From
the moment we know that a person has died, he seems always to have been
different than he seemed. His goodness was greater; his talent was greater; his
love and self-sacrifice were greater; his faults were more tolerable; his
failures more anguishing – altogether, he is revealed to have been existing on
a different, higher plane than we had suspected while he was alive.
Death
is like a photograph, making us take a longer look at details that otherwise we
barely notice in passing, not even realizing we noticed.
What
happens when you die?
It depends on what you did on earth. You
may be forced to come back and give advice to people too stubborn to listen. Or
you may be allowed to smell again all the wonderful smells of your childhood –
challah baking in the kitchen, soup steaming, and wet newspapers on the floor.
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