2,711 pages of Talmud. A gem a day.

As death is a punishment given out by human authority over great sins, it’s only natural that people would believe that death at a young age, or in a strange manner, would be punishment given out by heaven. Our daf given some rabbinic opinions that reflect that kind of belief. In fact, all pain and sadness in life has been explained by religious people as part of Divine judgement – but that is not really how it works. We all know good people who died young. We all know righteous people with no wealth and deathly long living individuals who only used their wealth and power for selfish ends.

So, that’s why I love today’s gem. It reminds us that, often, life deals us a hand that does not reflect any kind of judgement of who we are:

Rava said: Length of life, children, and sustenance do not depend on one’s merit, but rather they depend upon fate.

Now, we get an example of two people who were equally righteous who lived very different life styles:

As, Rabba and Rav Ḥisda were both pious Sages; one Sage would pray during a drought and rain would fall, and the other Sage would pray and rain would fall.

And nevertheless, their lives were very different. Rav Ḥisda lived for ninety-two years, whereas Rabba lived for only forty years. The house of Rav Ḥisda celebrated sixty wedding feasts, whereas the house of Rabba experienced sixty calamities.

In the house of Rav Ḥisda there was bread from the finest flour [semida] even for the dogs, and it was not asked after, as there was so much food. In the house of Rabba, on the other hand, there was coarse barley bread even for people, and it was not found in sufficient quantities. This shows that the length of life, children, and sustenance all depend not upon one’s merit, but upon fate.

I love this text. It’s true that wealth, children and long life do not reflect on someone’s goodness. It reminds us not to judge others – or worse, have the gall to judge others and say that it’s God’s judgement.

We are all equal in death . . . well, not quite. If you have been to a mortuary, you well know that there are caskets with velvet or suede lining options, mahogany wood, all kinds of upgrades you can do for the deceased (and don’t they deserve the best?). Then, there is the plain pine box. Unfortunately, death is a business and people will try to make money by offering the mourners all sorts of upgrades, preying on their grief and love for the dearly departed.

In Judaism, we really want everyone to be equal in death. So, there are traditions against ostentation. (Hence, plain pine box and no flowers . . . )

GEMARA: The Sages taught the following baraita: At first, the meal after the burial would be brought to the house of the mourner in various ways. The wealthy would bring the meal in baskets of silver and gold, and the poor would bring it in baskets of peeled willow branches. And the poor were embarrassed, as everyone would see that they were poor. The Sages instituted that everyone should bring the meal in baskets of peeled willow branches, due to the honor of the poor.

The Sages taught a similar baraita: At first, they would serve wine in the house of the mourner during the first meal after the burial; the wealthy would do so in cups made from white glass, and the poor would serve this wine in cups of colored glass. And the poor were embarrassed, as everyone would see that they were poor. The Sages instituted that all should serve drinks in the house of the mourner in colored glass cups, due to the honor of the poor.

Furthermore, at first they would uncover the faces of the wealthy who passed away and cover the faces of the poor, because their faces were blackened by famine. And the poor were embarrassed because they were buried in a different manner. The Sages instituted that everyone’s face should be covered, due to the honor of the poor.

Additionally, at first the wealthy would take the deceased out for burial on a dargash, and the poor would take the deceased out on a plain bier made from poles that were strapped together, and the poor were embarrassed. The Sages instituted that everyone should be taken out for burial on a plain bier, due to the honor of the poor. . .

Likewise, at first taking the dead out for burial was more difficult for the relatives than the actual death, because it was customary to bury the dead in expensive shrouds, which the poor could not afford. The problem grew to the point that relatives would sometimes abandon the corpse and run away. This lasted until Rabban Gamliel came and acted with frivolity, meaning that he waived his dignity, by leaving instructions that he be taken out for burial in linen garments. And the people adopted this practice after him and had themselves taken out for burial in linen garments. Rav Pappa said: And nowadays, everyone follows the practice of taking out the dead for burial even in plain hemp garments [tzerada] that cost only a dinar.

So, no lavish spreads at the shiva, no open caskets, all are buried in simple burial shrouds and no flowers.

Now, clearly many of our loved ones do not follow all of these guidelines, and at the time of death, all we want to do is follow the wishes of our loved ones – but we see here how the rabbis really want us all to see that we are equal in death, you can’t take your wealth with you. Rabban Gamliel was one of the greatest sages and could have had a funeral that spared no expense, but he was buried in a plain shroud – if it was good enough for him, it can be good enough for us.

