As Jacob's life draws to a close in Parashat Vayechi, he summons Joseph and makes an urgent request: "deal with me with chesed v'emet – do not bury me in Egypt" (Genesis 47:29). The patriarch asks to be returned to the Land of Israel for burial, and frames this plea with a striking phrase: chesed v'emet, "kindness and truth," or perhaps "true kindness."

Rashi offers the classic explanation: when one performs kindness for the dead, it is pure and genuine, as no repayment can be expected. The deceased cannot reciprocate; they cannot return the favor, offer gratitude, or enhance one's reputation.

But this raises a glaring question: What could it possibly mean to say there is no repayment for caring for the deceased? Did Jacob and Joseph not believe in divine reward and punishment? Wouldn't God's reward constitute a very real form of payback for Joseph's kindness? How can we speak of "no expectation of return" in a worldview permeated by belief in divine justice?

This question opens a window into understanding not just this particular mitzvah, but the very nature of authentic human relationships and the kind of society our tradition envisions.

The Midrash on Abraham and Sarah

Rabbi Chaim Yaakov Goldvicht, in the Asufat Ma’arakhot to Chayei Sarah, draws attention to a surprising Midrash that Abraham was praised as having attained the qualities of God specifically when he buried his wife Sarah.

This is striking: Abraham, who performed so much kindness throughout his lifetime, receives singular commendation for an act that any relative, certainly any husband, would be expected to perform. Why does the burial of Sarah merit such special praise, suggesting that through this act Abraham achieved divine qualities, when Abraham's legendary hospitality and generosity were far more extraordinary?

R. Goldvicht connects this to the theme of Chesed v’Emet. The other services that Abraham provided to humanity were those for which one could expect reciprocity, and thus could be understood as part of a social contract, recommended without necessarily being rooted in divine influence. When Abraham welcomed guests, fed the hungry, and showed generosity to all, these were admirable acts, but they operated within the framework of human social interaction. They could be explained, at least in part, by enlightened self-interest, by the recognition that such behavior builds community and often brings return benefits.

Burial, however, is different. It is an act of kindness to the departed, a "chesed shel emet" – a pure, selfless act for which no reciprocity can be expected. Thus, it is a clear manifestation not of utilitarianism or of the social contract, but of Godliness itself.

Acts that exist within the framework of mutual benefit, however admirable, do not necessarily reflect divine qualities. They can be recommended by practical wisdom, by social necessity, by enlightened self-interest. But kindness that offers no possibility of return, purely out of recognition of another's dignity and worth, transcends the human and touches the divine.

God's kindness to humanity is not motivated by what He can gain from us. The divine chesed flows from God's essential nature, from His goodness itself, not from any expectation of reciprocity. When we care for the deceased, we emulate this divine attribute most purely. We act out of pure goodness, out of recognition of human dignity, out of commitment to truth; not out of calculation of benefit.

This is why the Midrash singles out Sarah's burial as the moment when Abraham attained the qualities of God. In that act, he demonstrated that his kindness was not ultimately rooted in the social contract or in reciprocal relationships, but in something deeper, in chesed that flows from Godliness itself.

Additional Layers of Meaning

Yet other commentators offer additional layers that enrich our understanding. R. Yitzchak Kreiser (Ish Le-Re’eihu, Genesis, 469) suggests that "emet" refers to the undeniable reality of the need. In other realms of chesed, one might question whether help is truly necessary, but burial admits no such doubt. The "truth" here is the inescapable reality of human mortality and dependency.

The Kozhiglover Rav, R. Aryeh Leib Fromer, offers a homiletic insight (printed in Responsa Eretz Tzvi II, pp. 409-410) that adds another dimension. He suggests that while the deceased requires the assistance of others, those who are alive need the deceased as well. The tremendous mitzvot associated with caring for the departed cannot be performed in any other context. Thus, the chesed associated with these mitzvot is particularly great because they provide a final merit to a soul anguished by the loss of further opportunity to accrue merit on this earth. This perspective transforms our understanding: we do not simply do a favor for those who have died; rather, we engage in a sacred partnership.

R. Elyakim Shlesinger (Sichot Beit Av, pp. 66-67) notes that acts of chesed are often motivated partially by the desire of the giver to avoid witnessing the pain and suffering of others, which diverts focus from the needs of the recipient to those of the giver. In the case of funeral preparations, however, the recipient is not visibly suffering, and thus the service is more purely altruistic. 

(For a more mystically oriented interpretation, see Ma’avar Ya’abok, Sefat Emet, ch. 27.)

Two Aspects of One Obligation

The mitzvah of burial operates on two distinct levels. On one level, it is an independent obligation identified in the Torah as a commandment (Deuteronomy 21:23), with its own goals and requirements. On another level, it is the final expression of dignity shown to a human being, and one that by definition necessitates the involvement of others. As such, burial and all that it entails is firmly rooted within the broader commandment of chesed.

