We hear about it. We know about it. It’s 100% emet (true). Do people die? Absolutely.
Good morning, everyone. We’re continuing where we started yesterday. Yesterday, we began with a question about Avraham Avinu (Abraham our forefather): Hashem spoke to him at the age of 75. We asked why Hashem spoke to him. What did he accomplish in order to merit the level of spirituality that allowed Hashem to connect with him—or, better yet, what did he do to build the satellites for himself to receive a connection from Hashem?
We saw in the Midrash (rabbinic homiletic teaching) yesterday that his accomplishment was that he came to recognize the One Creator. That was a tremendous accomplishment, as we mentioned yesterday, especially considering that he had no guidance. He didn’t have a Torah, a rabbi, or a home that taught him that. On his own and independently, he came to the clarity and conclusion that there is a Creator of this world.
The question we asked yesterday was this: If that was his accomplishment—understanding the Creator of the world—and he did that at a very early age, why did Hashem not connect with him earlier? We quoted a Gemara that says he was only three years old. There are other opinions that say he was a little bit older, but it was not 75. So if the accomplishment that brought him to this level was knowing about the Creator, why did Hashem not connect with him earlier? What was left to accomplish? Why did Hashem say, at the age of 75, “Okay, now he’s ready”? What more could he have done in this area than realize there is a Creator? That was the question we asked yesterday.
Yesterday, at the end, we explained that there’s a difference between knowledge that comes into a person. I can know something intellectually, or I can know something through my senses. Both pieces of knowledge are 100% emet. They’re true. I have no doubt about them, but the level at which they reside inside me is very different.
We gave an example yesterday to a funeral? of a person who reads about a terrible event that took place and a person who actually witnessed and lived through that terrible event. There’s no comparison, even though both people can swear that it’s 100% true, that whatever took place, took place. But one of them feels it in his bones, and his life probably changes because of the event he saw. Life will never be the same again because of what he witnessed and lived through. The other person, even though he’ll give you the exact same answers as the person who experienced it when you ask him about the details, has information that isn’t really a part of him. It’s something he knows, but not something he feels.
As humans, the information that becomes part of us is the part that we feel. If we just know about something, that’s usually not enough to make a difference in our lives. I’m going to give you another example today. It comes from the words of Shlomo HaMelech (the wise man). Shlomo HaMelech asks a question. It’s actually a halachic question. His book is not a book of halacha (Jewish law), but sometimes you can learn halacha from his book.
We know that in Judaism, we have a number of mitzvot (commandments) that are very important—so important that you have to stop what you’re doing, even if you’re learning, and go. One of those mitzvot is bringing happiness to a chatan (groom) and kallah (bride): a person goes to a wedding and sits at the chuppah (wedding canopy). We don’t always realize it, and sometimes we get annoyed because we have to go to a wedding. It can be difficult, sometimes more than one a night. However, we must realize that we’re doing a very big mitzvah. Going to a wedding is not just checking in so someone sees my face and then leaving. It’s not just about saying hello to the person. It’s a big mitzvah of chesed (kindness), a mitzvah that Hashem Himself performed at the beginning of creation. Hashem Himself was there for the wedding of Adam and Chava.
Therefore, when a person goes to a wedding, it’s not just saying hello to the person, although saying hello is also important. You’re actually performing a mitzvah. When you sit there at the chuppah and the chatan and kallah turn around, they see people at their wedding. This gives them a tremendous amount of pride—pride in each other—and gives them strength at the beginning of their marriage. Again, you haven’t done anything. You haven’t danced with them. You haven’t given them a gift. At this funeral? Just being present when they get married gives them strength.
Let’s take the opposite case. Imagine a person had a wedding and invited hundreds of people to come. That day, when they came, everyone happened not to be in the mood. Nobody was in the mood to leave the house. Sometimes it happens with one guest, or five guests, or ten guests. But that day, every single guest was not in the mood. Nobody showed up.
Could you imagine the chatan and kallah? They invited so many people, and nobody showed up. The chatan looks at the kallah and says, “Wow, you must not be so important. You don’t really have any friends.” She looks at him with the same eye. What kind of beginning is that to a marriage? When a person gets married, they want to feel that they have something valuable, something that is respected. That builds the beginning of their marriage. The chatan looks at this kallah and her guests and says, “Wow, I’m so lucky to have such a kallah.” And the kallah looks at the chatan. That’s a very important part of a wedding. The important part of the wedding is to build the beginning of the relationship between the chatan and kallah. That is a great mitzvah.
