Down but not out

Our beginning was not simple.  Upon our creation, the angels immediately lobbied against this idea.  They claimed, correctly, that man would fail and forget about their Source. Was it really worth it to create such a fallible creature that would drag the world through the mud? Why not keep the world angelic?  

Then, at the vision of the ladder, one Midrash claims that the angels were hovering around Yaakov like flies until G-d sends them away. This tension then comes to a head with a wrestling match between Yaakov and angel, some say it is the same original angel that talked against man, and is then cemented into our current name- Israel- wrestling with the angelic. What is the nature of this tension of human and angel and what does this tell us about who we are?

                The world angel doesn’t capture the essence of what these beings represent in Torah. The word angel means ‘messenger’.  They are created for a particular mission and they carry it out perfectly but that is it.  After the mission is over, they disappear. They have no essence that remains outside of its mission. In contrast, man can wallow about doing nothing; yet, he maintains an identity. His identity doesn’t depend on his accomplishment.  He is defined by his struggle and even in the moments of deepest despair, he still has a spark that can reignite at any second.  Angel and man are two diametrically opposed creations. One is mission dependent and one exists despite mission failure. The greatness of a being that exists independently of mission accomplishment is that it can regenerate even after failures. An angel doesn’t understand failure while we realize that we are defined by them.

Planting our dead

In a sad and ironic twist of fate, the timing of the Pittsburgh shooting is similar to the synagogue massacre that took place in Jerusalem 4 years ago during the Torah portion that deals with burying one’s dead.  Although no less a tragedy, the Torah portion provides the blue print for comfort when it comes to death. There are strange themes and elements in the parsha that dictate to us how we should view death and burial.

                First, the people whose plot of land he buys is children of Chet- translated literally as the children of the letter ‘chet’.  Their name appears ten times in this small segment of text.  The person in charge of the cave is named Ephorn, whose name is ‘afar’- dirt.  He then buys a cave called the cave of doubling.   Not surprisingly, the letter Chet in Hebrew is the only one made of doubling two other letters- zayin.  What is the Torah trying to communicate?  Further, when it describes that Avaraham cries, the letter ‘caf’ of the word ‘to cry’ is made small. Why is that? And why that letter?

                The main idea is that we must realize that there are two worlds that exist, ours and the next. There is a doubling of worlds. Death is not the end but a transfer from one world to the next. Not only that, but we make sure to bury a dead body in dirt because we understand that this isn’t the end but a new beginning. The person is now beginning a new life but is still very much alive. Much like a seed planted decays only to give way to a green sprout.   As for the crying, Avaraham realizes his wife was righteous. She is in a great place. Excessive crying is not appropriate. The letter ‘chaf’ means palm and symbolizes that Sarah was satisfied with just a handful of material wealth to be satisfied.  That was part of her greatness and she was in a place now where this was rewarded.

                Obviously, death is a tragedy and difficult, but nonetheless, the Torah gives us the means to be comforted. It is not an end for the deceased but a new beginning albeit one that leaves us lonelier than we started.