This  issue is in honor of

Major Yehoraz Kasher z”l

1 Sivan 5726 – 27 Tishrei 5752

21 April 1966 – 5 October 1991

 

“WHEN JARED HAD LIVED 162 YEARS, HE BEGOT ENOCH. AFTER THE BIRTH OF ENOCH, JARED LIVED 800 YEARS… ALL THE DAYS OF ENOCH CAME TO 365 YEARS… THEN HE WAS NO MORE, FOR GOD TOOK HIM.”  (Bereishit 5:18-24)

 

“And he was no more, for God had killed him” (Targum Unkelos)

“… and the reason that Scripture described his death differently , saying “he was no more” [able] to complete his years, for He took him before his time, as with “I am about to take away the delight of your eyes from you” (Ezekiel 24:16) (Rashi)

And Jared lived, after the death of Enoch, 435 years.

 

 

“Whoever sheds tears over an “adam  kasher” – a worthy person – The Holy One, Blessed Be He, counts them and places them in his treasury”

(TractateShabbat 105b)

“Said Resh Lakish: There are seven heavens, and they are:

Vilon, Rakia, Shehakim,Zevul, Maon, Machon, Aravoth…

“Aravoth” – in which are justice, judgement, and charity, the treasuries of life and the treasuries of peace and the treasuries of blessing, and the souls of the righteous . . .

As is written “ The life of my lord will be bound up in the bundle of life in the care of the Lord your God” (I Samuel , 25:29)

(According to Tractate Haggiga 12a)

 

 

 

“AND A LIVING ONE SHOULD TAKE IT TO HIS HEART”

Asa Kasher

 

A.

In the Jewish bookcase, the title “Massechet Semachot” – “Tractate of Joyous Occasions” could have been encouraging; “Tractate”, which offers the wisdom of the ancients and the fragrance of their words, “Joyous Occasions” which, not being part of people’s general routine, are to be greatly desired.

          But the title “Massechet Semachot” is a euphemism for a tractate which, in the Talmud, is termed “Evel Rabbati” – “The Major [Book of] Mourning”.  “Mourning”, because its subject matter is death and all things related, most of it on the public scale, a minority dealing with the individual; “Major”, in order to distinguish between it and another tractate, “Evel Zutrati” – “The Minor [Book of] Mourning”. The latter appeared in manuscript under the title “Semachoth of Rabbi Hiyya”; in its first printed edition of 112 years ago, it was called “Minor [Tractate] Semachot.”

A special edition of these two minor tractates appeared  50 years ago, with an interesting preface by Dr. Yeshaayahu Leibowitz. The tome was edited by Efrayim P. Kaminka, of “Mikveh Yisrael”, published by “HaOved Hadati” – “The Religious Worker”, and the following rationale was offered: “Massechet Semachot is a Talmudic tractate… which was studied by the Children of Israel in their days of mourning over their departed.”  The edition now before us was penned in days of mourning over the editor’s son Oded, “and I dedicate it to all fathers who lost their sons and to all other mourners of Zion and Yerushalayim in our day.”

          Leibowitz’s preface arouses interest, because he rarely wrote about death and mourning.

“We have before us an ancient book, in new attire, a book relevant for our current generation [the first year of the State]  in two respects: It deals with matters of mourning – and many are the mourners in our midst; it deals with matters of death – we are all engaged in a supreme effort to establish new life, but death is part of every action taken;  we live in the shadow of death.”

Uncharacteristically, Liebowitz suggests a psychological reason for the laws of mourning: “Our Torah is a torah of life… inasmuch as death is a part of life, it is understandable  that it deals with it, too,” in its typical approach: “It combines a cosmic- metaphysical feeling in the face of the grandeur of death and its terror, with a realistic approach to the needs of the living mourner.” The composite of the two “combines respect for the deceased with solace for the living, thus diminishing and softening the pain. The shifting of mourning’s center of gravity from memory of the departed to remembrance of the obligations and the mitzvot imposed upon the living with regards to the demise of the departed, keeping the mourner engaged in all the conventions of the laws of mourning in order to divert his attention – are evidence of a most deep and sensitive psychological approach.” These are interesting thoughts, but I find none of them acceptable, neither on the factual level, nor on the explanatory level.

