How Can We Celebrate Simchat Torah in 2024?

Like an insect fossilized in amber, Kibbutz Nir Oz is a place frozen in time—specifically, October 7, 2023. Nir Oz is one of the kibbutzim along the “Gaza envelope” in the Western Negev that were on the frontlines of the terrorist murders, rapes, and kidnappings on that horrible day.

And of all the images that remain seared in my mind, I can’t stop thinking of the kibbutz Sukkah that remains standing—now, one year later:

The 2023 sukkah from Kibbutz Nir Oz, still standing in the summer of 2024. Photos: NG

The roof is gone, the walls are falling down, but the sukkah is still there. And it is chilling to see.

A sukkah, by definition, is an impermanent structure. It’s designed to be flimsy and makeshift. By the end of seven days of exposure to the elements—and seven days of eating, singing, and hosting guests—a sukkah is supposed to look pretty dilapidated. The whole idea of this holiday is to prompt a mediation on the elements of our lives that are permanent and enduring and those that are fleeting and ephemeral. (And to prompt gratitude and delight in what we have; that’s where the “season of our joy” comes in.) And when the holiday is over, the sukkah gets taken down and packed away until next year; a “permanent sukkah” is supposed to be contradiction in terms.

So I sit in my Sukkah in Massachusetts, and I reflect on those things in my life which are truly enduring, and those which are transient and can disappear in a heartbeat. I look out at the gorgeous technicolor leaves on the trees, and know that soon they’ll be on the ground, with snowfall not far behind. It gives me some sense of eternity, but little peace this year.

Because I keep thinking of the Nir Oz sukkah, with no one to refurbish it or renew it for 2024. It’s frozen in 2023.

Now the culmination of Sukkot and the entire fall holiday season is drawing close: Shemini Atzeret on Wednesday night and Simchat Torah on Thursday night. And as these arrive, it’s impossible to separate them from the Yartzeit (the one-year anniversary according to the Jewish calendar) that they represent: last year’s cursed Simchat Torah, when over 1,200 Israelis were massacred in their homes and at the Nova Music Festival.

Simchat Torah is, of course, supposed to be a day devoted to raucous, joyful simcha—a time of dancing in the streets with the Torah in our arms. How in the world are we supposed to do that this year, in the shadow of the Yartzeit and knowing that 101 hostages still remain in the dungeons of Gaza?

That question is a popular topic of conversation in the Jewish press and Jewish blogs this week. Some teachers have reminded us that Jews danced with the Torah during many dark times in the past. (I recall the story—perhaps only legendary—of Leo Baeck asking a child in Theresienstadt if he knew how to recite the Sh’ma. When the boy said yes, they hoisted him up in a chair and said, “You will be our Torah for Simchat Torah this year,” and commenced to dancing around him.)

I can only offer my own responses. I won’t cancel Simchat Torah this year, nor will I boycott my community’s dancing with the Torah. Part of me will do so out of defiance. Hamas will not strip me of my Jewish observances, nor will antisemitic professors or Students for Justice in Palestine or other apologists for terrorism. I will dance with the Torah because you can’t stop me; that’s a cord of defiance that runs through my nervous system. Zionism taught me, among many things, not to be a victim.

But I’ll dance for a holier reason, too. Here, I recall a lesson that Danny Siegel first taught me many years ago. He taught me that the Hebrew word שמחה/simcha can’t be reduced to a simple meaning, “joy” or “happiness.” How do we know that?

We know that because Judaism has a crucial idea called שמחה של המצווה/simcha shel ha-mitzvah, “the simcha of doing a Mitzvah.” And there are some Mitzvot that are inherently sad, such as: visiting someone in a cancer hospital, or preparing a body for burial, or making a shiva call. All these things should be done in the spirit of שמחה של המצווה, but they can hardly be considered “happy” or “joyful.” So a different principle, a spiritual one, must be at play here.

That’s where Danny (I don’t recall if he was quoting another teacher or book, or if the teaching is his own) proposed that simcha needs a more refined definition. Simcha means something like: the joy that comes by connecting ourselves to the Source of Life and Existence. That is, when you find yourself doing what you know you were made to be doing, the reason for which you’re here.

