It’s a question that's haunted humanity for, well, pretty much ever. And when we look to our sacred texts, sometimes we find the answers are…surprising. Take Moses, for example.

We all know Moses, right? The guy who led the Israelites out of Egypt, parted the Red Sea, and received the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai. Pretty impressive resume. But what happened to him after he died?

The Book of Sifrei Devarim, a collection of legal interpretations on the Book of Deuteronomy, gives us some fascinating insights into Moses's final moments and beyond. It all hinges on a seemingly simple verse: “his eye did not dim.” What does that even mean?

Well, the Sifrei Devarim tells us that this phrase is significant because, unlike everyone else who has ever lived (or will live), the eyes of the dead do dim. But not Moses's. His eyes remained bright, clear, full of…what? Life? Memory? Something beyond our understanding?

And it gets even weirder. The text continues, commenting on the phrase "and his moisture lo nas." Lo nas – a Hebrew phrase that can be interpreted in two different ways. It can mean "his moisture did not depart," suggesting that even in death, Moses retained a certain…vitality. But Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov offers a radical re-reading. He suggests we read it not as "did not depart," but as "does not depart" – present tense!

Think about that for a moment. Even now, centuries after his death, Moses's moisture "does not depart." According to this interpretation, touching his flesh, even today, would cause moisture to "blossom" from it. It's a mind-blowing image, isn't it? A kind of eternal, almost supernatural dew clinging to the memory – the very essence – of Moses.

What does this imply about Moses's unique status? Was he simply a great leader? Or was there something fundamentally different about him, something that transcended the boundaries of life and death?

But the text doesn't just focus on the physical aspects of Moses's passing. It also touches on the mourning period. "And the children of Israel mourned Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days: and 'and the days of the weeping of the mourning of Moses ended.'" Now, the Sifrei Devarim breaks this down with striking precision. "The days of weeping": two. "Mourning": three. This seemingly small detail highlights the structured nature of Jewish mourning practices, even in the face of such a monumental loss.

So, what are we left with? A leader whose eyes never dimmed, whose moisture never faded, and whose passing was marked by carefully defined periods of grief. It’s a portrait of a man who not only shaped a nation but also defied the very laws of nature, even in death. Is it literal? Metaphorical? A bit of both? The text leaves us to ponder the mysteries of life, death, and the enduring legacy of a truly extraordinary human being. And, perhaps, to wonder what "moisture" might "blossom" from our own lives, long after we're gone.