An Apology to Simchat Torah

I feel like I need to issue an apology to Simchat Torah. After three chagim filled with lots of shul, setting tables, and cooking it makes sense that a lot of Jews feel burnt out by the time Simchat Torah and Shemini Atzeret rolls around. I am not an exception. Simchat Torah has always been a holiday I dreaded, as my friends were almost always out of town. Simchat Torah always felt lonely, isolating, and not joyous in the way it is intended. The dancing got old, the candy got too saccharine and my friends were out of town. Then Simchat Torah in 2023 came and the Jewish community was faced with a dilemma, torn between commanded joy and communal anguish. I remember standing with my parents on the side, watching people halfhearted lyk conduct Hakafah after Hakafah. “Dancing just does not feel right” my mom said to me. Last Simchat Torah I was in Israel and it was hard to strike a balance between the joy and the one year anniversary of October 7th.

This year I had a completely different experience, and what I witnessed this Simchat Torah was something beautiful. I heard two different speeches this holiday, which both highlighted what I have learned to love about this holiday. On the first day of chag Rabbi Abby Sosland gave the dvar Torah before yizkor at my shul in memory of her parents. She spoke about the quality of equanimity, of striking a balance between remember and forgetting, joy and grief. Later that day I went with my mother to hear a shiur from Dr. Miriam Zami who spoke about walking on a middle ground when it comes to the study of Torah, of taking things in moderation.

This Simchat Torah came at an interesting time for the Jewish people, a moment after a moment. We all watched with bated breath as the last of the living hostages were freed from two years in captivity in Gaza, and then, we put away our phones and started yet another chag. I was curious how my shul was going to tackle Simchat Torah after such an important moment. We did the first and last Hakafah more low-key than others, singing sadder psalms and Hatikva, but did the rest of the Hakafot in full. I was astonished by the ability of my community to swiftly go from rememberance to total joy. This move required equanimity and moderation, and made both the joy and grief feel heightened and poignant. My mother often said she does not like Simchat Torah because it is ”prescribed joy.” We are commanded, literally, to be happy. Not just to act happy but to be and embody joyousness. That can feel wrong when it feels there isn’t much to be joyous about. But part of the beuaty is that Simchat Torah forces you to find joy in the simple. In the silly little shticky things my shul does every year, in the way certain people sing certain songs, or in the hodgepodge circle dancing that will never really be organized.

I had the privilege of having nearly all of my campers from Summer 2025 at Camp Yavneh visiting Riverdale this chag. This group of kids, who I spent two months caring for, were one of the primary causes of joy for me in this past year. At camp the outside world melted away, and we created a joyous beuatiful space together. There was a bit of that magic in the air in Riverdale this Simchat Torah. As I felt the worries of the world disappear, and a joyous beautiful space was created.

I went into this Simchat Torah with an open mind, hoping that it would give me a space to express the joy I was feeling about the good news in Israel. By the end of the second Hakafah on the second night of chag I was completely immersed in the joy of the holiday, no longer feeling it to be prescribed. I was surrounded by people I loved and who love me. Both times we did Hakafot we ended with Hatikva, a reminder that not everything is joyous in the world, but what we have is hope. This holiday showed me how to balance, between joy and grief, and remember that what we have is hope. “Hope is the longest inheritance of our people” said Rabbi Barry Katz before we sang Hatikva on Simchat Torah morning. I am not an emotional person but I shed a tear as my community, my campers, my family, and my friends all joined together to sing Hatikva, a resounding testament to our peoples “longest inheritance.”

I am sorry that I hated Simchat Torah, but I am grateful for my renewed relationship with this holiday, a holiday that will now be associated with joy, balance, and hope for me. I have to thank Rabbi Sosland, Rabbi Katz, Dr. Zami, and my wonderful campers and community for showing me what this holiday could truly mean to me.