Defiant Joy

Last night as our community gathered for the celebration of Simchat Torah, it was hard to know where to begin in the face of the terrifying and horrific events unfolding in Israel.  How could we dance and sing when our brothers and sisters in Israel were trapped in bomb shelters, desperately trying to account for missing loved ones, and calling in for military duty?  What could our celebration mean? Would it be some kind of betrayal?

The moment reminded me of a memory. 

Years ago I was living in Jerusalem and studying in yeshivah at Pardes.  I went on a trip with many of my fellow students to Poland.  Most of the trip focused on the Holocaust, but for shabbat, we were to join up with a small local Jewish community whose very existence defines the meaning of resilience. 

We knew it was going to be a difficult transition.  How could we move from days of visiting the physical remnants of our people’s greatest trauma into the joy of shabbat?

Friday, we went to Auschwitz and when our tour was over, we gathered in the afternoon outside the gates.  Somber.  Devastated.  Silent as a light snow began to fall. 

Our trip leader collected us and spoke about our plan to enter shabbat.  He spoke about resilience, and how this shabbat would be, not just a rest from the heavy confrontations of our journey, but also a time to reach for a certain kind of joy. 

A defiant joy. 

Our people may still be in a process of healing that will take generations, but that evening, we were going to spend shabbat with a small but growing Jewish community in Poland.  Our hearts were broken, but joy was still possible because the forces of hatred did not actually win.  Our visit was part of the healing, and our shabbat hosts were part of the miraculous resilience of our people in the face of unspeakable adversity.

In the words of poet Jack Gilbert, A Brief for the Defense:

…If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,

we lessen the importance of their deprivation.

We must risk delight.  We can do without pleasure,

but not delight.  Not enjoyment.  We must have

the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless

furnace of this world.  To make injustice the only

measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.

…We must admit there will be music despite everything…

And so at the gates of Auschwitz we began our transition into shabbat with song — a wordless melody known as the Krakow Niggun which begins with mournful wailing, and builds into defiant joy – a joy that does not deny the brokenness but is all the more powerful because of it. 

We sang this same niggun last night as we prepared to dance with our scrolls, knowing that the streets of Israel this year could not be filled with communities dancing and mingling as they usually would be on Simchat Torah.  We sang and danced and celebrated the torah which has accompanied our people through times of joy and sorrow beyond our capacity to grasp. 

We are scared and angry and full of sorrow in this moment of crisis, but last night our community kept the flame of torah burning and found comfort and yes, even joy, in coming together for a Jewish holiday that will not be extinguished by hatred or violence.