Okay, two short gems. The first, solely because it’s so amusing to picture:

It was related that Rabbi Abba and Rav Huna bar Ḥiyya were sitting before Rabbi Abba. Rabbi Abba needed to relieve himself. He removed his phylacteries from his head and placed them on the cushion on which he was sitting. An ostrich came and wanted to swallow the phylacteries.

He said: Now, had it succeeded to swallow it, I would have been obligated to make two rents. He said to him: From where do you derive this? There was an incident in which I was involved and I came before Rav Mattana asking what to do, but he did not have an answer readily available. I then came before Rav Yehuda, and he said to me: Shmuel said as follows: They said that one is obligated to rend his clothing only when a Torah scroll or some other sacred book is torn by force, and it resembles the incident that occurred with Jehoiakim.

Okay, so this is in the context of discussing how many times you must rend your clothing when a Torah scroll is burned. But come on, the rabbi has to poop and an ostrich tries to eat his tefillin! This is amazing! As a Florida resident, this reminds me of our struggles with peacocks and iguanas being all over our things – better not leave out my tefilin . . .

While the first gem was very specific and amusing, the second is very common and sad. The second is something that I see families struggle with all the time:

The Sages taught the following baraita: When a relative of a sick person dies, those around him do not inform him that this relative died, lest he lose control of his mind due to his emotional state and his grief exacerbate his physical health. And other people may not rend their garments in his presence, so that he will not know that one of his relatives passed away. And we silence the women who weep in his presence, so that he will not know that his relative is no longer alive.

So often families struggle with telling ailing parents, family members with dementia and family struggling with addiction and mental health issues about a loss. Could the news put the person over the edge and result in yet another loss? Here we see that the rabbis of the Talmud worried about the same issues.

A daughter once told me of how her mother, who suffered from dementia, would ask about her husband who had died 20 years prior. Every time she told her mother he was dead, it was like the first time she heard it, she fell to pieces and whaled. This repeated for a long time. But here mother never remembered that her father had passed. Eventually, the dementia progressed to where she no longer asked about him. But now, she wanted her parents, her siblings. . . you can see why the rabbis teach that there are times to keep loss from someone, where it will only cause pain and suffering and prevent the listener from their own healing.

It’s hard to know what to say when someone dies. The bulk of today’s daf recounts eulogies. In particular, eulogies of well known rabbis. The daf even ends with strange things that happened on the days these Great Ones passed away (like storms, hail, bridges collapsing.) The gem is from one proposed eulogy that was never given:

The Gemara relates that prior to Ravina’s death, Rav Ashi said to bar Kippok, who was a famous eulogizer: On that day when Ravina will die, what will you say? He said to him: I shall begin my eulogy and say as follows: If the cedars went up in flame, what shall the hyssop of the wall do? If the leviathan was lifted by a hook, what shall the tiny fish of the marsh do? If dryness overtook a flowing river, what can the water of the puddles do?

How beautiful! What can we say when someone greater than us has passed away? How could our words ever be enough? But, no, it’s not good enough . . .

Bar Avin, who was also a eulogizer, said to him: God forbid that the words hook and flame should be said with regard to the righteous, as these are not expressions of honor. Rav Ashi asked him: And what will you say? He said to him: I shall say: Cry for the mourners and not for that which was lost, as that which was lost, i.e., the soul of Ravina, has gone to its eternal rest, while we, the mourners, are left with our sighs.

I absolutely love this. It’s true. The mourner is the one who is in pain, who is bereft. The deceased is with God and in no pain at all. This line alone is so beautiful and so true.

But, Rav Ashi did not like either of these responses:

Rav Ashi was offended by them, as their words of praise for Ravina might have been understood as a show of disrespect to Rav Ashi, since they likened Ravina to a cedar and the other Sages, Rav Ashi included, to hyssops of the wall. Due to Rav Ashi’s anger, their feet turned inward and became crooked. On that day when Ravina actually died, neither of them came to eulogize him.

Wow! Ouch.

It’s true that, we do not need to lift up the dead by stepping on the living. A good eulogy shows respect for the dead and comforts the living. These are also the mitzvot we uphold when we make a shiva visit.

Yes, it’s hard to know what to say, but those are the guidelines: Does it honor the deceased while comforting the dead?

The loss of a child is so incredibly painful. today, the daf discusses what to do when a child dies at very young ages.