Today, you and I understand the value of making a shidduch. Everybody knows you’re able to help two people get married. That’s a tremendous mitzvah. Who can argue with the value of building a Jewish home and a Jewish family that will bring thousands of people? Anybody who helps somebody with a shidduch has a tremendous reward for that. But going to a wedding, making the chatan and kallah happy, and starting their marriage in a happy way so it can be built the right way is no less significant. You make a shidduch—that’s only the beginning. Having a great marriage: that’s real building. So people who come to a wedding are building the future of this home. It doesn’t mean everything is determined by the wedding. But, you know, it says everything goes after the beginning. Sof (end), it says—excuse me. Tov acharit davar me’reishito: when you see something good in the end, you know from the beginning it was good. Shlomo HaMelech says you know from the beginning it was good. That means a good start is a great way to end well, too.
You start your day the right way, and there’s a good chance your day will continue the right way. You start your day the wrong way—the opposite, Chas veshalom (God forbid). That’s why it’s so important in the morning for a person to wake up early, go to pray, see people and say good morning, say hello, and learn something, like we’re learning now. That’s how you start your day. When you start your day the right way, with a smile, when you wake up in a good mood, when you do the right things, are thankful to your Creator in the morning, and are learning something, you bring light into your life. That’s the best way to start your day. Your day will continue.
So, too, when you have a hand in making two people’s marriage solid, what better mitzvah can you and I do at 8 o’clock at night? We can go and strengthen a home that will produce great people. That is the mitzvah of attending a wedding. Like I said, it is sometimes difficult; it is sometimes burdensome. But fasting on Kippur (Day of Atonement) is also difficult. We do it because we know it’s very important. Sometimes it’s difficult not to open our business on Shabbat. But we do it because we know the value of Shabbat. Not everything in life that’s difficult is something we just shy away from. We don’t say, “No, we’re not in the mood for Shabbat this week,” or, “This year I’m not in the mood to fast for Kippur.” We don’t do that, even though we may not be in the mood, because we know there’s something great that we’re getting instead.
We must realize that going to a wedding is a tremendous mitzvah. Again, it doesn’t mean we can’t miss, that we don’t have a good time, or that we don’t sometimes have excuses. I’m not saying that. But at the end of the day, we should realize that when we go to mesameach chatan ve kallah (make the groom and bride happy), it’s a tremendous mitzvah.
That’s one mitzvah. The other mitzvah we’re going to discuss today is the opposite. That’s a time of simcha (joy); there’s no better simcha than a wedding. Sometimes you have to go to a mitzvah where people pass away. It’s not a happy time, not a time that you look forward to, per se. That’s also a great mitzvah: to give respect to the person who left this world. Levayah—to accompany that person to his final resting place in this world—is also a great mitzvah. We stop and say, “Go, we have to go to a Levayah.” The mitzvah of Levayah involves two major types of kindness that we’re doing: one for the person who died, and also one for the family. We give them strength and support, help console them, and maybe alleviate some of their pain by sharing their burden. It’s a great mitzvah. Two very big mitzvot.
So Shlomo HaMelech wants to know what happens if a person is only able to fulfill one of the two. For example, one of your good friends, who would really appreciate your presence at his wedding, would find it would make a very big difference in his life if you attended. Not every person who invites you really appreciates you being there. Sometimes invitations are just for respect. But this one is your good friend from school, and he would really appreciate you coming to his wedding. You live in New York; he lives in Florida. He calls you a few weeks before and says, “Please, you have to be there. Sunday afternoon, 12 o’clock is the chuppah. I want you to be my best man. You’re going to march.” Of course, you’re excited for him and you say, “What’s the question? Sunday morning or late Saturday night, I’m going to get on the plane. I’ll be there Sunday morning to celebrate with you and your kallah and your families.” Beautiful, very exciting.
Saturday night, right as he’s driving to the airport, he gets a very unfortunate phone call: one of his good friends in Chicago, as an example, passed away. The Levayah is Sunday at 12. This is also someone very close to him, whose family is very close to him. So now he can catch a flight either to Chicago or to Miami. Miami has his friend’s wedding, a tremendous mitzvah. In Chicago, he has a Levayah, a tremendous mitzvah. So Shlomo HaMelech wants to know which mitzvah that person should do. He can only do one. He can’t do both. Should he go to the wedding or should he go to the simcha? The only choice is one or the other.
