The Eri B. Sitt Edition, an audio series on the Babylonian Talmud, begins today’s daf on 27b, at the bottom of the page. The discussion concerns the honor of women: at the time of a funeral, a woman’s coffin was not left in the public domain out of respect for her. It seems that in earlier times, during a funeral procession, the body would be left with the mourners in the street, and the coffin might even be opened so that people could see the body. In the case of a woman, however, they would not leave her in the public domain in that manner.
The Gemara explains the reason. The sages of Nehardea said that this applies only to a woman who died during childbirth. The concern is that she might still be bleeding, and it would be embarrassing if her shrouds were filled with blood. That would not be respectful to her. According to this view, only a woman who died during childbirth was not left in the street; other women could be left there.
Rabbi Elazar says that the ruling applies even to other women: no woman should be left in the public domain. The verse concerning Miriam is therefore extra. The verse says that Miriam died there and was buried there. The Gemara derives that she was buried immediately at the place where she died, without being left in the street even for a short time. Thus, even Miriam the prophetess was not left in the public domain. This indicates that it is not respectful for any woman to remain there, whether or not she died during childbirth.
Rabbi Elazar says further that Miriam died through a divine kiss. The Gemara in Bava Batra lists six people who died without the intervention of the Angel of Death, but directly through the Holy One, blessed be He. This is called death by a divine kiss. The list includes Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, and Miriam. The Gemara now proves that Miriam also died in this manner through a verbal analogy: the word “there” appears both regarding Miriam and regarding Moses. Just as Moses died through a divine kiss, so too Miriam died through a divine kiss.
The Gemara asks why the Torah does not state this explicitly regarding Miriam, as it does regarding Moses, where it says that he died by the command of God. The answer is that it would not be modest to state such a thing explicitly about a woman. Therefore, it is learned through the verbal analogy instead of being written directly.
Immediately after the death of Miriam, the Torah discusses the laws of the red heifer. The Gemara asks whether there is a connection between the juxtaposition of Miriam’s death and the red heifer. It answers that just as the red heifer atones, so too the death of the righteous atones for that generation. Some explain that the red heifer purifies a person from corpse impurity, the only means by which a person can be freed from that impurity. Others explain that the red heifer atones for the sin of the Golden Calf, since the Torah refers to it as a sin offering. In either case, just as the red heifer provides atonement, so the death of the righteous provides atonement for the generation.
Rabbi Elazar asks why the Torah’s account of Aaron’s death mentions the priestly garments. Before Aaron died, Moses removed Aaron’s priestly garments. Why does the Torah go out of its way to tell us this? The Gemara answers: just as the priestly garments atone, so too the death of the righteous atones.
Each of the garments of the High Priest atoned for a particular sin. The breastplate atoned for errors in judgment. The robe, with its bells at the bottom, atoned for slander. The forehead plate atoned for arrogance and brazenness. Each garment had the capacity to atone for a particular transgression. Therefore, just as the garments of the High Priest atoned for sins, the death of the righteous also atones for the sins of the generation.
The Gemara then discusses the punishment of excision. The Torah sometimes says that a person who commits certain sins is punished by excision. This punishment can take several forms. A person may die suddenly, without warning; he may die at a particular age; or his children may die during his lifetime. The commentators also explain that there can be a form of excision after death, in which suffering comes upon the soul. Thus, there are several forms of excision during a person’s lifetime, and one that may occur after death.
If a person dies suddenly, the term literally means that he was snatched away. If he was ill for only one day and then died, that is considered a sudden death. Tosafot is uncertain about the precise difference between some of these terms, but both are understood as forms of sudden death and therefore fall under the category of excision.
Rabbi Hananiah ben Gamliel says that if a person dies after being ill for one day, this is called death by plague. The Gemara brings a proof from the story of Ezekiel. God told Ezekiel that He would take away “the delight of your eyes,” referring to his wife. She died the following day. The verse says that God spoke to him in the morning and that his wife died in the evening. Since she was ill for what amounted to one day, her death is described as a plague.
