The pathetic tragedy of a great climax is the disappointing anti-climax. This disappointing aftermath to greatness is observable in all aspects of life, on all levels, and in all dimensions. How pitiable, for instance, is the role of England today. The great and mighty Britannia, who ruled the waves and upon whom the sun never set, is now humbled to the position of sparring partner to two little, third-rate kingdoms who, at least in this millennium, never approached the pride of Britain. Or take certain newspapers, or a certain leading woman columnist; once they were the staunch and fearless defenders of freedom and self-determination and tolerance and decency – and now they are knee-deep in the mud of reactionary backwardness and narrowness. איך נפלת משמיים, הילל בן שחר, cries Isaiah, “How art thou fallen from the heavens, O day-star, son of the morning!” How art thou cut down to the ground, thou who didst cast lots over nations! How pathetic is a wreckage which once was a proud ship, or a people, who, having just reached the summit of holiness and received the Ten Commandments, now dances savagely about a Golden Calf?Just three days ago we reached the highest point of the year. Our hearts were thrilled at the recitation of the Avodah, and our souls quickened at the sublime holiness of the Neilah Services and the blowing of the Shofar. Yet how the spirit sinks the second after the shofar call! The aura of holiness disappears suddenly as does the sunshine when a dark cloud passes. In one second we tumble from the heights of Yom Kippur to the emptiness of חול, week-day. What a sudden and disappointing transformation. No wonder, then, that the first words we recite after Neilah, at the beginning of the Maariv Service, are והוא רחום יכפר עוון, in so short a time. Yet our iniquity, our sin, consists in that most of us allow this anti-climax to set in. The spirit sinks after the holy Neilah, and the Maariv is condensed into the least possible time between the taking off…

The subject of death is in style these days. Like another subject that used to be taboo, whispered about if discussed at all, although its reality and ubiquitousness were acknowledged, death has now emerged – in courses on the campus, in best-selling books, in discussion groups and symposia, liberating us from fear and morbidity in talking of this inevitable phenomenon. A very fine literature has grown up in what is now a new discipline called “thanatology,” which identifies, amongst other things, the various stages of death, from denial to acceptance. Is there a Jewish dimension, a Jewish view on this momentous issue? Yes, there is. Take the stage of “acceptance.” The dying person must accept what? Generally – its inevitability and its naturalness. And that is only right. Death is a natural phenomenon. But, from a Jewish perspective, that is not quite enough.The Torah, I believe, teaches us not only how to live, but also how to die. The two are intertwined, and one does not go without the other. Of course, we cannot choose the circumstances of our death. One needs mazzal in dying as well as in living! We find ourselves in given and limited circumstances at the end of life as well as in the course of life. But we are challenged to summon up all our will and spirit and depth and faith in confronting death as well as in confronting life.Perhaps the best way to begin is to tell the somewhat incredible story of the Kotzker hasid who was on his deathbed, surrounded by his grieving family. He opened his eyes and asked them to bring some spirits and drink Le’chayyim. They looked puzzled, and thought that he had taken leave of his senses. But he explained: whenever a hasid betakes himself to perform God’s will, he does so with joy at the opportunity to do a mitzvah. Now, if God wants me to die, and I do so, then I am now performing His will. It therefore is proper that I do so in a happy and joyous spirit!What does this mean? What is the conceptual and spiritual background…