As Simchat Torah Approaches…

Today on the radio, Daniella Gilboa’s mum dedicated a song to her daughter, from Daniella’s favorite playlist. “Look at the stars, look how they shine on you.” As Coldplay’s music streamed in the background, my entire body cried for Daniella. She hasn’t seen the stars for almost 400 days and is held captive in Gaza.

It is hard to believe that while October 7th has passed on the Gregorian calendar, Simchat Torah, the true date when everything changed, is upon us. It feels like time itself has split into two worlds. Last year, on the eve of Simchat Torah, people sat in their Sukkot, enjoying the gentle breeze. Members of the Kibbutzim sat under the stars, some preparing for the peace kite festival scheduled for the next day, a yearly event on Simchat Torah next to the Gaza border to show Gazans gestures of peace. Moments later those same Kibbutz members were massacred by Hamas members.

Now, as we approach this day, it feels even more real, like a different kind of year has passed, a parallel timeline only we are living in.

In Israel, life stands still and yet moves forward in ways that are hard to understand. You walk down the street, and everyone you pass knows someone affected by this war—family, friends, entire communities. Even the bass of the music in your car can feel like a heartbeat, racing with fear and anxiety. It is a constant reminder that the pain we carry is shared by so many.

It’s a sadness unlike any other, when it’s your own country, affecting every single person and religion—Christians, Druze, Jews, and Muslims; children, grandparents, boys, and girls. The weight of that makes it harder.

Some people are able to find joy again, even amid the sadness and loss. I don’t judge them. Others speak of the tragedy that exists around the world—children born into abusive homes, starvation across continents. Death and destruction are everywhere.

Some try to soften the reality here by saying more lives are lost in car crashes than in terror attacks. Even if that’s true, it doesn’t touch the depth of what has happened here in the last year—the heavy and tragic loss itself, and how the world reacted.

The silence, the indifference, the cruelty from places where we once hoped for support. That reaction, too, has left a wound. It’s heartbreaking that so many believe we deserve this, with lies continuing to spread on social media about what really happened.

Over 100 hostages are still trapped in darkness, unable to breathe freely. Soldiers fall every day protecting us, and young souls are taking their own lives, overwhelmed by too much trauma.

Simchat Torah this year feels like both an end and a beginning—a moment to mourn, remember, and somehow still seek renewal amidst all that we have lost.

Yet, this year, there is Simcha without joy and Torah without many of our Jewish leaders here to fulfill its commandments. This holy day feels numb to its core.

What is this holy day after a year like this? And what will it be in the years to come?