Musicians speak of this as “being in the pocket” and athletes talk about the “x-factor.” For Jews, this is the spirit in which we do Mitzvot, the purpose for which we are made. We do Mitzvot, and that is, in a deep and primal sense, joyful—even if the Mitzvah of the moment is honoring the dead or comforting mourners. Doing Mitzvot with full intention connects us to one another, to our history, and ultimately to G-d.

So on Simchat Torah, let’s dance. Perhaps the dance will be subdued, or, conversely, perhaps it will be more spirited than ever, in order to push back the darkness. No matter how you celebrate, let’s celebrate that Torah and its eternal promise of Life, renewed—even as we recommit ourselves to work to Bring Them All Home.

May these final days of this holy season bring you blessing, hope, and Simcha.

From October 7 to 17 Tammuz

Our calendar is beginning to bulge with days that have become so notorious that they are simply known by their dates. “9/11,” of course. “January 6.” And “October 7.” Days that live in infamy because of the awful events that happened on them.

Jewish tradition has long had a few of these as well—commemorations that are just known by their dates on the calendar. The 17th day of Tammuz is a minor fast day that falls this year on Tuesday, July 23. According to the Talmud (Ta’anit 26a-26b), 17 Tammuz is associated with historical tragedies for the Jewish people. Some of these calamities can be seen as “preludes” for disasters that would fall on the 9th Av, exactly three weeks later:

…חֲמִשָּׁה דְּבָרִים אֵירְעוּ אֶת אֲבוֹתֵינוּ בְּשִׁבְעָה עָשָׂר בְּתַמּוּז
,בְּשִׁבְעָה עָשָׂר בְּתַמּוּז נִשְׁתַּבְּרוּ הַלּוּחוֹת
,וּבָטַל הַתָּמִיד
,וְהוּבְקְעָה הָעִיר
,וְשָׂרַף אַפּוֹסְטְמוֹס אֶת הַתּוֹרָה
.וְהֶעֱמִיד צֶלֶם בַּהֵיכל

Five terrible things happened to our ancestors on the 17th of Tammuz…

1. The tablets were shattered (by Moses upon seeing the Golden calf; Ex. 32:19);
2. The Tamid/daily sacrifice in the Temple was cancelled (by the Roman authorities);
3. The city walls of Jerusalem were breached;
4. The Roman general Apostemos publicly burned the Torah;
5. And an idol was placed in the Sanctuary of the Temple.

It's that third item that cuts to the quick this year. It’s not difficult to imagine the carnage of the “breaching of the walls.” After all, we saw it with our own eyes on October 7, nine-and-a-half months ago, when Hamas terrorists tore through the Israeli villages and kibbutzim in the western Negev, murdering and raping their victims, setting fire to the towns, and seizing hostages, 120 of whom are still being held prisoner in Gaza.

Last week, I visited the ruins of Kibbutz Nir Oz. Of the 427 residents of that community, one in four were murdered, wounded, or taken hostage on October 7, 2023, that cursed Simchat Torah. Nine-and-a-half months later, the kibbutz is a ghost town—desolate and frightening. And like a prehistoric insect embalmed in amber, Nir Oz is frozen in time. Broken glass still carpets the ground, the walls remain ashen, children’s toys litter the floor—and the sukkah is still standing.

It was brutal to be there, and I struggle to post this here. But it’s essential that we keep sharing the images and telling the stories of what happened in Nir Oz (and Be’eri, and Kfar Aza, and all the other devastated towns, and at the site of the Nova music festival), so that the world can bear witness.

Images are more powerful than words (at least they’re more powerful than my words), so I’ll share this as a photo-essay of what I saw at Nir Oz last week. The images are devastating, but important. Please note: I’m posting this from a laptop computer, and the photos are neatly arranged on my screen—my apologies if the formatting is messed up on phones or iPads.

The entrance to the main building at Kibbutz Nir Oz today.