Now, generally speaking, when we have a question like this in halacha—what do I do? Do I give honor to my parents or do I go help a stranger? Do I go pick up a lost object of my rabbi or a lost object of my friend?—we have rules. In life, you can’t always do everything you want. Sometimes you have to choose one of two, or sometimes one of three. This is actually a relevant halacha. How do we decide in general what to do when we have these options? Usually, we look at the value of the mitzvah as much as we can determine it based on the rules of the Torah. Based on those rules, we try to determine, “Okay, you know what? In this situation, you’re better off doing this one because that’s a bigger mitzvah. There’s a bigger advantage in that mitzvah.”
So when it comes to this mitzvah, what should we do? Which is the bigger mitzvah? Is the bigger mitzvah going to your friend’s wedding to be mesameach chatan ve kallah, or is the bigger mitzvah going to a funeral? Lo aleinu (may it not be upon us). And to be menachem avelim (comforting mourners) and give respect to the person who left this world? What’s a bigger mitzvah?
I’m sure that as I’m talking to you now, you’re saying to yourself, “Well, some of you are saying, ‘I think a wedding is a bigger mitzvah. A wedding—you’re building something. It’s for the future. The person passed away; it’s a terrible thing, but he’s done, he’s gone. There’s nothing to build over there. Whatever was done is done. Here you have an opportunity to build the future of a home. How could you give that up for a funeral?’” I can hear that.
Others might be saying, “No, what do you mean? You’ve got to go to the Levayah. This is your last chance. It’s your last opportunity. You’re not going to see that guy anymore. You’re not going to have a chance to give kavod (honor) to the mitzvah. These people right now need you. The people getting married—okay, so you’ll call them, you’ll make a party for them next month.” I can hear both ways. One could argue in both directions.
So Shlomo HaMelech, the wise man, asked this question. He wants to know what a person should do. If we had a chance, I’d ask you to vote, but I’m not going to. I believe there are people who will argue both sides. Let’s see what Shlomo HaMelech says. He says it’s better to go to a house of mourning. The people who answered that a funeral is more important are probably happy right now. I see some smiles because people are saying, “Oh, yeah, I knew that. Of course, it’s more important to go to a funeral.” But don’t smile so fast, because I’m not sure you’re actually agreeing with Shlomo HaMelech. Let me explain. Even though he gave the answer you gave, maybe it’s not for the reason you think.
Shlomo HaMelech says it’s better to go to a funeral than to go to a wedding. So it sounds like a funeral is more important. There’s a bigger mitzvah at the funeral than at the wedding. That’s what it sounds like. Why else would he tell you to go to a wedding? But that’s not what he says. At the end, after he tells you to go to a funeral, he says, “at the funeral”—which means that at the funeral, you’ll be able to learn something. You’ll be able to gain something at the funeral. Therefore, he wants you to go to the funeral.
Let me explain what that means. He’s excusing himself. What he’s really saying is that the wedding is a bigger mitzvah than a funeral. So if you thought the wedding was a bigger mitzvah, you’re right. Yes, it is more important to start building the home of a chatan and kallah than to attend the funeral of someone who died. Both are important, but that one is more important. So if you voted for the wedding, you’re right. If you voted for the funeral, you were not right. Shlomo HaMelech agrees that the wedding is more important.
So why is he telling us to go to the funeral if the wedding is more important? Shlomo HaMelech says that even though the wedding is more important, or at least just as important, he wants you to go to the funeral. At the funeral, you’ll gain more for yourself, selfishly. In what you’re giving to others, the wedding could be more important; the bigger kindness could be at the wedding. But here, Shlomo HaMelech says, you have an opportunity. There’s a very important shiur (lesson), a very important class, being delivered by the funeral. You can’t miss it. I don’t want you to miss that class. Therefore, it’s worthwhile to give up the mitzvah of the wedding, to give it up and do maybe a lesser mitzvah, a lesser kindness, because you’re going to gain something for yourself. You’re going to walk out a different person. There’s a shiur at the funeral that might change your life. For that, it’s worthwhile to go to a funeral, even though you’re giving up the wedding.
So really, Shlomo HaMelech has opened our eyes. A funeral is not just a mitzvah of kindness. A funeral is a very important lecture, a very important shiur, being delivered. Therefore, don’t miss it. Beautiful, very nice. The question is, what are you going to learn?
