This question has been debated for centuries, and today, we're diving into a fascinating discussion about it from the ancient text of Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Ecclesiastes.
The passage opens with a stark observation: “a time to be born” – from the time to be born, it is the time to die. Heavy. It suggests that from the moment we enter this world, the length of our days is already determined. But, like many things in Jewish tradition, it's not quite that simple.
Rabbi Akiva, a prominent sage, believed that the number of years a person will live is decreed at birth. According to his view, if we live righteously, we'll fulfill that predetermined lifespan. If not, our lives will be cut short, echoing Proverbs 10:27: “The fear of the Lord will increase days, but the years of the wicked will be shortened.”
But other Rabbis disagreed. They argued that our actions can actually extend our lives. As we see in Isaiah 38:5, God tells King Hezekiah, “Behold, I will add fifteen years to your days.” They believed that if we merit it, our lives can be prolonged.
Rabbi Akiva countered with an interesting point about Hezekiah. He suggested that the extra fifteen years weren't really extra at all. Instead, they were a restoration of Hezekiah's original, intended lifespan. To prove this, he pointed to the prophecy in I Kings 13:2 about the birth of Josiah, who was Hezekiah's great-grandson. Since Josiah was prophesied to be born "to the house of David" long before Hezekiah's near-death experience, Hezekiah must have always been meant to live long enough to father Menashe, Josiah's grandfather!
The other sages weren't convinced. They argued that the prophecy didn't specifically say Josiah would be born from Hezekiah’s line, only from the house of David. It could have been another branch of the royal family.
To further illustrate their point, the Rabbis share a story about Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta. This story, found within Kohelet Rabbah, is wild.
Picture this: Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta is traveling with some others to a circumcision ceremony in Tzippori. On the way, some young lads demand that he dance for them. He refuses, but they persist. Seeing their impudence, Rabbi Shimon realizes the courtyard before which they stand is about to be destroyed as punishment! He instructs the boys to call out a warning to the owner of the courtyard. The owner awakens, takes everything out of the courtyard, and moments later, it's completely destroyed.
Later, at the circumcision feast, the father of the baby offers everyone aged wine, expressing his hope to share wine with them again at his son's wedding. The guests offer a blessing that he should indeed bring the boy to Torah and marriage.
As Rabbi Shimon bar Ḥalafta heads home that night, he encounters the malach ha-mavet, the angel of death. The angel asks him why he's out at such an hour. Rabbi Shimon asks why the angel looks so forlorn, and the angel explains that he's upset because he knows this baby is fated to die in thirty days, and the blessing given by the guests threatens to change that decree!
Rabbi Shimon, curious, asks to see his own fate, but the angel says he has no power over Rabbi Shimon or his colleagues because they dedicate themselves to Torah, mitzvot (good deeds), and acts of righteousness. Because of this, God adds years to their lives. Rabbi Shimon then prays that the angel will have no power to violate their words of blessing for the baby. And, the story concludes, the baby lived.
This story is a powerful argument against Rabbi Akiva's view. It suggests that prayer and good deeds can alter a person's predetermined lifespan.
But Rabbi Akiva remains unconvinced. He counters with a verse from Exodus 23:26: “I will fill the number of your days.” He argues that even Moses, who performed countless mitzvot, was told, “Behold, your days are approaching to die” (Deuteronomy 31:14). In other words, even the most righteous among us have a predetermined time to die.
The passage then shifts to another interpretation of “a time to be born and a time to die.” It suggests that God waits until a man is twenty years old to marry. If he reaches that age unmarried, God considers it a "time to die" for him, meaning he has missed his opportunity to have children. Some say it's even better to marry before twenty, to avoid any potential danger. Finally, the text briefly mentions "a time to plant" (in peacetime) and "a time to uproot that which is planted" (in wartime).
So, what do we take away from all this? Is our fate sealed at birth, or do we have the power to influence our destiny? Kohelet Rabbah presents us with compelling arguments on both sides. Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in the middle. Maybe we are given a certain framework, but within that framework, our choices, our actions, and our prayers can indeed shape the course of our lives. It's a thought-provoking idea, and one that continues to resonate with us today.