How do we dance when the pain is so deep? How do we celebrate Simchas Torah as we remember the horrific attacks of October 7th three years ago? How do we sing when our brothers and sisters have suffered so much, when Israel continues to face hatred and hostility, and when so much of the world seems willing to believe lie after lie and vilify the Jewish people without end? Wouldn’t it make more sense to mourn, to retreat, to put away the music? And yet, once again, Simchas Torah arrives and asks us to do something that almost seems impossible: Dance.
The answer begins in the final parsha of the Torah we will read this Sunday, Vezos Habracha. It is the last day of Moshe’s life. He knows he will not enter the Promised Land. He knows the Jewish people will face enormous challenges ahead. Yet Moshe does not leave them in despair. He blesses them. He praises them. He reminds them who they are and sends them forward with confidence. Why? Because Moshe knew that Hashem was with them. He knew that despite the obstacles, despite the enemies, despite everything they would encounter, the Jewish people would inherit the Land of Israel and fulfill their destiny. Jewish joy has never meant pretending that life is easy. It means knowing that our story is bigger than the difficult chapter we may be living through.
I learned that lesson from my grandfather Reb Beryl Dubrowski, who passed away this week at the remarkable age of 96. His early life gave him every reason not to be joyful. He lost his father as a small child and was raised by his maternal grandfather. During the Holocaust, he was exiled to a small village in Kazakhstan. As a teenager, he escaped the Soviet Union and worked with the underground to help other Jews escape as well, but his grandfather was caught while escaping, and he was killed in captivity. Later, he met his wife, my Bubby, in France and married; with little family left after the war, he built his own but struggled to support them, taking on jobs like peddler, exterminator, and textile cutter, until he took over a fledgling Matzah bakery in Brooklyn and found his calling. Then in his seventies, he battled aggressive colon cancer and beat it. Despite his many challenges, anyone who knew my grandfather knew his passion for Jewish life and his incredible joy; nothing made him happier than dancing with the Torah. Simchas Torah and celebrating the completion of a new Torah were among the great highlights of his life. He danced through the pain because, as he told me, “I am so blessed; I never imagined I would have the family and the life G-d has given me.”
My grandfather taught me that joy is a choice; not born of ignorance or delusion, but of faith and gratitude. He knew life's pain intimately, but he also knew how to count his blessings. He lived to 96 and was blessed to raise seven children, 45 grandchildren, hundreds of great-grandchildren, and even a great-great-grandchild. He understood something that perhaps we need to remember more than ever this Simchas Torah: our enemies do not get to determine whether we celebrate being Jewish. Hatred does not get to steal our joy. Tragedy does not get the final word. We dance because we are still here. We dance because the Torah is ours. We dance because Hashem is with us. And we dance because we are writing the Jewish story every single day.
So this Simchas Torah, I ask you to join us. Come dance. Sing. Celebrate the Torah and celebrate being Jewish. Bring your children and your grandchildren. Bring your friends. Let us remember those we have lost not only with tears, but by living the Jewish life they cherished with even greater passion. Let’s come together as one community and finish this holiday season strong, with our heads held high, our arms around one another, and the Torah in our hands. And then, strengthened by that joy, let’s launch ourselves into a wonderfully blessed year; a year in which we do not merely survive, but proudly and joyfully fulfill our destiny of bringing peace and harmony to G-d’s world with the coming Moshiach speedily, amen!