Clarifying Who We Are in the Wake of Death

Earlier in my career, I had the deep privilege of doing hospice work. I drove around from house to house to sit with people for whom death was near.

Friends often asked me whether the work was hard. It certainly was, but it was also a great blessing to be in spaces where the reality of death inspired reflection on what life is about. When you face death squarely, paradoxically, your values, priorities and sense of the meaning of life become vividly apparent.

When they knew that the end was near, some people were still able to think about what they had most treasured in their lives, whom they wanted to say goodbye to and what lessons they wanted to share with those they would leave behind.

Spending time with people who were living with keen awareness of mortality, I too became vibrantly aware of what was most true and precious to me. It was wonderful to be so awake in the middle of life. When I stopped doing hospice work, I needed to seek out reminders to live fully in different ways.

This week’s parashah, Vayechi, which means “And he [Jacob] lived,” is actually the story of two deaths — that of Jacob and of Joseph. In a way, it is two scenes of hospice.

At the beginning of the parashah, we learn that Jacob is nearing death. He calls Joseph to his bedside and makes Joseph swear to bury Jacob’s remains in his homeland, in the family grave at the Cave of Machpelah. He is clearly engaged in a review of his life, contemplating his legacy to his children and the people who will carry his name, Israel. 

So, too, the end of the parashah brings us the news that Joseph is near death. It describes some of his preparations, including his wish that he not be permanently buried in Egypt but in his ancestral homeland.

For both Jacob and Joseph, what was most central was their concern for their legacy to their heirs, those who would lead their family to become the Israelite people. If you try to imagine yourself facing death (a long time from now!), what do you think might be most precious to you at that time? How would you want to spend your final days and weeks? What messages would you like to bequeath to your loved ones?

The memory of the Bondi Beach attack is still fresh. The pain and horror are vivid, the fear and sadness very much with us.

For the whole Jewish people, the massacre in Sydney catapulted all of us into the reality of death. This was not a natural death, of course, but horrific, violent death caused by deranged people full of hate. 

In the wake of this kind of inexplicable death born of hate, the impulse can be very strong to hate in response. Some of us have been moved to step into a familiar place: the conviction that antisemitism is everywhere and that violent attacks will always pursue our people. In this state of mind, we huddle more closely together with other Jews and brace ourselves for the next attack, assuming that hate is all around us. 

But there is another possible stance in response to death, violence and cruelty. Some of us, inspired by the imagery of Hanukkah, have been moved since Bondi to ask how we might create more light in the world and share it with others. Some of us wanted to take in the good will of non-Jews who sent kind messages of condolence or put images of menorahs on their front doors. We wanted to open our arms to other people who oppose bigotry and hate and to work together to breathe more light and love out into the world. 

In the wake of these terrible murders, we must ask ourselves the end-of-life question: What is most important to us? What do we most treasure? What do we want to savor and model for those who will come after us?

In the aftermath of a massacre of Jews, we must acknowledge our pain and ask ourselves who we want to be in the world, as Jews and as human beings. If we want to be people who seek a world free of violence against anyone, then we must use this terrible moment as an opportunity to join hands with others who seek to create communities that are more loving and embracing, where there is less space for hate.

I was deeply moved by reports of the celebration at Bondi Beach on the eighth night of Hanukkah. There were family members of those killed in the attack, and there were also first responders — not all of them Jewish — and civic leaders. Those closest to the pain of the attack opened the circle of grief to stand together with non-Jewish neighbors, to affirm their mutual commitment to a nation of inclusion and care.

As we continue to grieve the terrible events of Dec. 14 and other attacks, may we take the opportunity to rededicate ourselves to contributing to a world of love, kindness and mutual respect.

This column first appeared in the JWeekly, https://jweekly.com/2025/12/31/confronting-death-in-the-torah-and-at-bondi-beach/