A Very Narrow Bridge

The Call For Courage In The Face Of Madness

As Jews across the world struggle to comprehend the evil and barbaric nature of Hamas’s attacks against our people, our family members, our friends, and loved ones - we find ourselves languishing in hopelessness and pain. Life can confront us in ways we never thought possible. Sometimes it can fill us with fear and consume us in agony. It can bring us to our knees. It is in these moments that we must lift each other up. Link arms. We must sing songs of inspiration. We must persevere. 

Many Jews just completed celebrating the 7-holiday of Sukkot ("Feast of Tabernacles”). It is a festive time for Jews worldwide. Jews across the world travel to Israel to celebrate in their Holy Land. We spend much of the holiday in a temporary dwelling that we build outside our homes called a Sukkah. The Sukkah is meant to commemorate the biblical account of the Israelites' 40-year desert journey surrounded by a protective cloud. It is a place of joy, music, song, dance, and spiritual connection.

I always love the holiday of Sukkot, but this year’s holiday felt particularly meaningful. I entered the stretch of the Jewish High Holidays that began with Rosh Hashana (Jewish New Year) having just gone through the most challenging periods of my career in the prior 18 months. By summer’s end I nearly hit my limit of mental endurance. However, as the first days of Sukkot arrived, I had gone through a transformation of mindfulness and spirituality that allowed me to let go of the fear, anxiety, and dread generated by my company’s challenges. I approached the end of Sukkot feeling free, peaceful, and accepting.

This year, the Sukkah became a special tool in my spiritual pursuit. As someone who often struggles with religious practices and their meanings, I have not always been able to connect with symbolism and rituals. However, this year my Sukkah became a prime point of connection that helped cement my spiritual progress. Over the first five days of the holiday I spent as much time inside of a Sukkah as I could find - meals with family & friends, parties, songs and music, meditation, work - all enjoyed in the Sukkah’s shade.

Nighttime in the Sukkah after enjoying a drink and a cigar with a close friend.

The 5th night of Sukkot brought new forms of festivities. I joined our synagogue at their “Simchat Beit Hashoeva” (A large communal Sukkah party). While the crowd wasn’t huge, the theatrics still seemed spectacular. Children sat in awe outside the Sukkah as fire jugglers flipped their flaming sticks high into the air. Inside the Sukkah, food and drink sprawled over the center tables. On the chairs lining the plywood walls sat djembes, tambourines, Cajons, and percussion instruments waiting to be played by joyous hands.

Families enjoying the fire jugglers at the Simchat Beit Hashoeva

As the fire show ended, people gathered in the Sukkah for a community drum circle. A group of kids and adults eventually found a hypnotic rhythm that thumped with sanctity and unity (although not always tempo). When things died down and only a few people remained, I grabbed my acoustic guitar and began to play the chords to a song that our Rabbi, Rabbi Ari Hart, spoke about in his Yom Kippur sermon a week prior. As I played, Rav Ari began to sing the words.

In Hebrew (transliteration): 

Translation: 

In his Yom Kippur sermon, Rav Ari explained that this song came from the teachings of a famous hassid,  Rabbi Nachman of Breslov (1700’s). Rav Ari told the congregation about the turnaround it inspired 50 years earlier in Israel’s Yom Kippur War. Surrounded and cornered by a surprise invasion from neighboring Arab countries launched on the holiest day of the Jewish year, the army had all but lost hope. All but lost everything. As they faced their imminent demise, a soldier played the song Gesher Tzar Me’od on the military radio stations. The words of this song came through the airwaves and moved them to endure, giving them the strength and courage to fight on. Eventually, the army rose up and defeated those that sought to vanquish them. 

This song has become a symbol of unity, resilience, and hope for Israel. Rav Ari spoke to the community about the uncertainty we all face in our lives - here in America as we face the political, economic, and social uncertainties of the present - and abroad as Israel struggled through its own political upheaval and growing existential threats, and even in our own lives as people confront personal challenges that often seem too great to overcome. He made clear the power of a song. Then, as a community, we sang together. 

And once again, in the Sukkah outside our synagogue, Rav Ari sang, dancing as I vibrantly strummed the chords. We had no idea that in just three days we would once again be singing this song - under very different circumstances.

On the final day of Sukkot, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment and clarity. I squeezed what spiritual nectar I could from the holiday and the time spent with family and friends. I felt the excitement accumulating as the final holiday of the season, Simchat Torah (“Celebration Of The Torah”), approached. Simchat Torah is the culmination of the happiest period in the Jewish calendar and begins at sundown immediately following Sukkot. 

On Simchat Torah, Jews join together in Synagogue and dance in circles with Torah Scrolls in hand, singing Hebrew songs, throwing candy, feasting, and celebrating. Kids sit their parents and grandparents shoulders waiving flags and trying to keep their balance as the adults dance below. People chant and scream and boost each other into the air as they try and jump towards heaven. Its a uniquely jovial scene. 

This year, however, Simchat Torah would be quite different. Quite horrific. This Simchat Torah morning Hamas attacked, murdered, raped, maimed, tortured, and kidnapped scores of Jews and other nationals across Southern Israel. They turned the happiest day of the year into one of complete terror and despair for millions of Jews in Israel and across the world.

By the time word had spread to our community, that night's planned Simchat Torah celebration was drastically muted. The abridged Torah dancing focused on praying for our brothers and sisters abroad. People with confused and scared looks on their faces began to share updates on the people they had connections to in Israel - family members, friends, loved ones. A close friend told me of his 12 year old daughter who had gone with grandparents to visit family was now hiding a bomb shelter. He wondered how and when she might be able to return home to the states and reunite with her family. I overheard someone say that one of the congregants had a grandchild who was at the music festival and was unaccounted for.

It was at that night’s Simchat Torah celebration, we would again find ourselves singing “Gesher Tzar Me’Od”. We sang with the the Torah scrolls and a shared understanding that our nation and our people were going to war with an enemy whose sole mission is to murder us and drive us out of our only nation and home (“from the river to the sea”). We sang to find courage and fortitude and strength. We sang because we had no other choice.

It’s been two days since Sukkot ended. The pain continues to pile up across our community. I have spent countless hours wondering about my family living in Israel - my mom, 3 siblings and their families. Thinking about my friends - my college roommate and many others. Thinking about the family members of friends - a 12 year old girl running to and from bomb shelters without her parents.

My Sukkah broken down and ready for storage

With these thoughts, I could only stare at my Sukkah in dismay and think about how this simple structure that was so powerful just a few days prior now seemed so lifeless. As I readied to take it apart and put it away until next year, I sat in it one last time. I thought about the uncertainties that lie ahead. The bloodshed, the pain, the fear, and the sorrow all yet to come. And then I let go, for just a moment. I grabbed my guitar and played the notes of a song that the world needs now more than ever. I remembered the power of a song. The power of hope. The power of courage.

May we all be able to continue down the bridge of life with no fear.

Stay strong. Pray for peace.