October 6, 2026|כ"ה תשרי ה' אלפים תשפ"ז What We Carry Forward
Print ArticleI love Simchat Torah.
I love the dancing, the energy, and being surrounded by the Torah and the entire community.
And every year, I usually have one of my two sons, Netanel or Daniel, dancing with me.
This year, for the first time, neither of them will be with me.
That has made me think about a question much bigger than my own family:
What do we do when someone we love is no longer physically with us?
How do we hold on to what mattered?
That question has particular weight this year.
We are coming to Simchat Torah after October 7, when this day of dancing became, for so many Jews, a day associated with murder, kidnapping, terror, and loss.
And today, as we recite Yizkor, many of us are thinking about people who are no longer physically here.
So how do we celebrate?
How do we dance?
Perhaps the answer begins with a larger question:
What does Judaism teach us to do with loss?
Robert G. Goldy, a scholar of modern Jewish thought, describes a major shift in American Jewish theology after the Holocaust.
Before the Holocaust, one central question was whether Judaism could remain meaningful in the modern world.
After the Holocaust, the question became much more fundamental.
Six million Jews had been murdered. Entire communities had been destroyed.
Now Jews were forced to ask:
Where was God?
What does suffering mean?
What does our covenant with God mean after catastrophe?
And perhaps most painfully:
Why remain in relationship with God at all?
October 7 forced many of us to confront these questions again.
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, in Kol Dodi Dofek, does not attempt to explain why particular tragedies occur.
Instead, he asks us to confront a different question:
What do we do with what happened to us?
We cannot always determine what happens to us.
But we are responsible for how we respond.
And traditional Judaism does not view the covenant as something we can simply cancel when life becomes difficult.
The covenant is not optional.
The question is what we do with that covenant when life becomes painful and confusing.
The Torah gives us a model.
Moshe is about to die.
He has spent forty years leading the Jewish people, teaching them Torah, defending them, and praying for them.
And God tells him what will happen after he is gone:
"V'kam ha'am hazeh v'zana acharei elohei nechar ha'aretz."
The people will turn away.
And then:
"V'haya ki timtzena oto ra'ot rabot v'tzarot."
There will be many evils and troubles.
Moshe knows what lies ahead.
So what does he do?
He writes the Torah:
"Vayichtov Moshe et haTorah hazot v'yalm'dah et Bnei Yisrael."
Knowing that the future will contain suffering does not make the Torah less important.
It makes passing it on more important.
And then Moshe is gone.
When Moshe Is Gone,
God tells Yehoshua:
"Lo yamush sefer haTorah hazeh mipicha."
Let this Torah never leave your mouth.
There is a remarkable echo.
The last time we see Yehoshua with Moshe, he is described as:
"Lo yamish mitoch ha'ohel."
He never left Moshe's tent.
Yehoshua had Moshe.
Then Moshe was gone.
He could no longer preserve Moshe's physical presence.
But he could preserve what Moshe had given him:
the Torah.
And something that happened on Wednesday made me think about this in a very different context.
Many of us saw the reports about the Flydubai flight from Dubai to Israel.
A terrorist attack erupted in the cockpit. One pilot was seriously wounded, the plane went into a dramatic descent, and suddenly the passengers found themselves in an unimaginable situation.
But then people stepped forward.
Other pilots who happened to be on board helped with the aircraft. A medical professional helped the wounded captain. Passengers helped in the cockpit. Eventually, the plane made an emergency landing, and the passengers returned safely to Israel.
They had boarded the plane as passengers.
Suddenly, responsibilities they never expected to carry were placed in front of them.
And they stepped forward.
Sometimes the person who has been carrying something for us is no longer able to carry it.
And then the question becomes:
Who will carry it now?
That is exactly the question Yehoshua faced.
Moshe could not be replaced.
But what Moshe had given Yehoshua could be carried forward.
"Lo yamush sefer haTorah hazeh mipicha."
The Torah cannot leave your mouth.
And that brings us to Shemini Atzeret.
Why does God ask us to stay for one more day after Sukkot?
Rashi gives us one of the most beautiful descriptions of the holiday:
"Atzru imi od yom echad, kasheh alai peridatchem."
“My children, stay with Me one more day. It is difficult for Me to part from you.”
