The Voice That Never Leaves Us
In the final lines of the Torah, God shows Moshe the Promised Land and tells him that, after his death, He will fulfill the promise He made to His people to give them the land:
“This is the land that I swore to Avraham, to Yitzhak, and to Yaakov, saying, ‘To your seed I will give it.’” (Deuteronomy 34:4)
Some of the sages understood these words to mean that God intended Moshe to deliver this message personally to these long-departed patriarchs. They saw in the verse an indication that the dead continue to live in some sense after death. (See Berachot 18b; Talmud Yerushalmi, Berachot 2:3.)
This rabbinic interpretation provides the background for a fascinating rabbinic story, particularly because it appears to contradict the plain meaning of a verse in Kohelet:
“For the living know that they shall die; but the dead know nothing.” (Ecclesiastes 9:5)
Rabbi Hiyya Rabbah and Rabbi Yonatan were walking before the funeral bier of Rabbi Shimon ben Yossi ben Lakuniah. Rabbi Yonatan’s tallit was dragging over the funeral bier. Rabbi Hiyya Rabbah said to him: “My son, lift up your tallit, lest they [the dead] say, ‘Tomorrow they come to us, but now they scoff at us.’”
Rabbi Yonatan replied: “But is it not written: ‘And the dead know nothing’?”
Rabbi Hiyya answered: “My son, Scripture you know; midrash you do not know. ‘For the living know’—this refers to the righteous, who even in death are called living. ‘And the dead know nothing’—this refers to the wicked, who even while they are alive are called dead.”
From where do we know that the righteous are called living even in death? As it is written:
“To the land which was sworn to Avraham, to Yitzhak and to Yaakov, saying…”
The verse does not refer simply to the patriarchs as a group. Rather, it names Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov individually. God said to Moshe: “Go and tell them that I have fulfilled the oath which I swore to them.”
Rabbi Yonatan then said to Rabbi Hiyya: “Bless you for teaching me midrash,” and he kissed him on his head. (Adapted from Kohelet Rabbah 9:5)
There are two striking features of this story, one interpretive and the other theological.
Rabbi Yonatan initially understands the verse from Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) according to its plain meaning: the dead know nothing. From this, he concludes that the dead have no awareness of what happens among the living, and therefore there is no need to be concerned about their feelings.
Rabbi Hiyya teaches him that there is another layer of meaning in Scripture – midrash. The rabbinic reading transforms the verse entirely. The righteous, even after death, are still called “living,” while those who are wicked can be considered “dead” even while they are alive. In this reading, Moshe can speak to the patriarchs and tell them that God has finally fulfilled the promise He made to them.
Why all this discussion about life after death?
Rabbinic Judaism seeks in this idea two fundamental affirmations. The first is that there is ultimately justice in God’s world. The second is the hopeful affirmation that human life is not ultimately finite. Neither of these ideas can be empirically demonstrated, of course, but they offer a way of affirming that God’s world is ultimately good and benevolent, even when our experience of that world may tell us otherwise.
There is also something deeply personal in this idea.
When we lose someone we love, we do not simply lose a person and retain a memory. Somehow, the voice of that person continues to speak within us. The things they taught us, the ways they shaped us, their words and their presence remain part of who we are. The rabbinic tradition gives theological expression to that experience: the righteous are not simply “dead.” Their voices continue to live.
And perhaps that is what Simchat Torah asks us to remember as we conclude the Torah and immediately begin it again. Moshe dies, but his voice does not disappear. His teaching continues. His words become part of the lives of those who come after him. The Torah is completed, and then, without pause, we begin again.
In that sense, the voice of those whom we have lost can continue to accompany us—not merely as a memory of the past, but as a living presence within our lives.