Does the combination of respect for the dead and consolation for the living really “diminish and soften the pain?” If “consolation” means expression of  words of reason and comfort, how do we know that there exist words capable of lessening the pain? If “consolation” means transfer from the picture of the emotions of “a world destroyed” to a picture of the emotions of “life as usual”, how do we know that such transfer has the power to soften the pain? In my view,  no words of commiseration – be they beautiful and fine, pleasant and desirable --  can remedy the deep pain over loss of a child. In my opinion, the more obvious and assured the attempt to uproot feelings, not only does it not “diminish and soften the pain”, it deepens and intensifies it.

Is indeed “the shifting of mourning’s center of gravity from memory of the departed to remembrance of the obligations and the mitzvot” evidence of a “deep psychological approach” to the inner world of the mourner? Is “keeping the mourner engaged in all the conventions of the laws of mourning in order to divert his attention” evidence of a “most sensitive psychological approach?”  Perhaps any attempt to move “mourning’s center of gravity” is, first and foremost, evidence of a psychological concept relevant to the inner world of the stranger, the non-mourner, who wishes to avoid the issue. Perhaps every attempt to  “engage the mourner” in conventions  “in order to divert his attention” is also primarily evidence of a psychological approach regarding the inner world of the distant person, who does not wish to come close, who  does not wish to be part of the mourners. Remembering the deceased is bound up with remembrance of death. Therefore, remembrance of the deceased is tied up with emotions which seem to him, in his unfamiliarity, in his distance, too difficult to bear. Therefore he flees, runs for his life,  from the pain.  Therefore he seeks “the shifting of the point of gravity”, not in the world of the mourner, but in his – the stranger’s – own world. Therefore he seeks “to divert the attention”, not of the mourner, but of himself, the distancing one.

          Yet more. The desire to engage the mourner in “remembrance of the obligations and the mitzvot” and in “the conventions of the laws of mourning” is not only not grounded in a “most deep and sensitive” psychological understanding of the soul of the bereaved; it expresses a value system, religious in content, total in scope, ritual in form. It is an approach which comes to protect man from the danger of addiction to his powerful, stormy emotions. It is an approach which is prepared to subjugate man’s feelings which burn within him incessantly, to put man’s tumultuous emotions – which uncontrollably roil within him – into ritual casts (“three… seven… thirty…”).  It is not a “most deep and sensitive psychological approach” which is revealed to us in a system of “obligations and mitzvot imposed upon the living in relation to the death of the deceased”, and in all the “conventions of the laws of mourning” – but rather a religious approach, which comes to impose its supreme value even where there is pain, even within the wound, without compromise, without mercy.

 

B.

          Leibowitz’s preface to the tractate “Evel Rabbati” includes not only a section of a psychological nature; there is also a paragraph of a religious character. It’s first sentence reads: “Death is ‘the end of every man, and a living one should take it to heart.” (Kohelleth 7:2)  This sentence, which is not at all obvious, deserves reflection.

          The quoted verse presents us with a number of puzzles:

“It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of feasting;

for that is the end of every man,

and a living one should take it to heart.”

          This is the second in a serious of sayings in the format of “Better A than B”, beginning with “A good name is better than fragrant oil, and the day of death than the day of birth” (v. 1), continuing through the fifth saying “Better is the end of a matter than the beginning of it” (v. 5), culminating with the eighth saying of the series, “Better that you grasp the one without letting go of the other, for one who fears God will do his duty by both.” (v. 18). It is reasonable to assume that there is a connection between the second saying, the final clause of the first verse, and the fifth saying. It is possible that the verse preceding the entire series – “Who can possibly know what is best for a man to do in life… For  who can tell him  what the afterlife  holds for him…?” – is related to the second saying.  The passage “Wise men are drawn to a house of mourning, and fools to a house of merrymaking” (7:4) is certainly connected to it. We shall deal only with the passage partially quoted by Leibowitz and with its riddles.