If a person dies after being ill for two days, that is called a delayed death. After three days, it is called a rebuke; after four days, it is called disgrace. If he is ill for five days and then dies, it is considered an ordinary death rather than a sudden death. Thus, death after one through four days can be included among the various forms of punishment, but there are different degrees. The more sudden the death, the more severe it is considered, because a person has less time to make amends.
Rabbi Hanin asks how we know that five days of warning is already considered an ordinary death. Before Moses died, the verse says, “Behold, your days are approaching.” The word “behold” is understood as one, and “your days” refers to two more days, since the minimum plural is two. Together, this gives five days. Moses therefore had five days’ warning before his death, showing that death after five days is not considered sudden death.
The Gemara asks how we know that the word “behold” represents one. It answers that in the Greek language, the word means one. Of course, the Torah is not using a Greek word. The explanation is that many Hebrew words were forgotten and were preserved in other languages. This word was originally Hebrew, meaning one, but it was not used frequently, and it eventually entered the Greek language.
The Gemara then says that if a person dies at the age of fifty, this is considered excision. More precisely, the period from fifty to sixty is considered excision, with an exception at fifty-two. If he dies at fifty-two, this is considered the death of Samuel, and therefore an ordinary death rather than excision. Samuel did not die through excision; he died at the age of fifty-two.
At sixty, the Gemara initially says that the person dies through heavenly judgment, a punishment similar to excision but less severe. Another version, however, says that death at sixty is an ordinary death. This version fits better with the continuation of the Gemara. The proof is from Job, where the word for old age is understood as referring to sixty. Therefore, sixty is already considered a normal age of death.
If a person reaches seventy, this is called old age. At eighty, it is called strength. The explanation is that ordinarily the body should already have weakened by the age of eighty. If a person continues living with strength at that age, it is considered that the strength of the Holy One, blessed be He, is sustaining him. Reaching eighty is therefore beyond the ordinary nature of the body.
Rabbah clarifies the statement that excision applies at fifty. Why did the earlier teaching mention fifty rather than saying explicitly that it applies from fifty to sixty? It was stated that way out of respect for the age of fifty-two. In truth, the period is from fifty until sixty, excluding fifty-two and, according to the second version, excluding sixty as well.
When Rabbi Yosef reached the age of sixty, he made a celebration for himself and his students. He said, “I have escaped the punishment of excision.” Abaye responded that he had escaped excision of years, meaning the danger associated with dying between fifty and sixty, but he was still subject to excision of days, meaning sudden death. Rabbi Yosef answered that at least he had escaped one form of excision, and that was enough reason to celebrate.
The Gemara says that Rav Huna died suddenly, and the sages were concerned because sudden death is one of the forms of excision. Two Torah scholars came from a place called Harta de-Argiz and explained that sudden death is considered excision only before the age of eighty. Once a person reaches eighty, sudden death is considered death by a divine kiss. Rav Huna was therefore considered to have died through a divine kiss.
It follows that excision of years applies from fifty to sixty, excluding fifty-two and, according to the preferred version, excluding sixty. Between sixty and eighty, sudden death within five days can still be considered excision. After eighty, there is no longer excision of years or excision of days. The Yabetz explains that death before fifty is generally also considered sudden death, unless there is another explanation for the person’s death.
Rabbah says that three matters in a person’s life do not primarily depend on merit but on mazal: the length of one’s life, the number of one’s children, and one’s livelihood. Mazal refers to a certain influence connected to the stars and to the circumstances under which a person was born. These three matters are therefore dependent on mazal rather than directly on merit.
It should be noted that the Gemara in Shabbat presents opinions, also cited by Tosafot, that although these matters are primarily influenced by mazal, a person’s mazal can change through great merit. Great deeds or powerful prayer can alter a person’s mazal.