Now, when I tell you there’s a great shiur, you’re expecting to walk out of the shiur with some new knowledge. You don’t walk into a shiur expecting to walk out knowing exactly what you knew when you started. Nobody signed up today to listen to this class because they thought that by the end of the half hour, they’d walk out knowing exactly what they knew when they started. You wouldn’t come here.
When you go to a shiur, you’re expecting to learn something valuable. So when I tell you to go to the funeral to learn something, I’m expecting you to think, “Oh, okay, I’m going to go to the funeral, and I’m going to walk out of there knowing something new.” The obvious question is: What do you learn? What did you learn at a funeral? What does anybody learn at a funeral? What happens at a funeral?
By the way, he’s not even talking about a funeral where people are talking and delivering eulogies. He’s not talking about that. He’s just saying, “Go to a house of mourning.” All they’re doing is mourning. They’re not doing anything else. So what are you learning there? What, you’re learning that people die? Is that the lesson? Do you have to go to a funeral to know that people pass away? Someone came back from a funeral, and I asked him, “What did you learn?” “I learned people pass away.” Are you serious? That’s what you learned? Doesn’t everybody know that death is a reality? Doesn’t everybody know that everyone who comes into this world also leaves?
Obviously, you didn’t learn that. And even if you didn’t know that people died, for some reason, when they called you to tell you the guy died and that you’re going to the funeral, you already knew. So what did you learn at a funeral? You knew the person died. You expected to see people crying. What did you walk out knowing that was different from what you knew when you walked in? Whatever you saw, you already knew. So what is this shiur that Shlomo HaMelech is talking about? “Oh, don’t miss the shiur. It’s very important. You’re going to walk out a different person.”
The answer is what we spoke about yesterday. There’s a very big difference between knowledge that is intellectual and knowledge that is real inside your heart and feelings. Yes, of course we know there’s death. That’s a reality. There’s no question. But is it a reality in your life? Is that knowledge a part of you? Do you actually live your life with that knowledge? It doesn’t mean that you’re depressed because of it.
For example, let’s say I looked at your life and didn’t know whether you knew about death. We’re doing a case study. We take this guy. His name is Yosef. We want to know if Yosef knows that one day he’s leaving this world. Let’s see. Yosef is about 85 years old. We want to know: does he know about death? I see he’s getting nervous about the building he could have made more money on, even though he has another building. I see he’s getting nervous about his bank account because maybe he lost a few dollars when the market went down. Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on. This guy doesn’t know he’s dying. He’s 85 years old. What are you getting nervous about? Baruch Hashem (Thank God), you have your health. You’re still alive. You’re eating. You have a place. Beautiful. You’re worried about another building or another investment that didn’t work out, and you’re getting nervous about it?
When the case study comes back, we say, “Oh, this guy must not know he’s leaving the world.” He thinks he’s here forever, and that’s why he got nervous. If he knew he was checking out soon, he wouldn’t get nervous. If we did a case study on most of us, the study would come back that this person does not know he’s leaving this world. He thinks he’s here forever. Everything he does is for something physical, A, and B, he gets nervous about things that probably will never bother him. If he knew he was in a temporary world, he would have acted much differently.
Now, to an extreme—I'm not saying we should do this, but to an extreme to understand the message—someone once walked into, I believe, the house of the Chafetz Chaim. I believe. But if it wasn’t him, it could have been somebody else. The Chafetz Chaim was a very simple man. He was a very great man. Till today, he’s alive. Every time you open a Mishnah Berurah, you open up a Chafetz Chaim, and you open up his books on kindness, he’s alive and well.
But in his life, he lived a very simple life. Very simple. Not because he wasn’t intelligent or didn’t know how to make money. He actually worked. But when he made what he needed, he went back to building his real world, his future, his eternity.
Someone once walked into his house and saw very simple, simple, simple, simple furniture. I don’t know if anybody here has been in the homes of some of the Gedolim (great Torah sages) in Israel. If you ever went into Rav Steinman’s house, I don’t know if you ever saw that picture. What a scene. The man is a hundred years old. People fly him around the world in private jets. He has whatever he wants at his fingertips. Every really important question in the entire Jewish world probably goes through him. So you go into his house expecting, who knows, a castle with three floors, different departments, cooks, and everything else. He lives on the second floor of an old building. He has a small apartment. If you saw his kitchen, you would say, “This man…” You couldn’t believe it. Even our kitchen under construction wouldn’t look that way. If our kitchen were being constructed, it wouldn’t look like that. He has nothing. His bed is maybe this thin, what he’s sleeping on. It’s mind-boggling. It’s hard to describe. If you ever saw it, you know exactly: you walk in there and you’re shocked.