 

Riddle One:

          The phrase “for that is the end of every man” raises a natural question: To what does “that” refer? According to the translators and commentators – and Leibowitz in their footsteps – “that” refers to death. But this prompts another question, seemingly simple, but actually difficult: If this is the correct meaning of the term, why does not the text say so openly; why “for that is the end of every man” and not “for death is the end of every man?”

          One might attempt to answer in terms of “indirect speech”. In one dictionary of euphemisms (“Pleasant Expressions” – substitutes for terms which may cause discomfort), an entire chapter is devoted to side-stepping the terms “deceased” and “death”, commencing with the interesting phrase “to rest in the bosom of Abraham” and ending with the familiar “go in the way of all flesh.”  In another compendium of thousands of expression regarding death, there is an amazing number of indirect terms, borrowed by this culture or that religion.  We have before us the title “Massechet Semachot” – the “Tractate of Joyous Occasions” – which comes to side-step the title “The Major Tractate of Mourning.”

          But as widespread as indirect speech is, it does not provide the solution to our riddle. Kohelleth does not seek to avoid the term “death”. Here is the closing clause of the preceding passage: “Better… the day of death than the day of birth.” The opening passage in another series of expressions: “A time for being born and a time for dying” (3:2). And there is that penetrating expression: “There is no authority over the day of death, and there is no mustering out from that war (8:8).  The first question remains: “… for that is the end of every man”; what is “that”?

 

Riddle Two:

          If death is the end of every man, why is it better to go to a “house of mourning”,  a place where death is remembered indirectly, than to a “beit olam” – “the house of the eternal” – the cemetery,  in which death is perceived directly? Kohelleth was familiar with the term "beit olam.” He makes use of it further on: “But man approaches his eternal abode (beit olamo)” (12:5). The riddle: Why does Kohelleth not employ the term here?

 

The solution to the second riddle will also solve the first riddle.

          Actually, “the end of every man” can be best discerned in “the house of mourning” – not only better than in the “house of merrymaking” – but even better than in the “house of eternal abode.”  In the house of mourning we see not only the obvious, not only “For who can tell him what the afterlife holds for him?” (6:12), not only “the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing” (9:5).  In the house of mourning we see that which is revealed to the tear-flowing eye, that which is not seen by the eyes which are unused to tears, that which is the nature of man in mourning: that saddest of all realizations – which must inevitably enwrap the helpless soul – that a person has gone to his final world, while other people remain behind, among the living.

          In the cemetery we see the man who went on to his world, in his twilight hours, at eventide, between the light of his life and the dark of his absence. In the house of mourning we see the man who went to his world, in the hearts of those who love him, in the hearts of those he loved.

          In the house of mourning we see the man who went to his world; he no longer lives on earth, but he lives in our hearts. It is not death which is “the end of every man: but the life in our hearts, as it is clearly expressed in the “house of mourning”. “It is better to go to a house of mourning… for that”, the house of mourning, embodies “the end of every man”, dwelling in our hearts. He does not live on earth, but he is not forgotten by the heart. He lives in our hearts.

 

          “And the living one should take it to his heart”

          The commentators concerned themselves, of course, with the obvious question: What should the living one take to his heart? Rabbi Meir replied in a spirit of human compassion: “The living would take to his heart thoughts of death, that he, too, will be eulogized, and will be buried, and voices will raised in weeping and they will accompany the bier and will load it.”  (Tractate Ketubot, 72a, in free translation). Rashbam replies in a different spirit, a spirit of religious caution: “He contemplates man’s death, thereby he is deterred from sin.”

