The Death of a Child, The Love for Life

There is no tragedy like the death of a child. There is so much grief that it’s impossible to communicate one’s feelings to others. A couple I once counseled had lost their six year old son to a sudden illness. Even worse, the tragedy made them feel isolated from their friends, who could still tuck all their children into bed at night. They bitterly explained to me that “there are two types of people in the world; those who have lost a child, and those who have not.”  As much as their friends (and rabbi) could empathize, they were mourning alone.

After losing two of his sons, Aaron also mourns alone. On the greatest day of his life, the dedication of the sanctuary, (the very day when he and his family are to be inducted into the Kehunah, the Jewish priesthood,) Aaron’s sons Nadav and Avihu are suddenly struck dead by God.

Aaron has a conversation with his brother Moses about these deaths, which the Torah (Lev. 10:3) recounts as:

 And Moses said to Aaron, “This is what the Lord spoke, saying:

‘By those who are close to Me
I will be sanctified;
And before all the people
I will be glorified.’ ”

And Aaron was silent.

These words are unclear; who are the ones close to God, and how do they sanctify God in the presence of death? Due to its ambiguity, there are many interpretations; but the one offered by the Rashbam and Rabbi Yosef Bechor Shor is the most convincing. They explain that Moses is addressing a difficult question: does Aaron leave the sanctuary in order to mourn, or does he carry on with the special service of the dedication?

Moses’ response offers guidance for this situation. He says that those who are close to God, such as the Kohen Gadol (High Priest), must sanctify God by putting their own grief aside and continuing the service. (The Mishnah will codify this in law for future generations, and the Kohen Gadol continues to serve in the Temple even when he is a mourner. (Horayot 3:5)

Despite his own heartbreak, Aaron accepts this directive and remains silent, with no tears, no words of eulogy. Yet his silence contains multitudes, emotions too large to articulate in words; quietly, Aaron expresses both endless grief and unwavering determination.

Aaron’s silence can still be heard today. Rabbi Hanan Porat lived in Kfar Etzion as a small child in the 1940’s. During the battles following U.N. Resolution 181, the Kibbutz was under constant attack. Eventually, the Kibbutz fell into Jordanian hands. Most of the women and children were evacuated from the Kibbutz, while almost all the men died; many were massacred after surrendering to the Arab Legion. After the War of Independence was over, the children of Kfar Etzion were raised on the dream of returning home.

In a commentary to Parshat Shemini, Porat quotes the Rashbam’s words, which he interprets as a call on bereaved leaders to put aside their personal grief and continue with their mission. He then explains that the children of Kfar Etzion were raised to understand that:

Public emissaries cannot break down when they are beset by a personal crisis, even if it is too heavy to bear, such as the loss of a dear son or a beloved wife. But instead, they need to grit their teeth, hold their silence, and continue with dedication to their national mission.

And so it was. After the Six Day War, Porat along with the other children of the Kibbutz, rebuilt Kfar Etzion. They never forgot their mission; and after holding their silence for 19 years, they returned home.

It is heroic to persevere with a broken heart, to look death right in the eye and still hold tight to one’s mission. But there is another interpretation of the Rashbam which complements this idea: the sanctity of life.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik writes in Halakhic Man about Judaism’s theology of life. He notes that many religions sanctify death, and see it as the portal to the world to come. Judaism takes a dramatically different approach. It sees death as defilement, the very opposite of holiness. One who comes in contact with a dead body cannot enter the Temple or offer a sacrifice. When a relative dies, we grieve, tear our garments and sit on the floor, bitterly rejecting death. Holiness is consistently associated with life, which is why we suspend observance of Shabbat, or any other commandment, if there is the slightest concern that it will endanger someone’s life.

Judaism is a religion of life.

Rabbi Soloveitchik explains that the Kohen Gadol does not take part in mourning rituals because his role is all-encompassing. Even when elsewhere, the Kohen Gadol is metaphorically always present in the Temple, always attached to the sacred; and such a person must always be distant from death.

This gives further depth to the words of the Rashbam: Aaron must continue on with the service, despite his personal bereavement, because his mission is a mission of life. What is heroic must always stand in service of a culture of life. And that lesson is all the more critical today, during this war.

Hamas brutally attacked Israel on October 7th with a degree of sadism unparalleled in recent decades; rapes, torture, beheadings, and burning babies alive. But Hamas is not just interested in murdering Jews. At the time of the attack, Yahya Sinwar and the leaders of Gaza understood that the Israeli counterattack would cause their people enormous misery; but they didn’t care. They had long used civilians as human shields, building terror bases in hospitals, setting up rocket launch sites near schools. Civilian casualties are a strategic advantage for Hamas; the deaths of Palestinian civilians leads to greater international pressure on Israel. All too often, Hamas troops try to prevent ordinary Gazans from seeking safe haven during the war.

Hamas leaders repeat the mantra “we love death like our enemies love life,” and see the Israeli love for life to be a strategic disadvantage. And Hamas is not completely incorrect. They can divert much needed supplies into building tunnels and rockets, because the lives of Palestinians are not as important as a hundred years war. They also know that in Israel an entire country cares for each hostage, and an entire country cries for each fallen soldier. Israel will make difficult compromises in order to bring her soldiers home to their families and her hostages back to safety.

But the strategic advantage of “loving death” comes with even greater disadvantages. Hamas has embraced a death cult, one that has been ruinous for Gaza. The love of death can become an obsession, driving young people to become “heroic” martyrs, dying in the service of even more death. And this  belief that they can defeat Israel by embracing death has led to Hamas’ reckless decisions during this war. Love of death will end up being a self fulfilling aspiration.

Judaism embraces life. And during this war with a death cult, Israelis have embraced life, perhaps even more than before. And that is truly inspiring.

This week, one story in the news touched me profoundly. The family of Sergeant Major Sivan Weil, an IDF soldier who died on Sunday, donated his organs to save the lives of five critically ill Israelis.

His parents made a statement explaining that this “donation helped to perpetuate the memory of our angel.” They continued, “Sivan was exceptionally strong with a heart of gold. He saved many people’s lives during his military service. We hope his organ donation will continue saving people’s lives.”

Despite their own grief, they have taken on a mission of kindness. They are emulating Aaron’s example, showing incredible courage after the death of a child.

With broken hearts, Sivan’s parents are showing us the way forward: life, and only life.

Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.