Life is fragile. Very. This morning, two fathers from Ofra left for an ordinary workday and ended it at the cemetery. Two new widows, four orphans. I have a lot to say about living with the awareness that ‘today is my last day,’ but I’ll settle for something practical and very important:
Get life insurance. Today.
For some of us it’s hard to think about death; some believe that talking about it invites the evil eye. I think exactly the opposite. Be prepared. Especially parents with families. We don’t have the privilege of ignoring the chance that we might die. We’ll do everything to prevent it: eat healthy and drive carefully. But alongside that, we’ll look after our children and our spouses: we’ll get life insurance.
Here, I’m not embarrassed to open this up right here, because maybe it will spur someone into action:
My death is worth two million shekels to my family. A million and a half that my wife will receive from life insurance, plus several tens of thousands that each child will receive from the ‘Yachad’ fund I’m a member of.
You’ll say: Have you no shame? Money won’t fill the void that will open up in your family after you’re gone!
True. You’re right. But after getting up from the shiva, alongside the emotional void that opens up, people begin to rebuild their lives. And yes, two million shekels help rebuild a life. They allow a few years of quiet when one breadwinner is missing; they make it possible to save for the children’s education or an apartment when they grow up, in place of the parent who could have provided it.
When I head out every morning onto the Arava road, the awareness of death passes through me. And I’m comforted by the knowledge that I’ll leave behind not only smiles, love and good deeds, but also a few shekels. So that my family won’t be in need.
And beyond the money. Living with the awareness that ‘today is my last day’ means a great many things. But the most central one for me: always part with love. Had a fight with your wife at night? There’s no way you leave in the morning angry. Cancel a workday if you have to and stay home until you make up, but don’t leave in the middle of a fight.
I remember a story about a Holocaust survivor who told how, in the line for an Aktion, she yelled at her sister in anger for losing her wooden clogs: You fool! How could you lose your shoes?
And within seconds her sister was separated from her and taken to the gas chambers. Sixty years later it still haunted the survivor. That the last thing her sister heard from her was angry shouting. I think of that story often and try very hard never to part in anger.
So what did we learn today?
No matter what happened, leave the house with a smile and a kiss. And get life insurance. Today.
