And it’s one that the ancient rabbis grappled with in the text of Kohelet Rabbah.

Two rabbis, Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Neḥemya, offer contrasting perspectives. Rabbi Yehuda uses the image of a lamp. "This lamp," he says, "when it is extinguished on its own, it is good for it and good for the wick; when it is extinguished not on its own, it is bad for it and bad for the wick." In other words, a natural death is a peaceful completion, beneficial for both the person and those left behind. But a premature death? That’s painful for everyone.

Rabbi Neḥemya, however, sees things differently. He uses the analogy of a fig tree. "This fig tree, as long as it is harvested at its time, it is good for it," he explains, "The harvested fruit and good for the fig tree; when it is not harvested at its time, it is bad for it and bad for the fig tree." If the figs are picked at the right moment, it benefits both the fruit itself and the tree's overall health. So, perhaps even an earlier death, if it's the "right time" in some divine sense, can be a good thing.

These aren't just abstract ideas, though. The text immediately follows with a story—a teaching tale, really—to illustrate the point.

It involves Rabbi Ḥiyya the Great and his students (or, depending on the version, Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta or even Rabbi Akiva and their students). They're all sitting and studying under a fig tree. The owner of the tree is diligent, rising early each day to harvest his figs.

Now, the rabbis, being mindful souls, worry that their presence might make the owner suspicious. "Let us relocate," they say, "as perhaps he suspects us [of eating his figs]." So they move.

But the next day, the owner is distraught to find them gone. He seeks them out and says, "My rabbis, there was one mitzva that you would perform with me, and you have withheld it from me!" A mitzva, of course, is a commandment, a good deed. In this case, the owner saw it as a privilege, a blessing, that his tree provided shade for the rabbis as they studied Torah.

The rabbis are surprised. They explain their concern about being suspected of theft. The owner reassures them, "God forbid! Rather, I will tell you why I would rise early and harvest them; because when the sun shines upon it they become worm infested."

One day, he doesn't harvest, and, sure enough, the figs become infested. The rabbis then realize the deeper lesson. "The owner of a fig tree knows well the time when it is appropriate to harvest his fig tree, and he harvests it. So too, the Holy One blessed be He knows when the time of the righteous person has arrived, and He takes him."

The story is a beautiful illustration of Rabbi Nehemya's point. Just as the fig tree owner knows the perfect time to harvest his figs, God knows when the time is right for a person to depart this world. It's a comforting thought, really, that even in death, there’s a sense of divine timing and purpose.

But does it truly resolve the question? Is it always "good" when someone dies, simply because God "harvested" them? Perhaps the tension between Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Nehemya remains, a reminder that the mystery of life and death is something we continue to grapple with, finding solace in stories and wisdom passed down through generations.