Though the words October 7 have become synonymous with the devastating attack on Israel last year, for diaspora Jews the actual experience of that fateful day was the festival of Shemini Atzeret, when we sat in synagogue as ever-worsening reports began to filter through.
Many have the custom to recite Kohelet, the biblical book of Ecclesiastes, on the Shabbat of Succot, but for others, such as French and Yemenite Jews, the tradition is to read it on Shemini Atzeret.
Kohelet is a sobering text. Attributed to King Solomon, it has much to say about how to live a valuable life. And so, I turned to Kohelet to reflect on the year of tragedies that have befallen our people and continue even now. These verses stood out:
“Everything has its moment,
A time for every action beneath the sky…
A time to weep
and a time to laugh,
a time for eulogy
and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:1,4).
The Supernova music festival was a time to dance and laugh with joy, but after the horrific attack of Hamas there was eulogising for those who were murdered and weeping for them too, and for those still held in captivity. The verses aptly describe the turn of events and our miserable new reality.
On a literary level weeping and laughing are clear opposites, but what about eulogising and dancing? In Hebrew the wording rhymes, et sefod et rekod, but there must be more to justify this contrast. To me the answer lies in how we relate to the past.
We are taught that Judaism is all about memory, but I’m not so sure. True, the word zachor, “remember”, is repeated numerous times in the Bible, but invariably the act of remembering has a purpose beyond simply recalling what has happened.
We are taught to remember being strangers in Egypt so that we are decent to strangers. We recall the covenant our ancestors made with God at Sinai so that we can reaffirm that commitment.
We remember being saved from Haman on Purim and from Hellenisation on Chanukah so that we are thankful for being able to practise our traditions as Jews today. We do not live in the past; we visit it so we can take something back for the present.
This perspective is also in our prayers. We recall being exiled from Jerusalem so that we can request the rebuilding of Jerusalem. We admit our sins to God so that we can repent.
Without the “so that”, ruminating on the past is unhealthy. Jewish history has had more than its fair share of misfortune but obsessing on oppression takes a heavy toll. Nursing our pain and raging about the injustice of it all leads to seeing ourselves as victims. And once the psychology of victimhood sets in, it is extremely hard to move beyond it.
Dancing and singing is vital to prevent us from getting stuck in the past, from drowning in victimhood.
This is why “a time to weep” is followed by “a time to laugh”. We need to pause our crying in order to find joy. Too often this year it has been “a time for eulogy”; afterwards must come “a time to dance”.
We should mourn and sit with our tears, there is a time to be inward-looking. But following Ibn Ezra’s commentary, the response of Kohelet is to then reach outwards: join the dance and celebrate with your community.
Dancing is a whole-body experience, and the motion helps our minds to move forward too. Rather than being sad, solitary and still, we twist and turn in unison, sharing the thrill of the tunes we hear together. We Will Dance Again is the name of a documentary retelling the story of the Supernova festival. And we will.
Yizkor is read on Shemini Atzeret and as well as the regular memorial prayers we say for our own dear departed, synagogues across the world will have a special prayer for all those whose lives have been lost in this conflict.
But the following day is Simchat Torah, a day of joy and dancing as we celebrate the Torah, our marriage contract with God.
Dancing and singing is vital to prevent us from getting stuck in the past, from drowning in victimhood. And though this year I would advocate some slow songs and muted moments, the smiles, singing and circling which characterise the day should still go on.
Though many of us feel vulnerable, we must make time to laugh just as we have had time to weep. The antidote to the depressing but important giving of eulogies is to dance; to jump for joy.
And so, if only for a while, I will dance with abandon, just as the warrior-poet King David did when he accompanied the holy Ark of the Covenant back to Jerusalem. He was castigated for behaving in ways unbefitting for a king, but his response says it all: “Before God I shall dance, and I’m willing to humble myself even more, and be lowly in my own eyes” (II Samuel 6:21-22). Getting lost in the dance is freeing. It’s what we need.
Rabbi Dr Raphael Zarum is the dean of the London School of Jewish Studies
