Moshe’s Plea to God About Death: Midrash from the Genizah

Moshe's Plea to God About Death: Midrash from the Genizah
Passover Yizkor
April 10th, 2007

 

As I referred to in my remarks about the Genizah, a great deal of religious, historical, economical and genealogical material of antiquity is preserved for us because the Jewish community in Fostat, Old Cairo, Egypt, put their unusable documents in a hiding place in their synagogue, the Genizah. In 1896 several pieces from this Genizah were circulated for sale in England and came to the attention of Dr. Solomon Schechter, the very same person who would eventually head the Jewish Theological Seminary. At the time he was a professor in Cambridge University, England. In December, 1896 he came and was able to enter the Genizah and brought back thirty large bags of documents. They have been a treasure trove of material stretching for nearly two thousand years.

Among the documents were midrashim that were never included in any other collection, of which there are many. The greatest Midrash collection is called Midrash Rabbah on the books in the Torah and selected other Biblical books. There are Midrashim collections just about the holidays and others that are just on the sections concerning Pesach. Lastly, to be brief, there are Midrashic collections that focus almost exclusively on Jewish law. There is a reason for every Midrash. It was written to explain, create or fill in something missing.

In the Genizah in Egypt there was discovered an unnamed poem that serves as a Midrash on Deuteronomy 34, the last chapter of the Torah, which recounts the death of Moses. In the Torah, when God tells Moses that he is going to die, Moses doesn't say a word. He immediately begins to take care of business, appointing Joshua to succeed him and reciting his last words to the people. Yet we are left with a very important question. Why should Moses die? Despite his advanced age, the Torah says that at his death his vision and strength were unabated. He has been able to suffer both the people and the forty year trek. Of the key people in our history, he is the only one that will not get into the Land of Israel. The patriarchs all do, obviously, and so does Joshua. But Moses, the first of the prophets will never cross the Jordan. Why not? If this was you or me, wouldn't we have said something to God? Wouldn't we have complained, maybe even bitterly, and said, "Why not!" Haven't we all complained, bewailed and moaned, justly in our eyes, over the death of parents, siblings, friends, our martyrs? Have not we known people who died an inner death and couldn't live when someone dear to them died, because their soul was captured by this thought, plea, calamity? In our own pain, did we not for some moment exclude the thought that this has happened to others and we were not singled out for punishment, but instead repeated the endless words "Why me?" Those words have crossed my mind more than once.

The Torah is silent about our existential dilemma. Moses says nothing. God says nothing. Events continue to unfold. Whatever both of them were thinking they kept to themselves and didn't share with us. Maybe earlier readers of the Torah were satisfied with that posture. The anonymous author of this midrashic poem was not. He presents us with an answer, not the only, not the last, but one answer to the subject of death which confronts us when we observe the four Yizkors of the year and Yahrzeits. We wish our dear ones were still with us. We want to hear their voice, feel their touch, to be comforted by their presence. And yet we cerebrally know that it is not to be. What did Moses think about this? We can never know. But we do know that the author of this poem was thinking about it. It was a question and a quest for his time as it remains for us. This is the poem:

The Lord said to Moses from amidst the shechina [the Holy presence]: "Why is it that you fear death? I have decreed [it] upon all creatures. Know that all the patriarchs are there!" Now, when Moses heard that word, [and] at that moment, he went to Hebron the capital. (Hebron was King David's capital for seven years as written in 2 Samuel 5:4). He cried out, and called to Adam [from] in the tomb: "Tell me! Why did you sin in the Garden? You tasted and ate from the Tree of Knowledge, imposing upon your children wailing and lament! The entire Garden lay before you, yet you were not satisfied. Why did you spurn the laws of the Lord?"

"Who are you?" said Adam to him sagaciously. "Let us see whether you have any knowledge [or] understanding. This waking me from my sleep is a bad sign."

He answered, and said "It is I, Moses, who received the Torah!"

He [Adam] opened his mouth, and said to him: "Ponder upon what you have read [in the Torah you received]. Observe that the Torah preceded me by two thousand years. Accept for yourself, O Moses, the cup of death. My name had [already] been recorded for death, so why do you rebuke me?"

Moses listened, and shed a tear. "May your soul rest with all the patriarchs."

We learn from this poem many crucial lessons.

1. Even if it is not mentioned in the Torah, Moses, the man who confronted Pharaoh, led Israel through Yam Suf and received God's revelation, feared death. We are in good company. Our question and quest is the core of our existence.

2. Whether or not we accept predestination, as is more than hinted at in this poem, the poet presents us with the faith that the way of the world, the processes of birth, sin and death, human existence is inherent in our creation, in which all of us exist. Neither the good nor the bad escape our humanity.

3. Adam's answer is instructive. Sinning did not cause us to die. Death is not a punishment. Adam was a human. He erred. That was a foregone conclusion. He died because he was a human. We die because we are humans. That is why we were born. We do good and we also do bad. The quality of our lives is proportionate to our deeds. Birth and death are the human condition.

4. Adam says to Moses, accept your humanity. In the end, Moses did. Maybe that is why the Torah does not record Moses' response to his fate. Despite all that he has done, he is not God. He buried his brother and sister. He knows that he is human and accepts his place in the scheme of things. We, too, have buried dear ones. Despite our living on after them, we understand our mortality. Accepting that knowledge in our hearts will enable us to fully live the length of our days, whatever their number.

5. The closing words of the poem, Moses saying to Adam "May your soul rest with all the patriarchs," give me the most comfort. The poet reaffirms his faith that after our earthily existence there will be menucha for our neshama, that our soul will not end with our body, but continue to exist is some peaceful, serene manner, in proximity to the neshamot of those who have died before. In thinking of the members of my family, of my friends and of the members of my congregations for whom I have officiated our rites and rituals, the poet gives me peace of heart.

I echo his words as we turn to ours of Yizkor:

May the souls of beloved rest with all the patriarchs.

Amen.