“Let me, I pray, cross over and see the good land that is beyond the Jordan,” Moses petitions; but God denies. As the Pentateuch comes to a close, the Israelites reach the Land of Israel, but, sadly, they cannot share their joy with the three who led them on the arduous journey out of Egypt: Moses, Aaron and Miriam all die before entering the Holy Land. The three deaths in close sequence appear to signal that the Israelites must adjust to new leadership as well as to new terrain. But the deaths also encourage us to reflect on what has passed, on the lives led by this famous sibling triumvirate.
One of the most striking aspects of each death is how it mimics, in style and substance, the life of each figure: The hero dies as the hero lived. These parallels are often only hinted at, scarcely discernible in the shadowy, at times mysterious, accounts of their deaths. Only by reading between the lines of each death scene can we come closer to understanding the contribution of Miriam, Aaron and Moses in their lives.
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Miriam
“The Israelites arrived in a body at the wilderness of Zin on the first new moon, and the people stayed at Kadesh. Miriam died there and was buried there. The community was without water, and they joined against Moses and Aaron.”
No one mourns Miriam publicly. We receive no forewarning of her solitary and sudden death, and no comment on her loss. We hear only the aggravated complaining of a congregation once again in need. The self-centeredness of the people in the face of this personal and national tragedy is shocking. Miriam has been a faithful servant to the Israelites, a protective sister and an obedient daughter. Why then does she not receive the burial she merited? Does Miriam deserve a death of ignominy?
Perhaps Miriam’s life can shed light on her death.
We first encounter Moses’ sister—she is not yet named—on the banks of the Nile, as she watches her mother place the baby Moses in a basket in the reeds: “And his sister stood from afar, to learn what would befall him” (Exodus 2:4). When Pharaoh’s daughter arrives and finds the infant, Miriam intervenes for her brother: “Shall I go and get you a Hebrew nurse to suckle the child for you?” (Exodus 2:7). Pharaoh’s daughter agrees, not knowing that Miriam will recommend Moses’ own mother to nurse the child.
Miriam then fades from the story, only to reappear many years later, at what may be the climax of her leadership.a Once again we find Miriam on the banks of a body of water, this time the Reed Sea. The waters of the sea, which parted to allow the Israelites to cross safely, are now closing on their pursuers, the Egyptians. As the Egyptians drown, Moses sings a long hymn praising God. Miriam leads the Israelite women in a celebratory song, echoing Moses’ hymn, but only two verses long:
Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her in dance with timbrels. And Miriam chanted for them:
“Sing to the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously; Horse and driver He has hurled into the sea.”
Exodus 15:20–21
Miriam’s Song of the Sea is cut short, however, with the pronouncement: “Then Moses caused Israel to set out from the Sea of Reeds. They went on into the wilderness of Shur; they traveled three days in the wilderness and found no water. They came to Marah, but they could not drink the water of Marah because it was bitter; that is why it was named Marah [meaning “bitter”]” (Exodus 15:22–23).
Following the Song of the Sea, Miriam is not mentioned again until Numbers 12, the longest narrative involving her.
Aaron and Miriam are speaking against Moses for having married a Cushite woman when Miriam is stricken with a skin disease (often translated as leprosy)b and is expelled from the camp for seven days. This passage is less concerned with the details of Miriam’s illness than with defending Moses to his siblings. Miriam’s name is mentioned only in the first verse and then, later in the chapter, in several verses devoted to her illness.
The next reference to Miriam records her death.
The paucity of words surrounding Miriam’s death is disturbing, but no longer surprising. We no longer expect to find much information about Miriam’s death, since her life is offered to the reader only in fleeting glimpses. Yet by carefully comparing the brief accounts of her life and death, we may find greater insights hidden in the text than we initially detected. Stylistic parallels provide valuable clues to a pattern of character development—or, perhaps, arrested development.
The most striking parallel between Miriam’s death and her life is the brevity of each account. In each story, Miriam is scarcely introduced before the narrative turns in another direction (usually to follow the Israelites as they head off to another location).
In addition, almost every reference to Miriam mentions water: We see Miriam standing by the 043Nile or the Reed Sea, or we hear the Israelites complaining of their thirst for water.c Further, almost every reference to her is cut short by the needs of others. Often these two elements are connected: It is the Israelites need for water’s saving powers that distracts us from Miriam. No wonder her name means “bitter waters.”d
Both the abruptness of the passages and the constant references to the needs of others suggest that Miriam’s own story has been curtailed—perhaps suppressed—so that others’ needs can be attended. In Miriam’s life as in her death, the needs of others—especially the need for nourishment—eclipse her own.
