BY: Naomi Bilmes
“To be, or not to be: that is the question.”[1] In Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy, the troubled Danish prince asks the ultimate question about life and death- Is life worth living? Is death preferable to the “sea of troubles,” the “heart-ache” and the “thousand natural shocks” that comprise human existence? This question has bothered countless authors, playwrights and philosophers in the past, and will continue to bother many in the future.
Chapter 2 of the book of Shemot begins with “לֵוִי בַּת אֶת וַיִּקַּח לֵוִי מִבֵּית אִיש וַיֵּלֶך,” “And there went a man from the house of Levi and he took a daughter of Levi (for a wife).”[2] This verse begins to tell the story of Moses’ parents, Amram and Yocheved. Numerous commentators have asked questions about this verse, specifically regarding the first word: “vayelech-and he went.” Why must Amram “go out” to find a wife? Why can’t he just stay where he is? Where is he going? What does this tell us about his family and his life?
Ramban comments that this is Amram’s first marriage and Yocheved lived in another city. Therefore, Amram must “go out” to find her and marry her. Ramban also points out that “vayelech” is used in other places in Tanakh to indicate that someone is breaking the mold and doing something new. In this case, Amram is doing something innovative as well, by getting married and attempting to have sons, he is defying Pharaoh’s decree and willingly becoming a veritable outlaw. [3]
Rashi has a slightly different interpretation of the word “vayelech.” He posits that when Pharaoh decreed the slaughter of all newborn males, Amram and Yocheved were married already and they separated as a result of Pharaoh’s decree. The couple reasoned that if they were not living together, they could not have a son who would be killed in accordance with Pharaoh’s harsh decree. For Rashi, “vayelech” refers to the fact that Amram had to relocate to Yocheved and remarry her.[4]
The Gemara in Masechet Sotah expands greatly upon Rashi’s idea. The Gemara begins by assuming that Amram and Yocheved have married and separated. Rabbi Judah ben Zebina interprets “vayelech” to mean that Amram went “in the counsel of his daughter.” But what does this mean? What did his daughter, Miriam, say to him that was so vital? The Gemara continues by recounting a story about Miriam and her father. Miriam, seeing that her father has separated from her mother and that other Israelites are doing the same, approaches her father with a reprimand, “Abba, what you have done is worse than what Pharaoh has done! Pharaoh’s decree only affects the boy babies, but what you have done affects girls, too! Yes, you have prevented yourself from having to kill any baby boys, but you have also prevented yourself from having daughters who could have lived.”[5]
Amram does not respond, and Miriam continues her bold rebuke, “Your act is also worse than Pharaoh’s in another way. His decree only affects this world, whereas yours affects the World to Come. If babies are born and then drowned, they can go to Olam Haba’ah (World to Come). But if they are never born in the first place, they never even have the chance.”[6]
Miriam’s rebuke brings up a striking question, is it better to have lived and died at a young age or is it better never to have lived at all? According to Miriam’s logic it would seem that the answer is that a short life is better than no life, merely breathing the air of our world for a few precious moments ensures us the chance to get to the World to the Come. But Miriam is only considering babies, people who have not yet had a chance to act, to think or to feel. I challenge you to think of the question in regards to a much older person—someone who has had the chance to experience life. In this context, the question takes on a whole new meaning. It is not simply about getting to the World to Come; it is about your experiences and actions in this life. Is it worthwhile to experience the joys of life only to have them one day taken away? Or is the pain of death too great a cost? Maybe it is better for life to never even begin.
Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai take on this question from a slightly different perspective. They examine the question of a person’s actions. Humans are guaranteed to sin, so maybe it is better that humans don ot live at all rather than live a sinful life.
Shammai: It is better for man not to have been created!
Hillel: Incorrect! It is better that man exists!
Shammai: Let’s take a vote!
The majority rules that it is better for people NOT to have been created! But since he has indeed been created, he should investigate his past deeds and fix them if necessary. He should also examine his future actions and make sure they are in accordance with morality and halakha.[7]
The Gemara in Eruvin seems to teach us that it is better never to have lived at all—a statement which directly contradicts the Gemara in Sotah. Miriam thinks any life is preferable, while the Rabbis imply otherwise. I find the Rabbis’ conclusion somewhat disheartening. Are we really to believe that we have no chance in life to achieve goodness? Are we truly so bereft of morality that sinning is our inevitable course of action?
We must prove to God and to others that we do indeed deserve to be created. While Hamlet shies away from the pain others create for him, the Rabbis seem to be shying away from the pain and immorality we create for ourselves. In Hamlet’s case, the cure to life’s troubles was death. In our case, however, the cure must be self-improvement. We have been created. We are likely to sin. We are able to repent. We can therefore earn the right to the life that God has given us.
