What it means to truly come "home?" The Torah touches on this very human longing as Jacob, nearing the end of his life, makes a heartfelt request of his son, Joseph.
"The time for Israel to die approached, and he called his son, Joseph, and he said to him: Please, if I have found favor in your eyes, please place your hand under my thigh and perform kindness and truth with me; please do not bury me in Egypt" (Genesis 47:29).
It's a poignant moment, isn't it? This verse from Genesis 47:29 opens a door to a deeper contemplation on mortality, belonging, and the enduring connection to one's ancestors. Bereshit Rabbah, that beautiful collection of rabbinic interpretations of Genesis, delves into this verse, drawing parallels from other sacred texts to illuminate its meaning.
Bereshit Rabbah 96 begins by quoting, "The time for Israel to die approached." and then explores this universal human experience, using verses from Psalms and Chronicles to paint a picture of our fleeting existence. "For I am a stranger with You, a resident, [as were all my fathers]" (Psalms 39:13). We’re just passing through, aren’t we? Like our ancestors before us.
It continues with, "For we are strangers before You…our days on earth are like a shadow, and there is no hope" (I Chronicles 29:15). But what kind of shadow? The text asks. Is it "like the shadow of a wall, or the shadow of a tree," something stable and enduring? Sadly, no. Instead, it's "like the shadow of a bird when it is flying," as we read in Psalms 144:4, "Like a passing shadow." Fleeting. Ephemeral. Gone in an instant.
The text then adds, "And there is no hope – there is no one who can hope not to die." A stark reminder of our shared destiny. It's a truth we all carry within us, whether we acknowledge it or not. The Bereshit Rabbah illustrates this by pointing out that even our patriarchs spoke of their impending deaths. Abraham lamented, "I am going childless" (Genesis 15:2), with "going" here understood as a euphemism for dying. Isaac, preparing to bless Jacob, said, "I will bless you before the Lord before my death" (Genesis 27:7). And, of course, Jacob himself, in our opening verse, declared, "I will lie with my fathers" (Genesis 47:30).
All of them, facing the inevitable.
What I find so moving about this passage is its honesty. It doesn't shy away from the reality of death, but instead uses it as a springboard to explore what truly matters: connection, legacy, and the desire to return to our roots. Jacob's plea to Joseph wasn't just about burial; it was about ensuring his place in the story of his people, a return to the land promised to his ancestors. It's a powerful reminder that even in the face of mortality, we can find meaning and purpose in the bonds we forge and the values we uphold.
So, where do you want to be buried? Is it about the physical place, or something deeper? Perhaps it's about being gathered to your people, your values, your story. A final, enduring connection.