The Gemara in Ta’anit tells of a rabbi who was born under a negative mazal. He prayed to the Creator and was told that the entire world could be recreated so that he might be born under a better mazal. He replied, “All that, and it would still be only a possibility? I will remain with what I have.” Even one of the great rabbis of the Gemara was born under a particular mazal.
The commentators ask what the Torah means when it says that if a person observes the commandments, he will receive blessing. If livelihood and the other matters depend on mazal, how can the Torah say that a person’s good life depends on observing the commandments?
The answer is that mazal is one of the causes, but it is not the primary or exclusive cause. A person’s mazal can indeed change through observance of the commandments, prayer, and great merit. The Torah’s promise of blessing means that the person’s spiritual actions can influence and change what would otherwise follow from his mazal.
The Gemara gives an example of two great rabbis who were both righteous and whose prayers for rain were answered immediately. Rav Chisda lived to the age of ninety-two, while Rabbah lived only to the age of forty. In Rav Chisda’s home, there were sixty weddings among his children and grandchildren. In Rabbah’s home, there were sixty occasions of mourning. Some explain that the number sixty is not exact but indicates that there were many such events.
Rav Chisda’s household was so wealthy that they could feed their dogs the finest flour, semolina. The dogs were already satiated, so even this was considered extra food for them. In Rabbah’s home, by contrast, they could afford only barley bread, and even that was not always available in sufficient quantity.
Both rabbis were righteous, yet they differed in the three areas mentioned by the Gemara. Rav Chisda lived to ninety-two, while Rabbah lived to forty. Rav Chisda had many weddings, while Rabbah had many funerals. Rav Chisda was wealthy enough to feed his dogs fine flour, while Rabbah could barely feed his household barley bread. This demonstrates that these matters depend on mazal and not only on merit.
Rabbah says further that he prayed for three things and received two. He prayed for the wisdom of Rav Huna and the wealth of Rav Chisda, and he received both. He also prayed for the humility of Rabbah bar Rav Huna, but that request was not granted.
This raises a question. Rabbah himself taught that life, children, and livelihood depend on mazal, yet he prayed for wealth and received it. The answer is that mazal can be changed through prayer. A second question concerns humility. The Gemara teaches that everything is in the hands of Heaven except the fear of Heaven, meaning that a person’s religious level and character traits depend on free will. How, then, could Rabbah pray for humility?
The explanation is that prayer itself is part of a person’s free will. No one dictates what a person may pray for. A person can pray for success in Torah study, for spiritual growth, or for assistance in developing humility. Rabbah was not asking Heaven to force him to be humble; he was asking for divine assistance so that he would succeed in becoming humble. He was using prayer as a means to accomplish what he had chosen to pursue.
The same applies to the request recited by some people in the Grace After Meals on Shabbat and Yom Kippur, asking God to provide their livelihood in a permissible rather than a forbidden manner. Whether a person will steal in business is his own choice. The prayer is not asking God to make the choice for him. Rather, it asks for divine assistance so that he will not be brought to a test and will be able to conduct his business honestly without being tempted to compromise Torah values. Such a prayer does not contradict the principle that fear of Heaven is in a person’s own hands.
The Gemara relates another incident involving a rabbi named Rav Seorim, who was Rabbah’s brother. Rabbah was on his deathbed and asked his brother to tell the Angel of Death not to cause him pain when taking his soul. Rav Seorim replied, “You are his friend. Why do you not speak to him yourself?” Rabbah answered that he had already lost his mazal. He was already in the Angel of Death’s grip, and therefore he could no longer speak to him directly.
Every person has an angel beside him that protects him, and this is referred to as his mazal. Rabbah was saying that this protective force was no longer present. He asked his brother to speak to the Angel of Death on his behalf. After Rabbah died, he appeared to his brother in a dream, and his brother asked whether he had experienced pain. Rabbah answered that he had felt only a slight sensation, like the small pinch caused by bloodletting in earlier times.
