From Simchat Torah to Sichat Torah Sh’mini Atzeret – Simchat Torah, Deuteronomy 33:1–34:12, Genesis 1:1–2:3
On the evening of Simchat Torah 5784 (October 6, 2023), the last dress rehearsal was held for Kibbutz Nachal Oz’s 70th anniversary celebrations, due to take place the next day — Simchat Torah. Nachal Oz was established in October 1953, the closest Israeli community to Gaza City. The kibbutz was looking forward to celebrating seven decades of a wonderful community that, despite many upheavals and crises, had grown impressively over the last ten years. But the next day, instead of celebrating the crises they had already overcome, the kibbutz was attacked. Fifteen kibbutz members were murdered; seven were abducted and taken into Gaza.
At the same time, in the neighboring Kibbutz Kfar Azza, the community was preparing to celebrate its annual kite festival. During the festival, participants flew kites carrying messages of peace and hope along the Gaza border. The Kutz family, who organized the event, had a living room packed with kites ready and waiting for the coming festivities. The next day, the entire family – two parents and their three children – were murdered by terrorists who had broken into the kibbutz.
Over the six years I’ve served communities along the Gaza border as the rabbi of the Sha’ar HaNegev Regional Council, I have been unsure about holding services and Hakafot (dancing with the Torah scrolls) on Simchat Torah. The populations of the 10 kibbutzim I work with is mainly secular. For many residents, their connection with the Torah is not something they feel the need to celebrate every year. When we held Second Hakafot celebrations in the kibbutzim, something about it felt artificial to me. Dancing with the Torah scrolls on the lawn in the kibbutz while many of those present did not maintain a relationship with the Torah felt like an empty gesture.
The kibbutz communities have created their own versions of some Jewish festivals to reflect their belief in humanity and the values of justice, freedom, and creativity. Such are the collective kibbutz Seders with an alternative Haggadah, the celebrations of Shavuot to commemorate the fruits of their land and hard work, or the Rosh HaShanah ceremonies which focus on the theme of renewal, rather than prayer services.
On Simchat Torah, it seemed to me that the secular kibbutz celebration was further removed from traditional observances. The community found ways to rejoice, but the celebrations were more closely linked to their own lives. In many kibbutzim, the last festival of the High Holidays is marked with large communal events, celebrating the bonds of community and ties to the land.
One possible explanation is that, for some secular kibbutzniks (those who reside on a kibbutz), dancing while holding a Torah scroll is perceived as explicitly religious, provoking an uneasy reaction. The dislike of Jewish religious emblems among secular kibbutzniks is rooted in the history of the kibbutz movement and the way the founding generations interpreted their Zionism.
Recent generations have fiercely criticized the religious establishment in Israel and elements of Israeli society that commit acts of injustice in the name of the Torah. Over the years, any activity we planned that was rooted in Jewish tradition always required respect to the unique culture of the kibbutzim, mediation, attentiveness, and adaptation.
This year, even liberal Jewish communities with strong traditions of celebrating Simchat Torah feel a sense of confusion and uncertainty regarding how to mark the festival.
There is no need to explain why there will be no joy on Simchat Torah this year in the western Negev. The looming first anniversary of the massacre is causing anger, frustration, and despair to flood back. As long as hostages are still held in Gaza, residents of the region are still stuck on October 7; the incident has not yet ended.
But what will happen elsewhere in Israel and around the world? Will all Jewish people feel solidarity with the direct victims of the terrible events on that day one year ago? Will a gap emerge between those who experienced everything firsthand, and those who did not? Will some be happy and dance, despite it all?
Before discussing how we celebrate, we need to address a fundamental question: What are we celebrating? What is the nature of our bond with the Torah? What does that bond mean for us?
Personally, the pain I have felt over the past year as an Israeli Jew has many layers. First and foremost is the unending sorrow at the massacre and destruction that struck the Gaza Envelope, devastating the communities I work in and residents I know. There is anger at the abandonment of these communities by the state; sorrow at the subsequent war and all the killing, suffering, and destruction it has caused; and anxiety for the hostages who are abandoned to their fate by the leaders of their own country. There is sorrow for the moral corruption of many elements of Israeli society, based, in part, on an extremist and disastrous interpretation of the Torah and the subsequent misuse of the Torah to justify Jewish supremacy and a nationalistic, isolationist, racist, and violent Israeli identity. All these aspects add terrible contexts to the difficulties Simchat Torah presents this year.
Over the years, the Israeli Reform Movement has made great strides in gender equality. One example is the egalitarian Hakafot celebrations held in public in our communities. But this year, this is not enough. The tikkun – the repair – we need is much more radical.
I would like to cautiously suggest a way to show solidarity and demonstrate a profound commitment to Reform Jewish values. I suggest that we change the name of the festival from Simchat Torah, the rejoicing of the Torah, to something that will better convey our complicated relationship to the Torah and with this holiday.
I invite you to think about possible alternative names that will convey how we may have to behave differently regarding the Torah both this year and in the future. I considered Chag Derishat HaTorah (Festival of Searching for Torah), Leidat HaTorah (Birth of the Torah), Bechirat HaTorah (Choice of the Torah), and many others. Eventually, I landed on Sichat HaTorah(the Conversation about the Torah). This name only requires changing one letter in the traditional Hebrew name and sounds similar – but I believe it demands much more of us.
What we need to do this year, perhaps, is engage in a thorough, honest discussion of what the Torah means to us. This communal conversation should not shy away from the complexities of the Torah or the contradictory messages and values it sends.
If the Torah is truly dear to us, we must also acknowledge its inherent dangers, particularly in Israel. If we truly seek to commit ourselves to this Torah, it’s time for us to struggle for it; to deconstruct and rebuild it. We must examine those passages that allow us to see war as a desirable condition, to avoid compromise, and to make the conscious decision to sacrifice human lives. We must reflect and decide what path we will take to meet our obligation to reject such passages and struggle against them.
At the same time, we must gather passages from the Torah that can support the sanctity of life and love of humanity – all humanity – manifested as a quest for peace and justice.
What exactly will this festival of Sichat HaTorah look like? What will be its timetable and customs? Each community will have to decide whether to continue holding services and reading from the Torah. But the basic idea will now be focused on study and discussion of the difficult questions the Torah raises today. Above all, we must not normalize the incredible situation we now find ourselves in, doing everything we can as individuals and a community to ensure our Torah will indeed be “a tree of life to those who hold fast to it” (Proverbs 3:18) and that “its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace” (Proverbs 3:17).
I wish us all a meaningful holiday and peaceful times ahead.