I understand the sentiment.
We've had a lot of family with us over Yom Tov.
My brother and his family came from West Hempstead for the first days. My brother came from Chicago for the entire Yom Tov. Some of my children were here for the first days, and some for the last days.
It's been a lot of family, a lot of food, a lot of cooking, a lot of mess, and a lot of cleaning.
And then God says:
“Stay with Me one more day.”
And I'm thinking: I understand, God. It's hard to say goodbye.
But with all due respect, You're not the one cooking. You're not the one cleaning. You're not the one doing the dishes.
So why add another day?
The Shem MiShmuel gives us the answer.
The seven days of Sukkot follow the ordinary seven-day cycle.
But then comes the eighth day, outside that cycle.
The Shem MiShmuel writes:
"Atzru od yom echad sheyihiyeh bo l'ma'alah min hateva v'yihiyeh lo kiyum."
Stay one more day, a day beyond the ordinary, so that what we experienced can have permanence.
Rav Hirsch explains that atzar means to hold back, to retain something so that it is not lost.
Shemini Atzeret gives us one more day so that Sukkot does not simply end. We take something from it with us.
And perhaps that is exactly what we need this year.
We cannot simply leave Yom Tov behind.
We have to ask:
What have we received that we refuse to let disappear?
How Do We Dance?
And now we can return to Simchat Torah.
How do we dance?
Not because we have forgotten October 7.
Not because the questions or pain have disappeared.
Some will arrive with joy.
Some with grief.
Some with questions.
Some with memories that make dancing difficult.
There is a Chassidic story attributed to Rabbi Naftali of Ropshitz.
One Simchat Torah, he saw a wagon driver dancing with tremendous joy.
He asked him why he was so happy.
The wagon driver answered:
"When my brother celebrates, shouldn't I rejoice in his joy?"
Perhaps that is part of what we need on Simchat Torah.
We do not all have to feel the same thing.
But we can stand in the same circle.
Because we belong to one another.
And there is a deeper reason.
Rav Tzadok HaKohen speaks about three things bound together:
Hakadosh Baruch Hu, HaTorah, v'Yisrael.
God, Torah, and Israel.
He writes:
"V'haTorah hi hame'achedet Kudsha Brich Hu v'Yisrael."
The Torah is what unites God and Israel.
So when we gather around the Torah, we gather around what we have received and what we are responsible to carry forward.
Think about the hakafot.
The Torah is at the center.
The scholar and the person who barely knows how to learn can hold the same Torah and dance in the same circle.
The person celebrating a simcha and the person carrying a loss can stand beside one another.
We don't dance because the loss is gone.
We dance because what we received has not been lost.
The Torah is still here.
The covenant is still here.
We are still here.
And we carry it forward together.
What Will We Carry Forward?
Perhaps that is the question for this year's Simchat Torah.
Not:
Can I explain everything?
Not:
Have all my questions been answered?
But:
What have I received that I refuse to let disappear?
Today, as we say Yizkor, think about one person who is no longer physically with us.
What did that person give you?
A value?
A commitment to Torah?
A mitzvah?
A way of treating other people?
A phrase you still hear?
And then ask:
What is one thing I can do to make sure that what I received from that person continues through me?
Maybe it is a mitzvah they cared about.
Maybe it is a commitment to Torah.
Maybe it is simply being there for someone else, the way they were there for you.
Yizkor asks us not only to remember someone who is gone, but to carry something of that person forward.
And now we come to the end of the Torah.
Moshe dies.
The Jewish people will struggle.
History will contain enormous suffering.
And yet we immediately turn to:
"Bereishit bara Elokim."
We begin again.
This year, I may not have Netanel or Daniel beside me during the hakafot.
But I will have Ezra and Daniel, my sons-in-law, beside me.
And that makes me think about what family really means.
The people beside us change. But what we have received does not have to disappear.
The Torah moves from one person to another, from one generation to the next.
We are part of that chain.
God says:
"Atzru imi od yom echad."
Stay with Me one more day.
Perhaps our answer is simply:
Hineni.
Here I am.
I do not understand everything.
I cannot explain everything.
But I am still here.
And I will carry forward what I have received.
And then we turn the page.
"Bereishit bara Elokim."
Again.
And again.
And again.