And some teach this ruling of Rav Giddel bar Menashya as referring to the following case: It is taught in a baraita: Within the first thirty days after birth, an infant that dies is taken out for burial in one’s bosom, that is to say, he is carried to his grave in one’s arms, not in a coffin. . . A thirty-day-old infant that dies is taken out for burial in a coffin [deluskema]. . . A twelve-month-old infant is taken out for burial on a bier, just as an adult is. . . And what is the status of deceased infants with regard to eulogy? Rabbi Meir said in the name of Rabbi Yishmael: The children of the poor are eulogized from the age of three, whereas the children of the wealthy are eulogized from the age of five. . Rabbi Yehuda said in the name of Rabbi Yishmael: The children of the poor are eulogized from the age of five, whereas the children of the wealthy are eulogized from the age of six. And the children of the elderly are treated like the children of the poor, for the death of a child is particularly painful for an older person.

How incredibly sad.

I do find the mother carrying the newborn in her arms incredibly powerful. And not giving a eulogy might make sense. What can one say at a moment like that?

The gem, for me, is found in the question of when does one give a full eulogy, at what age. It’s strange to us to read that the poor children would get a eulogy and be more publicly mourned than the rich. We may read this and wonder: why? Our predecessors asked the same question.

Rashi suggests that poor people mourn for the lost child more than the wealthy as they have no pleasure in life aside from their children. An alternative understanding is that the poor rely on their children to work and help support the family more than rich people do. According to the Ran (R. Nissim b. Reuven, Barcelona, d. 1376) there is a unique closeness that develops between parent and child when the parent saves his last crumbs to feed his child. How beautiful is that? Another opinion is that we are concerned for the feelings of the poor person who will suspect that it is because of his low status in society that his child did not receive a proper eulogy.

Hundreds of years pass and yet these situations persist. Society still places less worth on the lives of the poor than the wealthy. In a study about child mortality int he 20 richest democracies, the United States came in last, largely because of poverty rates and lack of health care access:

“Persistently high poverty rates, poor educational outcomes, and a relatively weak social safety net have made the US the most dangerous of wealthy nations for a child to be born into.” https://www.cnbc.com/2018/01/08/us-has-worst-rate-of-child-mortality-among-20-rich-nations.html

All lives are of infinite worth. I appreciate the eulogizing of the poor children at a younger age as it works to remind us, as a society, of our responsibility to create social safety nets, to take care of the poor and the hungry, to provide health care and opportunity. I appreciate it as well, in that it is counter cultural to the way society seems to work today (and perhaps did back then) where the lives of those with wealth seem to hold more weight than those of the poor.

In honor of today’s daf, I am going to give to Feeding South Florida, an organization that helps so many children in our area. According to their website, “Our Feeding Florida food banks are dedicated to providing access to healthy and nutritious food for the 906,470 children in Florida who experience food insecurity. “

With all this talk of death and what we cannot do during the mourning period I am sure you’re wondering if and when a mourner can have sex. . . Oh, you weren’t? Well, our daf is going to dictate (can I say dick-tate? too much?) when it’s permissible or not.

First: what if it’s his wife who has died?

The Sages taught another baraita: During the entire thirty-day period of mourning, it is prohibited to marry. If one’s wife died, it is prohibited to marry another wife until three Festivals pass since her death. Rabbi Yehuda says: Until the first and second Festivals have passed, he is prohibited from marrying; before the third Festival, however, he is permitted to do so.

And if he does not have children, he is permitted to marry another wife immediately due to the need to not neglect the mitzva to be fruitful and multiply. Since he has not yet fulfilled the mitzva of procreation, he is still required to marry a wife. Any delay might result in a lost opportunity for marriage. Similarly, if his wife died and left him young children, he is permitted to marry another wife immediately, so that she might take care of them.

Now we get an example of this:

There was an incident when the wife of Yosef the Priest died, and he said to her sister at the cemetery immediately after the funeral: Go and care for your sister’s children. In other words, he alluded that he wished to marry her immediately. But even though he married her immediately, he did not engage in sexual relations with her for a long time afterward. The Gemara asks: What is the meaning of the term: A long time? Rav Pappa said: After thirty days.

You heard it here on the daf. 30 day sis a long time to not be intimate with your partner . . . or your new partner.

Now, what if it’s not your wife who passed? There is a disagreement about what it means that Shabbat interrupts the mourning process.

One Sage, the anonymous first tanna, holds that there is some mourning on Shabbat with regard to private issues, and therefore the mourner does not engage in sexual relations; and one Sage, Rabban Gamliel, holds that there is no mourning on Shabbat at all?

The Gemara rejects this argument: From where do you reach this conclusion? Perhaps the first tanna is saying that it is prohibited for the grieving relative to engage in sexual relations in the case dealt with only there, because his deceased relative is laid out before him and has not yet been buried. But here, with regard to the period of mourning, when his dead has been buried and is no longer laid out before him, sexual relations are not prohibited.