Some of the destroyed homes of the kibbutz:

The Hadar Ochel / communal dining hall and kitchen of the kibbutz:

The kindergarten classroom of Nir Oz:

The sukkah is still standing, in shambles, nine months after the festival (“the Season of our Joy”) ended:

And the rage and resentment against this government’s failures - in preventing the attack and in bringing the hostages home - is palpable everywhere:

This sign, posted outside one of the scorched homes, says, “Netanyahu: My family’s blood is on your hands!”, and is signed by the residents.

A few more images from the houses of the kibbutz, include the burnt house of Oded Lifshitz, an octogenarian journalist and lifelong activist for peace between Israelis and Palestinians, now one of the hostages.

The names that are on everyone’s lips in Israel are those of the Bibas family of Nir Oz. Their family of four - parents Shiri (age 32) and Yarden (age 34), and their children Ariel (age 4) and Kfir (age 9 months) - were kidnapped and remain hostage in Gaza today. Shiri’s parents Yossi and Margit Silberman were murdered on Oct. 7. Kfir Bibas has now lived more than half of his life as a hostage to the Hamas terrorists. The scene at the Bibas home is devastating:

The Bibas family mailbox, with four labels that read “hostage.”

THIS is why we’re fighting this just war. THIS is what is at stake when we say “BRING THEM HOME.” It pains me to post these pictures here, but the world must know about what happened here and elsewhere on October 7.

The view through the fence at the border of the Kibbutz, with Gaza just beyond.

The flag flying half-mast at the entrance to the kibbutz.

What are You Reading?💔

A visit with my friend Rabbi Dalia Marx today took me for the first time to the new building of the National Library of Israel. It’s a marvelous place - the world’s largest collection of Hebraica and Judaica - and a must-visit on a trip to Jerusalem. (It’s across the street from the Knesset, and the 24-hour non-stop demonstrations against this government are particularly intense on the streets out front.)

But even in this quiet place of reflection and intellectualism, the trauma of the war pervades. There is a profoundly moving exhibition near the entrance to the main hall of the library. A chair is set for each and every person still held hostage in Gaza. And on each seat lies a book, custom-selected to reflect the interests or passions of that unique individual:

Some of the books are history, or sports, or classic literature; each has been selected by a family member, or loved one, or by volunteers in honor of that person. Everyone is just waiting for each of them to come home (now!) to claim their book.

My eyes gaze from one seat to the next, as I read the names and ages and the books that have been selected: fiction, non-fiction, hardcovers, paperbacks, old books, recent books…

And then I get to the end of the row, and I see this - and the tears come again:

Kfir Bibas, 9 months old, kidnapped from Kibbutz Nir Oz on October 7, hostage of Hamas terrorists in Gaza. Kfir’s book: איה פלוטו, “Where’s Pluto?”

Ariel Bibas, 4 years old, kidnapped from Kibbutz Nir Oz on October 7, hostage of Hamas terrorists in Gaza. Ariel’s book: אמא ואני, “Mommy and Me.”

Transcending Trauma in Israel

Trauma is a brutal word. It’s not only the damage that occurs from physical or psychological wound; it’s also the wound that festers, long after the initial damage has been inflicted.

Israel is a traumatized nation this summer. On the surface, the cafés are occupied, the beaches are full, the tourists are touring, and so on. But the trauma is everywhere, barely beneath the surface. Even if every hostage were to return home tonight (amen!), and if Hamas were to surrender, and if Hezbollah were to cease raining missiles on the North—still it will take a generation to heal the trauma.

My friend—truly one of my heroes—Dr. Anita Shkedi is an authority on trauma, and earlier this week I went to observe the power of the therapeutic work she is doing.

I’ve known Anita for 30 years; she’s one of many Mitzvah-heroes I first met through Danny Siegel. She is a world-renowned expert on equine therapy (“therapeutic horseback riding”), which uses the holistic power of horses to heal broken bodies and broken spirits. In recent years, her attention has moved to healing trauma; her book Horses Heal PTSD: Walking New Paths is full of staggering stories of love and hope that should be read even by people who have never given horses more than a moment’s thought.

