Beyond Heaven and Earth

by Steven H. Propp

  For me, this was a matter of “just sex”; I was looking for instant gratification, with no time for “courting.” And no one else in these establishments I frequented was any different; there were no voices of moderation or reason there. And at times, there was a kind of feeling of Saturnalia, such as an ancient Bacchic festival in the Roman days; at one level of my mind, I felt a kind of abandonment—a Sadeian since of liberation—while so engaged. But this was inevitably followed by an even more crushing sense of guilt and shame, which followed my return to normal thinking after one of these outings.

  So when I saw the first lesions on my body a month ago, I tried to ignore them, even though I had a strong suspicion of what they represented. But after my doctor told me Thursday that I had full-blown AIDS, I wasn’t really shocked; I figured it was just what I had had coming to me; “He who sows injustice shall reap misfortune” (Proverbs 22:8) My doctor—who is Jewish, by the way—was very professional in delivering the news to me; he spoke very positively about setting up a treatment program for me. He tried to encourage me by telling me the large number of people that have lived long and healthy lives after being diagnosed with HIV, or even AIDS, but I rushed out of his office before he could finish. I didn’t want to hear about the possibility of redemption; I just wanted to continue tumbling into my own personal valley of darkness.

  Jobran’s eyes clouded with tears, as he tried once again to reach Abraham by phone, and was once again unsuccessful. If only I’d known; if only he’d confided in me…What kind of a “friend” was I to him, anyway? I expected him to have absolute sympathy for my sorrow over Sophia’s death, yet I was blind to his own sorrows. Finally, he continued reading:

  I realized that I could not possibly continue my rabbinical duties; while it might be possible to be a gay rabbi, one certainly could not be an AIDS-infected one. So I have written a letter to the President of our Congregation, and resigned my position effective yesterday, citing unnamed “personal reasons,” and the desire to move back to Minnesota to be with my parents. It is my fervent desire, Jobe, that neither the President nor any of the congregation know the real reason for my departure; hopefully, they will simply believe that their Rabbi simply suddenly decided to move back to his family’s home in Minnesota—in fact, most of them will probably think I received a better job offer with more money, and am using my parents as an excuse—and if on my way back there, they later discover that I had an unfortunate “accident,” then that will be sad, but no more than that. Some people may suspect, but no one will really “know,” and so my reputation, the reputation of my congregation and of the Jewish community will be preserved.

  Probably seems foolish to you, huh?

  Why do I care? Well, now that I am at the end, I must admit that, for all of my complaints about certain details of modern Zionism and the State of Israel, the notion of the perpetuation of the Jewish people is indeed now very important to me—much more so than the preservation of the individual soul or self. I think that there is something most valuable—almost inexpressibly precious—about Judaism and Jewish culture, and I am glad that they will continue, regardless of what happens to me.

  And as for me, life is nothing but emptiness now. I have seen pictures of people in the final stages of AIDS; it is horrible—their physical appearance is shocking; they are no more than skin and bones, they are incontinent, and cannot even feed themselves. I cannot bear to think of myself going through that, and putting such a burden on those I leave behind. Is this simple vanity? Perhaps, but I don’t think so. I can’t see such suffering as in any sense “redemptive.” Thus, why should I keep myself alive, and put further financial and emotional strain on my loved ones? The only truly rational arguments against suicide in cases like mine come from those with religious objections, and you and I have been through all of those.

  Therefore, by the time you read this, I will have taken my life. I deliberately chose this time when you would be away at the service for Ted, so that you would not have had any chance to talk me out of it. By the time you read this, I will have taken my final actions in this life: I will have driven my car to a cliff by the ocean, where a friend of mine owns a house on a cliff overlooking the ocean; he’s away in Europe, but he gave me a set of keys, and his security pass-codes. Standing at the cliff, I will shoot myself in the head, and my body will hopefully fall into the ocean.

