What happens to the body after death? Not the soul — the body. Will the dead come back as they were? Will they be transformed into something else entirely? Baruch asked God the question that everyone who has ever stood at a grave wants answered.
But first, he prayed — and his prayer was a masterwork of humility and controlled fury. He praised the One who summons the ages and they stand at attention, who arranges the seasons and they obey, who commands flames and they change into spirits, who quickens what does not yet exist with a single word.
Then the prayer turned raw:
<i>"For in a little time are we born, and in a little time do we return. But with You, hours are as ages and days as generations. Be not wroth with man — for he is nothing. We did not say to our parents, 'Beget us.' Nor did we send word to Sheol saying, 'Receive us.' What is our strength that we should bear Your wrath? What are we that we should endure Your judgment?"</i>
He pleaded for God's chosen people: "Destroy not the hope of our people. Cut not short the times of our aid. For this is the nation You have chosen — the people to whom You find no equal. We have received one law from One. And the law which is among us will aid us, and the surpassing wisdom within us will help us."
God heard the prayer. But His answer was unflinching. "You have prayed simply, O Baruch, and all your words have been heard. But My judgment exacts its own, and My law exacts its rights."
What followed was a prophecy of the age before the end. A time when the wise would be few and the intelligent silent. When rumors and phantasms would multiply. When honor would become shame, strength would become contempt, and beauty would become ugliness. Envy would seize the peaceful. Armies would rise to shed blood — and in the end, perish together with their victims.
Baruch cried out: "O Adam, what have you done to all those born from you? What will be said to Eve, who listened to the serpent? All this multitude is going to corruption!"
Then came the question — the one the entire text had been building toward. <i>"In what shape will those who live in Your day exist? Will they resume the form of the present body — these limbs involved in evil, in which evils are consummated? Or will You change what has been in the world, as You will change the world itself?"</i>
God's answer was precise. The earth would restore the dead exactly as it received them. No change in form. The living needed to recognize the returned dead — to see with their own eyes that those who had departed were truly back. Recognition first. Then transformation.
After the appointed day of judgment, everything would change. The aspect of the condemned would become worse than it already was — their very appearance would twist and degrade as torment took hold. But the glory of the righteous? Their splendor would be glorified beyond recognition. The form of their faces would turn into pure light.
<i>"They shall be made like unto the angels. Made equal to the stars. They shall be changed into every form they desire — from beauty into loveliness, from light into the splendor of glory."</i>
The extents of Paradise would unfold before them. They would see the majesty of the living creatures beneath God's throne and the armies of angels held fast by His word, waiting for their appointed hour. Time would no longer age them. The heights of that world would be their dwelling place. And the righteous would surpass even the angels in splendor.
The wicked, seeing all this, would waste away — knowing they had rejected the law, stopped their ears against wisdom, and chosen a time whose issues were full of lamentations. They had denied the world that does not age. They had rejected the time of glory. And now it was too late.
Baruch's grief transformed into resolve: <i>"Rejoice in the suffering you now endure. Make ready your soul for what is reserved for you. Prepare for the reward that is laid up for you."</i>