And then, October 7 and its aftermath: the massacres, the hostages, the horrors of war; the 125,000 Israelis from the Gaza envelope and the northern border who have been forced from their homes. The nation is grieving and writhing. In response, Anita and her team pivoted and created a new program: TRANSCENDING TRAUMA, “supporting individuals in the early, mid, and post stages of trauma, and then later if chronic PTSD has developed. It provides immediate intervention and treatment, builds resilience and encourages post traumatic growth. Transcending Trauma is an excellent way to regain a sense of trust and learn to manage this ongoing crisis.”

They’ve created groups from survivors of the Nova Festival. They’ve had groups of survivors from the kibbutzim that were devastated by the terrorists. Today, it’s a group of traumatized soldiers.

Anita Shkedi (left)

Nikki Kagan

I visited Anita and the team at “Piloni’s Place” on Moshav Hibbat Tzion, at the backyard horse farm of Nikki Kagan, a noted leadership consultant and horse expert. I met the group of eight participants who had gathered there for the day’s program:

·      A soldier who is the lone survivor of his unit of thirteen fighters. Can you imagine the trauma that he carries with him?

·      Another soldier whose job in Gaza is to recover the dead; to piece together pieces of bodies, give positive IDs, and get the bodies out of the combat zone to central command. Can you imagine…?

·      A young soldier from Westchester County, New York, who came to be in the army of the Jewish people…

·      And so on; five more people each of whom has seen death and destruction among friends and comrades-in-arms.

None of them, as far as I know, was a “horse person” before discovering this place.

The day unfolds this way:

First, the group gathers to say good morning and greet each other in the mercifully air-conditioned patio. They’ve become an intimate group in a short amount of time. Prior to finding Piloni’s Place, they had never met each other; each comes from a different army unit and lives in a different part of the country. As they arrive, we discover that each has brought a snack to share with the group: a watermelon, pastries, cookies, and so on—far more than we could eat that morning. As each person comes in and places onto the table the snack they’ve brought for the others, the whole groups bursts into laughter. No one asked anyone to bring anything! Anita tells me this instinct to take care of each other is a sign of their growing camaraderie and friendship.

Next, Nikki leads us in a short meditation and spiritual intention. And Anita gives gentle instructions for the day: “Talk to your horse as you’re riding,” she tells each participant. Not superficially, but she encourages each one to share how they’re feeling—what terrifies them, what keeps them awake at night, what they’re feeling deep inside. The bond between horse and rider is remarkably deep and holistic.

Then we adjourn to the stable, where the participants began to dress and groom the horses. But I also observe a process of getting in sync. The grooming is so physical and tactile: human hands caress the horses’ bodies as manes are combed, saddles are assembled, hooves are cleaned of debris, and so on. I can see the horses grow calm and comfortable, and the riders, too, are becoming attuned to their animals.

Then it’s time for riding and exercises. Each student mounts their horse and rides, occasionally raising their hands, or moving through obstacles, and following some basic exercises as instructed by Anita and her daughter-in-law Shani. There are smiles, serenity, a growing sense of security and self-awareness. The horses are steady and calm. Even though the day is brutally hot, I could stand in this spot and watch these riders for hours.

When the exercises end, the riders hose down their horses, return the equipment, and reassemble in the room where we began. There is some discussion and processing of emotions, as in any sort of therapeutic support group. There is laughter. Everyone seems looser, relaxed, and enjoying each other’s company.  A beautiful sort of camaraderie has taken place among them; over the weeks that they’ve become part of this group, they’ve shared some intense therapeutic time together. They’re on the long, slow march to a place of confidence and self-worth, and fewer night terrors and isolation and doubt.

Tomorrow, a different group will be meeting here: Anita will be training trainers, who can spread out around the country and offer similar therapeutic groups on horseback for a traumatized nation.

I’m glad to be an emissary for the Kavod Tzedakah Fund, and I deliver a check for a few thousand dollars (each day’s session costs about $1000 to run; of course none of the participants pay anything). I’m also eager to give Anita some of the cash that friends entrusted me to give away in Israel: This, I tell her, is for ice cream and snacks for future groups, to make everything that much gentler.

