Rabbi Sam Trief
This past week has been nothing short of extraordinary.
Throughout the many ups and downs of these long and painful years, I have to admit that I struggled to believe the remaining hostages were still alive. And then, this week, the most miraculous of events: the freedom of our hostages. Our boys.
Once again, I find myself feeling the deepest kind of religiosity, the kind that seems to reveal itself in the land of Israel. One of the many things that has stood out to me in these days is how we have leaned so fully into our prayers and rituals. Of all the reunions, the one that moved me most was a father gently placing a kippah back on his son’s head, the cries of Shema Yisrael, the trembling voices reciting Shehecheyanu.
Many in our Atlanta community were deeply moved by Eli Sharabi’s powerful talk at the JCC Book Festival this past Saturday night. In his memoir Hostage, he writes:
“I don’t know if I feel God in those moments. But I feel power. I feel connection to my people, to our tradition, to my identity. It reminds me why I must survive, who I’m surviving for, what I’m surviving for.
It brings back glowing memories of childhood. Of my father. Of my mother. Of a white tallit during Shabbat prayers. Wine in a goblet. Candles on the windowsill. Opening the ark. Torah scrolls. A cantor singing. A white tablecloth spread over a table overflowing with good food.”
Whether we realize it or not, our Jewish identity is woven into our very being. It lives in our memories, our melodies, our rituals, and in the stories we continue to tell. Our Judaism sustains us, during the darkest of times.
On Monday night at Temple Sinai, we gathered for Simchat Torah, generations side by side, dancing to the songs of camp and of Israel, unrolling the Torah from beginning to end. The same liturgy that has grounded us for centuries carried us once again. I have never felt prouder to be part of this extraordinary people, a people who hold pain and joy at the same time, who keep dancing even as we weep.
As Rachel Goldberg-Polin said:
“There is a time to be born and a time to die. We have to do both right now.
There is a time to weep and a time to laugh. We have to do both right now.
There is a time to tear and a time to heal. We have to do both right now.
There is a time to sob and a time to dance. And we have to do both right now.”
May our returned hostages have a peaceful first Shabbat back at home. And may all the families still waiting for the return of their loved ones’ remains find an end to their waiting soon.
