Living with Grief
Rabbi Tom Samuels
Fall 2020
When I think about the Biblical character Noah, what first to my mind is not the ark, the animals two-by-two, even the Great Flood. Instead, I see a man ravaged by guilt, emotionally destroyed, writhing on the threshing floor. A broken man in a perpetual drunk stupor. Noach had survived the catastrophe of the Flood. Watched in silence as the entire world was utterly destroyed before his eyes. Once the waters had subsided and the earth once more habitable, God commands Noah to leave the ark:
צֵ֖א מִן־הַתֵּבָ֑ה אַתָּ֕ה וְאִשְׁתְּךָ֛ וּבָנֶ֥יךָ וּנְשֵֽׁי־בָנֶ֖יךָ אִתָּֽךְ׃,
“Come out of the ark, together with your wife, your sons, and your sons’ wives.” (Genesis 8:16)
The Talmud (Sanhedrin 108b) notes the processional’s order, with Noah leaving the ark, hand-in-hand with his wife, and his son’s with their wives. Like wedding couples after the Chuppah ceremony rushing to the Cheder Yichud, these remnants of humanity are commanded to restart their lives, and by extension, all human life:
וַיְבָרֶךְ אֱלֹקים, אֶת-נֹחַ וְאֶת-בָּנָיו; וַיֹּאמֶר לָהֶם פְּרוּ וּרְבוּ, וּמִלְאוּ אֶת-הָאָרֶץ,
“God blessed Noah and his sons, and said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth.’” (Genesis 9:1)
But, how could Noah possible continue-on with his life? Have babies and inflict the scourges of human fragility on to the innocent? If, Noach asks himself, chaos and destruction is inevitable, part-and-parcel of being human, then what is the point? Why continue on? Why bring new life into this chasm of inevitable suffering?
The 16th-century Chief Rabbi of Prague, Shlomo Ephraim ben Aaron Luntschitz (1550-1619), the Kli Yakar, imagines Noach saying to himself, “… they will continue to sin, and the waters of the flood will come and wash them away. And why should one give birth into this emptiness and chaos?”
Perhaps Noach was flawed? Not up to the task? Perhaps a greater person would have been able to emerge from the ark psychologically more intact? The Torah introduces Noach as a righteous man, albeit with a qualifier:
אֵלֶּה תּוֹלְדֹת נֹחַ. נֹחַ אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹרֹתָיו,
“Noach was a pure and righteous man in his generation…” (Genesis 6:9)
RASHI, the great medieval French commentator Shlomo Yitzchaki (1040-1105) raises the famous rabbinical debate about Noach’s character:
בדורותיו: יש מרבותינו דורשים אותו לשבח, כל שכן שאלו היה בדור צדיקים היה צדיק יותר, ויש שדורשים אותו לגנאי, לפי דורו היה צדיק, ואלו היה בדורו של אברהם לא היה נחשב לכלום,
“In his generation - Some of our rabbis read this as praise, as if to say ‘Even in his generation, all the more so if he were in a righteous generation!’ But some read it as a critique, as if to say, ‘He was righteous in his generation, but if he had been in the generation of Abraham, he would have been considered a nothing!’”
On the one hand, RASHI notes, Noach could be seen as a great man who single-handedly salvaged all of Creation. On the other hand, in comparison to the likes of an Abraham, Noach was not much more than what my friend Evan described as a “cleanest dirty shirt.”
There is even a Midrash which challenges Noach’s integrity, as someone only interested in his own self, unwilling or unable to be there for others and to trust in God:
ויבא נח ובניו ואשתו וגו א"ר יוחנן נח מחוסר אמנה היה אלולי שהגיעו המים עד קרסוליו לא נכנס לתיבה,
“Noah came [into the ark because of the water” - that is, only because of the water]…Noah was lacking in faith, and if the waters had not reached his ankles, he would not have gone into the ark.” (Genesis Rabba 32:6)
Noach leaves the ark and spends the rest of his days “dropping out,” minus the “tuning in and tuning on”:
וַיִּטַּע כָּרֶם וַיֵּשְׁתְּ מִן-הַיַּיִן וַיִּשְׁכָּר, “Noah planted a vineyard, and drank from the wine, and got drunk…” (Genesis 9:20-21)
How then, do we deal with the death and despair? How do we process loss and trauma? How do we not become entirely about memory and loss, to the exclusion of the present let alone the future?
