The book of Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Ecclesiastes, dives right into this question, offering a perspective that might just flip your expectations.
Rabbi Pinḥas kicks things off with a fascinating idea: a person is beloved by their name. But which name? Solomon, in his wisdom, clarifies: "A good name is better than fine oil, and the day of death than the day of one's birth" (Ecclesiastes 7:1). It’s the name you have at the end of your life that truly matters. : we count down to someone's death, but we should be counting up their life.
It's natural to rejoice at a birth and mourn at a death. But this passage challenges that. Imagine two ships: one leaving the port, full of promise, and one entering, weathered but safe. We cheer the departing ship, but should we? We don't know what storms it will face. The wise person, says this teaching, rejoices when the ship enters the port safely. Similarly, shouldn't we rejoice when someone dies with a good name, having navigated the storms of life and reached safe harbor?
The text goes on to illustrate this point with powerful examples. Miriam, Aaron, Moses, Joshua, David, Samuel – when they were born, no one necessarily noticed. But their deaths? They resonated throughout Israel, marked by the vanishing of the miraculous spring, the departure of the clouds of glory, the cessation of manna. As it says in Ta’anit 9a, the spring disappeared when Miriam died, and the people thirsted for water. These weren't just deaths; they were seismic events.
And then there’s the sobering story of Joshua's burial. Joshua 24:30 tells us he was buried "north of Mount Gaash." But the Rabbis ask, what is Mount Gaash? They scour the Bible and find no such place. The Rabbis explain Gaash (גַּעַשׁ) alludes to the people being preoccupied, nitga’ashu (נִתְגָּעֲשׁוּ), with settling the land after Joshua's conquests, neglecting to properly honor him in death. As a result, tradition says that God sought to lehagish (לְהַגִּשׁ), to quake and spew lava upon them. They were so caught up in their own affairs – their fields, vineyards, and charcoal – that they forgot to show gratitude. Their negligence almost brought about their destruction!
The text highlights the different terms used for the deaths of David and Yoav in I Kings 11:21. David, the king, "lay with his fathers," a more respectful term, while Yoav, the commander, simply "died." Rabbi Pinḥas offers several explanations: David was king, David was anointed, David died in his bed, David's sons inherited his position. Each reason emphasizes David's unique status and the honor due to him.
The passage about Samuel’s death is particularly poignant. I Samuel 25:1 tells us that Samuel died, while I Samuel 28:3 reiterates that "Samuel had died." Rabbi Asi says the second verse "certainly informs of his death," while the first instance sets the stage for the story of Naval. This Naval fellow, described as a scoundrel (Psalms 14:1), was busy throwing parties while everyone else mourned Samuel. Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman tells us that people were mourning and clapping hands [in grief] over the death of the righteous one, and this wicked one [Naval] was making drinking parties. Rabbi Yehuda points out that rejecting acts of kindness is akin to rejecting belief in God itself.
David, in contrast, exemplified gemilut chasadim (גְּמִילוּת חֲסָדִים), acts of loving-kindness. He extended kindness to everyone, even killers and the persecuted. As he says in Psalms 13:6, "But I, in Your mercy I trust; my heart will rejoice in Your salvation, I will sing to the Lord, because He has been kind to me [gamal alai]."
So, what does this all mean for us? It's a powerful reminder that our actions, our character, the "name" we build throughout our lives, truly matters. It's not just about the splash we make at birth, but the legacy we leave behind. Are we building a "good name," one that will be remembered with respect and gratitude long after we're gone? Are we focused on our own "fields and vineyards," or are we actively engaging in acts of kindness and honoring those who came before us? Maybe, just maybe, the true measure of a life isn't in its beginning, but in its ending and the impact it leaves on the world.