“To be, or not to be: that is the question.”[1] In Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy, the troubled Danish prince asks the ultimate question about life and death- Is life worth living? Is death preferable to the “sea of troubles,” the “heart-ache” and the “thousand natural shocks” that comprise human existence? This question has bothered countless authors, playwrights and philosophers in the past, and will continue to bother many in the future.
Chapter 2 of the book of Shemot begins with “לֵוִי בַּת אֶת וַיִּקַּח לֵוִי מִבֵּית אִיש וַיֵּלֶך,” “And there went a man from the house of Levi and he took a daughter of Levi (for a wife).”[2] This verse begins to tell the story of Moses’ parents, Amram and Yocheved. Numerous commentators have asked questions about this verse, specifically regarding the first word: “vayelech-and he went.” Why must Amram “go out” to find a wife? Why can’t he just stay where he is? Where is he going? What does this tell us about his family and his life?
Ramban comments that this is Amram’s first marriage and Yocheved lived in another city. Therefore, Amram must “go out” to find her and marry her. Ramban also points out that “vayelech” is used in other places in Tanakh to indicate that someone is breaking the mold and doing something new. In this case, Amram is doing something innovative as well, by getting married and attempting to have sons, he is defying Pharaoh’s decree and willingly becoming a veritable outlaw. [3]
Rashi has a slightly different interpretation of the word “vayelech.” He posits that when Pharaoh decreed the slaughter of all newborn males, Amram and Yocheved were married already and they separated as a result of Pharaoh’s decree. The couple reasoned that if they were not living together, they could not have a son who would be killed in accordance with Pharaoh’s harsh decree. For Rashi, “vayelech” refers to the fact that Amram had to relocate to Yocheved and remarry her.[4]
The Gemara in Masechet Sotah expands greatly upon Rashi’s idea. The Gemara begins by assuming that Amram and Yocheved have married and separated. Rabbi Judah ben Zebina interprets “vayelech” to mean that Amram went “in the counsel of his daughter.” But what does this mean? What did his daughter, Miriam, say to him that was so vital? The Gemara continues by recounting a story about Miriam and her father. Miriam, seeing that her father has separated from her mother and that other Israelites are doing the same, approaches her father with a reprimand, “Abba, what you have done is worse than what Pharaoh has done! Pharaoh’s decree only affects the boy babies, but what you have done affects girls, too! Yes, you have prevented yourself from having to kill any baby boys, but you have also prevented yourself from having daughters who could have lived.”[5]
Amram does not respond, and Miriam continues her bold rebuke, “Your act is also worse than Pharaoh’s in another way. His decree only affects this world, whereas yours affects the World to Come. If babies are born and then drowned, they can go to Olam Haba’ah (World to Come). But if they are never born in the first place, they never even have the chance.”[6]
Miriam’s rebuke brings up a striking question, is it better to have lived and died at a young age or is it better never to have lived at all? According to Miriam’s logic it would seem that the answer is that a short life is better than no life, merely breathing the air of our world for a few precious moments ensures us the chance to get to the World to the Come. But Miriam is only considering babies, people who have not yet had a chance to act, to think or to feel. I challenge you to think of the question in regards to a much older person—someone who has had the chance to experience life. In this context, the question takes on a whole new meaning. It is not simply about getting to the World to Come; it is about your experiences and actions in this life. Is it worthwhile to experience the joys of life only to have them one day taken away? Or is the pain of death too great a cost? Maybe it is better for life to never even begin.
Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai take on this question from a slightly different perspective. They examine the question of a person’s actions. Humans are guaranteed to sin, so maybe it is better that humans don ot live at all rather than live a sinful life.
Shammai: It is better for man not to have been created!
Hillel: Incorrect! It is better that man exists!
Shammai: Let’s take a vote!
The majority rules that it is better for people NOT to have been created! But since he has indeed been created, he should investigate his past deeds and fix them if necessary. He should also examine his future actions and make sure they are in accordance with morality and halakha.[7]
The Gemara in Eruvin seems to teach us that it is better never to have lived at all—a statement which directly contradicts the Gemara in Sotah. Miriam thinks any life is preferable, while the Rabbis imply otherwise. I find the Rabbis’ conclusion somewhat disheartening. Are we really to believe that we have no chance in life to achieve goodness? Are we truly so bereft of morality that sinning is our inevitable course of action?
We must prove to God and to others that we do indeed deserve to be created. While Hamlet shies away from the pain others create for him, the Rabbis seem to be shying away from the pain and immorality we create for ourselves. In Hamlet’s case, the cure to life’s troubles was death. In our case, however, the cure must be self-improvement. We have been created. We are likely to sin. We are able to repent. We can therefore earn the right to the life that God has given us.
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