First, the Talmud (Babylonian Talmud, Moed Katan 7b) warns against mourning too much:
ואמר רב יהודה אמר רב כל המתקשה על מתו יותר מדאי על מת אחר הוא בוכה
“Rav Yehuda says to Rav: whoever indulges, weeps too much in grief over the death of someone, will end up weeping for another.”
The Talmud continues with a story about a mother of seven sons. One son dies. Rav Huna warns that the mother's obsession with the loss of her son is making her incapable of parenting her remaining sons. One after another, her remaining sons all dies. Rav Huna asks her if she is now preparing for her own death. And then she dies:
ההיא איתתא דהות בשיבבותיה דרב הונא הוו לה שבעה בני מת חד מינייהו הוות קא בכיא ביתירתא עליה שלח לה רב הונא לא תעבדי הכי לא אשגחה ביה שלח לה אי צייתת מוטב ואי לא צבית זוודתא לאידך מית ומיתו כולהו,
“And Rav Yehuda said further in the name of Rav: Anyone who grieves excessively over his dead and does not allow himself to be consoled will in the end weep for another person. The Gemara relates that a certain woman who lived in the neighborhood of Rav Huna had seven sons. One of them died and she wept for him excessively. Rav Huna sent a message to her: Do not do this. But she took no heed of him. He then sent another message to her: If you listen to me, it is well, but if not, prepare shrouds for another death. But she would not listen and they all died.”
Rav Yehuda explains that living in a perpetual narrative of death in turns actually invites death. That this mother in the story was incapable of recognizing the possibility of life, and therefore remained imprisoned in a climate of death:
לסוף אמר לה תימוש זוודתא לנפשיך ומיתא,
“In the end, when she continued with her excessive mourning, he said to her: Since you are acting in this way, prepare shrouds for yourself, and soon thereafter she died.”
Five hundred years after the Talmud was redacted, Maimonides (Spain, 1135-1204) advocates for striking that ever-elusive balance between loss and hope:
אַל יִתְקַשֶּׁה אָדָם עַל מֵתוֹ יֶתֶר מִדַּאי. שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר "אַל תִּבְכּוּ לְמֵת וְאַל תָּנֻדוּ לוֹ". כְּלוֹמַר יֶתֶר מִדַּאי שֶׁזֶּהוּ מִנְהָגוֹ שֶׁל עוֹלָם. וְהַמְצַעֵר [עַצְמוֹ יוֹתֵר] עַל מִנְהָגוֹ שֶׁל עוֹלָם הֲרֵי זֶה טִפֵּשׁ. אֶלָּא כֵּיצַד יַעֲשֶׂה. שְׁלֹשָׁה לִבְכִי. שִׁבְעָה לְהֶסְפֵּד. שְׁלֹשִׁים יוֹם לְתִסְפֹּרֶת וְלִשְׁאָר הַחֲמִשָּׁה דְּבָרִים:
“One should not indulge in excessive grief over one’s dead, for it is said, ‘Weep not for the dead, nor bemoan him’ [Jer. 22:10], that is to say, weep not too much, for that is the way of the world, and he who frets over the way of the world is a fool.” (Maimonides, Hilkhot Avel 13: 11).
Difficult texts indeed. And at the same time, salient messages for navigating life’s inevitable ups and downs. So as not to fall in to the trap of unmitigated despondency. So as not to end up like Noach, in a state hopelessness, awaiting death to release him of his pain.
But, let’s be honest. Radically honest. Who cannot relate to Noach? Defeated by grief? Numbed by utter loss? Unable to move on with his life? The best that we can do, in the end, is to try, all the while appreciating how difficult it is to open-up to those sparks of joy in the seas of despair.
As the song teaches, “I got a love so true, But I'm sad and blue, Cause it's easier, easier said than done. Easier-er-er-er, said than done.”
