As Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi drew near the end of his earthly career, the angel of death was sent to fetch him. Because of the Rabbi's merit, the angel was instructed to show him every courtesy. No sudden seizure, no shadow in the doorway. The Rabbi could ask for reasonable favors.
Noticing the angel's unusual politeness, Rabbi Yehoshua asked for one thing before the journey: a glimpse of the place he would occupy in the Garden of Eden. And in the meantime, he said, let me hold your sword, as a sign that you will not take advantage of me on the road.
The angel agreed. The sword was surrendered. Rabbi and escort walked together to the very gate of the celestial city. There the angel helped the Rabbi climb the wall to see the spot reserved for him. In that moment Rabbi Yehoshua leapt, landed on the heavenly side, and held fast to the inside of the wall. The angel stood outside, still gripping the Rabbi's cloak, helpless.
When pressed to come back out, the Rabbi swore he would not return. I never sought to be released from any oath on earth, he said. I will not be coaxed or forced into perjury within the very precincts of heaven. The angel begged at least for the return of his sword. Even that the Rabbi refused, until a bat kol, a heavenly voice, rang out and ordered the sword restored. The Rabbi handed it back, but he stayed.
This famous story from Ketubot 77b, preserved in Harris's 1901 Hebraic Literature, is not really about a clever trick. It is about a man whose word was so rigid on earth that not even death could bend it in heaven. He enters paradise alive, on his own promise, and the angel of death goes home empty-handed.