Why Not to End Your Life: My Belief
A person may contemplate ending their life when their pain overtakes their ability to cope. But the ability to cope is rooted in our sense of self—our very survival instinct. And this instinct is only fed by love.
Ideally, we feel divine love—which includes love of self and love toward others. But even if we only feel self-love, we can still cope. And sometimes, when the inner world is still under construction, we need scaffolding. We need the love of others to support us. This is not weakness. This is how buildings are built—stone by stone, frame by frame.
The core idea is this: if we identify primarily as souls—souls who animate bodies while on the earthly plane, but who exist beyond this mortal coil—then ending life is not only pointless, but foolhardy. Even unjust. Because self-autonomy is not the highest calling. Service is.
Rather than judge oneself into non-being, one can begin to rebuild by becoming something meaningful to someone—or something—outside the self.
Many people have experienced the cycle of depression → escape → shame → deeper depression requiring stronger escapes. Addictions, impulsive behaviors, and self-destructive thoughts—no prescription required. The temptation is always there: the voice that says, “There is no other way.” That voice is ancient. It is not the voice of truth, but the voice of the yetzer hara, the destabilizing inner force that exists in everyone. That part of the psyche that fears success, desires oblivion, and whispers that disappearance is noble.
Sometimes it’s hard to know which of our impulses are good. As Pirkei Avot teaches: “All my life I grew up among the Sages, and I found nothing better for the body than silence.” In silence, we learn to see clearly—both the world and ourselves. We begin to respond rather than react. In that space between impulse and action, we gain freedom.
A simple practice: pause two seconds before speaking or acting. In those seconds, a person can gain clarity. What’s really happening? What’s the right response? Those two seconds can be the doorway to wisdom and dignity.
Addiction often follows the pattern of the “itch that spreads”—an impulse, scratched, ignites more impulses. This is what addiction scholars call the slippery slope. The more we feed a compulsion, the more it feeds us. But if we don’t scratch the itch, it fades. The impulse passes.
Jewish tradition teaches: “Mitzvah goreret mitzvah, aveirah goreret aveirah”—one good deed leads to another, and one harmful act leads to more. Every action builds momentum. We are either growing in strength or diminishing.
Our impulses, if indulged, demand more. Our resistance weakens. And over time, our ability to make healthy choices shrinks. This is how people fall into despair, addiction, or worse.
But there is another path.
When we act with purpose, we build inner strength. The more we do good, the more we want to. The more we learn, the more we understand. As the saying goes: “If you want something done, ask a busy person.” Someone who is meaningfully engaged is less likely to fall prey to despair.
Too often, those who struggle with despair are disconnected from purpose. They numb their hunger for meaning with endless distraction. They lose sight of their mission.
The Talmudic advice still holds: choose life.
If someone is still here, still considering, that means there is still strength within. There is still something vital that can grow. And there is a skill that can change everything: the ability to follow through. To complete what we start.
Projects, relationships, jobs, dreams—these only bear fruit when they are nourished and seen through. And failure to follow through often stems not from weakness, but from never truly choosing those things in the first place. Sometimes we fall in love with how a dream looks on us, not what it asks of us.
There is a profound difference between seeking love and seeking someone to love you. Between choosing a life of service, and waiting for life to serve you. Depression can often stem from the many hopes and goals left half-built. The soul knows what it was made for. When we deny our soul its work, its offering, it grows restless.
It takes a certain twisted kind of courage to offer oneself up to the gods of despair. But it takes a different kind of courage—a truer, deeper courage—to decide to cope no matter what. To choose life again. And again.
To become, unabashedly, the strange and wonderful soul you are. This world is more whole with you in it.
As it says in the Torah:
“I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Therefore choose life, that you may live, you and your seed.” (Deuteronomy 30:19)
Ideally, we feel divine love—which includes love of self and love toward others. But even if we only feel self-love, we can still cope. And sometimes, when the inner world is still under construction, we need scaffolding. We need the love of others to support us. This is not weakness. This is how buildings are built—stone by stone, frame by frame.
The core idea is this: if we identify primarily as souls—souls who animate bodies while on the earthly plane, but who exist beyond this mortal coil—then ending life is not only pointless, but foolhardy. Even unjust. Because self-autonomy is not the highest calling. Service is.
Rather than judge oneself into non-being, one can begin to rebuild by becoming something meaningful to someone—or something—outside the self.
Many people have experienced the cycle of depression → escape → shame → deeper depression requiring stronger escapes. Addictions, impulsive behaviors, and self-destructive thoughts—no prescription required. The temptation is always there: the voice that says, “There is no other way.” That voice is ancient. It is not the voice of truth, but the voice of the yetzer hara, the destabilizing inner force that exists in everyone. That part of the psyche that fears success, desires oblivion, and whispers that disappearance is noble.
Sometimes it’s hard to know which of our impulses are good. As Pirkei Avot teaches: “All my life I grew up among the Sages, and I found nothing better for the body than silence.” In silence, we learn to see clearly—both the world and ourselves. We begin to respond rather than react. In that space between impulse and action, we gain freedom.
A simple practice: pause two seconds before speaking or acting. In those seconds, a person can gain clarity. What’s really happening? What’s the right response? Those two seconds can be the doorway to wisdom and dignity.
Addiction often follows the pattern of the “itch that spreads”—an impulse, scratched, ignites more impulses. This is what addiction scholars call the slippery slope. The more we feed a compulsion, the more it feeds us. But if we don’t scratch the itch, it fades. The impulse passes.
Jewish tradition teaches: “Mitzvah goreret mitzvah, aveirah goreret aveirah”—one good deed leads to another, and one harmful act leads to more. Every action builds momentum. We are either growing in strength or diminishing.
Our impulses, if indulged, demand more. Our resistance weakens. And over time, our ability to make healthy choices shrinks. This is how people fall into despair, addiction, or worse.
But there is another path.
When we act with purpose, we build inner strength. The more we do good, the more we want to. The more we learn, the more we understand. As the saying goes: “If you want something done, ask a busy person.” Someone who is meaningfully engaged is less likely to fall prey to despair.
Too often, those who struggle with despair are disconnected from purpose. They numb their hunger for meaning with endless distraction. They lose sight of their mission.
The Talmudic advice still holds: choose life.
If someone is still here, still considering, that means there is still strength within. There is still something vital that can grow. And there is a skill that can change everything: the ability to follow through. To complete what we start.
Projects, relationships, jobs, dreams—these only bear fruit when they are nourished and seen through. And failure to follow through often stems not from weakness, but from never truly choosing those things in the first place. Sometimes we fall in love with how a dream looks on us, not what it asks of us.
There is a profound difference between seeking love and seeking someone to love you. Between choosing a life of service, and waiting for life to serve you. Depression can often stem from the many hopes and goals left half-built. The soul knows what it was made for. When we deny our soul its work, its offering, it grows restless.
It takes a certain twisted kind of courage to offer oneself up to the gods of despair. But it takes a different kind of courage—a truer, deeper courage—to decide to cope no matter what. To choose life again. And again.
To become, unabashedly, the strange and wonderful soul you are. This world is more whole with you in it.
As it says in the Torah:
“I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Therefore choose life, that you may live, you and your seed.” (Deuteronomy 30:19)