This is a chesed modeled by God Himself. The Torah tells us that God personally buried Moses (Deut. 34:6) – a powerful paradigm for human emulation. When we attend to the needs of the deceased, we walk in the ways of the Divine.

Some authorities delineate two distinct responsibilities within this framework. For family members, burial is an absolute obligation. The community at large, which assists the family or steps in when there is no family, is engaged in chesed.

The Ketav Sofer offers another dimension: burial is a basic societal need that could be met minimally and functionally. The "true kindness" was not merely burying Jacob, but honoring his specific wish not to be buried in Egypt. Going beyond minimal compliance to honor the deceased's preferences – that is purely chesed. (Responsa Ketav Sofer, Yoreh Deah 180. Note also the analysis of R. Meir Dan Plotzki, Keli Chemdah, Parshat Ki Tetze 6:6.) This interpretation is relevant to understanding the Midrashic comment regarding Abraham, who would have been required to minimally attend to Sarah's burial regardless. The extent he went to in showing her proper dignity and care is evidence of the chesed the Midrash is identifying.

The Priority of Attending to the Deceased

The importance of this mitzvah is underscored by the principle that attending a funeral supersedes even Torah study (Ketuvot 17a). This is grouped together with hakhnasat kallah, escorting a bride into marriage. The majority of authorities rule that one must set aside learning to participate in a funeral procession. This extends to all community members at work as well (YD 361:2). The message is unmistakable: the dignity of every human being, even in death, takes precedence.

While the obligation to set aside Torah study is striking, some authorities actually considered it redundant in light of the standard rule that Torah study does not exempt one from a mitzvah that cannot be done by others. Since one's absence from a funeral will reduce the size of the crowd (even if others are present), it seems self-evident that this mitzvah cannot be delegated. Others suggest the ruling was necessary because one might mistakenly think only the burial itself is the mitzvah, while the procession merely adds honor. The Talmud therefore teaches explicitly that the procession also takes priority.

The Challenge of Contemporary Practice

Despite these clear teachings, contemporary practice falls short of the ideal. R. Moshe Feinstein reportedly considered this a very serious question with no satisfactory answer. R. Yosef Shalom Elyashiv (He’arot Le-Massekhet Ketuvot, 17a [70-71]) noted that no single explanation suffices, but taken together various theories provide a general defense.

R. David Ariav surveys several possibilities: the obligation may apply only when one actually sees the deceased being transported; one actively engaged in learning may not need to interrupt; the original principle may have applied only to unified communities; the obligation may exist only at the precise moment of movement, which is generally not known in advance.

Some authorities concede that current practice represents a necessary accommodation given the frequency of death in larger cities and cemetery distances. Others note that when there is a chevra kadisha, there is less obligation on the general populace, as the chevra acts as community emissaries. (See Responsa Tzitz Eliezer IX, Kuntres Ramat Rachel, 50, and Kuntres Even Ya’akov, 19-23, who surveys various perspectives on this issue.)

Whatever explanation is accepted, friends, neighbors, and relatives of the deceased have particular obligations. As R. David Friedman (Karliner) emphasizes (Sh’eilat David, chiddushim to Yoreh De’ah 361), their absence may constitute public disgrace and the issue must be evaluated accordingly.

The Meaning of Accompaniment

The term used for attending a funeral is halvayat ha-met, literally "escorting the deceased." The act of physical accompaniment is fundamental, prompting the question of how far one must escort.

An initial reading of the Shulchan Arukh indicates a minimum of four amot (six to eight feet). R. Yeshaya Shlomo Asdit asserts that the mitzvah is actually to escort the body to the cemetery, but minimally one has performed the basic duty with four amot. In defense of contemporary practice, he suggests that many are lenient about traveling to the cemetery because Jewish communities typically live among non-Jewish populations, with cemeteries located at some distance. The Chafetz Chaim observes that at minimum, the community must ensure a minyan at the cemetery for kaddish.

The Muncaczer Rebbe, R. Chaim Elazar Schapiro, after an extended effort to understand the apparently inadequate common practice, suggests the following distinction (Responsa Minchat Elazar I, 26, in footnote. See also IV, 2.). The Talmud states that one who sees the deceased in transit, and chooses not to accompany him, is in essence mocking the departed, and subject to the designation of “who so mocks the poor (lo’eg la-rash) blasphemes his Maker” (Proverbs 17:5). This criticism is applicable only to one who fails to escort the deceased even for a minimal four cubits. To go beyond that minimum, and escort to the cemetery, is an act of voluntary chesed.  R. Ovadiah Yosef (Responsa Yabbia Omer IV, Yoreh De’ah 35:1) records a practice to wait until the deceased has left one’s field of vision, and notes that this is apparently sourced in a comment of the Chizkuni (Deut. 21:7).

The Manner of Escorting

It is not only the act of escorting that matters, but also the manner. The pace should be deliberate and respectful, not rushed. Those escorting must not push others away, which would undermine the honor of both the dead and the living. All extraneous conversation, even Torah discussion, is inappropriate during the procession.