Rabbi Tom Samuels
Fall 2020
When I think about the Biblical character Noah, what first to my mind is not the ark, the animals two-by-two, even the Great Flood. Instead, I see a man ravaged by guilt, emotionally destroyed, writhing on the threshing floor. A broken man in a perpetual drunk stupor. Noach had survived the catastrophe of the Flood. Watched in silence as the entire world was utterly destroyed before his eyes. Once the waters had subsided and the earth once more habitable, God commands Noah to leave the ark:
צֵ֖א מִן־הַתֵּבָ֑ה אַתָּ֕ה וְאִשְׁתְּךָ֛ וּבָנֶ֥יךָ וּנְשֵֽׁי־בָנֶ֖יךָ אִתָּֽךְ׃,
“Come out of the ark, together with your wife, your sons, and your sons’ wives.” (Genesis 8:16)
The Talmud (Sanhedrin 108b) notes the processional’s order, with Noah leaving the ark, hand-in-hand with his wife, and his son’s with their wives. Like wedding couples after the Chuppah ceremony rushing to the Cheder Yichud, these remnants of humanity are commanded to restart their lives, and by extension, all human life:
וַיְבָרֶךְ אֱלֹקים, אֶת-נֹחַ וְאֶת-בָּנָיו; וַיֹּאמֶר לָהֶם פְּרוּ וּרְבוּ, וּמִלְאוּ אֶת-הָאָרֶץ,
“God blessed Noah and his sons, and said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth.’” (Genesis 9:1)
But, how could Noah possible continue-on with his life? Have babies and inflict the scourges of human fragility on to the innocent? If, Noach asks himself, chaos and destruction is inevitable, part-and-parcel of being human, then what is the point? Why continue on? Why bring new life into this chasm of inevitable suffering?
The 16th-century Chief Rabbi of Prague, Shlomo Ephraim ben Aaron Luntschitz (1550-1619), the Kli Yakar, imagines Noach saying to himself, “… they will continue to sin, and the waters of the flood will come and wash them away. And why should one give birth into this emptiness and chaos?”
Perhaps Noach was flawed? Not up to the task? Perhaps a greater person would have been able to emerge from the ark psychologically more intact? The Torah introduces Noach as a righteous man, albeit with a qualifier:
אֵלֶּה תּוֹלְדֹת נֹחַ. נֹחַ אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹרֹתָיו,
“Noach was a pure and righteous man in his generation…” (Genesis 6:9)
RASHI, the great medieval French commentator Shlomo Yitzchaki (1040-1105) raises the famous rabbinical debate about Noach’s character:
בדורותיו: יש מרבותינו דורשים אותו לשבח, כל שכן שאלו היה בדור צדיקים היה צדיק יותר, ויש שדורשים אותו לגנאי, לפי דורו היה צדיק, ואלו היה בדורו של אברהם לא היה נחשב לכלום,
“In his generation - Some of our rabbis read this as praise, as if to say ‘Even in his generation, all the more so if he were in a righteous generation!’ But some read it as a critique, as if to say, ‘He was righteous in his generation, but if he had been in the generation of Abraham, he would have been considered a nothing!’”
On the one hand, RASHI notes, Noach could be seen as a great man who single-handedly salvaged all of Creation. On the other hand, in comparison to the likes of an Abraham, Noach was not much more than what my friend Evan described as a “cleanest dirty shirt.”
There is even a Midrash which challenges Noach’s integrity, as someone only interested in his own self, unwilling or unable to be there for others and to trust in God:
ויבא נח ובניו ואשתו וגו א"ר יוחנן נח מחוסר אמנה היה אלולי שהגיעו המים עד קרסוליו לא נכנס לתיבה,
“Noah came [into the ark because of the water” - that is, only because of the water]…Noah was lacking in faith, and if the waters had not reached his ankles, he would not have gone into the ark.” (Genesis Rabba 32:6)
Noach leaves the ark and spends the rest of his days “dropping out,” minus the “tuning in and tuning on”:
וַיִּטַּע כָּרֶם וַיֵּשְׁתְּ מִן-הַיַּיִן וַיִּשְׁכָּר, “Noah planted a vineyard, and drank from the wine, and got drunk…” (Genesis 9:20-21)
How then, do we deal with the death and despair? How do we process loss and trauma? How do we not become entirely about memory and loss, to the exclusion of the present let alone the future?