I think it proper to ask first: What is “the heart” of “the living”, to which he is to give that which he is to give? What is “his heart” in the world of Kohelleth? The text of Kohelleth speaks for itself. First of all, “I, Kohelleth, was king in Yerushalayim over Israel. I set my heart to study and to probe with wisdom all that happens under the sun,” (1:12-13). And “so I set my heart to appraise wisdom” (17). “My heart” – that is to say, the locus of wisdom, the house of understanding. “I set my heart” – i. e., I arrived at the understanding.  Secondly, “I denied myself no enjoyment;  rather,  I got enjoyment out of all my wealth”(2:10).  Similarly, “O youth, enjoy yourself while you are young! Let your heart lead you to enjoyment in the days of your youth. Follow the desires of your heart and the glances of your eyes” (11:9). “My heart”, meaning, the place of joy, the abode of emotions. “I set my heart”, i.e., I was able to feel.  Thus, “my heart” is the site of both understanding and of emotions.  “My heart” is the abode of both my thoughts and my feelings, of both my reasoned opinion and of the sentiments which storm within me.

          “And the living one should take it to his heart” – should bring into the home of wisdom and emotion – the “end of every man” as it is revealed in the “house of mourning”; one should internalize the understanding of the concept of life within the heart.

          And perhaps “the living” who “should take it to his heart” is not the living who goes to “the house of mourning”, but rather the living who dwells inside “the house of mourning”, i.e., the mourner, who “should take it to his heart”, should take to inside the home of understanding and the abode of emotion, his loved one who is no longer but who still is, who is no longer among the living on earth, but who is among the living in our hearts.

Prof. Asa Kasher holds the Laura Schwarz-Kipp Chair of Professional Ethics and Philosophy of Practice, and is Professor of Philosophy at Tel Aviv Universityas well as at the College of National Security.

 

 

יהי לבי תמים

העבר עיני מראות שוא

ואשא כפי                                                        

ראה כי פקודיך אהבתי  

זאת היתה לי

 

 

 

“… I knew Yehoraz when he was still a cadet in Officer Training course, and I was head of the Officer Training School. Already then I noticed his unique character. Yehoraz was a person of sterling quality, an unconventional officer, whose influence on his unit was above and beyond what is expected of a young officer of his rank and responsibility. Yehoraz was promoted to Company Commander, a position  which, in regular circumstances, is given to more experienced officers; this, because his commanding officers chose to appoint a serious, honest, and exacting commander, one possessing leadership ability and responsibility typical of officers in the Armored Corps.

Yehoraz was modest, having self-confidence which imbued his troops with confidence. They depended upon him, wanted to learn from him, and, most of all, wanted to emulate him.

No one who knew him did not respect him. He was described by all his acquaintances as an idealist, a patriot, and one possessing devotion without limit…”

Lt. General Shaul Mofaz

 

“Yehoraz was an excellent armored corps officer, exceptional in his tasks from many aspects. It was important to me that a young man like him should be convinced to remain in the I.D.F., because in that period we made a supreme effort in the Armored Corps to keep a number of outstanding officers, who would set an example for all the group. I know that had this terrible accident not occurred, Yehoraz would have returned at the end of his studies to the ranks of the combat command in the Armored Corps, inside his knapsack the baton of a general.”

                                                                   Maj. General Yossi Ben-Hanan

 

 

 “I was commander of two divisions with which Yehoraz had a special connection…

In my discussions with the staff and with trainees, I discerned that they had exceptional respect for – and high evaluation of – Yehoraz: “Urim and Tumim” in professional matters, an image and model for emulation, practicing leadership which is quiet, considered, and intelligent, very stable and confident. During my talks with him, I also discerned strictness and thoroughness, as well as curiosity, inquisitiveness, and constructive criticism…

These meetings enabled me to know Yehoraz not only as an officer knows his troops, but as a person knows his partner to conversation… I learned to know the humility, foreign to obeisance to the material which had already spread in our midst. I came to know a commander who recognized a need to serve his people and to contribute to our state, and I succeeded most of all in seeing his love for his soldiers.

With his demise, you have lost a dear and beloved son and brother. We lost a soldier, an officer, an educator, a friend, and an exemplary person.”

Maj. General Amos Malka

 

Address of Izkor site: http://www.izkor.mod.gov.il

Address of Technion related site::

http://www-visl.technion.ac.il/eeprojects/Kasher

 

 

Editorial Board: Pinchas Leiser (Editor), Miriam Fine (Coordinator), Itzhak Frankenthal and Dr. Menachem Klein

Translation: Kadish Goldberg

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