October 31, 2024|כ"ט תשרי ה' אלפים תשפ"ה Shemini Atzeret 5785 - Mourning and dancing with the Sefer Torah By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

I remember walking into shul last year at this time, and I heard some people saying that there was an attack on Israel, a serious attack, first a lot of rockets and then something more serious, and there was talk that tens of people were killed. ָAs the day continued, that number escalated to a hundred, then a few hundred, and we heard of kidnappings, and we had to sit with this information during Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah and did not fully understand the enormity of the tragedy until after Simchat Torah. And here we are: one year later. We have eliminated Hamas’ leadership, including the head of the snake, Yahya Sinwar. We have eliminated their military battalions, but there is no closure. There will be no closure until the hostages are released. As such, we commemorate the first yahrzeit of this horrific event today while still being in the middle of this horrific event today. And we commemorate this event on a Yom Tov, on a festive day, on a day of happiness, on a day that will usher in a day of Simchat Torah – when we celebrate the happiness of Torah. Mourning on a day of happiness.

This past Shabbat, we read Kohelet, a profound text reflecting on life’s meaning. The third chapter opens with a passage known for its poetic wisdom: לַכֹּ֖ל זְמָ֑ן וְעֵ֥ת לְכׇל־חֵ֖פֶץ תַּ֥חַת הַשָּׁמָֽיִם "A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under the heavens."

What follows is a series of contrasts: עֵ֥ת לָלֶ֖דֶת וְעֵ֣ת לָמ֑וּת, עֵ֣ת לָטַ֔עַת וְעֵ֖ת לַעֲק֥וֹר נָטֽוּעַ — “a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot what was planted.” These verses speak to the rhythm of life, where moments that seem contradictory—birth and death, planting and uprooting—coexist. They remind us that life is inherently complex, made up of experiences that often feel in tension with one another.

Rabbi Doron Perez, who tragically lost his son Daniel in the October 7th attacks, offered an insight that deeply resonates with us today. He reflected on how Kohelet captures the tension of our current moment: עֵת סְפוֹד וְעֵת רְקוֹד, "a time to mourn and a time to dance." There are moments when we must hold both emotions at once—mourning and dancing, pain and joy. This Simchat Torah, we find ourselves in such a moment. We feel the heavy weight of loss and grief at the first yahrzeit of October 7th. And yet, alongside this, we also celebrate—celebrate the privilege of being Jewish, the strength of our people, and the eternal joy of our Torah.

As we prepare for Simchat Torah, our communities will open the aron hakodesh and take out sifrei Torah. Many of these Torahs will be adorned with new me’ilim, Torah covers made to commemorate the first yahrzeit of October 7th. Each me’il bears the name of one of the kedoshim, the holy individuals who perished in the attack. These me’ilim are not just memorials; they embody the profound connection between the sanctity of life and the sanctity of Torah.

The Gemara in Megilla (26b) teaches us that worn-out Torah scroll coverings, me’ilim, can be repurposed as tachrichin, burial shrouds for a met mitzvah, a person who has no one to buryhim. The Chatam Sofer asks how such sacred items can be used for something seemingly mundane. His answer is that tachrichin, burial shrouds for a Jew, is not mundane at all. Just like a me’il is classified as tashmishei kedusha, an accessory of holiness, tachrichin are also accessories of holiness, because a Jewish person is likened to a Sefer Torah.

In fact, the story is told that when Rav Ruderman, former Rosh Yeshiva of Ner Yisrael, visited Eretz Yisrael in the 1960’s, he returned to America and said that he bought a mantel, a covering, for a sefer Torah. His students asked him what he meant. After all, what sefer Torah does not have a mantel, a covering, a me’il? He explained that when he was in Eretz Yisrael he saw a younger Rav Chaim Kanievsky and his frock, his coat, was very worn out, so he bought him a new frock – he bought a mantel for a living sefer Torah.

Through your generosity, our community purchased four meilim. These four me’ilim symbolize four kedoshim, four sifrei Torah who are no longer alive. One me’il is in memory of Aviel Rahamim, age 27, of Merkaz Shapira, who was murdered by Hamas terrorists at the Nova music festival. A second me’il is in memory of Ayelet Arnin, age 22, of Atzmon, also murdered by Hamas terrorists at the Nova music festival. A third me’il is in memory of Elitzur Tzuriel Hajbi, age 60, of Moshav Yakhini, murdered by Hamas terrorists in his moshav. A fourth me’il is in memory of Lieutenant Omri Schwartz, age 21, from Moshav Shadmot Dvora, who fell in battle in northern Gaza Strip on December 20. Today, we will mourn over them; tonight, we will dance with them. 

How can we hold these two emotions at once? How can we mourn and celebrate at the same time? The truth is that this duality is at the heart of what it means to be Jewish.

Rabbi Norman Lamm once described Jewish joy as both emunah (faith) and bitachon (trust). He explained that Jewish joy is not naive or disconnected from reality; it is an expression of faith in God's presence in the world. We stand lifnei Hashem Elokecha, before God, and this very awareness is the greatest source of joy. Our joy on Simchat Torah is not just about celebration—it is a declaration of faith. We rejoice because we belong to a people guided by Torah, striving to elevate their actions through its wisdom, no matter what tragedies we experience as a nation.

Rabbi Lamm also pointed out that Jewish joy is deeply rooted in bitachon, in the confidence that God will help us even in times of darkness. During the Hakafot, we sing, "Ozer dalim hoshi’ah na," "God who helps the downtrodden, save us." As we dance, we proclaim our trust in God’s protection and support, even as we carry the sorrow of our losses.

This balance between joy and sorrow is woven into the fabric of Jewish life. At weddings, we break a glass to introduce a moment of sadness, yet we dance with full hearts. On Tisha B'Av, we read Eicha, mourning the destruction of the Mikdash, but we also hold onto hope for redemption. In Judaism, joy and sorrow are not isolated—they are intertwined, each giving depth to the other.

On Simchat Torah, we do not rejoice by forgetting the past. Rather, we carry the past with us into the future. Our joy is an act of faith, a statement that even in the face of tragedy, we will continue to dance with the Torah, to celebrate our heritage, and to look forward with hope that our hostages will return and we will emerge from this tragedy as a stronger nation, both physically and spiritually.

As we mark the first yahrzeit of October 7th, we hold in our hearts the memories of the kedoshim. We mourn for what we have lost, but we also dance for what we still have—the strength of our people, the wisdom of our Torah, and the unshakable belief that, even in the darkest times, light awaits us.

This is the essence of Jewish resilience. Through every challenge, we hold on to our faith, our people, and our Torah. Today, as we mourn and dance, we embody that strength, knowing that our joy is not despite the pain but because we choose to find light amidst the darkness. Simchat Torah, then, is not just a celebration of the past—it is a proclamation of faith in the future.