First, the Talmud (Babylonian Talmud, Moed Katan 7b) warns against mourning too much:
ואמר רב יהודה אמר רב כל המתקשה על מתו יותר מדאי על מת אחר הוא בוכה
“Rav Yehuda says to Rav: whoever indulges, weeps too much in grief over the death of someone, will end up weeping for another.”
The Talmud continues with a story about a mother of seven sons. One son dies. Rav Huna warns that the mother's obsession with the loss of her son is making her incapable of parenting her remaining sons. One after another, her remaining sons all dies. Rav Huna asks her if she is now preparing for her own death. And then she dies:
ההיא איתתא דהות בשיבבותיה דרב הונא הוו לה שבעה בני מת חד מינייהו הוות קא בכיא ביתירתא עליה שלח לה רב הונא לא תעבדי הכי לא אשגחה ביה שלח לה אי צייתת מוטב ואי לא צבית זוודתא לאידך מית ומיתו כולהו,
“And Rav Yehuda said further in the name of Rav: Anyone who grieves excessively over his dead and does not allow himself to be consoled will in the end weep for another person. The Gemara relates that a certain woman who lived in the neighborhood of Rav Huna had seven sons. One of them died and she wept for him excessively. Rav Huna sent a message to her: Do not do this. But she took no heed of him. He then sent another message to her: If you listen to me, it is well, but if not, prepare shrouds for another death. But she would not listen and they all died.”
Rav Yehuda explains that living in a perpetual narrative of death in turns actually invites death. That this mother in the story was incapable of recognizing the possibility of life, and therefore remained imprisoned in a climate of death:
לסוף אמר לה תימוש זוודתא לנפשיך ומיתא,
“In the end, when she continued with her excessive mourning, he said to her: Since you are acting in this way, prepare shrouds for yourself, and soon thereafter she died.”
Five hundred years after the Talmud was redacted, Maimonides (Spain, 1135-1204) advocates for striking that ever-elusive balance between loss and hope:
אַל יִתְקַשֶּׁה אָדָם עַל מֵתוֹ יֶתֶר מִדַּאי. שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר "אַל תִּבְכּוּ לְמֵת וְאַל תָּנֻדוּ לוֹ". כְּלוֹמַר יֶתֶר מִדַּאי שֶׁזֶּהוּ מִנְהָגוֹ שֶׁל עוֹלָם. וְהַמְצַעֵר [עַצְמוֹ יוֹתֵר] עַל מִנְהָגוֹ שֶׁל עוֹלָם הֲרֵי זֶה טִפֵּשׁ. אֶלָּא כֵּיצַד יַעֲשֶׂה. שְׁלֹשָׁה לִבְכִי. שִׁבְעָה לְהֶסְפֵּד. שְׁלֹשִׁים יוֹם לְתִסְפֹּרֶת וְלִשְׁאָר הַחֲמִשָּׁה דְּבָרִים:
“One should not indulge in excessive grief over one’s dead, for it is said, ‘Weep not for the dead, nor bemoan him’ [Jer. 22:10], that is to say, weep not too much, for that is the way of the world, and he who frets over the way of the world is a fool.” (Maimonides, Hilkhot Avel 13: 11).
Difficult texts indeed. And at the same time, salient messages for navigating life’s inevitable ups and downs. So as not to fall in to the trap of unmitigated despondency. So as not to end up like Noach, in a state hopelessness, awaiting death to release him of his pain.
But, let’s be honest. Radically honest. Who cannot relate to Noach? Defeated by grief? Numbed by utter loss? Unable to move on with his life? The best that we can do, in the end, is to try, all the while appreciating how difficult it is to open-up to those sparks of joy in the seas of despair.
As the song teaches, “I got a love so true, But I'm sad and blue, Cause it's easier, easier said than done. Easier-er-er-er, said than done.”