Three passages in Numbers (20:2, 20:19, 21:5) describing the water shortage following Miriam’s death prompted several early commentaries to recognize Miriam as a symbolic supplier of water. In the midrash,e the appearance of a mysterious well not mentioned in the Bible is attributed to Miriam’s merit. When she dies, the well is removed.2 But in the Bible, the children of Israel fail to acknowledge Miriam as the source of the water. Only by searching in the shadowy recesses of the text do we find that the Israelites understood the threat Miriam’s death posed for their survival. Miriam’s life and death narratives are overshadowed by the needs of others, yet, ironically, it is she who can supply those needs. Her loss 044will be felt as a thirst: Just as the children of Israel thirst for water, the reader thirsts for more about Miriam, whose very character mimics the qualities of water—almost unnoticeable, perhaps even colorless, until it evaporates.
Aaron
“Setting out from Kadesh, the Israelites arrived in a body at Mount Hor. At Mount Hor, on teh boundary of the land of Edom, the Lord said to Moses and Aaron, ‘Let Aaron be gathered to his kin: he is not to enter the land that I have assigned to the Israelite people, because you [Moses] disobeyed my command about the waters of Meribah. Take Aaron and his son Eleazar and bring them up on Mount Hor. Strip Aaron of his vestments and put them on his son Eleazar. There Aaron shall be gathered unto the dead.’
“Moses did as the Lord had commanded. They ascended Mount Hor in the sight of the whole community. Moses stripped Aaron of his vestments and put them on his son Eleazar, and Aaron died there on the summit of the mountain. When Moses and Eleazar came down from the mountain, the whole community knew that Aaron had breathed his last. All the house of Israel bewailed Aaron thirty days.”
Numbers 20:22–29
In the very same chapter that records Miriam’s death, Aaron’s passing is described in more detail but with no less mystery. Indeed, of the three deaths, Aaron’s is the most complete narrative depiction: He has time to prepare for the moment; he dies among his family; and he is mourned by the whole community.
The story begins in similar fashion to Miriam’s death scene, as an interruption of the sojourn of the children of Israel. But from the start, the presence of the whole community is emphasized. The passage begins with the group’s arrival “in a body” at Mount Hor and closes with the mourning of “all the house of Israel.” In the middle we are twice reminded that the event takes place in the sight and with the knowledge of the “whole community.” That the whole congregation would mourn for one of its leaders would come as no surprise—if the community had not been so noticeably absent at the deaths of Miriam and (to a lesser degree) Moses. Equally curious is the legacy of the clothing.
Perhaps by examining Aaron’s life, we can explain both the public aspect of his death and the import of the garments that he bequeaths to his son.
Aaron is a man of the people. He serves as their spokesman and orchestrates the plan for the golden calf in consonance with their wishes, despite his attempts to stall and redirect their intentions. Indeed, his mistake seems to be loving the congregation too much. In rabbinic literature he is lauded as a mediator, devoted to his constituents.f The midrash, asking why Moses was not accorded the same public mourning as his brother, concludes that “he [Moses] judged strictly and criticized whereas Aaron never said a negative word to any man.”3 For this, the midrash concludes, Aaron was awarded the appellation “pursuer of peace.” It is no coincidence then that his death is marked by the presence of the people he loved unconditionally.
As a public leader and priest, Aaron wears special clothing. An entire chapter of Exodus (28) is devoted to the creation of his priestly vestments: “And thou shall make holy garments for Aaron thy brother for honor and for beauty” (Exodus 28:2). The priest had to be properly clothed to perform his holy task, both to garner respect for his position as a divine emissary and to enhance the divine image. Aaron’s disposition makes him literally well-suited to the wearing of such garments. Whereas Moses recognizes his own deficiencies as a leader (“Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?” [Exodus 3:11]; “I have never been a man of words…I am slow of speech and slow of tongue…Please, O Lord, make someone else Your agent” [Exodus 4:10–13]), Aaron knows how to act and dress the part of a public persona. Whereas Moses covers his face with a veil when bringing the commandments off the mount (Exodus 34:33), Aaron appears before the congregation in the full splendor of his vestments. Because Moses feels he cannot fulfill the public duties of his leadership, God selects Aaron as his spokesman (Exodus 4:13–16).
At his death, Aaron symbolically bequeaths leadership to his son, Eleazar, by passing on his priestly vestments. Aaron is so obedient, so enmeshed in the responsibility symbolized by his clothing, that passing the vestments on to his son is enough to signal his death. According to the midrash, the fabric of Aaron’s life is so intertwined with the fabric of his clothing that Moses is unsure how to disrobe his dying brother. In the midrash God interjects and tells Moses that he should do his task and the heavens will do theirs. As Aaron is dying, Moses asks him, “Tell me what you see?” He responds, “I see nought but the clouds of honor clothing me as you disrobe me.”4 Even in death, Aaron moves from one wardrobe to another.
