For all its talk of the Book of Life, Yom Kippur has nothing on Simchat Torah when it comes to turning the page. We literally roll this one long page of text and story all the way back to the beginning. On Tuesday night, it almost felt like we could roll back the last two years, too.
“The mood was off,” I wrote on Oct. 8, 2023, after having attended a Simchat Torah celebration the same day that Hamas stormed over the Gaza border, killing and taking hostages.
“It didn’t feel like the situation in Israel today had fully dawned on anyone yet,” I wrote then. “At the same time, our joy, such as it was, hardly overflowed.”
Last year, Simchat Torah was simply muted.
But this year, we partied. Last night, I was at Congregation Beth Sholom, which I just joined two years ago. The crowd was bigger. All ages were out in force. Wine and scotch flowed freely. People sang and danced with each other and with the Torah. There was a lightness in the room.
About 150 were in attendance, including members of Congregation Kol Shofar in Tiburon, which celebrates Simchat Torah with Beth Sholom each year. Isaac Zones and his band Shamati played upbeat songs throughout the hakafot, seven dancing processions around the room while holding Torahs.
Between two hakafot, Rabbi Paul Steinberg of Kol Shofar addressed the room, describing Sukkot and Simchat Torah as “a reseeding for the spring to come.”
“And so tonight, we are planting the seeds for this coming year,” he said. “So what are you going to plant it with? We’re gonna plant it with community. We’re gonna plant it with justice. We’re gonna plant it with love. We’re gonna plant it with goodness. We’re gonna plant it with compassion. We get a chance to start again. That’s what today is, reclaiming this holiday and reclaiming ourselves as a community.”
Big words — but they matched the mood.
I spotted two Beth Sholom regulars who have worn their IDF-style “Bring Them Home” dogtags every day since the attack; both were grinning ear-to-ear all night, no dogtags in sight.
My boss, editor-in-chief Chanan Tigay, was there too. He showed me a text from a friend: “Was going to sit this one out because I’m rather burnt out, but I think I need to dance with some Jews ASAP.”
Staff writer Emma Goss was at Congregation Beth Jacob in Redwood City, and she said the vibe was similar.
“It’s a bittersweet day, it’s a beautiful day, it’s a meaningful day,” Rabbi Nat Ezray told the crowd. “I know I needed to dance tonight.”
Of course, it’s not an uncomplicated joy. An American Israeli member of Beth Jacob who identified herself as Grace told Emma, “We’re just so joyous that we can finally stand together as a people, as a nation, that finally we get to breathe, that we get a breather.” At the same time, she said, “I’m not taking my little yellow ribbon off, because until all of the deceased are released to their families, there’s just not closure yet.”
Another member, Alyse Katz, came with her husband and two sons, 5 and 8. She told Emma she was feeling “a mix of emotions — joy, relief, but also sadness about what’s happened the past two years.”
Her family joined Beth Jacob last year. “We thought especially after the events of the past couple years it was really important for us to join a synagogue,” she said.
Reporter Lea Loeb was at Congregation Beth Israel in Berkeley for the holiday. The Modern Orthodox synagogue has a closer connection to Oct. 7 than most. Hersh Goldberg-Polin, the Berkeley native who was taken hostage on Oct. 7 and executed by Hamas 11 months later, attended Beth Israel as a little boy. His mother, Rachel Goldberg-Polin, has become one of the most recognizable faces of the hostage families.
Hersh’s memory is of course very much present at the shul. Lea noticed a small memorial to the hostages and to Hersh, with a handmade poster and a spray-painted portrait of him.
Nevertheless, Simchat Torah was a wall-to-wall party, even at Beth Israel. And folks wanted to make sure Lea got some partying in herself, despite having brought her two little kiddos along.
“Everyone knew I was new there and came up to me and offered to help me get a plate for my 3-year-old or hold the baby so I could dance,” she told me.
And it was loud. “I should have known I was in trouble when the woman behind me said she brought two packs of ear plugs because last year she ran out,” Lea said.
“The floors in the building are wood so everyone stomps very loudly. One woman even brought hard-soled clogging shoes to change into. Literally everyone was smiling, laughing, yelling. Kids were running in and out of the building playing tag. Everyone was screaming and clapping and stomping. Just overall the definition of a joyous occasion.”
Lea also put her finger on something I hadn’t quite been able to articulate: “Past Simchat Torah celebrations I had been to, the vibe was like, ‘OK and now we’re supposed to be happy! So dance!’ And this one felt genuine.” I had the exact same feeling last night.
During the Torah reading, Rabbi Yonatan Cohen dedicated each verse to a different group of people and asked them to join in, including one for “everyone who has felt the weight of the past two years” and one for “everyone who has been praying for peace.”
When Lea left around 9:30 p.m., she could still hear the singing three blocks away.
Meanwhile, back at Beth Sholom, we were done with the hakafot and had retired to a downstairs meeting room for the tish. Literally Yiddish for “table,” a tish is a raucous gathering of communal singing and drinking around a table. It’s not necessarily a Simchat Torah tradition, but it is at Beth Sholom.
We sang loudly. We banged on the table. We drank, possibly a little too much. (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just me.)
The words of songs I’ve sung hundreds of times sounded different. Are they always so focused on Israel and salvation? Probably. But “Am Yisrael Chai,” “Hoshia Et Amecha” and “Od Yavo Shalom Aleinu,” with its Arabic refrain of “Salaaaaam,” all strike a different chord on the rare day when a glimmer of hope hangs over Israel.
And it is just a glimmer. Personally, I am not filled with optimism. The hostages are home, yes. But the cease-fire that brought them back looks dangerously fragile. And even if it holds — even if there truly is peace in the Middle East tomorrow — I won’t be able to stop thinking about all the loss, all the pain and the long road to healing for those most afflicted by these last two years and more.
I also can’t stop thinking about the acrimony within Jewish communities here in the U.S. I have little hope that we’ll be able to heal from the things we’ve said and done to one another over the last two years. Because unlike the Torah scroll, we can’t roll back that time — not really.
As we sang around the table and as I got lost in worrying about the future of the Jewish people, something reminded me to stop, shut up and enjoy a good thing for a few minutes:
Toward the end of the tish, one of Beth Sholom’s stalwart regulars staggered upright, raised a snifter of something in the air, and shouted “L’chaim! The hostages are home, and Simchat Torah is back!”