  I don’t mean to disgust you by these gory details, but this was the “cleanest” way I could think of, so that no one would have to endure the shock of finding my bloody body. I will be wearing weights such as scuba divers wear, so that my body ought to simply disappear beneath the waves.

  I have mailed a note to the Police—but they won’t get the note until Monday—informing them of my plans, and my next of kin. Hopefully, they will tell my friend who owns the house that I just had an accident; or maybe they won’t tell him anything at all. The revolver I will use is registered to me—I lied when I told you and Ted that I borrowed it from a member of my congregation—and will be fastened to my wrist with wire, so that it should not be separated from my body, after I fire it. I will have a suicide note attached in a waterproof container inside my coat, so that if/when my body is washed up on shore, it won’t create any “mystery” for anyone—not for long, at least. I only hope that I’ll get lucky, and my body will sink and be devoured by the fishes and will never be found, so that no one will be traumatized by the experience.

  Jobran felt a cold sense of shock, as the last remaining ray of hope fled him. He now knew, if he didn’t earlier, that Abraham was absolutely serious about this, had made his preparations with the cold light of rationality, and would not be deterred. He thought about trying to call 911 again, but he realized that he still knew nothing useful to tell them: He didn’t know who Abraham’s friend was, nor where the house was located, other than that it was on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Feeling his heartbeat accelerate with mounting panic, he forced himself to read on.

  And what about our grand “Quest” for the secret of eternal life? I’m afraid that the notion of eternal life, which is normally a comfort to people, is one of the things I most fear, now. Do I personally expect to live after death? Not really. Although you and I have exhaustively explored all the various options, I must admit that our research has now placed me firmly in the camp of those Jews who reject the notion of eternal life entirely. So at least I’m in the majority.

  Ultimately, Jobran, it seems to me that Ted was right all along: there is no such thing as life after death; it’s all wishful thinking. To the extent that it encourages you to greater effort while you are living, I have no problem with the notion—but it’s not my belief, any longer. Thus, I expect that when I die, it shall be similar to a time in college when I was knocked unconscious by a baseball: A brief instant of shock and pain, and then blackness. You can’t imagine how attractive eternal unconsciousness seems to me in my condition right now; it would be the greatest blessing that any God could give me.

  And if there is life after death after all, I’m prepared to face that possibility. Judaism doesn’t really have a tradition of “Hell,” as you Christians think of it, and I regard the possibility that my life and or my suicide will result in my being cast into eternal torment as extremely unlikely. I know that under Jewish law and tradition, taking one’s life is considered a very great sin, but I can’t really agree with that: The prohibition is basically based on the notion that the Commandment against murder applies also to self-murder, and that is not at all exegetically clear to me. There are certainly clear Biblical prohibitions against the homosexual acts I’ve done, but there are no such clear verses against taking one’s own life. So I hold out hopes for myself on that score.

  But at any rate, the deciding issue for me is the fact that I can’t really face the idea of living my life any more. Sometimes, the pain of life is just so great, that it is greater than any possibility of hope for the future; and
once hope for the future is completely gone, there is really no point in carrying on. I know that many people will feel that I am just “shirking my responsibilities,” or “quitting just when the going gets tough,” but those people aren’t in my situation, right now. Let them walk a mile in my moccasins, before they condemn me.

  Jobran had to pause to get control of his emotions once again, before he turned to the final page of the letter:

  But my reason for writing you this letter, Jobe, is that I don’t want you to feel any sorrow for me, or any sympathy. And certainly, don’t reproach yourself for anything, or hold any regrets whatsoever. My actions aren’t about you, they’re about me. I know that I said some rather harsh things when we talked last; I’m very sorrowful for that, and hope you won’t hold it against me. But I’d just heard from my doctor that morning that I had AIDS, so I wasn’t thinking rightly. I hope you can forgive me, and that you still consider me your friend, because our friendship has meant a great deal to me. I wanted to call you last night—and I almost did—to say “goodbye,” but I was afraid I’d give away my plans to you.