And alternatively, perhaps Rabban Gamliel is saying that the grieving relative is permitted to engage in sexual relations only there, where the halakhot of mourning have not yet taken effect, as mourning begins only after the burial. But here, where the halakhot of mourning have already taken effect, he may also prohibit sexual relations.

(This continues onto tomorrow’s daf)

Rabbi Yoḥanan asked of Shmuel: Is there some mourning on Shabbat or is there no mourning on Shabbat at all? He said to him: There is no mourning on Shabbat at all.

SO! Shmuel is saying that you should have sex with your spouse on Shabbet, even when you’re mourning! But the daf continues:

The Sages sat before Rav Pappa and said in the name of Shmuel: A mourner who engaged in sexual relations during his days of mourning is liable to receive the death penalty at the hand of Heaven. Rav Pappa said to them: It was said that sexual relations are prohibited, but not that the offender is guilty of a capital crime. And the ruling was said in the name of Rabbi Yoḥanan, and not in the name of Shmuel.

Get it straight people!

And if you heard a statement on this issue in the name of Shmuel, then you heard as follows: Rav Taḥlifa bar Avimi said that Shmuel said: A mourner who did not let his hair grow wild and did not rend his garments is liable to receive the death penalty at the hand of Heaven, as it is stated following the deaths of Nadab and Abihu concerning the surviving sons of Aaron: “Let not the hair of your heads go loose, neither rend your clothes, that you not die” (Leviticus 10:6). They were instructed not to mourn, so as not to interfere with the dedication of the Tabernacle. From here it may be deduced that any other mourner who did not let his hair grow wild or rend his clothes is liable to receive the death penalty.

Wait, so are we having sex on Shabbat or not? It’s bad, but not a capital crime . . . or is it only bad on non-Shabbat days during the first 30 days of mourning? This is why codes of law are good. The final ruling is that o Shabbat, even while public mourning practices are suspended, we still don’t have sex.

The prohibition holds also for festivals, even in the case of death occurring during the festival, when shiva does not begin until after end of the holiday. Sex is not permitted in that case from the time of death through the end of shiva, despite the fact that actual shiva begins later.

The joy of the festival does not change the fact that we are in mourning. So, now you know, 30 days people.

One mourning ritual that is less well known is to forgo cutting your hair while in mourning. When mourning for relatives other than parents, you don’t cut your hair until the end of the 30-day period after death. And for a parent . . . an entire year!! But there is an exception, you can cut your hair (after 30 days) at the first intense of social reproach – if someone says something or even if they just give you a funny look. The source of this exception is on our daf:

The Gemara returns to the continuation of the baraita: With regard to all deceased relatives except for parents, one may cut his hair after thirty days. In the case of one’s father or mother, one may not cut his hair until his colleagues have rebuked him for his hair being too long.

I love this because of the role of the close friend or colleague. I read it as different from a reproach or distaste at hair length, I read it as wanting to help the mourner take care of themself. When we lose someone we should mourn. But there does come a point where we may no longer be mourning, but wallowing in our misery. We can take it too far. Here, the friends and colleagues are there to say – that’s enough, it’s time to take care of yourself. 

A bonus gem:

For mourning a Sage, one removes his garment from the right shoulder. For the president of the court he removes his garment from the left shoulder. For the Nasi he removes his garment from here and from here, from both shoulders.

The Sages taught the following baraita: When a Sage dies, his study hall ceases its regular study as a sign of mourning over him. When the president of the court dies, all of the study halls in his city cease their regular study, and everyone enters the synagogue and changes their places there as a sign of mourning over him. Those who ordinarily sit in the north should sit in the south, and those who ordinarily sit in the south should sit in the north. When a Nasi dies, all study halls cease their regular study. On Shabbat, the members of the synagogue enter the synagogue for public Torah reading, which requires a congregation of ten, and seven people read from the Torah. And then they leave and pray on their own. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korḥa says: It is not that they stroll afterward in the marketplace, but rather they sit at home in silent mourning.

I love this text just because it is a physical outward manifestation of how the world is turned upside down when we lose someone. This passage speaks to public figures, but a strange thing about losing someone you love is that the rest of the world is just as it was before – but your world is not the same at all. This passage feels right – when we lose someone, the world should be as upside down as we are, at least for a day.

When do we stop giving people our condolences? After 3 day? 7? 30? A year? Today’s daf grapples with this question. In the midst of this grappling, we get today’s gem, a somewhat funny scenario (if you can say anything while in mourning is funny):

If it was the mourner’s wife who died and he married another woman within thirty days of his first wife’s death, one may not enter his house to speak words of consolation with him, so as not to offend his new wife. If, however, he finds him alone in the marketplace, he may speak to him with gentle words and in a serious manner. This indicates that the prohibition against extending greetings lasts for thirty days and not just seven.