This is an awesome place, and Anita and Nikki and their team are doing life-saving work. But the need is huge, for a damaged nation coming to grips with its trauma.

If you’d like to support the work of Transcending Trauma (the non-profit is officially registered as “Friends of Jonathan”) from America, there are three ways to do so: 

1.     A wire transfer directly to their bank in Israel; more information here: https://www.anitashkedi.com/transcending-trauma/

2.     The Good People Fund, run by my friend Naomi Eisenberger in Millburn, NJ: www.goodpeoplefund.org;

3.     The Kavod Tzedakah Fund, for which I am a volunteer allocations director, founded by Rabbi Yoshi Zweiback: www.kavod.org. (If you give through Kavod, please send me an email saying that you’ve directed a donation for Transcending Trauma.)

The Mood of Israel from Its Graffiti

I just returned 24 hours ago, so I’m still processing the complicated feelings and spirit of Israel that I’m encountering. I’ll have more to say about the national trauma (literally; as well as the people who are trying to heal it) in the days to come.

But below is a collection of images of Israel from the past 24 hours, especially the graffiti of Tel Aviv, that tell a story about the national pain, anguish, and resilience of the extraordinary nation, the Jewish people. Last year the graffiti was all about the fight for democracy against Israel’s internal demagogues; today it’s about the shared destiny of the nation.

Upon arrival at Ben Gurion airport, on the long ramp from the gate to passport control, we are confronted with the faces of every hostage that remains captive in Gaza - not one is forgotten - courtesy of Bring Them Home Now-The Hostages and Missing Families Forum:

To each one, people have added personalized inscriptions of love and hope. No one is a statistic or a number. Hersh Goldberg-Polin: we are thinking of YOU, and want YOU to come home now! The numbers that have been added to the poster represent the number of days he has been held hostage.

Their faces, and the message BRING THEM HOME, is everywhere. This is one people, one family - and when part of the people is in pain, the whole people feels it:

This image pops up on the ATM before you withdraw cash.

And so it goes, throughout Tel Aviv - on billboards, placards, and on the sides of skyscrapers:

”Bring the kids back home”

“Release them from their hell!” Seen on the streets of Tel Aviv in different forms.

“Free the Bibas family / Bring them home now!” The Hamas terrorists kidnapped the family of four: 34 year-old mother Shiri, 35 year-old father Yarden, 4 year-old Ariel, and 9 MONTH OLD Kfir; Shiri’s parents were massacred in Kibbutz Nir Oz on the same day. Hamas and every sycophant in the west who justifies the terror has the family’s blood on their hands.

On the side of a Tel Aviv highrise: One People, One [Shared] Fate

In this most progressive of cities, there is a spirit of defiance against the hypocrisies of the world that have come out into the open since the war began. For instance, all those who consider rape a war crime, always and forever—except, it seems, when the victims are Jews. So here are two powerful images asking: where have the UN women’s forums and everyone else been as Hamas’s sexual assaults have been documented over and over, including by the perpetrators themselves?:

But below are the ones that I’ve found most powerful - and haunting. These are images from the walls of one of the train stations in downtown Tel Aviv. Each sticker is about one of the victims: who they are, who’s missing them at home, and so on. If they are a hostage, there’s a call to bring them back to the circle of family life. And if they’re dead - massacred on Oct. or killed in the line of duty - each is a howl of pain that they will not be forgotten, by their loved ones or by their people.

Actually, it’s astonishing how many of these contain a message of optimism, or love, or hope; epitaphs that represent the love the each of these individuals brought into the world:

What a country this is! From the Midrash:

.וְאַתֶּ֧ם תִּהְיוּ־לִ֛י [מַמְלֶ֥כֶת כֹּהֲנִ֖ים וְג֣וֹי קָד֑וֹשׁ]…מלמד שהם כגוף אחד ונפש אחת…לקה אחד מהן כולן מרגישין…

You shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (Exodus 19:6).

This teaches that they, Israel, are like a single body and a single soul…
And if one of them is stricken, all of them feel pain.

More to come in the days ahead…