  I especially regret that I’m burdening you with this when, in addition to your ongoing loss of Sophia, you’re also dealing with the loss of Ted. But again, my actions have nothing at all to do with you: On the contrary, our Quest was what kept me going this past half-year. The joy and thrill of finding out new things, and having someone to share them with, gave me a sudden surge of purpose and excitement in life such as I haven’t known since I was in seminary; I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I don’t have a wife, but you’ve been the closest thing to a “significant other” that I’ve had since Katie left me. And I thank you for letting me pour my soul out to you in this note: It’s helped me, more than you can realize. I feel a sense of “closure,” and (all things considered) a kind of peace.

  And please understand, I’m not unhappy about my life; far from it. In my life, I have known joyful community, intellectual achievement, and deep and abiding friendship. I am only hopeful that word about my homosexual practices and suicide do not become general knowledge, as I would greatly regret my actions causing a scandal within the Jewish community. My financial affairs are in order, and my will is in my safe deposit box; I sent the key to the Police. I’m leaving everything to Jewish charities, and to the State of Israel. (I’d leave you something, except that I know you’d just buy some more damned books on life after death with the money!) Somehow, knowing that the Jewish people are going to continue after I am gone is of considerable comfort to me, much more than I would have imagined. I have been a part of the Jewish community, and in that I feel that I am in a sense surviving beyond my death, by being a part of something that is greater than myself.

  I almost wish that I could be buried in Israel, which would be like “coming home”—but I think they’ve got enough problems on their hands right now, without dealing with a liberal rabbi who wants his AIDS-infected carcass imported to take up even more of their already-scarce land.

  Jobran smiled involuntarily at this last sentence, almost as if he could hear his friend’s voice, through the letter.

  Again, don’t feel sorry for me, or have any regrets about me. I am leaving this world under my own terms, rather than letting my medical condition (and the damned medical community!) determine it for me. My life has had so much beauty, so much knowledge, that I feel I was blessed to be a participant in it.

  If you ever choose to think of me again, let it be as I was—healthy, fun-loving, and analytically active—and not of this broken shell of a person that is left, dying from a deadly disease. Remember my laughter, my personality, and especially our friendship. Remember the intellectual joy and its passion that we shared, searching for the answers to eternal mysteries, united in our purpose.

  Now, farewell Jobran, my much-revered friend. I truly regret that I will in all probability not see you again—whether on earth, or in some place beyond—as I should very much have liked to get together again with you, some day. With friendship, respect, and love…

  Your friend, Abraham

  Jobran broke down completely at this point, sobbing uncontrollably for a number of minutes. When he picked up Abraham’s letter again, a half-sheet of paper fell from the back of it, and as he picked it up, he saw the following written in Abraham’s careful handwriting:

  P.S.—Just in case I’m wrong, and there truly is such a thing as life after death, I want you to know that I hope with all of my heart that you and your beloved Sophia are reunited again, and are able to share your love for all of eternity. (God knows, you’ve certainly earned that much.) No one deserves it more, and if there is such a thing as “eternal love,” what you hold for Sophia is definitely that. The thought of the two of you being together again brings a tear to my eye now, and makes even my skeptical heart very hopeful.

  If you can, give Sophia a hug for me—just a little belated affection from your foolish and tragic earthly friend, who is deeply sorrowful that he never got the chance to meet her; she must have been an extraordinary person, and I’m sure I would have loved her, too. Tell her to cherish her joys and blessings, and be happy with the man she loves, for always. What you found with her is so indescribably precious, that it is so rarely achieved; I greatly regret never having found it myself.

  Take care of yourself, Jobran. And don’t be so hard on yourself. I know that Sophia would want you to look after yourself more, as she would look after you if she were here to do so. Do it for her, as well as for the rest of us who love you. You’re a very special person, my friend. Farewell.

