Jewish tradition certainly has opinions, and some intriguing stories to tell. Let's dive into one found in Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Ecclesiastes.
This particular passage recounts a dream—a dream where Rabbi Ze’eira seeks out Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina. Apparently, Rabbi Ze’eira really wanted to know the heavenly seating arrangements. "Alongside whom are you situated in heaven?" he asks. Rabbi Yosei responds, "Alongside Rabbi Yoḥanan." And so it goes, a celestial game of "Six Degrees of Separation," moving from Rabbi Yoḥanan to Rabbi Yonatan ben Amram, then to Rabbi Ḥiyya the Great.
But then comes the kicker. Rabbi Ze’eira asks, "But isn't Rabbi Yoḥanan supposed to be alongside Rabbi Ḥiyya?" To which Rabbi Yosei replies, and this is where it gets interesting, "In a place of fiery sparks and burning fires, who can bring the son of Nappaĥa there?" Nappaĥa, meaning "son of a blacksmith," was a nickname for Rabbi Yoḥanan. So, what are we to make of this? Why the difficulty in placing Rabbi Yoḥanan in the same lofty sphere as Rabbi Ḥiyya? Perhaps it speaks to different levels of spiritual attainment, or different paths to the same ultimate destination.
The text then shifts gears, telling a story about Rabbi Naḥum, described as "the man who was holy of holies." This Rabbi Naḥum was so pious that he wouldn't even look at statues, considering them too close to idolatry. And get this: when he died, people covered the faces of statues so that, in his death procession, he wouldn't see what he avoided in life. Is it even possible for a dead person to see?
Rabbi Ashyan chimes in, stating that "the difference between the righteous [after death] and the wicked [while alive] is only with regard to speech." Rabbi Shimon ben Levi echoes this sentiment, saying, "The difference between the righteous and us is only with regard to speech.” Rabbi Ze’eira adds that "the dead hears his accolades from inside his bier like a dream." So, according to these rabbis, the righteous retain some level of awareness, some ability to perceive the world, even after death.
Why was Rabbi Naḥum called "holy of holies?" Because, we are told, he never looked at the image engraved on a coin. Talk about dedication to avoiding idolatry! Rabbi Ḥiyya further elaborates on the verse "Do not turn to false gods" (Leviticus 19:4), saying it means not to turn to them to worship them. Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, also known as simply "Rabbi," takes it a step further: don't even turn to see them.
Speaking of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, he was called "our holy Rabbi" because, incredibly, he never looked at his own circumcision. The story concludes with Antalimus (likely referring to Emperor Antoninus) who, after converting, proudly asks Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi to look at his circumcision. Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi's response? "At my own I have never looked, will I look at yours?"
What can we take away from all this? Well, for one, these rabbis took spiritual purity very seriously. They saw the world as filled with potential distractions, temptations, and even outright idolatry. Their commitment to avoiding these pitfalls was extraordinary, even to the point of self-denial.
But perhaps more importantly, this passage offers a glimpse into how these sages grappled with the mysteries of life and death. They weren’t afraid to ask big questions, to explore the boundaries of human understanding, and to imagine what might lie beyond the veil. And while we may not have definitive answers, the act of asking, of wondering, of wrestling with these profound questions – that, in itself, is a sacred act. It's a reminder that the search for meaning continues, even after we're gone.