Facing Death: Reflections on Mortality and the Human Condition

How the COVID-19 Pandemic Has Changed Our Perception of Death

"There is some thought, which you don't want to admit to other people, that it is true that everyone dies, but I am the exception to this," said writer Assaf Shur in an interview about his new book "Packing Alone." He added, "We will manage somehow, technologically or something. In the meantime, everything is fine; I see no reason for this trend to change." However, Shur acknowledges that his death will come, and through his book's protagonist, who suffers from a terminal illness and plans to end his life, he argues that while our fear of death is understandable, it is not entirely logical.

I came across this quote while preparing to speak at the virtual launch of "Packing Alone," trying to sweep away my troubling thoughts. "Calm down," I told myself. "Talking about death at a book launch won't lead to your untimely death." Did I calm down? Not really, because the thought of dying is terrifying.

The fear of death has become even more pronounced since the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. One of the worst impacts of the pandemic is the negative perception it has given to death. The fear intensified not only due to the sight of the sick and the dead but also because of the indirect messages conveyed by our decision to protect ourselves through lockdowns. We knew these measures would lead to severe economic crises with consequences like increased crime, violence, anxiety, and racism, along with rising cases of domestic violence and child abuse.

This is not a cynical statement; I also adhere to guidelines to protect against the virus because I believe they are appropriate for the situation. But I think the Western world's response to COVID-19 reveals not just the virus's lethality but also our fear of death. I do not mean to suggest that the lives of the elderly are less valuable than those of younger people, nor do I advocate neglecting the vulnerable. On the contrary, I want to explore the message hidden in our response to the pandemic and how it affects us when we face our imminent death, whether due to advanced age or an illness like Alex, the protagonist of Shur's book.

C, a patient of mine, is directly affected by this issue. He allowed me to quote him: "Modernity removed death from everyday life, just as it did with other 'dirty' areas. Children no longer die of pneumonia, we don't hear of tuberculosis patients or fatal appendicitis. What COVID-19 has done is elevate death to public consciousness and place responsibility on us. Unlike the Middle Ages, we're not talking about moral sins but everyday practices; if we don't behave properly, we will die."

A bulletin board as part of a campaign by the municipality of Ashkelon to avoid COVID-19 infection Photo: Sion Metodi

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"Since I deal with illnesses that make me vulnerable, I've heard more than once that I am responsible for my condition. The list of sins: too sensitive, easily angered, stressed, poor diet, lack of exercise, loneliness, and no relationship. It's a package deal: I'm in the front row of those threatened by COVID-19, and amazingly, I'm responsible for all this." In other words, C says: "I like to live, but I'm not afraid to die."

These words raise questions we tend to ignore. How does the intense fear of death, reflected in our response to COVID-19 and our efforts to eliminate it from life, help those facing death in battle? And how does it help us, knowing we will all die one day?

Have we considered how the elderly or terminally ill feel seeing us bring millions to their knees to avoid a deadly plague? Have we checked how the many graphs of death tolls affect them? What message do they get from bloody and morbid headlines? And what message are we sending to ourselves and our children by celebrating the end of the threat as if we have achieved eternal life?

In recent months, we have embedded the problematic and inaccurate message that death is not a natural event but humanity's greatest enemy, intolerable, and devoid of meaning. The message suggests one must do everything to avoid death, disregarding the quality of life.

Susan Sontag addressed this issue in 1977 in her essay "Illness as Metaphor," discussing the romanticization of tuberculosis and the demonization of cancer. Sontag argued that this excess of meaning harms patients, imposing on them responsibility and terror. "The healthiest way to be sick is one free of metaphorical thought," she said. Similarly, the healthiest way to deal with death is free of collective disenchantment.

The ways death affects our lives reveal our fragile cultural infrastructure, where we lack an undisturbed category to deal with death. Our ability to see fictitious death on screens increases, yet our ability to confront real death diminishes. We don't want to die but don't want to live forever.

Ironically, despite celebrations of decreased new COVID-19 cases, six weeks at home were enough to make us lose our sanity. After six weeks, we lost it? Do you know how many puzzles we would have to solve in eternal life? How many Netflix series to watch? Eternal life is not a pandemic; after six weeks, we wouldn't abandon it like gases from a shaken Coke bottle. There's a reason it's called "eternal life."

This strengthens the hypothesis that we don't want to live forever but simply don't want to die. Before Assaf Shur's book was titled "Packing Alone," it was called "Kichli Was More Stubborn Than Him." The book's hero clings to life: "Kichli knew the time had come, but he didn't want to die, so he flew. Death was stubborn, but Kichli was more stubborn. And death was fast, but Kichli was faster." But we can't avoid death—that's life, and that's the end of it.