Simchat Torah was a mix of emotions this year. As we prepared for the holiday, there was a sense of elation listening to US President Donald Trump’s speech in the Knesset while the hostages came home. The timing of it all was hard to ignore. It felt like a new beginning. But, unfortunately, the high was short-lived.
I began the holiday at the synagogue where I had prayed two years prior on October 7. Returning to that location with the same community brought back memories of that fateful day. I recalled dancing in the stairwell as rockets flew overhead. Each time we fled for safety, my friend’s four-year-old daughter held my leg for comfort as her family members were busy attending to other siblings.
In some ways, it felt like I had been trapped in that building for two years.
As this year’s first round of dancing began, a Kohen sang out the traditional words:
God, please save us.
God, please grant us success.
God, please answer us on the day we cry.
These words were more of an answered prayer than a cry for salvation. Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the table, and a blessing was called out: “Blessed are you, Lord our God, who sustained us and let us reach this happy day.”
The group erupted in song: “And the children will return to their borders.”
A different Simchat Torah
I’m not an avid Simchat Torah dancer. I dabble throughout the day. However, this year felt different. To know that the live hostages were home – and we prayed the rest would be soon to follow – we were finally dancing again. It felt as if I began to come out of the stairwell.
During the dancing, I noticed one of the synagogue’s lay leaders and recalled the morning of October 7, when I watched him hug his son goodbye as he left for the South in fatigues. I had always wondered what became of him. I had to ask.
“Physically, he’s fine, but mentally, not as much,” he told me. “He’s been fighting since the beginning.” I told him I prayed that he would soon have a complete healing.
This soldier is not alone. It feels as if the majority of the country and the Jewish people worldwide are only now able to begin the renewal process, but we must not forget those who are still reeling from the trauma of this war.
Not solely in our hands
Still, the road to recovery is not solely in our hands, as I learned many years ago.
When I made aliyah in 2007, I was on the heels of a difficult divorce. Thankfully, it had not been a long relationship, and we had no children, so it was a clean break. But just because I never had to see her again didn’t mean I was free of baggage.
When I left New York, I was on a high. It was the first time I felt free in four years. But upon my arrival in Israel, I began to doubt my choices. Perhaps I had been rash and had run away from my problems. It even got to the point where I wondered if I made the issues up in my head. That’s when I saw a mutual friend of ours.
It was a Shabbat morning in Jerusalem. I wondered whether he would take sides in the relationship, as often happens when marriages end. Much to my dismay, he did.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, running out on your wife like that,” he told me. In my emotional state, this was the last thing I needed.
At the time, I was working with a therapist who wasn’t the right fit. When I told him what this mutual friend had said, he asked, “How does that make you feel?” His response only made things worse. The hole I felt I had fallen into seemed only to be getting deeper. Luckily, I had a friend who connected me with a new therapist.
In our first meeting, I told her everything, from leaving my ex to the reaction of this acquaintance. “I just don’t know if I did the right thing,” I expressed to her.
Her response was exactly what I needed: “That sounds horrible. You definitely shouldn’t have stayed in that relationship,” she said. It was as if a weight had finally been lifted. This recognition was the first step in my recovery. Without the affirmation of my reality, I’m not sure what might have been.
Recovering from national trauma
The Jewish world is stuck in a similar place. For the past two years, we have done what was necessary for our survival. We fought back against our enemy. We rescued our captives. And most importantly, we separated from those who seek to hurt us.
However, it is challenging to recover from trauma, especially one of this magnitude. It takes time and the proper help. Our pain is compounded by the world’s reaction. To constantly hear that we were wrong, that we didn’t experience the things we did, and even worse, that we’re the cause of it all. This rejection of reality and demonization of our actions stunts our healing.
I wish I had an answer as to how to solve this problem because it doesn’t look as if world opinion is shifting back in our favor. But we mustn’t wait for the validation, as it may never come. We must press on in the face of this adversity because, if need be, we can dance out of the stairwell on our own.
The writer is a rabbi, a wedding officiant, and a mohel who performs britot (ritual circumcisions) and conversions in Israel and worldwide. Based in Efrat, Israel, he is the founder of Magen HaBrit, an organization protecting the practice of brit milah and the children who undergo it.