From the Rabbi

A Time for War, and a Time for Peace

In the deeply moving book of Koheles that we read on Shabbos Chol HaMoed of Sukkos every year, the wisest of all men, King Solomon writes, “To everything there is a season…under the heavens.. A time to cry, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance…A time for war, and a time for peace.” 

I will never forget reading these immortal words two years ago, on October 7th 2023. Because Shabbos coincided with Shemini Atzeres, we read Koheles on Shemini Atzeres. And as I got to shul that morning, being informed of what was unfolding in real time, in my hazy daze, I pondered these words: This was undoubtedly a time to mourn and a time to cry, but it was also Simchas Torah in Israel, a Yom Tov described as zman simchaseinu, the time of our joy. Should I be crying, or should I be laughing? Should I be mourning, or should I be dancing?

This year, during the Ask the Clergy Panel on Yom Kippur evening, the question was posed how we can ever celebrate Simchas Torah? How can we dance on the Hebrew anniversary of the greatest massacre since the Holocaust?

And today the question presents itself as well: On one hand we feel unmitigated joy at the prospect that please G-d our holy hostages will be home by Simchas Torah– back in their families embrace two years after they were cruelly snatched away from us. And on the other hand, we mourn the return of the even more numerous hostages who were murdered on October 7th or in captivity– the scope of a tragedy so massive it is hard for our minds to comprehend. 

So what is it– is today a time to cry, or a time to dance?

The answer, I believe, is both.

The reality is that we Jews are familiar with the dialectical tension. On Rosh Hashana we read the Nesaneh Tokef in which we wonder who among us will live; and who will die. And the same day is described by our Rabbis as a very joyful day, in which we are meant to eat, and drink. In the  middle of Hallel, in which we express our euphoric gratitude to G-d, we stop in the middle and cry out, “Ana Hashem, Hoshiah Na– Please G-d, save us!.” 

I recall in college taking a course with Dennis Ross, who negotiated under Bill Clinton the Oslo Accords and the Camp David Accords in which Israel offered all of Gaza and around 92 percent of the West Bank to the Palestinians. This offer was ultimately declined. He taught us that in order to understand the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, you have to understand each side’s collective narrative. The Palestinians have a victimhood narrative, in which they commemorate the nakba (catastrophe) of 1948, and now, 77 years later, young babies are being born in refugee camps. 

The Jewish narrative is quite different. We are not a nation of victims, but of survivors. My grandmother was in a Displaced Person’s camp after losing her entire family in the Holocaust– but I did not grow up in that camp. Because as Jews, despite going through unthinkable horror– we do not sulk in our misery. We pick up the pieces, and continue building. 

So today, and Simchas Torah is both a time to cry, and a time to dance. But through our tears, we rebuild.

King David taught us, HaZorim B’dima, b’rina yiktzaru. We sow and plant with tears– but we reap with joy and jubilation. 

Let us sanctify the memories of those precious Jews who died solely because they are Jews. And may their holy memories inspire us in all that we do, as we please G-d enter a new era described by King Solomon–– a time for peace.