Rav Nachman was also about to die and asked Rabbah to tell the Angel of Death not to cause him pain. Rabbah responded, “You are a poor man; go yourself and speak to the Angel of Death.” Rav Nachman answered, “Who is important enough to stand before the Angel of Death? Who can invoke fear in him? Who is sufficiently refined and complete to negotiate with him?” Rav Nachman felt that once he had been handed over to the Angel of Death, he could not approach him himself, but that Rabbah might be able to do so.
Rav Nachman asked Rabbah to appear to him in a dream after his death and tell him what had happened. He later appeared to Rabbah and was asked whether he had suffered. Rav Nachman replied that it had been like removing a hair from a cup of milk—entirely painless. He added that even if the Holy One, blessed be He, offered him the opportunity to return to the world as he had been and die a second time, he would not want to do so. The moment of death was frightening, even though he had not experienced physical pain.
Rabbi Elazar was a priest and was eating consecrated food. The Angel of Death appeared to him. Rabbi Elazar said, “I am eating consecrated food. Is this not called holiness?” He was arguing that if he died at that moment, the consecrated food would become impure. The Angel of Death therefore missed the opportunity, and Rabbi Elazar was saved for the time being.
Rav Sheshet once saw the Angel of Death in the marketplace and said, “Would you kill me in the marketplace like an animal? Wait until I reach my house and take me there like a human being.” He wanted to die with dignity rather than in the middle of the marketplace.
Rav Ashi once saw the Angel of Death in the marketplace and asked for thirty more days so that he could review his learning. The sages teach, “Fortunate is the one who arrives here with his learning in his hand.” Rav Ashi wanted to review the entire Talmud so that when he reached the next world, he would be prepared.
On the thirtieth day, the Angel of Death appeared early to take him. Rav Ashi asked why he was rushing, since the day had only begun. The answer was that Rav Huna bar Natan had been appointed to become the head of the academy, and the new leadership could not begin until the previous leader’s life had ended. Even a moment of overlap was not permitted. Rav Huna bar Natan was the leader in Babylonia who would fill the position after Rav Ashi’s death.
The Angel of Death was unable to take Rav Chisda for a long time because Rav Chisda never stopped studying Torah. As long as a person studies Torah, the Angel of Death has no hold over him. The Angel of Death therefore sat on a cedar tree in the courtyard of Rav Chisda and caused the tree to crack. The loud noise caused Rav Chisda to stop studying for a moment, and at that instant the Angel of Death took his soul.
The Angel of Death was likewise unable to approach Rabbi Chiya. One day he disguised himself as a poor man and knocked on Rabbi Chiya’s door, asking for bread. When bread was brought out, he said, “Do you not have compassion on the poor? I have been sent by the Holy One, blessed be He, to take you. Why are you making my task difficult?”
The son of the Angel of Death appeared before Rabbi Chiya and showed him a fiery staff. When Rabbi Chiya saw the fire, he realized who had come, and the Angel of Death was able to take his soul. Rabbi Shiloh ben Yatom comments on these stories that they demonstrate the importance of Torah study and how much the Holy One, blessed be He, loves the righteous. Their greatness was such that they interacted with the Angel of Death and were able to speak with him.
The final Mishnah of the tractate now discusses mourning practices. We previously learned that on the intermediate days of a festival, eulogies are not given, and the coffin is not left in the street, so that people will not become accustomed to delivering eulogies on those days.
In the time of the Sages, there were different forms of crying and eulogizing at a funeral. Men would deliver eulogies, speaking about the deceased, praising him, and offering moral instruction concerning the loss. Women, by contrast, would engage in various forms of crying, wailing, and lamentation, sometimes singing particular lamentations.