The Shulchan Arukh states that even when not obligated to accompany, one must stand when the coffin passes. According to the Taz, this honors those involved in the proceedings; as agents of chesed, they command respect. The Pitchei Teshuvah, citing R. Eliyahu of Lublin, offers a different theory: the standing is for the honor of the deceased themselves.

Contemporary authorities assert that the standing obligation applies even to one on a passing bus. R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach is quoted (Halikhot Shelomoh: Tefillah, ch. 13, n. 22) as maintaining that if the bus stops or turns in another direction, the passenger is obligated to descend and accompany the funeral procession. R. Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld (Responsa Salmat Chaim, Yoreh De’ah 614) inclined toward the same conclusion.

Beyond the Procession

The language of halvayat ha-met connotes "escorting the deceased," and much discussion centers on accompanying the coffin. Nonetheless, as R. Yisrael David Harfenes notes, participating in eulogies is also a fulfillment of this mitzvah.

R. Harfenes cites an instructive practice of the Satmar Rebbe. When asked to speak at a funeral, the Rebbe would request to be the last speaker; at the conclusion of his eulogy, he would also escort the deceased. However, if he were not the last speaker, he would not necessarily remain for all speeches.

Building on this, R. Harfenes suggests: The primary responsibility is escorting the deceased. Attending eulogies is an overt act of honor, so much so that one present may have difficulty justifying leaving mid-service. However, if one is actually speaking, this constitutes such visible honor that it may be a complete fulfillment in itself.

R. Pinchas Korakh asserts that just as one who cannot escort the entire way does so for four cubits, one who cannot remain for all eulogies but listens for whatever duration possible has accomplished something significant.

The Contemporary Application

To return to our opening question: How can we speak of "no repayment" when Jacob and Joseph surely believed in divine reward and punishment?

The answer lies in understanding the profound distinction between divine reward and human transactionality. Of course they believed in divine justice; but that is not what Jacob was asking Joseph to transcend. Jacob was asking Joseph not to approach this act like a politician in a transactional relationship, but to set aside that entire framework and to act from a place of pure principle, out of divine attributes rather than human calculation.

The social contract – the framework of reciprocal obligations – is not inherently bad. It is, in fact, the foundation of civilized society. But chesed v'emet asks us to recognize that beneath and beyond the social contract lies something higher: the emulation of divine attributes.

God's kindness to humanity flows from His essential goodness, not from any expectation of reciprocity. When we care for the deceased, when we perform acts that offer no possibility of return benefit, we most purely emulate this divine quality.

There is much going on in this last parashah of Genesis that is ambiguous. The sons of Jacob remain anxiously unclear as to their standing with Joseph, and ultimately transmit a message to him that Jacob has instructed him to forgive them (50:16-17), which may or may not be true (see Yevamot 65b).

Jacob issues blessings to each of his sons that the Torah describes with the unusual formulation (Gen. 49:28) of “Each man with his own blessing (singular) He blessed them (plural).” The Sefat Emet picks up on the change in language: he was bestowing each son with blessings tailored to his unique abilities, with the understanding that he harness those talents and gifts towards the good of the family as a whole.

When blessing his grandchildren, Jacob emphasizes the younger over the older, seemingly repeating the mistake of favoritism that he committed with his own sons (see Shabbat 10b and Megillah 16b). One possibility is that he was testing them: Would there be a jealous reaction, as had happened with his sons, or would there be a sense of cooperation, a more auspicious sign for the next generation? (See Da’at Shlomo.)

Yet another possibility is that Jacob's target at that moment was actually Joseph, who objects to his inversion and declares that Menashe is the older son. Jacob's response is a cryptic, "I know, my son, I know." Perhaps, it has been suggested, these words contain multitudes. "I know all too well, my son, how painful it can be for an older child to be passed over for a younger child. I was a part of that many years ago and saw the price that it extracted from the older sons. I am asking you to appreciate it now as well, as it seems you do; and to have compassion on your own older brothers who reacted so negatively when it happened to them. Perhaps you can find within your heart to forgive them." (Yalkut Ish L’Reihu, quoting Nachalat Av.)

In that case, perhaps Jacob did instruct Joseph to forgive his brothers, whether or not he ever said those words specifically. Perhaps through one action or a combination of actions, through a series of implications and subtle messages, he conveyed to Joseph the importance of seeing the larger picture and working beyond the politics of the moment.

And then, once again, at the very end of his life, he instructed Joseph to listen to his final wishes for dignity and for a resting place consistent with his spiritual vision. He asked him to do so, not because of any transactional benefit, or for any social contract, or justifiable reciprocity, but simply because kindness and giving is the very essence of his soul. In that, Jacob was making a request, but was, in truth, bequeathing a legacy; one begun by his own grandfather Abraham, and now transmitted to his own grandchildren and beyond: telling them not what to do, but who to be.