But it's a question that ancient Jewish texts grapple with, revealing profound insights into justice, repentance, and the ultimate fate of our souls. Let’s dive into a passage from Midrash Tehillim (a collection of homiletic interpretations of the Book of Psalms) that explores this very idea, specifically Psalm 26:9, "Do not gather with the sins of my soul."
The Midrash begins by interpreting this verse in a stark, almost visceral way. "Do not gather with the sins of my soul," it says, refers to those who die by stoning or burning – the most severe punishments. "And with people of blood, my life" refers to those killed or strangled. Yikes. It's a powerful image of wanting to be separated from those who met violent ends, presumably due to their actions.
But the Midrash doesn't stop there. It offers another layer of interpretation: "Another matter, these are the Egyptians." Why the Egyptians? Because, as we're reminded, Jacob, on his deathbed, implored his son Joseph, "Please do not bury me in Egypt" (Genesis 47:29). The implication? Jacob didn't want to be associated, even in death, with a land that represented oppression and spiritual impurity.
Rabbi Yochanan points out that we find this prayer – to not be gathered with the wicked – in other places too. Daniel, for instance, in the Book of Daniel (2:18), asks God to have compassion so that he and his companions "would not be destroyed" along with the Babylonian sorcerers. And then, of course, there's David’s plea in the Psalm itself. It seems a common thread runs through the prayers of the righteous: a desire to be separated from the fate of the wicked.
Rabbi Chalfata, citing Rabbi Ibu, then brings up the story of Nabal from the Book of Samuel (1 Samuel 25:38): "And it came to pass about ten days later, that the Lord struck Nabal, and he died." But here’s where it gets interesting. The Midrash questions: isn't a plague supposed to last only three days? Why ten? It then launches into a fascinating breakdown of different types of death: death by anger (one day), death by panic (two days), death by plague (three days), and so on, eventually reaching "the death of love" (seven days) and "the death of suffering." A somber, yet strangely poetic, taxonomy of endings.
So, why ten days for Nabal? The Midrash suggests that Nabal’s death was connected to the seven days of mourning for Samuel the Righteous. The idea is that God delayed Nabal's death so that it wouldn't interfere with the mourning period and that Nabal wouldn't die during the plague that might accompany such a disruption. Rabbi Brechia, quoting Rabbi Samuel, adds that the "ten days" alludes to the ten days between Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) – a crucial period for repentance, or teshuvah.
The Midrash then throws in a couple of other intriguing examples. It mentions the story from 2 Kings where a man touches the bones of Elisha and is revived. He returns home, but only lives for an hour before dying and being buried elsewhere. The implication? Even though he was temporarily resurrected, his ultimate fate was determined by his actions, and he was not "gathered" with the righteous.
And what about the son of the Shunammite woman, also in 2 Kings? The text notes "And it came to pass on a certain day that he came and went into his father."
Finally, Rav Hoshaya brings up the flood in Genesis. "And it came to pass after seven days that the waters of the flood were upon the earth" (Genesis 7:10). He explains that God waited seven days, a period of mourning, for Methuselah the righteous to allow people to repent before bringing on the deluge. But they didn't. Hence, the verse "Do not gather my soul with sinners" – a plea for divine mercy and separation from the unrepentant.
What does it all mean? This passage from Midrash Tehillim isn't just about avoiding physical proximity to the wicked, it's about the ultimate destiny of our souls. It’s a call to action, a reminder that our choices have consequences, not just in this life, but perhaps in the world to come. It suggests that we have a say in who we are "gathered" with – that through repentance, through righteous actions, we can influence our final destination. Are we living a life that aligns us with the righteous? Or are we drifting towards a different kind of gathering? It’s a question worth pondering.