This text is so amusing to me because it’s a a known secret that the most eligible bachelors are widows and it seems that this is the case in this passage. We have to wonder about how they are already hitched. Did she bring the best casserole to the shiva? Or was his wife sick for years?

I also love that it brings up the tension between a new wife and the wife who passed away. Learning how to be respectful of both women and the roles they play in the husband’s life is often a struggle that lasts years, maybe even the entire lifetime. It’s important to respect the relationship with the first wife and respect her. It is also important for the second wife to feel loved, embraced, and celebrated as a blessing in the life of this man and his family.

Would that all widows and widowers were able to find love again.

On today’s daf we get the definition of aveylut, direct mourners. These are the relatives required to tear their clothing (or the kriah ribbon) and observe a 7 day mourning period etc.

The Sages taught: With regard to all of the relatives mentioned in the Torah in the passage referring to priests, for which a priest becomes impure, a mourner must mourn for them. And they are: His wife, his father, and his mother, his brother and his unmarried sister from the same father, his son, and his daughter. The Sages added other relatives to this list: His maternal brother and his unmarried sister from the same mother, and his married sister, whether from the same father or from the same mother.

So, any parent, sibling, spouse, or child. You may be wondering – what about in-laws? grandchildren? nieces and nephews? The Gemara adds: Just as one mourns for them, so too he mourns for their relatives’ relatives, who are his second-degree relatives.

So, the circle spirals outward – where we mourn the siblings of our spouses, their siblings, and as we see, the children of our children (God forbid). Our gem is a kriah, a tearing, made in honor of a grandchild:

It was further related that the son of Ameimar’s son died, and Ameimar rent his garment over him. His son came before him, and he rent his garments again in the presence of his son, as an expression of empathy with the his son’s pain and grief. Later, he remembered that when he rent his garments in his son’s presence he rent them while sitting, and therefore he stood up and rent his garment again while standing.

Can you tear if you’re not an immediate family member? Not part of the aveylut? Yes. Here, Ameimar tore three times! But note that the practice is to tear while standing. Why?

Rav Ashi said to Ameimar: From where do we derive that rending must be done while standing? He responded: As it is written about the deaths of Job’s sons: “Then Job arose, and rent his coat” (Job 1:20).

Tomorrow’s daf gives other contextual proofs for tearing while standing, and, indeed, this is the practice. One psychological reason for this is that, even when death has taken someone we love so deeply, even when our hearts are torn (as represented by the kriah ribbon over our hearts), we still have the strength to hold ourselves up.

And we are back to death during the festival.

A good question is asked. If the Festival interrupts the mourning process, how do we count the first 7 days? The first 30?

Abaye inquired of Rava: If one buried his dead relative on the Festival itself, does the Festival count toward his thirty-day period of mourning, or does the Festival not count toward his thirty-day period of mourning? Abaye elaborated on his question: I do not ask whether or not the Festival counts toward his seven-day period of mourning because the obligation to observe seven days of mourning does not apply at all during the Festival, and therefore he must certainly observe the seven-day mourning period, beginning from after the Festival. What I am asking is with regard to the thirty-day period of mourning, because certain aspects of the mitzva of the thirty-day mourning period do in fact apply during the Festival, e.g., the prohibitions to launder clothes and cut hair. What, then, is the halakha: Do the days of the Festival count toward the thirty days or not?

Rava said to him: The Festival does not count toward the thirty days. Abaye raised an objection to Rava’s opinion from the following baraita: If one buries his dead relative two days before a Festival, he must count five days of mourning after the Festival, and during this period his work is performed for him by others. And his menservants and maidservants do this work in private inside his house, and the public need not occupy themselves with him by coming to console him, for they already occupied themselves with him when they came to console him during the Festival.

The general principle with regard to the matter is as follows: Any activity that is prohibited to the mourner because it is an expression of mourning is interrupted by the Festival and remains prohibited afterward. And anything that involves the public’s occupation with the mourner, e.g., coming to the mourner to offer him comfort and condolence, is not interrupted by the Festival, for people console the mourner during the Festival as well.

So, a gem in that there is a serious acknowledgement that – although the mourner might not be sitting low and not leaving the house because of the Festival – they are still in mourning and the human thing to do when you see them is to continue to acknowledge that they have had a loss.

Our job is to be there for one another and support one another. To be supportive in whatever way might be appropriate. To celebrate the festival as a community, including those who are in mourning, and to not pretend that the joy is not a bit tainted by the loss of their loved one.