Charge
Every Time

(Almost) A Year

 

 

I don't know what to say as this yahrzeit draws near. Last year we woke on Shemini Atzeret / Simhat Torah (the two festivals are celebrated on the same day in Israel and by Reform Jews everywhere; for other Diaspora Jews they fall on subsequent days) to the news of the Hamas massacre. That night we gathered to dance circles around our sanctuaries with our Torahs, shellshocked and uncertain.

Almost Simhat Torah again. How can we dance in a world so broken? And yet how can we not? Jewish history is filled with times of trauma and terror, and we've never let that stop us from cleaving to mitzvot. The Aish Kodesh wrote that even in grief we must open ourselves to whatever joy we can find, and allow joy to flow in and lift us. (He was talking about Purim, but the point stands.)

Last night I was rehearsing with our Simhat Torah band. One of our hakafot (circle dances) will be to the song Bashanah Ha-ba'ah. "You will see, you will see, just how good it will be..." But sometimes it's hard to hold fast to the faith, or the dream, that better days will come. Here, or there, or anywhere. The drumbeat of sorrow and loss and injustice feels relentless. Here, and there, and everywhere.

This path is a deep groove worn in my heart from a year of grieving. I step outside to mail my ballot and I'm startled by how warm the air is, how beautiful the sunlight filtering through yellow leaves. What if I stop trying to find the right words (as though there were right words) that would make meaning out of all of this -- and just let myself be, breathing here, in the beauty of the broken world?

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