“A Time to Live and A Time to Die”

Parashat Shemini 5765
Rabbi Schindler

My two sons recently had the following conversation. My five-year old Maxwell explained to my three year old Alec the following. He said, “I am two years older than you. And I’ll always be two years older than you. And when we get old, I’ll die before you.”

Now while most preschoolers are not aware of death… the topic is fairly common in our home as I am often called away to visit someone who is to dying or to help a family shortly after their loved one has gone.

When Max concluded that he would die before Alec, I did not guide him differently for he articulated my prayer -- that the two of them will live long lives and at an exceedingly ripe old age, they will die naturally in the order in which they came into this world. So I simply responded, “Yes, at the age of 105 and 103 you will leave this world.”

But as a rabbi, I know that more often than not, life does not go as planned. This week’s Torah portion teaches us that very lesson. We have just built a beautiful sanctuary and for the first time ever we are offering sacrifices. We dedicated our Temple and ordained Aaron and his sons as priests. Then suddenly something goes terribly wrong. Two of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, offer foreign fire, which displeases God. In a fury, God sends forth fire to consume the two boys. Their father Aaron, in his grief and sorrow, is silent.

While we do not know the precise nature of Nadav and Avihu’s sin, we do know that it was God who ended their lives. The taking of their lives was divinely executed and it was deliberate.

Today, the circumstances surrounding the end of life are not so clear. God doesn’t just come down in a burst of fire and take souls any more. Quite often we sit in hospital rooms, in emergency rooms, in operating waiting rooms and consultation rooms and make those difficult decisions ourselves. Should we intubate? Should we resuscitate? Should we continue our path of treatment?

The answers to these questions are not simple and they are far from clear. In those stressful hours when we must make heart rending decisions for our loved ones, our choices are not political but profoundly personal.

For the past two weeks, the ethical challenges surrounding such end of life decisions have made headlines as a battle has ensued over the removal of Terry Schiavo’s feeding tube. Terry Schiavo, a woman who is be severely brain damaged and has been in a coma for the past 15 years, did not make her wishes known in writing, leaving her husband and parents to battle it out within the courts. Peacefully and sadly, on Thursday morning, she died, but clearly her name and her landmark case will live on for years to come.

Though Terry Schiavo’s parents share my last name, Bob and Mary Schindler are not Jewish. Yet if they were Jewish and members of Temple Beth El and if I was called to that Florida hospice to guide them I would have shared with them the following two Talmudic tale.

The first story is about the death of the great Rabbi Judah Hanasi, the editor of our Mishnah. On the day that Rabbi Judah neared his death, the Rabbis declared a public fast and offered non-stop prayers to keep him alive. The handmaid, who cared for Rabbi Judah ascended the roof and prayed saying: “The immortals, those angels above, desire Rabbi to join them and the mortals here on earth, the rabbis, desire Rabbi Judah to remain with them. May it be God’s will that the prayer of the mortals will overpower those of the immortals.”

Yet when the handmaid saw the great pain that Rabbi Judah endured, she offered a different prayer -- she prayed for his death. “May it be God’s will,” she pleaded, “That the desire of the immortals will overpower that of the mortals.”

As the Rabbis continued their incessant prayers for heavenly mercy, the maid took a jar and threw it down from the roof to the ground. Stunned by the sound of shattering, the rabbi’s ceased praying for a split second, and Rabbi Judah’s soul departed to its eternal rest.

In the eyes of the Talmud, the prayers were indeed life support. They kept Rabbi Judah alive. Yet when the pain was too great, the one closest to him, prayed that his soul be released and it was. It is interesting to note that in the Talmud the handmaid is not praised for her actions nor is she condemned.

When one is in pain, when one’s quality of experience makes life not worth living, difficult decisions need to be made. These decisions are not praiseworthy nor are the worthy of condemnation. They simply are difficult decisions that as family we must painstakingly make and live with for the rest of our lives. And no matter what we decision we make, it will most often come with guilt and second guessing.

The second story that I would share with Terry Schiavo’s parents is that of a Rabbi Hananiah ben Teradyon, who during the years of Hadrianic persecution, was convicted of teaching Torah and condemned to be wrapped in the Sefer Torah and burned at the stake. Seeing his torment, his disciples urged him to open his mouth, breathe in the smoke and thus die more quickly. He refused, saying, “It is better that God who gave life should take it and that I do not kill myself.”

In order to prolong Rabbi Hananiah’s suffering, the cruel Romans placed water-soaked packets on his chest lest he die too quickly. Upon seeing his agony, the executioner offered to remove the wet cotton if the rabbi promised him eternal life. Hananiah promised, and the executioner complied. As Hanaiah died, the executioner jumped into the flames, and immediately a heavenly voice announced that both of them had a place in the world to come.

In the Talmud, the executioner, who removed the barrier to Rabbi Hananiah’s death, was given eternal life. When it comes to Jewish law there is a clear principle. If an individual is going to die, we may not hasten death by assisting them to die, but we can remove barriers that prevent death. And even if we do, according to the Rabbis, there will still be a place for us in heaven.

But what of Terry Schiavo’s case? How does it compare to Rabbi Judah and Rabbi Hananiah?

The legal authorities in the streams of Judaism offer differing opinions. We first must ask ourselves whether Terry Schiavo, like Rabbi Judah and Rabbi Hananiah, was dying. From some perspectives she was not -- for she was requiring no heroic measures to keep her alive. Yet for those many Jewish scholars who consider brain death to be a form of death, then the questions become whether or not a feeding tube is considered to be medical measures that can be removed or artificial nutrition and hydration that cannot.

Rabbi Teutsch, a Reconstructionist legal authority teaches that if we view the feeding tube as a form of eating, a position held by a number of more traditional authorities, then you are required to feed those who are hungry. But if you see it as medicine – a position held by Conservative (and Reform) authorities – then you serve the interests of the patient, which may involve not providing medicine.”

Even as we turn to our sacred texts and Jewish legal advisors, we are given ambiguous answers and are left to make our own choices that our guided by our individual conscience.

Clearly our best guide for making end-of-life choices is to know what our loved ones want. And I can tell you definitively from sitting in hospital rooms and from meeting with families this week, that Terry Schiavo has motivated thousands, if not tens of thousands of individuals to reiterate to their loved ones their desires.

One Board member of our Temple, e-mailed her sons so that they would be clear on her wishes. And her son responded, “Don’t worry mom, if the case arises I’ll be happy to execute you… I mean execute your wishes.”

And as we unfortunately learn from the Schiavo case, verbal conversations are not enough, our wishes need to be written. At the oneg tonight, you’ll find information on writing your Living Will for those of you who have not yet done so.

Sometimes death comes quickly, and other times dying is a painful and slow process where each moment feels like an eternity.
When I am called away from my little boys to by the bedside of one who is dying, I often offer a prayer on the patient’s behalf. It begins like this: “Elohai vaylohay avotai v’imotai, My God and god of all who have gone before me, Author of life and death, I turn to You in trust. Although I pray for life and health, I know that I am mortal. If my life must soon come to an end, let me die, I pray, at peace.”

And after our congregant has breathed his last breath I say the words: “Adonai natan, vadonai lakach. y’hi shem Adonai mevorach. God gave and God has taken away; blessed be the name of God.”

We cannot hasten death but we can remove impediments preventing death and when we do, it is not us, but God who takes the souls of our loved ones back from where they came.