As his time to leave this world approached, Yaacov Avinu prepared to bless all of his children. But first he summoned his son Yosef to come to his bedside. He had one favor to ask: Please do not allow me to be buried in Egypt.

We know that the Egyptians had some very distinct ways of venerating deceased heroes. Yaacov was known at the time as a very holy person, and he would almost certainly have been worshiped in his death. In addition, the sages teach us that Yaacov was concerned about the plague of lice and about the turmoil he would encounter when traveling to Israel at the end of days.

Yaacov called the kindness of burial Chesed V’emes – Kindness and Truth – which the sages explain is referring to the fact that this kindness was not one for which Yaacov would ever be able to thank Yosef. The same applies every time a person helps the deceased in their final journey. Later in the Torah we find that Hashem Himself buries Moshe, emphasizing the greatness of this Mitzvah.

Perhaps an additional point can be made here: 

When Yaacov was reunited with Yosef after twenty-two years he made a very strange statement: “Amusa Hapa’am” – “I can die now”. On the surface, Yaacov is saying that now that he found Yosef his life is whole. Rashi explains on a deeper level that had Yosef indeed been killed in Yaacov’s lifetime he would have failed in his mission to raise the twelve tribes. Yaacov somehow feared that he would not merit Gan Eden. Indeed, when he first heard that Yosef was attacked, Yaacov said “I will descend in my mourning to Gehenom”.

Yaacov had invested everything in the idea that Yosef had a role to play in the development of the Jewish people. When Yosef shared his dreams, the Torah tells us that Yaacov secretly believed them to be true. Later, when he sent Yosef to check on the brothers it seemed clear that this was a dangerous idea, but Yaacov firmly believed that the brothers would eventually make peace and that Yosef had a role to play. When things were apparently proven otherwise, Yaacov feared that he had miscalculated and veered from his divine mission in this world.

There is nothing more frustrating in life than the realization that we have taken the wrong path and strayed from our destiny. Yaacov feared leaving the world with the knowledge that he had not raised twelve tribes. It was only after the story of Yosef was revealed in its entirety that Yaacov was ready to leave this world. He could end his life with the knowledge that his life had followed its righteous trajectory and that he had fulfilled his mission in this world.

I believe this can be extended to every person. How we are escorted from this world is a commentary on how our lives remained linked –  in at least some tenuous way  – to our eternal essence. 

Of course there are those who live righteous lives and do not merit Jewish Burial. There are many things that are not in our hands. But inasmuch as it is in our hands to ensure that the end of a person’s life reflects a holy soul’s return to its maker, it is the greatest kindness we can do. We are showing that no matter how this person spent their life, they remained connected in some way. Even Hashem Himself involves Himself in this mitzvah.

When I was a Rabbi in Norfolk I received a call one Tuesday from a Non-orthodox Rabbi in Newport News. They were in the middle of a funeral and about to go to the cemetery when they found out that there was too much flooding to go ahead with the burial. The funeral was postponed to Thursday. The officiating Rabbi would be out of town, and they wanted to know if I would take over and officiate the burial. I agreed.

Exactly one hour later, I received a call from a funeral home in Maryland. Someone had passed away in Maryland and she was supposed to be buried in Newport News. They heard I would be there, so they wanted to know if perhaps – once I was already at the cemetery – I could officiate a second funeral as well. I agreed.

In speaking to the second family, it became very clear that the children were not leading a very religious lifestyle. We had a nice conversation about their mother and – as an afterthought – the son asked me what denomination I was from. I told him I was Orthodox.

“I think my mother will appreciate that”, he said, “when she came to Virginia after the war she joined the Orthodox congregation and she always identified with them”. I later found out that she had taught all of the women in Newport News how to make Pesachdike food. 

The Tahara was arranged with the Chevra Kadisha in Silver Spring, and I officiated the service according to Halacha. The son spoke and said many of the things that one would expect at a funeral. But after he finished speaking, he started to cry. He said, “I just want to say one more thing: My mother’s life was a series of miracles.  If the Nazis had their way, she wouldn’t have been buried at all. It is against all odds that my mother is being buried today in a Jewish Cemetery by an Orthodox Rabbi, but as I sit here today I realize that this is exactly what the Nazis wanted to take away from her.”

When we connect ourselves to the mitzvah of Kavod Hameis, we are literally becoming partners with Hashem in ensuring that the end of a person’s life reflects the fact that they always maintained a connection with Him.

This was what Yaacov requested: A Chesed that would reflect the Emes with which he lived his life.