It was October 7, but it will always be Shmini Atzeret

This is what we will do as communities, federations, congregations, Hillels, JCCs, day schools, and clusters of close-knit friends.

We will gather to mourn the tragic plague inflicted last year upon our loved ones in Israel, and through a connection cherished by us and exploited by our enemies, visited upon Jews everywhere. There will be speeches, prayers, candles, choirs, music, and cries. We will speak in the languages of English, Hebrew, and Silence. We will recall the valor of those who defended them. We will honor the heroism of those who fight still. We will pray for the safe return of the hostages. All of these emotions will swirl together, forming ripples of hope and visions of peace that will somehow emerge as a wave that is strong enough to carry us through our sorrow as the programs end and we take leave to go on our individual ways.

This is a catastrophe large enough to have charred the Jewish world for generations. At the same time, it is a heartbreak intimate enough that we know every single name. This is a tragedy indelible enough that we must keep its observance as a People. At the same time, there is an undeniable trauma that we are still working through as individual people.

In addition to whatever communal commemorations evolve over time, perhaps there is a personal way to observe this historical marker.

The attack occurred on Shabbat, October 7. From year to year, the day may or may not be Shabbat. The Hebrew date may or may not fall on October 7. But it was and will always be on Shmini Atzeret, which, yes, is expanded with Simchat Torah observances in Israel, but is universally and forever Shmini Atzeret in our history and in our prayers.

After drawing closer to God during the month of Elul, after celebrating God’s coronation on Rosh HaShanah, after exoneration by God’s mercy on Yom Kippur, after joyfully exulting in our expansive relationship with God on Sukkot, we begin to pack up and go home. Shmini Atzeret is God saying to us, “We have spent so much time together. It was good. Your leaving me now is hard for me. Please, just stay for one more day.” (Rashi on Leviticus 23:36 and Numbers 29:36, based on BT Sukkah 55b) In all of our interactions with God throughout history, this is about as close as God ever gets to saying, “I love you.”

That is Shmini Atzeret. It is the day God expresses care for us, concern for us, affection for us.

For me, among the saddest memories of the massacre are the phone calls and video messages making their way from safe rooms, bomb shelters, and hiding places along the road or in the bushes from people who might be moments from leaving their loved ones forever and taking the time – taking the risk – to make sure that one final message of love, care and connection came through.

As God expressed love for us, to us, on that first Shmini Atzeret; as so many kedoshim/martyrs expressed love for friends and family last Shmini Atzeret; this is a way in which we might commemorate our national tragedy on a personal level. Call someone. Text someone. Facetime someone. Write someone. Tell them, “I am thinking of you,” “I care about you,” “I miss you.”

Those who were murdered on Shmini Atzeret will never be able to express these feelings again. I am not suggesting that because they can no longer do this for themselves that we should do this for them. I am suggesting that we do this because that is what God did. That is what they did. God and they are my teachers. They taught me that I should reach out to you because you are important to me and I care about you.

May the memories of the kedoshim be a blessing. One that continues to teach us how to live.