  * * *

  Before long, the doorbell rang; Jobran knew without looking that it was the police. He opened the door and let them in. They’d been to Abraham’s house, saw his car gone, but found no signs of foul play, so they had some questions.

  Abraham took a deep breath, and let them in.

  30

  BEFORE THE THRONE

  “But the LORD abides forever; he has set up His throne for judgment.” (Psalm 9:8, Tanakh)

  JOBRAN’S JOURNAL

  “Why didn’t you stay and fight it, Abe?” I wonder. “Your religion and Jewishness meant so much to you; why would you let the potential opinions of a few bigots drive you away from your religion so easily?”

  I also wonder why it is that I only seem to write in this Journal in times of crisis? Or turning points?

  Maybe it’s because the act of writing forces me to deliberate over every word, and brings a focus to my scattered thoughts.

  A “crisis” is definitely what this is; it is the greatest crisis I’ve been through since Sophia’s death—and this is an issue that will require the most intense analysis I have engaged in since Sophia died. Because this time, the issue is not only literally one of life or death—it is a question of eternal life, or eternal death.

  Abraham’s suicide has forced me to squarely and unflinchingly face up to an issue that didn’t arise in connection with Sophia: Namely, will Abraham be sentenced to eternal torment for taking his own life?

  I’ve studied theology enough to know that suicide is considered by almost every religious tradition to be—if not the gravest sin—certain one of the worst. It is usually thought to be a heinous crime against God—worse in some cases than murder, since the murderer can always repent of the act, or be put to death in retribution for the crime, thereby evening the score. Whereas the very finality of suicide seemingly prohibits such traditional forms of mitigation of guilt. Traditionally, suicides are even denied the normal Jewish and Christian rites of burial, and are not allowed to be buried in normal burial grounds.

  But why should this be? I’ve been tearing frantically through various theological and philosophical texts, and the general answer seems to be that God is viewed as being the sole author and grantor of both life and death, and he has never delegated to individuals the right to take one’s own life. T
he suicide is said to be committing sacrilege, by denying the mastery of God over our souls. Since we are not truly our “own,” but are actually the creations and possessions of God, to take one’s own life is to usurp an authority that belongs to God alone, as well as a refusal to obey his will. Taking one’s own life in response to suffering may also be circumventing any “purpose” that God had for allowing us to suffer. Furthermore, the suicide is also betraying family, friends, and the community in general, by causing them pain and mourning. Thus, suicide is considered to be an act of supreme selfishness, and a most serious sin. (Needless to say, we Catholics consider it to be a “mortal” sin.)

  Both Jews and Christians have traditionally interpreted the fifth (or sixth, in the Jewish and Protestant numbering) commandment, “Thou shall not kill,” as prohibiting the killing of oneself. But most modern Bibles now translate that passage as, “You shall not murder”—that is, you cannot unlawfully take the life of another person with malice. Since God commanded the Hebrews to slay such peoples as the Midianites (Numbers 31), and there were numerous offenses in the Jewish law that were punishable by death (including homosexuality, in Leviticus 20:13), there were obviously instances in which the deliberate taking of a human life was not only allowed, but supposedly commanded by God. But should suicide be equated with “murder”?

  What does Judaism teach? After consulting the First and Second Jewish Book of Why, as well as The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning by Maurice Lamm, the answer isn’t very encouraging: Suicide is considered to be a very serious crime against God, and it is generally said that, “Suicides do not receive a share in the world to come.” Traditionally, no honor is to be paid the suicide because the crime deserves only rebuke. The Talmud says, “For him who takes his own life with full knowledge of his action, no rites are to be observed…There is to be no rending of clothes and no eulogy.” Thus, suicides are buried apart from other family members, and at least six feet from other Jewish dead, to make clear the seriousness of the crime. Great respect and consideration are given to the survivors, however, even though that which would otherwise be done out of respect for the dead is not observed.