We have entered into the Hebrew month of Heshvan, a month commonly known as Mar-Heshvan, "bitter Heshvan", due to the lack of festivals and holidays within its time framework. Had we not been filled with the passions and joys of the previous month of Tishrei, we would not have been able to navigate the cold and lonely month of Heshvan. The previous month of Tishrei has nourished and impassioned us with the power to light and illuminate the dark months of the coming winter.
The Jewish people living in Israel experience the festivals somewhat differently than their brothers and sisters living in the Diaspora. The very skies seem to declare the majesty of Rosh Hashanah and the awe of Yom Kippur seems to be reflected in the breeze. The fragrance of Succot hangs heavily in the air, and the joy of the holiday suffuses and fills the soul with the air that one breathes.
The cycle of the days is in itself instructive. We refocus on awe and reverence, and learn to rekindle hidden forgotten powers in our souls. We re-experience joy, even when we thought we had lost the potential for joy.
It is a cycle filled with peaks and valleys.
Yet, these festivals are also affected and fashioned by the level of our spirit and the state of our souls. The difficult months of expulsion, destruction and sadness have deeply impacted the festivals and their celebrations, creating new peaks and valleys.
I personally entered one of those valleys early on during Rosh Hashanah. As the hazzan (cantor) was approaching the ark of the Torah to take out the scrolls for the holiday reading, he began to use a tune for the prayer that had not been used before. The tune, called Teffila Le'Ani was one of the songs sung repeatedly by the tens of thousands of faithful Jews who were struggling to try to stop the expulsion. The words of the original song comes from Psalms 102:1-3: "A prayer of the afflicted... O HaShem, hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto Thee. Hide not Thy face from me in the day of my distress."
The hazzan was simply using the tune. I was deeply hidden in my talit at the time, when the melody reached out and clutched my soul. I looked up and saw him standing before the ark of Torah scrolls and I broke down weeping.
The images that passed before my eyes were the young people in the synagogue in N'vei Dekalim, and the courageous residents of Netzarim, and the families of Atzmona singing the same melody moments before their expulsion. All of them, standing before an empty ark.
All those days in prayers and in demonstrations.
All those hours in the fields near Kissufim trying to sneak into the Gush.
All the letters, articles and discussions.
Everything rushed through me and, for a moment, I felt like that empty Torah scroll ark in Netzarim.
Then, the hazzan, surrounded by the Torah scrolls, recited the Sh'ma -" Hear, O Yisrael, HaShem is our G-d , HaShem is one."
The congregation all responded and the hazzan continued, "One is our G-d, Great is our G-d, Holy and Awesome is His Name."
I waited for the Torah scrolls to be brought down the aisle and I kissed them as they passed. I felt elevated from the valley of despair unto the peak of the mountain.
There was to be more valleys and peaks as terrorists, emboldened by the expulsion/disengagement, reared up its ugly head again and claimed more lives.
Yet, the most instructive moment this year came on the last day of the holidays, in the midst of the Simchat Torah celebrations. During the service, an individual is called up to the Torah like a groom at his wedding .Under a canopy, he recites the blessings and then the last verses of Deuteronomy are read. When he is finished another "bridegroom" is called under the Talit-canopy and, after he recites his blessings, the first verses of Genesis are read.
A very simple act of ritual with such deep impact and power. There is very little pomp and ceremony between these two individuals. The end of Deuteronomy culminates with the beginning of Genesis and Genesis is begun with the last verses of Deuteronomy. Within this ritual lies the secret of Jewish survival and strength.
The community of Netzarim, which for years has withstood terrorism and hatred, has risen from the destruction of their community and has divided into two groups. This division did not come out of difference of opinion or disagreement. The residents just couldn't decide which location in Israel would best be served by their passion, idealism and fervor. Part of the group is staying on in the community of Ariel , while the rest are moving down to the Eshkol region of the Negev, near the Egyptian border.
They hardly paused between destruction and rebuilding. When Deuteronomy ended they moved on to Genesis.
That is the secret of Jewish survival and strength.
The Jewish people living in Israel experience the festivals somewhat differently than their brothers and sisters living in the Diaspora. The very skies seem to declare the majesty of Rosh Hashanah and the awe of Yom Kippur seems to be reflected in the breeze. The fragrance of Succot hangs heavily in the air, and the joy of the holiday suffuses and fills the soul with the air that one breathes.
The cycle of the days is in itself instructive. We refocus on awe and reverence, and learn to rekindle hidden forgotten powers in our souls. We re-experience joy, even when we thought we had lost the potential for joy.
It is a cycle filled with peaks and valleys.
Yet, these festivals are also affected and fashioned by the level of our spirit and the state of our souls. The difficult months of expulsion, destruction and sadness have deeply impacted the festivals and their celebrations, creating new peaks and valleys.
I personally entered one of those valleys early on during Rosh Hashanah. As the hazzan (cantor) was approaching the ark of the Torah to take out the scrolls for the holiday reading, he began to use a tune for the prayer that had not been used before. The tune, called Teffila Le'Ani was one of the songs sung repeatedly by the tens of thousands of faithful Jews who were struggling to try to stop the expulsion. The words of the original song comes from Psalms 102:1-3: "A prayer of the afflicted... O HaShem, hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto Thee. Hide not Thy face from me in the day of my distress."
The hazzan was simply using the tune. I was deeply hidden in my talit at the time, when the melody reached out and clutched my soul. I looked up and saw him standing before the ark of Torah scrolls and I broke down weeping.
The images that passed before my eyes were the young people in the synagogue in N'vei Dekalim, and the courageous residents of Netzarim, and the families of Atzmona singing the same melody moments before their expulsion. All of them, standing before an empty ark.
All those days in prayers and in demonstrations.
All those hours in the fields near Kissufim trying to sneak into the Gush.
All the letters, articles and discussions.
Everything rushed through me and, for a moment, I felt like that empty Torah scroll ark in Netzarim.
Then, the hazzan, surrounded by the Torah scrolls, recited the Sh'ma -" Hear, O Yisrael, HaShem is our G-d , HaShem is one."
The congregation all responded and the hazzan continued, "One is our G-d, Great is our G-d, Holy and Awesome is His Name."
I waited for the Torah scrolls to be brought down the aisle and I kissed them as they passed. I felt elevated from the valley of despair unto the peak of the mountain.
There was to be more valleys and peaks as terrorists, emboldened by the expulsion/disengagement, reared up its ugly head again and claimed more lives.
Yet, the most instructive moment this year came on the last day of the holidays, in the midst of the Simchat Torah celebrations. During the service, an individual is called up to the Torah like a groom at his wedding .Under a canopy, he recites the blessings and then the last verses of Deuteronomy are read. When he is finished another "bridegroom" is called under the Talit-canopy and, after he recites his blessings, the first verses of Genesis are read.
A very simple act of ritual with such deep impact and power. There is very little pomp and ceremony between these two individuals. The end of Deuteronomy culminates with the beginning of Genesis and Genesis is begun with the last verses of Deuteronomy. Within this ritual lies the secret of Jewish survival and strength.
The community of Netzarim, which for years has withstood terrorism and hatred, has risen from the destruction of their community and has divided into two groups. This division did not come out of difference of opinion or disagreement. The residents just couldn't decide which location in Israel would best be served by their passion, idealism and fervor. Part of the group is staying on in the community of Ariel , while the rest are moving down to the Eshkol region of the Negev, near the Egyptian border.
They hardly paused between destruction and rebuilding. When Deuteronomy ended they moved on to Genesis.
That is the secret of Jewish survival and strength.