The First Simchat Torah After The Massacre
October seventh, 2024, was not the first time Jews suffered a Simchat Torah Massacre. The first Simchat Torah massacre occurred in Fourteenth Century Cracow, and left a lasting impression.
According to multiple accounts, this pogrom occurred during the Simchat Torah festivities. King Casimir the Great, who reigned over Poland from 1333 to 1370, fell in love with and married a Jewish woman named Esther, commonly referred to as Esterke. Under her influence, Casimir granted Poland’s Jews many privileges and protections that were rare for Jews at that time. This enraged many of Poland’s antisemites, who sought ways to undermine Esterke.
One Simchat Torah morning, Esterke decided to visit her fellow Jews and partake in the festivities at the synagogue. As it was a rainy day, Esterke had her porters carry her chair to the Jewish quarter. Legend has it that the sight enraged several poles, who pelted her with stones and mudpacks. When the Jews came out to see what the commotion was about, the disturbance turned into a pogrom. Many Jews were killed in that Simchat Torah massacre.
After that, the Cracow Jewish community curtailed their annual Simchat Torah festivities. Rather than dancing seven revolutions around the bimah, they danced only three. Some suggest that the pogrom occurred after the third dance that Simchat Torah, hence the curtailed dance program. After the third dance, the community would sit down for a moment of silence. They would then arise and chant special prayers written to lament this terrible massacre.
This pertained only to the dancing during the day of Simchat Torah. The dances on the eve of Simchat Torah remained unchanged. At night, they danced seven times around the Bimah, even in Cracow.
The Contemporary Custom
Many communities worldwide (including Chabad) only dance three revolutions around the bimah on the day of Simchat Torah. It is difficult to know whether this custom originated with the fourteenth-century Simchat Torah massacre. The literature points to a tradition that dates back nine hundred years, which takes us back to at least the tenth century. This question notwithstanding, the juxtaposition gives us fascinating food for thought.
In Cracow, the revelers would dance around the bimah thrice and then pivot dramatically to sadness. The Moment of Silence served as the transition point, after which they prayed and lamented. Other communities took a different approach. They restructured the festivities rather than halting them and pivoting to mourning. They walk around the bimah three times, then dance one long dance equivalent to the previous night’s seven dances.
The joy is not reduced or minimized. Instead, it is restructured in a manner that allows us to rejoice in the memory of those whose lives were cruelly taken from us. To rejoice in the place of those who were killed. To serve as their hands and feet so they can dance through us.
This Simchat Torah
The souls that were cut down last Simchat Torah, whom we mourned all year, can’t celebrate with us this Simchat Torah. They can celebrate in heaven. They can dance in heaven. But they can’t celebrate or dance on earth. We must dance for them. We will dance for them. They will dance through us. We will dance on earth with those who can only dance in the Heavens.
In Cracow, it was too difficult to dance. In Cracow, they elected to curtail the dancing and mourn. I know that for many whose closest friends and relatives were murdered a year ago on Simchat Torah, it will be difficult to dance. It remains to us to do the dancing.
We must remember that only their bodies were destroyed. Their souls live on. Only the bodies are dead. The souls are alive, and they thrive. We mourn for the bodies, but we rejoice with the souls. On October 7th, we cried, lamented, prayed, and remembered. On Simchat Torah, we rejoice. We cried on October 7th for their bodies. We will dance on Simchat Torah for their souls.
A Jewish Shrine
It is traditional in many places to build memorial shrines for those who were killed. Jewish shrines are not made of stone and tears. Jewish shrines are made of life and joy. When our loved ones perish, we don’t build monuments; we dedicate synagogues, study institutions, libraries, or hospitals—places where life is celebrated, healed, and lived.
We have survived all these centuries because we have always placed our faith in G-d and believed in the promise of tomorrow. If the more than twelve hundred Jews who were killed last Simchat Torah cannot fill our synagogues this Simchat Torah, we must ensure that their place does not remain empty. Instead, let us ensure that at least twelve hundred thousand Jews rejoice in synagogues worldwide this year.
Zachor, we will always remember. Zachor, we will never forget. We will remember our loved ones, but not by dismembering our festive day; we won’t allow the paralysis of grief to keep us from living fully. We will urge ourselves onward and forward. We will live for those who can’t live on earth anymore. We resolve to live so they can live through us.
We hereby resolve that our streets will ring with laughter and our town squares with joy. We hereby resolve that our cities will be filled with the sounds of children at play and the elderly at ease. We resolve to ensure that we live and enjoy living.
Above all, our dancing on Simchat Torah will send a powerful message to friend and foe alike. The monstrous terrorists did not and will not win. Am Yisrael Chai. The Jewish people pulsate with life. We are the am hanetzach, an eternal people that will never expire.
We won’t just live; we will live a life worth living. A life filled with joy and laughter, happiness, and meaning. We will live a life fortified with faith, a life uplifted by our Jewish traditions, and a life made meaningful by the profound unity of our people for now and forever more.