The Mishnah says that on the intermediate days of a festival, women may engage in lamentation and wailing, but they may not clap their hands. Clapping means striking the hands together as an expression of mourning. Rabbi Ishmael says that the women who are close to the coffin may also clap their hands, because being near the coffin represents a higher level of grief.
On the first days of the month, on Hanukkah, and on Purim, women may both wail and clap. On all these days, however, they may not sing formal lamentations. Once the body has been buried, they may no longer wail or clap, and certainly may not sing formal lamentations.
The Gemara explains the distinctions. Wailing is when everyone cries together, like a choir. A formal lamentation is when one woman says a particular word, verse, or expression of sorrow, and the others respond to her. The verse says that a woman should lament to her companion, indicating that one woman speaks and another answers. Thus, formal lamentation is the highest level, followed by clapping, followed by wailing.
Formal lamentation is prohibited in every case, whether on the intermediate days of a festival, on the first day of the month, on Hanukkah, or on Purim. On the intermediate days of a festival, wailing is permitted but clapping is not, except for the women who are close to the coffin, according to Rabbi Ishmael. On the first days of the month, on Hanukkah, and on Purim, both wailing and clapping are permitted, but formal lamentation is not.
The Gemara concludes with the verse, “He will swallow up death forever, and the Lord God will wipe away tears from every face.” Death will ultimately be removed from the world, and the Holy One, blessed be He, will wipe away all tears. The tractate ends with this verse in order to conclude on a positive note. Some explain that the tractate was originally considered the final tractate of the Order of Festivals, and therefore the entire order was ended with a positive message. Although we now consider Chagigah to be the final tractate of that order, this chapter, which deals extensively with death, concludes by emphasizing that death will ultimately disappear.
The Gemara then asks what women used to say at funerals. One expression was, “Woe to the one who is departing, and woe to the burden.” The deceased is departing for his final resting place, and the burden refers to the coffin that people must carry. He is going to a place from which he will not return, and the people must carry his body there.
The women of a city called Shekanziv were particularly skilled in lamentation. They would say, “Woe to the one who is going, and woe to the burden.” They would also say, “Break a bone from the teeth and bring water into the vessel.” The expression describes opening a person’s mouth and allowing the water in his mouth to return to the vessel. Normally, water moves from the vessel into the mouth; here, the process is reversed. The idea is that when a person dies, the order of nature is reversed. The soul, which originally descended into this world, now leaves the body and returns above.
They would also say, “Mountains, cover yourselves,” because a great person had died, the son of distinguished and respected people. According to Rabbi Hananel, the women were telling the mountains to dress themselves in honor of the righteous person who was coming to be buried beside them, since people used to bury the dead in the mountains.
They would say further that death is like a cloak of fine silk for a person who has lost his money. If someone has lost all his wealth and has nothing with which to live, death can be considered a relief for him. This refers to a wealthy person who lost everything; in such a case, the women were offering consolation by saying that death was preferable to a life without livelihood.
Another expression was, “He runs and falls.” The commentators explain that this refers to a person who spends his entire life running after money and conducting business, only to lose everything at the end of his life. When he reaches the bridge between this world and the next, he must borrow money even for his shrouds.
They would also say, “My brothers, merchants, check your jugs.” They were warning the merchants to examine their merchandise and ensure that their weights were honest. What happened to this person could happen to them as well. At a funeral, they offered moral instruction: merchants should make certain that all their business dealings were conducted faithfully.
The Gemara says that the death of an ordinary person is like the death of all people. The suffering that precedes death, however, is like interest. The person’s death is the repayment of the principal, while the suffering he experiences is an additional payment, like interest on a loan.
The Gemara says that it is better to go to a house of mourning than to a wedding, because in the house of mourning a person pays attention to his heart and is moved to reflect. The commentator known as the Yisod asks what the verse means by discussing these matters of death. He explains that when people attend a funeral, they realize that those who are eulogizing and burying the deceased will one day themselves be eulogized and buried. What they are doing for this family will eventually be done for them.
