a world to come. It is also possible that there is this world, too, as some sort of world, for here it seems to be Gehinnom, since all are filled with great sufferings, always. And he said, ‘this world’ does not seem to exist at all. (Liqqutei Maharan 2.119, http://breslev.eip.co.il/?key=296) In his typical way, R. Naḥman presents a paradox, according to which the poles of human existence are Gehinnom in the here and now, while Paradise comes only after death. 21 See Abraham (Rami) Reiner, ‘Blessings for the Dead in Ashkenzi Tombstones in the Medieval Period’, Zion, 76 (Hebrew; 2011), pp. 5–28. Jewish Attitudes towards Death: A Society between Time, Space and Texts 11 8 The souls are within the appearance of the bodies Sefer Ḥasidim, which is an important source for conceptions and notions relating to death, contains the idea that the state of the corpse in the grave, the condition of the grave itself, its location relative to other graves and those interred, and the maintenance of the cemetery, all influence the souls of the dead. This principle is formulated thus: ‘The souls are within the appearance of the bodies.’ The state of the corpse impacts on that of the soul, and the condition of the soul influences the process undergone by the buried body. ‘Appearance’ here denotes the reflection of the soul in the body, and the reverse.22 331. A person washing a corpse must be careful not to leave any dirt on its flesh, and similarly, one who places the corpse in the grave and lays him down must take care that there not be dirt on his face, for this is shameful for him, because the souls are within the appearance of the bodies. The principle ‘the souls are within the appearance of the bodies’ is reciprocal, and in certain matters the bodies, too, are within the appearance of the souls. The bodies of people at a high level of sanctity do not deteriorate and decompose. ‘There were seven over whom the worms had no dominion’ (bB. Bat. 17a). The passage concerned with the attire of the righteous and of the wicked in the world to come refers to an examination of the corpse in the grave as confirming the words of the deceased in a dream. When the body is stripped of its shrouds, the soul, too, remains ‘naked’. 335. Two disagreed: One said that the garments of the wicked, who are adorned with the choicest ornaments, are removed, and they are placed on the righteous, who do not wear fine shrouds because of their poverty. And his fellow said: Many righteous who were stripped of their clothing came in a dream to the people of the city where they were naked, and they asked to be dressed; and they checked, and found that they had been stripped. R. Yannai gave orders not to dress them – meaning that one should not be undressed and another dressed with the same garments. According to one opinion, if the garments of the righteous are not fine enough according to his standing, then in the world of truth a wicked one must be stripped in order to clothe him. This undressing fulfills the goal of depriving the wicked of a standing of which he is undeserving, that of a dead person 22 See Avriel Bar-Levav, ‘Death and the (Blurred) Boundaries of Magic: Strategies of Coexistence’, Kabbalah, 7 (2002), pp. 51–64. 12 Avriel Bar-Levav dressed ‘with the choicest ornaments’. The garments of the dead here are seemingly limited in number, and they can be interchanged among themselves, but no new ones can be produced. Diametrically opposed to this are positions such as those held by Maimonides and other Jewish philosophers, that the immortality of the soul means adherence to the Active Intellect, with no trace of the preservation of the personal identity. 9 The burial society and the importance of burial In Jewish society the main, and almost only, method of treatment of the corpse is burial. The Bible also mentions other possibilities (without directives for burial), such as embalming and cremation. In the time of the early talmudic rabbis the predominant practice consisted of the collection of the bones after the flesh had been consumed and their reinterment in secondary burial, while beginning in the early medieval period burials were conducted in a manner similar to the present practice. Burial in a Jewish cemetery is perceived as valuable and meritorious (related to the conception that the souls are ‘within the appearance of the bodies’). Burial societies are mentioned in general terms in the Palestinian Talmud, but the first substantial testimonies to their existence are known to us from Spain. Until the sixteenth century Jewish burials were conducted, in an unorganized fashion, by members of the community. The sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries witnessed the development of the ḥevra qaddisha, the burial society, that attended to the burial of the dead, and became a central society among the many societies in this period.23 Initially there were three classes within the burial society: (1) leaders or officers; (2) an interim class; (3) ‘mlatch’ – apprentices. The burial society had verbal and practical tasks. Its verbal roles included prayers, the conducting of ceremonies, and the like. Its practical functions including bearing the corpse, the technical aspects of purification, the digging of the grave and the actual burial. The status of the practical roles was relatively low, and these were assigned to members of low standing, and at times to hired individuals who were not members of the society. It should be stressed that the process of the ritual fashioning of death in the early modern period paralleled the development of the burial society and its standing. The first books to appear in Italy of the type of Sifrei Ḥolim u-Metim (‘Books for the Sick and Dying’), Ṣari la-Nefesh u-Marpe la-Eṣem (‘Balm for the 23 See Sylvie-Anne Goldberg, Crossing the Jabbok: Illness and Death in Ashkenazi Judaism in Sixteenth- through Nineteenth-Century Prague (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996). Jewish Attitudes towards Death: A Society between Time, Space and Texts 13 Soul and a Cure for the Bone’) by R. Leone (Yehuda Aryeh) Modena, and Ma‘avar Yabboq by R. Aharon Berekhia of Modena, were written at the request of burial society members, who were desirous of infusing their task with religious and spiritual content.24 10 The importance of rites of passage: a proper death and books for the sick and the dying The rise in the importance of the burial society led to