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Aaron meets his death with equanimity. In the biblical text, Aaron is forewarned of his death. In the midrash it is Moses who must inform his brother that he is about to die. Unsure how to broach the subject, Moses awakens Aaron early in the morning, confessing difficulty with a matter of study and asking for his brother’s advice. Moses is disturbed that in Genesis the first man introduces mortality to the world. Aaron responds, “Moses, my brother, do not speak thus, are we also not to accept the divine decree?” When Moses sees that Aaron accepts the inevitability of death, Moses tells him the disturbing news. The midrash conveys a sense of peace: Death is a gentle transition from this world to the next. Death, for Aaron, is as simple as removing clothing, as if the outer shell is a reflection of the inner life. Aaron’s death is a fitting parallel to his life: A death surrounded by people, a death of acceptance, of bequeathing a legacy of leadership without murmur.
Not so Moses.
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Moses
“And Moses was a hundred and twenty years old when he died; his eyes were not dim, nor his natural force abated.”
Deuteronomy 34:7
Moses argued from the moment he became a leader to the moment of his death. At his death, we sense a man taken by force, open-eyed and full of life, hungry to cross the Jordan and fighting to his very last breath. Tennyson wrote,
No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.
How true of Moses, whose call to death must be reiterated no fewer than four times.
Like his brother, Moses receives forewarning of his death, but unlike Aaron, he is told long before, in the Book of Numbers: “Ascend these heights of Abarim,” God tells Moses, “and view the land that I have given to the Israelite people. When you have seen it, you too shall be gathered to your kin, just as your brother Aaron was” (Numbers 27:12–13). He is told again and again that he will sleep with his ancestors (Deuteronomy 31:14, 31:16 and 32:49–50). Several times he is ordered to ascend a mountain to see the land he will never enter. Moses begs God to allow him to cross over to the Holy Land (Deuteronomy 3:25).
Why does God refuse to agree? Why is death such a struggle for Moses—truly his final debate with God?
Moses’ first act of leadership comes in Exodus 2:11–14, when Moses swiftly rescues one of his kinsmen from a beating by an Egyptian taskmaster: “[Moses] turned this way and that and, seeing no one about, he struck down the Egyptian and hid him in the sand” (Exodus 2:12). Moses sees discord and puts himself at the center of it, as he will throughout his life. After killing the Egyptian, Moses immediately tries to break up a fight between two Hebrews—ironically, by questioning their use of violence. The Hebrew slave turns to Moses and asks the question that will typify Moses’ long tenure: “Who made you a ruler and a judge over us?” (Exodus 2:14). In essence, this small scene foreshadows the constant bitterness that Moses will face in the wilderness: the complaining of the Israelites, the battle waged by Korah and his followers against Moses’ leadership (Numbers 16), and the questioning of his character by his own siblings. It is against this backdrop of dissonance that Moses’ death must be analyzed.
In Numbers 27:14 God explains that Moses will not be allowed to enter the Promised Land because he once rebelled against God: “For in the wilderness of Zin, when the community was contentious, you rebelled against My command to sanctify Me at the waters before their eyes.”g
Thus, as the very result of conflict, Moses was punished. His punishment is not merely death, but a death that signifies unrequited longing. Moses suffered 40 years of complaints and strife only to be told that for his momentary act of disobedience, he would die pining for the Holy Land. The location of his death is pregnant with meaning. Not only would he have to look at the land from afar and eventually be buried on the wrong side of the Jordan River, but he would actually be buried in a valley, shut from view of the Land of Israel: “[The Lord] buried him in the valley in the land of Moab, near Beth-peor; and no man knows of his sepulcher to this day” (Deuteronomy 34:6). That he would be buried in Moab, a country the Israelites fought on their journey, and that he would spend his eternal life facing Beth-peor, a site of Israelite rebellion, is the ultimate insult and the final assault in a life of contention.5
Moses’ fighting spirit is captured in the numerous midrashim that record his emotions shortly before his death. Perhaps the most striking of these is a lengthy plea to God, the angels and the natural world to spare his life. “When Moses beheld that the divine decree had been sealed (signifying his death), he drew a small circle and stood within it and said, ‘Master of the universe I will not move from here until you cancel the decree.’” Here Moses sulks like a stubborn child before a strict parent. Contrast this to Aaron’s easy acceptance of his own death, particularly in its midrashic treatment. In one of the most painful expressions of Moses’ tenacity, Moses presents his case to God:
“Master of the universe, is it known to you the anguish that I suffered over Israel until they would believe in your name? How much I suffered because of them until they observed the Torah and commandments? I said (to myself) I see them in their suffering, I will see them in their fortune. And now that the good of Israel has come you say to me, ‘You will not cross the Jordan’” [quoting Deuteronomy 3:26].6
In this midrash Moses takes his case to the heavens, the sun and moon, the stars and mountains, but none will challenge the divine decree. God is uncompromising. Moses is a lone voice.