So someone walked into the house of the Chafetz Chaim and saw very simple, simple, simple, simple furniture. He asked the Chafetz Chaim, “Rabbi, I feel very bad. Why such simple living quarters?” The Rabbi asked him, “Let me ask you, do you ever travel?” He said, “Yeah, sometimes I travel for business.” The Rabbi said, “Okay, so when you travel, do you go and buy a home there and furnish it and buy all types of important gadgets for your home? Do you do that when you travel? When you go for a few weeks to the Orient, do you furnish your home?” He said, “No.” The Rabbi asked, “How come?” He said, “I’m only there for a few weeks. I’m going to furnish my house for a few weeks?” The Rabbi said, “Okay. I’m only here for a short time, too. I’m not going to waste my energy putting all my energy into these furnishings. I have something bigger to work on. Just like when you go there to do business, you have to live with whatever you can so you can be healthy and strong, I do the same.”
Now, I don’t think any of us are on the level of the Chafetz Chaim, but the reality is that even though we know this world is temporary—we know that; nobody intellectually thinks this world is forever—does that knowledge become part of your life? Do you feel it? Is it a reality in your actions?
Just like the guy we spoke about yesterday, the guy who heard about the bombing, who read about the bombing: he knows about it. Of course he knows about it. But it does nothing for him. He knows about it, but it’s not relevant in his life. He’s not living that event. The guy who went there probably started changing the way he acted, the way he dealt with his friends. Probably he joined Hatzalah, maybe. Who knows what types of changes that guy made in his life? Why? Because that event became real. It became a reality.
So what lesson is Shlomo HaMelech referring to when he says, “I want you to go to the funeral”? What lesson? What did you learn? New information? Nothing new. You knew that death existed. But you learned something very powerful. You learned about death in a sensory way. You actually saw it with your eyes. You saw the person who was with you yesterday. Yesterday, he had all types of plans and things going on. He was so upset yesterday about what someone did to him. He was so nervous last week about what was going to happen. He was all worked up. Where is that guy? Wow, he’s in the box. You look at him and say, “Wow, what did you learn?” You didn’t learn anything new, but you learned it now in a sensory way. Now you saw it with your eyes. And that, says Shlomo HaMelech, has the ability to reach you in a very strong way.
Now, you may walk out and ignore it; that doesn’t mean you have to. But you may walk out of there and say, “You know what? What’s really important?” You know how many people go home after a funeral and give their children a hug? You know how many people call their parents after a funeral? You know how many people write a thank-you note to their wives after a funeral? I bet it happens much more than on a regular day. All of a sudden, you start to appreciate life and the opportunities of life. And you realize, “You know what? I’m not here forever. I’m not getting nervous about things that aren’t eternal.” Yes, I have to work hard. Yes, I have to live a comfortable life. Yes, I have to provide. Yes, I have to do all that. But what am I getting nervous about? About everything that happens? I’m not here forever. That is a feeling that must become part of you. It’s not enough to know about it. You must feel it.
The difference between knowing and feeling is so important that Shlomo HaMelech says, “Give up on the big mitzvah. Give up on the wedding, because I want you to learn something.” Learn something? What? No, not a chiddush in the way we think of a chiddush. But actually, the biggest chiddush. The biggest chiddush is when the information you learn enters your heart. You know how many times we’ve learned, listened to lectures, and heard people talk about different things, and walked out of there saying, “Beautiful, great”? Did it hit our heart? Did it become part of us? Very questionable. That is the power of sensory knowledge. It’s the power to bring that information into our lives.
Shlomo HaMelech says, “I want you to live knowing that life is temporary.” You’ll get a lot more out of life. By the way, you’ll be a lot more relaxed, too. When you know life is temporary, you actually start to enjoy life. When you think life is forever, it takes away your pleasure in life. Where do you get that? At the funeral. That is called sensory knowledge. That is today’s lesson.
How this connects to Avraham Avinu, Be’ezrat Hashem (with God’s help), we will continue that part tomorrow. I wish you all a most beautiful day. It’s so beautiful to see all of you. Take care.