the spread among the public at large of the idea, previously current among the circles of the elite, of the ‘proper’ or ‘good’ death – a ceremonial death, one accompanied by rites of passage conducted by those around the deceased and by the recitation of texts. In a broader sense, the significance of a proper death is that life is perceived as a preparation for death. The ceremonies conducted before death appeared in dozens of ‘books for the sick and the dying’, that were printed in hundreds of editions. When first fashioned, the conception of a proper death contained two components, one relating to the individual who passed away, and the other to those around him. The anchoring of the proper death in a social context is so strong that there could hardly be a proper death without the presence of additional people, and the books for the sick and the dying even prefer a minyan (quorum of ten) when the soul expires. The social participation in a proper death seemingly lessens, if only to some degree, a part of the dying person’s loneliness, since he is not alone, but is the focal point of the group’s attention. The group acts in an effective, defined, and structured manner, taking an active part in the process. By its actions it demonstrates the concern it feels for the sick one. It should be noted, however, that the group keeps the dying person’s family at arm’s length. The degree to which this distancing harms the individual and his family depends on the way in which the family functions during this event, and on the possibility of their taking their leave of the dying person in a meaningful manner. 24 See Avriel Bar-Levav, ‘Leon Modena and the Invention of the Jewish Death Tradition’, The Lion Shall Roar: Leon Modena and his World, ed. by David Malkiel (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Magnes Press and Ben-Zvi Inistiute, 2003), pp. 85–101; Bar-Levav, ‘Games of Death in Jewish Books for the Sick and the Dying’, Kabbalah, 5 (2000), pp. 11–33; Elliot S. Horowitz, ‘The Jews of Europe and the Moment of Death in Medieval and Modern Times’, Judaism, 44 (1995), pp. 271– 281. 14 Avriel Bar-Levav 11 Death affording a moral perspective Death affords an absolute point of reference for life and its accomplishments, with an inherent moral perspective. A prime example of this thought appears in mAvot (2.10), that advises: ‘Repent one day before your death.’ The Babylonian Talmud (bŠab. 123a) presents the lack of knowledge of the time of one’s death as a motive for a perpetual state of repentance: R. Eli‘ezer says: Repent one day before your death. His students asked R. Eli‘ezer: But does a person know on which day he will die? He answered: All the more so – let him repent today lest he die tomorrow, hence throughout his life he will be in a state of repentance. The concept that the time of death is the time of truth, a notion that is close to that of the moral perspective afforded by death, also influenced the laws of acquisition, for example, as in the cases of gifts given by one mortally ill, the last wills of those contemplating death. The moral perspective may also be understood in the sense that an improper life is like a living death. Thus, we find in the following poem, Elegy, by Pinḥas Sadeh:25 There, at the edge of the vale, lies a dead lad. How beautiful is his face in its cold paleness. Only at moments does it quiver When the memory of his first love touches him. Sleep, precious lad. How good it is to sleep in the vale. How deep is the silence, how quiet the grass. I am that lad. Don’t see that I am alive. Only for moments when I awaken will I know how dead I am. The poem contrasts awareness (wakefulness) with death. Only by awakening can man sense the existence of death in his life. I would like to conclude with a re-examination of the question of the centrality or marginality of death in Jewish life. A midrash in Yalquṭ Shim‘oni portrays the journey in the wilderness of the Ark of the Covenant, alongside which is the coffin in which, at his request, the bones of Joseph are taken to the Land of Israel: Joseph’s coffin [aron] went alongside the ark [aron] of the Eternal. The nations would say: What is the nature of these two chests [aronot]? They [the Israelites] would reply: This one is the coffin of a corpse, and that one is the ark of the Eternal. The nations would ask them: Why is this dead person important enough to accompany the ark of the Eternal? They replied: The one lying in this coffin fulfilled what is written in the other (Yalquṭ Shim‘oni, Exodus 227). 25 Pinḥas Sadeh, Collected Poems (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Schocken), 2005, p. 206. Jewish Attitudes towards Death: A Society between Time, Space and Texts 15 This passage contains an echo of the parallelism between Scripture and the body of a holy man, with the act linking them: ‘The one lying in this coffin fulfilled what is written on that.’26 The Torah is a Torah of life, and the Talmud states that the lips of a (deceased) Torah scholar in whose name a teaching is reported move gently in the grave. But there is also a sense in which the time when the teachings of previous generations are read and studied is also the time of the dead. I wish to suggest that this study, that is mainly of texts whose authors are deceased, and the rest, of texts by authors who will die in the future, also contains another dimension, namely, allotting places to the dead and their teachings. Thus, the question of the marginality and centrality of death becomes extremely complicated. The two arguments about the place of death are complementary and not contradictory, and together paint a complex picture. The cemetery is not only a heterotopia, but also the place of Jewish texts. If we view study, that is so central in Jewish culture, as a type of connection with the dead, then it may be possible to say that there is a deep structure in which death is not only not marginal, but that a certain aspect of it – the creative product of the dead – is at the centre of the Jewish experience. 26 On this topic see Adiel Kadari, ‘This one fulfilled what is written in that one’: On an Early Burial Practice in its Literary and Artistic Contexts’, Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period, 41.2 (2010), pp. 191–213. Death in Jewish Life Burial and Mourning Customs Among Jews of Europe and Nearby Communities Edited by Stefan C. Reif, Andreas Lehnardt and Avriel Bar-Levav DE GRUYTER