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Another early source demonstrates Moses’ urgency:
A heavenly voice went forth and said to him [Moses], “You only have an hour left to live in this world.” He [Moses] said to Him: “O Master of the world! Let me go about like a bird, flying all over the world”…God said to him: “Enough!” He said to Him: “Master of the World! [But you are called] ‘The Rock Whose Deeds Are Perfect’” And he [Moses] began to weep, and he wept and said: “To whom shall I go who can seek mercy on my behalf?”7
Again Moses is alone, without a compassionate advocate.8
This loneliness in death reflects the very solitary nature of Moses’ leadership. The theologian Martin Buber captured the silence and isolation of his last hours:
And now Moses ascends Mount Nebo, solitary as he has always been; more solitary than he has ever been before. As he is making his way over the ridge and is mounting to the level summit, he is reminiscent of one of those noble animals which leave their herd in order to perish alone.9
But neither the midrash nor a modern scholar can capture the coldness of the biblical text, with its economy of words: “and no man knows of his sepulcher to this day.”
Moses died alone, his eyes undimmed, his natural force unabated, because that is how he lived. Moses is the only biblical character who tells God to repent, and when he does, God obeys (Exodus 32:12–14).10 He fought God in defense of the people and the people in the defense of God. Above all, he fought injustice, whether in the form of a cruel taskmaster, a group of bullying shepherds or his sister’s illness. In his last great battle, he fought the injustice of his own death.
In these texts, to die a death that mimics life is neither a reward nor a punishment but a simple, almost expected, continuation of life itself. In the words of the contemporary writer and physician Sherwin Nuland, “Death is not a confrontation. It is simply an event in the sequence of nature’s ongoing rhythms.”11 Miriam spent her life in the service of others, overshadowed by their needs, and that is how she died. Aaron lived among his community, as a public figure, and that is how he died. Moses steadfastly refused to yield to the uncompromising nature of the world, first in life, and then in death.
These death scenes in no way feed us, the innocent reader, with the hope of controlling death. Sadly, we are not like Miriam, Aaron and Moses. The lives we lead, however noble or content or contentious, will not necessarily translate into self-styled death scenes. Yet the texts do encourage a small hope that, ultimately, we are to be remembered and judged not by how we die but by how we live. That is how we remember Miriam, Aaron and Moses. Their deaths confirm what we always knew about them. In the words of the 14th-century Italian poet Petrarch, “A good death does honor to a whole life.”
We expect to learn from the lives of great people, not from their deaths. But in the case of Miriam, Aaron and Moses, their deaths reflect their lives.
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The only exception appears in Numbers 12:15–16, which mentions neither water nor the needs of others. Though Miriam has been stricken with a skin disease and expelled from the camp for slandering Moses, the Israelites wait for her to be healed before continuing their journey: “So Miriam was shut out of camp seven days; and the people did not march on until Miriam was readmitted. After that the people set out from Hazeroth and encamped in the wilderness of Paran.” We sense the honor accorded Miriam in their waiting but also the inconvenience her sickness has imposed on the large camp. But even here, the narrative quickly moves from her to the ongoing trek of the Israelites.
4.
Both “Miriam” and “Marah” derive from the Hebrew root mar, meaning “bitter.”
5.
Midrash (plural, midrashim), from the Hebrew for “searching out,” is a genre of rabbinic literature that includes nonliteral embellishments of the biblical text.
Biblical translations are based on the New Jewish Publication Society version of the Hebrew Bible. Translations of the midrash are the author’s.
2.
Sifrei to Deuteronomy, 205.
3.
Avot deRebbi Natan 12.
4.
Yalkut Shimoni, Numbers, 763. Mekhilta Wayassa’ 5; see James Kugel, The Bible As It Was (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, Belknap Press, 1997), pp. 363–364.
5.
For more on Moses’ denial, see Thomas W. Mann, “Theological Reflections on the Denial of Moses,” Journal of Biblical Literature 98:4 (1979), pp. 481–494.
6.
Midrash Rabba to Deuteronomy 7:11, 11:10.
7.
Petirat Moshe (Jellinek, Beit Ha-Midrash 1.125), as seen in Kugel, The Bible As It Was.
8.
Anson Laytner (in Arguing With God [Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1990], p. 66) claims that the midrashim about Moses’ death served the didactic purpose of allaying the general anxiety over death: “The dialogue serves to instruct about the rabbinic concept of the world to come and its place and role in the system of divine justice.”
9.
Martin Buber, Moses: The Revelation and the Covenant (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1958), p. 201.
