Party…

Friday night there was a big party for Simchat Torah. Simcha literally means joy/joyous/rejoicing/joyful… you get it. And the party was like that. High energy, exciting. Lots of dancing. A little drinking. There was a group of 20-ish-year-old boys/men leading the dancing with all the energy and excitement of that age group. It was actually so high energy and so bouncy and loud (only with the sounds of voices singing), that I decided to leave early. There would be more joy in the morning….

…

Well, there was more dancing in the morning. More singing. But it wasn’t joyful. It was somber. It was obligatory. It was resigned. We didn’t know the extent of the horror, but we knew it was really, really bad. Adults put on calm faces for the kids. We “danced” around with the Torah — more like walked. We sang songs of peace and of Israel. Kids raised their flags and got their candy. The mood wasn’t simcha.

I can’t speak for everyone there, but I know for myself, I questioned whether we should even be there at all or not. What would we do? Go sit at home in our own sorrow? Some people chose that, and I get it. Some people stayed at synagogue. For me, staying was a small way to feel helpful. I kept thinking of this poem:

Only a Book
Author Unknown

A people embarked on a long journey, and in its arms… only a book.
Some peoples have traveled with gold and silver, withdiamonds and jewels;
This people carried a book.

Some peoples have traveled with horses and chariots,
withmight and splendor;
This people carried a book.

Some peoples have traveled with sword and armor, with trumpets and flags, with spears and shields.
This people carried a book.

Some peoples have never traveled; have stayed home, rooted in their land, blossoming in isolation, and then decaying.
This people carried this book to the farthest reaches of the globe.

This is the book that placed people above beasts,
that made God’s glory the human life.

This is the book that proclaimed:
One God, one humanity, one world.

This is the book that gave human dignity its origin, and social security its
birth; and to the humbly born and the cruelly treated, their claim to justice and to caring.

Empires have crumbled to dust, faded from memory;
This people still carries its book.

Our people continues on our long journey and in our arms… only a book.

I don’t know who the author is, but I’ve loved this poem for a long time, and had recently read it when celebrating my daughter’s bat mitzvah. Staying in synagogue that morning, celebrating that book as best as I could, felt connected to the countless people before me who had valued the book in my arms and endured so much so that this book and this people could continue.