Those who deliver the eulogy will one day be eulogized. Those who involve themselves in burying the deceased will one day be buried. Those who raise their voices in crying for the deceased will one day have others cry for them. When a person comes to a house of mourning, he is confronted with his own mortality and realizes that what he is doing for others will eventually be done for him.
Some explain that a person who does not elevate himself—that is, someone who attends to the needs of the deceased without considering himself too important to become involved—will be elevated in Heaven. The verse says, “It is better that it be said to you, ‘Rise,’ than that you be lowered before a prince.” It also says, “Do not glorify yourself before the king, and do not stand in the place of great men.” Wait until you are told to come and rise; do not advance on your own before a king.
When a person lowers himself, others will eventually elevate him. When he remains humble, he will be brought to a higher place. This is the meaning of the verse: it is better to be invited to rise than to assume a position for oneself.
There is an interesting explanation in the Ein Yaakov concerning the comparison between a house of mourning and a wedding. The commentators ask why these two occasions are being compared. Usually, when one says that one thing is preferable to another, the two things are similar. One might say that it is better to eat one apple than another apple, but not that it is better to eat an apple than a steak. A wedding and a funeral appear to have nothing in common.
The answer is that a wedding also confronts a person with mortality. When people attend a wedding, they can ask why people marry. The answer is that they marry in order to have children and perpetuate the human species. Why must the species be perpetuated? Because no one lives forever. Thus, even at a wedding, people are reminded that they will not live forever. The difference is that in a house of mourning, this realization is direct and obvious, while at a wedding it is indirect. Therefore, it is better to receive this moral lesson in a house of mourning.
This also explains why people sometimes cry at a wedding. The soul senses mortality. The reason for the wedding is that the people standing there will not live forever, and therefore they must perpetuate themselves through their children. At other celebrations, such as a bar mitzvah, people do not generally cry in the same way. At a wedding, however, the soul senses the reality of death beneath the celebration, and the tears express that awareness.
When the sons of Rabbi Ishmael died, four rabbis came to console him: Rabbi Tarfon, Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, and Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Tarfon said that Rabbi Ishmael was a great rabbi and well versed in homiletic teachings. They therefore agreed that no one should repeat what another had said. Each rabbi would offer a different form of consolation.
The mourner is not supposed to begin speaking until the comforters have arrived and the mourner opens the conversation. Rabbi Ishmael began by saying, “My sins are many, and therefore I have been punished with successive periods of mourning. I have caused my rabbis to inconvenience themselves by having to visit me again and again.” He understood the successive deaths of his children as a consequence of his sins and felt that the rabbis were being forced to come repeatedly to console him.
Rabbi Tarfon began by citing the verse concerning the death of Nadab and Abihu, which says that all Israel mourned them. Just before their deaths, they had performed a mitzvah by bringing blood to the altar. They were involved in the service of the Sanctuary immediately before they died, and the entire Jewish people mourned them. Rabbi Tarfon therefore said that the sons of Rabbi Ishmael, who had performed many commandments and were beloved for their Torah and mitzvot, certainly deserved to be honored at the time of their deaths.
Rabbi Yosei HaGelili cited the verse concerning Abijah, the son of Jeroboam, who was mourned and buried by the Jewish people. The Gemara asks what good thing Abijah had done to deserve this honor. His father had appointed him to guard the roads so that the Jewish people would not go up to Jerusalem for the festivals. Jeroboam had placed golden calves in the north and south and redirected the people away from Jerusalem. Abijah abandoned his post and went up to Jerusalem. Some say that he dismissed all the guards so that the Jewish people would be able to make the pilgrimage. This was the one good thing he did, and because of it he deserved a eulogy and burial. All the more so, the sons of Rabbi Ishmael deserved such honor.
Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah cited the verse in which Jeremiah told King Zedekiah, “You will die in peace.” The custom was that when a king died, his bed, clothing, and vessels were burned. The prophet was telling Zedekiah that he would receive the same honor as his predecessors: his belongings would be burned and he would be mourned.
Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah explained that Zedekiah had performed one great mitzvah. When Jeremiah prophesied that the Jewish people would go into exile, Jeremiah was thrown into a pit of mud to die. Zedekiah took a risk and saved Jeremiah from drowning. Because of this act, he deserved a proper funeral. All the more so, the sons of Rabbi Ishmael deserved honor at the time of their deaths.
Rabbi Akiva cited the verse in Zechariah that compares the future mourning in Jerusalem to the mourning for Hadad-Rimmon in the valley of Megiddo. The Gemara says that it is difficult to understand the verse, because there will be a great eulogy in the future comparable to two great funerals: the funeral of Ahab, king of Israel, who was killed by Hadad-Rimmon, and the funeral of Josiah, who was killed by Pharaoh Neco in Megiddo. The Targum explains that the future mourning will be as great as both of these funerals combined. This refers to the future death of Messiah son of Joseph.
The Gemara asks what Ahab did for Israel that he deserved such a funeral. Ahab did at least one good thing. During his war against Aram, he was struck by a lance. He understood that if he collapsed in his chariot, the soldiers would realize that the king of Israel had been killed. This would destroy their morale, cause them to flee, and result in many casualties. Although he was in great pain, he held himself upright in the chariot so that the soldiers would think that the king was still alive. By enduring the pain and protecting the morale of the army, he acquired great merit and was buried with great honor.
All the more so, the sons of Rabbi Ishmael, who were righteous, deserved great honor at the time of their deaths. The prophet had told Zedekiah that he would die in peace, yet another verse describes how Nebuchadnezzar blinded him after killing his children before his eyes. How, then, could it be said that he died in peace?
Rabbi Yohanan explains that Nebuchadnezzar died during Zedekiah’s lifetime. Zedekiah had been imprisoned, and when Nebuchadnezzar died, they released Zedekiah from prison. Zedekiah then died after having lived one day longer than Nebuchadnezzar. His death was therefore considered peaceful, because his tormentor was no longer alive.
Another verse says that Josiah would be buried in the graves of his fathers in peace. Yet Josiah was struck by so many arrows that his body became like a sieve. The peace referred to the fact that the Temple was not destroyed during his lifetime.
The comforters are not permitted to begin speaking until the mourner opens the conversation, as we saw in the story of Rabbi Ishmael. We find the same principle regarding Job. When Job’s children died, his friends came to console him and sat with him silently for seven days. Job did not speak, and they did not speak. Only after Job opened his mouth did Eliphaz begin to console him.
The Gemara asks how we know that the mourner sits at the head while the comforters sit around him. Job says that in earlier days he sat at the head, like a king leading an army, and compares his position to that of mourners surrounded by comforters. According to the simple meaning, the verse appears to refer to the comforters as sitting at the head. The commentators explain that the verse is read with a change in emphasis, so that it refers to the one being comforted—the mourner. The mourner sits at the head, and the comforters sit around him.
The Gemara also derives this from a verse in Amos. The word describing the gathering of mourners is interpreted as an abbreviation for “the bitter and desolate one,” referring to the mourner, while the others are the comforters. The mourner becomes like the leader of those who come to console him.
Rabbi Hamnuna says that the groom sits at the head. The verse says, “Like a groom, he adorns himself,” comparing the groom to a priest. Just as a priest sits at the head, so too a groom sits at the head.
How do we know that a priest sits at the head? The Torah says, “You shall sanctify him,” teaching that the priest must be treated with distinction. He is given precedence in matters of holiness. When the Torah scroll is taken out, the priest goes first, followed by the Levite. In the Grace After Meals, he leads the invitation to recite the blessing. When portions of food are distributed, he receives the first portion. Thus, just as the priest sits at the head, so too the groom sits at the head. May the Lord be blessed forever. Amen.