We often think of success, happiness, maybe even leaving a legacy. But what if the key lies not just in how we live, but also in how we approach death?

Kohelet, or Ecclesiastes, that most philosophical of biblical books, puts it starkly: "A time to be born, and a time to die." (Ecclesiastes 3:2). Seems obvious, right? We’re born, we live, we die. But according to Kohelet Rabbah, the ancient commentary on Ecclesiastes, there's a deeper wisdom hidden within those simple words.

Rabbi Berekhya asks a pointed question: Is that all there is to Solomon’s wisdom? Just stating the obvious? Surely not! He suggests a profound idea: "Happy is the person whose time of death is like the time of his birth; just as at the time of his birth he was clean [of sin], so, too, at the time of his death he is clean." What a powerful aspiration! To leave this world as untainted as we entered it. It's not about literal sinlessness, perhaps, but about striving for a life of integrity, leaving behind more good than bad.

The commentary then delves into the intense experience of childbirth, drawing a striking parallel to death. When a woman is on the birthing stool, she’s called ḥaita. Why? Because she's on the verge of dying, yet she lives – ḥayya! Talk about a powerful image of life and death intertwined.

And there's more. She's also called meḥabalta. Kohelet Rabbah explains this term by linking it to the concept of a pledge or security. It’s like she is "mortgaged in the hands of death," just as the Torah says, "if you take as security [ḥavol taḥvol] your neighbor’s garment" (Exodus 22:25). It's a potent reminder of the inherent risk and vulnerability in bringing new life into the world.

Rabbi Simon, quoting Rabbi Natan of Beit Guvrin, offers another fascinating comparison. He asks, why are "the grave and the barren womb" juxtaposed in Proverbs 30:16? The answer? To show us that just as one is removed from the womb with loud cries, so too, one will be removed from the grave with loud cries. This isn't necessarily about sorrow, though. According to some interpretations, these are "cries of thanksgiving to God when the dead are resurrected." (Note 2 in the original text).

It’s a beautiful and somewhat startling image: a resurrection not of silent, peaceful rising, but of joyous, loud cries of gratitude. Imagine that!

So, what does this all mean for us? Kohelet Rabbah uses these powerful metaphors to encourage us to think deeply about our lives, our deaths, and the connection between the two. It’s not just about avoiding sin, but about living a life that allows us to approach our final moment with a sense of completion, of having lived authentically and with purpose. A life, perhaps, that culminates not in quiet resignation, but in a triumphant cry of gratitude. Now that's something to strive for, isn't it?