L’dor Vador:
"I’m Gonna Live Forever"

By Alyssa Appelman
University of Missouri-Columbia
KOACH E-Zine Assistant Editor

I was reading a series in my local newspaper about banned books when one particular article caught my attention. It was an interview with Lois Lowry, the author of my favorite childhood book, "The Giver," which was apparently being banned from a local school district, due to outcry by parents.

I decided to reread the book, to try to pinpoint the controversy. The nature of the book itself is fairly controversial, in that it describes a totalitarian culture in which every aspect of life is carefully regulated: a selection ceremony determines your profession, a Council of Elders chooses your life partner, and couples apply to receive one of the 50 children (25 girls and 25 boys) born each year.

But the most disturbing aspect of this life, and the one that probably makes parents the most uncomfortable, is the ritual of death. Until halfway through the book, death is referred to as "release," in that you are released from the community when you reach a certain age. Parents teach their children that once people are released, they are sent to Elsewhere. Once the main character learns that "release" means euthanasia, he becomes sickened with his society and plans his escape. While the practice itself is clearly disturbing to readers, I think it’s the casual way in which "release" is described that causes more of an outcry.

The way people talk about death clearly reflects the way they think about it. In considering the way the community in the novel talks about death, I began to think about conversations in our own community.

In contrasting Judaism with Christianity, Jews often mention that we don’t live our lives expecting to be rewarded in the future. Jews learn "mitzvah goreret mitzvah," fulfilling an obligation because it will lead us to the fulfillment of another mitzvah, and not because it will ensure us a place in an afterlife. But then, how do we think, and therefore talk, about death? And without a specific reward, what motivates us to be good people?

I have always been taught the dualistic nature of humans- that we have an immortal soul inside of a mortal body; death is when our soul leaves the body to enter Olam HaBah (the World to Come). But I like to think it’s more than that. I like to think that this life is about more than our soul biding time before the next stage.

I like to think about life as a process, as a series of experiences that shape the way we relate to other people. For me, it doesn’t matter if there is an afterlife. If we try to be good people now and it helps us later, fine. If it doesn’t, we were still good people, and no harm done. Thus the goal is not to become absorbed in the future, but to live life to the fullest each day. As Hillel said, "If not now, when?"

Even before realizing the meaning of "release," the character in the novel notes the importance of names in his society. No member of the community has the same name. Once a child is "released," either due to an illness or breaking the community rules three times, his or her name can no longer be spoken and it cannot be given to another child. Before an elder is released, however, there is a celebration, and the following year a new child receives that name.

If we think about our lives as a legacy, as a chance to impact our communities now and in the future, then we don’t ever really die. Through family and friends, our memory (and our name) becomes a part of the public consciousness. As the memory of our lives last, we remain a part of our communities: We live forever.

[Posted 11/28/05]