This past Sabbath, October 7, 2023, was a Sabbath and a festival day. Israel has two festival days, Shemini Atzeres and Simchas Torah, celebrated on the same day; they occur on successive days in the diaspora, Shemini Atzeres followed by Simchas Torah. Both are days of rejoicing. All Torah scrolls are removed from the ark and paraded around the bimah with loud singing and dancing. That’s the usual process. But this Sabbath was different.
I was reciting the Morning Blessings around 6:40 a.m. when a siren indicating an incoming rocket sounded. I called to my wife, who was still in bed, and went to open our bomb shelter. Kulfi, the Wonder Dog, has been trained to go to the entry to the bomb shelter when he hears a siren. Our rescued kitten Nisan found her protection deep in the back of our hall closet. After the alarm ended, we waited for the suggested time before leaving the shelter. But no sooner had we come out than another alarm sounded, and back in we went. This process of in and out continued all morning and into the afternoon.
My wife, a halacha (Jewish Law) student, was scheduled to give a talk at the synagogue. As the latest time came for her to be able to leave approached, I suggested she not go. The shul is a considerable walk from our home. And there are many open spaces where it would be difficult to find adequate shelter from an incoming rocket should the necessity arise. Reluctantly, she agreed to my request. Her disappointment, written on her face, saddened me, but leaving the house was not a good idea. From when a siren sounds until we must be in a shelter, we have 60 seconds.
Only after the end of the Sabbath did we learn the full magnitude of the tragedy that had befallen us. It is not, of course, the first time that our enemies have chosen a holiday to attack us. The Yom Kippur War in 1973 is a notable recent example. But there is always extra grief associated with intentional death and destruction planned and executed on what is meant to be an especially joyous occasion. I will be unable, I think, to celebrate Simchas Torah in the future without remembering this one, this one in 2023. Perhaps, like on other festive occasions tinged with grief, the grief may add to the depth of the celebration, to its meaning. I hope so. Time will tell. But I would be more than willing to forfeit the sorrow, even if that meant losing the depth.
One of the things I have experienced over the years and found comforting is how, at certain times, I will hear from someone I’ve not heard from for years, will hear from them unexpectedly. It often seems they know or sense what I am going through. It can be the birth or marriage of a child, the arrival of a grandchild, or, on the other hand, the death of a loved one, a friend, or a parent. The person may be someone I went to school with, loved, or worked with. It can be someone met by chance, someone hiking across Israel, for instance.
In the present difficult circumstances in Israel, it happened again. Almost as though he sensed what I needed to hear, a man sent me a quote from the prophet Isaiah, Chapter 41:8- 10. I want to share it with you. I quote from the NJPS.
8 But you, Israel, My servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, Seed of Abraham My friend— 9 You whom I drew from the ends of the earth And called from its far corners, To whom I said: You are My servant; I chose you, I have not rejected you— 10 Fear not, for I am with you, Be not frightened, for I am your God; I strengthen you and I help you, I uphold you with My victorious right hand.
May you be secure, happy, and growing in wisdom with loved ones.
All the best,
Gershon
Gershon Ben-Avraham 