Between Joy and Sorrow: Finding Meaning One Year After The Black Shabbat

This past Shabbat, we read Kohelet, a text known for its deep reflections on the complexities of life—on joy and sorrow, purpose and futility. This year, Kohelet’s words resonated with a particular intensity as we marked the first anniversary of שבת השחורה (Shabbat HaSh’chura), the Black Shabbat—October 7th, 2023—which fell on Simchat Torah last year.

On that day, when we should have been dancing with the Torah, celebrating its completion and renewal, we were struck by an unspeakable tragedy. More than 1,200 innocent people were murdered, including 38 children, and 257 were kidnapped into Gaza. Today, 101 remain missing, and the pain of their absence weighs heavily on the hearts of their families and the entire Jewish people. This is a grief like no other, and as we commemorate this dark anniversary, we are left asking: How do we honor the memories of those lost while continuing to live? How do we grieve, heal, and hope in such profound loss?

The words of Kohelet, read this past Shabbat, provide a space for these questions. Kohelet famously begins:

“הבל הבלים אמר קהלת, הבל הבלים, הכל הבל”
“Vanity of vanities,” says Kohelet, “vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”
(קהלת א:ב)

These words might feel especially true today as we try to make sense of a world where so many lives were brutally taken. In the face of such overwhelming violence and loss, we might wonder—what’s the point? Why does such senseless suffering happen? Kohelet’s words reflect a profound existential pain, one that feels all too real after the events of שבת השחורה. Life, at times, feels random, fragile, and meaningless.

Kohelet doesn’t shy away from the hard truths of life, he asks:

“יש צדיקים אשר מגיע אלהם כמעשה הרשעים, ויש רשעים שמגיע אלהם כמעשה הצדיקים”
“There are righteous people who get what the wicked deserve, and wicked people who get what the righteous deserve.”
(קהלת ח:יד)

We have all asked this question in the wake of October 7th. How is it that innocent people—children, mothers, fathers—were murdered while their killers remain? How can it be that 101 people, some of them babies, are still held in captivity in Gaza, and their families are left waiting, day after day, for news of their return? The injustice feels unbearable, and like Kohelet, we find ourselves questioning the fairness of the world we live in.

And yet, even as Kohelet grapples with the meaninglessness of life, he offers us a different kind of wisdom—one that acknowledges life’s pain but also urges us to continue seeking meaning and purpose. Kohelet writes:

“לכל זמן, ועת לכל חפץ תחת השמים. עת ללדת ועת למות, עת לטעת ועת לעקור נטוע”
“To everything, there is a season, and a time for every matter under the heavens. A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot.”
(קהלת ג:א-ב)

These pasukim remind us of the cycles of life and the inevitability of joy and sorrow, life and death. Today, as we mark the anniversary of שבת השחורה, we are in a time of deep mourning. It is a time to remember those who were lost, to sit with the pain, and to honor the immense grief that so many families and communities are carrying.

But Kohelet also teaches us that life is full of seasons—and just as there is a time to mourn, there will eventually be a time to rebuild, heal, and find moments of joy again. This doesn’t mean that the pain will disappear or that we should rush to “move on.” Everyone grieves and heals differently, and there is no one way to mourn that is right or wrong. Kohelet’s wisdom here is not about moving past grief but acknowledging life’s flow. There will be a time for weeping, and there will also be a time for laughter. There is room for both.

It’s important to remember that each of us experiences grief differently. Some of us may be ready to celebrate the lives of those we’ve lost, to find moments of joy in their memory. Others may still be deep in mourning, unable to move beyond the overwhelming loss. There is no wrong way to grieve or to process pain. Our bodies and minds are wired differently. Some of us need time, while others find healing in action. The most important thing is to respect where we are in the process and where others are. Just as Kohelet tells us there is a time for everything, so too is there a time for each person to grieve in their way.

As Kohelet writes:

“עת לבכות ועת לשחוק, עת ספוד ועת רקוד”
“A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”
(קהלת ג:ד)

For some, the time to weep may continue for months or even years. For others, the time for laughter or dancing may come sooner. Both are valid. Both are part of the human experience. There is no one “right” way to process tragedy or loss. Grief is not linear; it ebbs and flows, and we must honor how our minds and bodies respond to it.

Kohelet also offers us a powerful call to action in the face of grief,, he says:

“כל אשר תמצא ידך לעשות, בכחך עשה, כי אין מעשה וחשבון ודעת וחכמה בשאול אשר אתה הולך שמה”
“Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.”
(קהלת ט:י)

Kohelet recognizes that while we are alive, we must continue to act. Even when the world feels broken, we are called to keep doing what we can, even in the face of overwhelming tragedy. For some, this might mean working to support the families of those who were murdered. For others, it might mean advocating for the safe return of the hostages. For some, it may simply mean being present for one another, offering comfort, listening, and standing in solidarity with grieving people.

As we reflect on the first anniversary of שבת השחורה, let us honor the memories of those who were lost by continuing to live—by acting with purpose, kindness, and compassion. Let us respect how we grieve and process pain, knowing there is no wrong way to navigate such deep sorrow. And let us hold onto the hope that, even in the darkest times, there will one day be a time for healing, peace, and rebuilding.

May the memories of those lost be a blessing, and may we continue to support one another as we move through this season of mourning with the knowledge that grief and healing are deeply personal journeys. We will walk this path in our way, which is also part of the wisdom of life’s cycles. Kohelet reminds us to embrace life in all its complexity, to act when we can, and to honor both the sorrow and the hope that coexist within us.