Almost exactly six years ago, I stood on the bima at our synagogue and at the age of 40, was called to the Torah as a Bat Mitzvah. A little late, but I got there. My Torah portion was the Song of the Sea of Reeds when Miriam and the women sing with joy as the Nile crashes over the Egyptians as they pursue the Jews.

I what I said then is very relevant on this day in particular, and I’m happy that many others on Twitter and Facebook have been acknowledging that while you can feel a sense of relief at the passing of a bad person, to celebrate the death of anyone is unseemly.

This is what I had to say six years ago.

The words of the Torah and Haftorah portions you will hear today are mostly very dark. They deal with crashing seas, punishing waves, and a God of retribution. The happiness in the section of Exodus that we are reading comes largely from the cheers of the Israelites after they are delivered from the Egyptians by that vengeful God, who sent those crashing seas and punishing waves to drown those who would enslave his Chosen People.

The response of the Jews is probably understandable. In tribal times, the need to separate, to maintain a sense of us and them and us versus them was much more important to the survival of the group.

Now, we live in a much more connected world, and daily see the problems that arise when parochial attitudes of us versus them are allowed not just to continue, but to flourish. Think Hutus and Tutsis. Think the IRA and the British. Even the Red Sox versus the Yankees.

I still find it distasteful, to read those cheering words. Take, for example, this piece from Exodus 15, verses 6 and 7: Your right hand, O God, is glorious in power; your right had, O God, has dashed in pieces the enemy. And in the greatness of your excellency…you sent forth your anger, which consumed them as stubble. Or this, from the Haftorah portion of Second Samuel, chapter 22 verse 43: I pounded them like dust of the earth, stamped, crushed them like dirt of the streets.

The joy of liberation does resonate with me. But I have a great ambivalence at the happiness expressed at the death of others. I am not of this thought alone: You can go back to the first century CE and find Talmudic commentary that condemns celebration at the fall of the enemy. Here’s just a single example from the Talmud that I remember teaching to a kindergarten religious school class as a teenager. “God does not rejoice at the death of sinners. On seeing the destruction of the Egyptians the angels wanted to break forth in song. But God silenced them saying: ‘The work of My hands is drowning in the sea, and you desire to sing songs!'” I love the notion that God decried the deaths of even our sworn enemies. Or you can go back just a week to Seder, when we spilled wine at the recitation of each of the 10 plagues to remind us that we should not express joy at the misfortune of others.

When the twin towers fell and there were people dancing with joy in the Arab world, our horror was multiplied. It was sickening to watch the happiness others were taking in the death of so many innocent people and the heroes who walked into the flames to try to save them.

And yet…consider this:

When Saddam Hussein’s sons were killed, their bodies were paraded in front of the television cameras. The soldiers involved, including some of the officers, were gleeful about their deaths.

When Yasser Arafat died last year, there was television footage of a man in Tel Aviv saying, “Arafat’s Dead! Free Candy for everyone!” as he doled out sweets to passers-by.

Eleven years ago – almost to the day, actually — when my husband and I were still a-courtin’, we went out to dinner at a now-defunct Ethiopian restaurant in the U-district. It was situated below a bookstore. On this particular day, there was a sign in front of the bookstore: Nixon dies. 20% off everything. We cracked up. I’ve told that story to countless others who also cracked up.

Were these four men the best examples of humanity in the world? No. Is the world a better place without them? Probably. Does that mean that we should cheer their demise, or even find a way to make a joke of it? No. Each of these men was someone’s son. If their mothers were alive, they grieved their passing. Yasser Arafat was father to a young girl who will never know him, and that is a loss for her, no matter what you think of her dad. Richard Nixon had not only family who loved him, but a wide array of people – political and not – who admire his accomplishments and are dearly sorry to lose him and the political and international expertise he had. Even Saddam Hussein must have loved his sons and mourned their deaths.

Every death diminishes this world because every death is a loss to someone. Even if someone was truly alone in the world, then that person’s death would be the loss of his or her potential. And that’s sad. Last week, I finished the book Saturday by Ian McKewan – a fabulous read, by the way. At the very end is a powerful phrase that says it all: “they will all be diminished by whipping a man on his way to hell.”

I still crack a smile when I think of that sign at the bookstore. But now, I feel a little guilty. And – today aside — I don’t share the story anymore. When Saddam Hussein or Kim Jong Il or King Fahd or Muammar El-Qadhafi or even Osama Bin Laden die, I may breath a very large sigh of relief and be glad that perhaps the world will be a little better for a lot of people. But I won’t cheer.

Shabbat Shalom.