The Counterbalance of the Holidays
In every historic moment of crisis, Am Yisrael, the Jewish People, responds — not passively, but with strength and resilience. The world has always been unsteady; if you’re a student of history, you know this truth. But today, technology heightens that unsteadiness. We watch, in real-time, missiles intercepted over Tel Aviv — a place where my sister and her family live, along with countless others. Tel Aviv, that city of vibrant Jewish life, a symbol of new beginnings built on the old. Even its name speaks to this — “Tel,” an archaeological mound, layered with history; “Aviv,” spring, signaling rebirth. (This name is, in turn, a Hebrew adaptation of Herzl’s 1902 utopian novel envisioning a Jewish State, “Altneuland,” or “Old New Land.”)
As we approach the holidays, the calendar reminds us: Time continues. We are here, enduring. The news might threaten to overwhelm us, but the rhythm of our sacred days offers a counterbalance. We don’t get to choose whether or not these days arrive, and that, in itself, is a gift. The shofar will blow, even in a world ravaged by war and fear. Our rituals persist, and with them, we remind ourselves that we are still here.
Throughout our history, through every trial, we have pulsed with the lifeblood of our People. Our response — spiritual, emotional, and fierce — reminds us that we are not small. We are larger than this moment. Our work, whether it’s protecting students from antisemitism or aiding Holocaust survivors, is part of an eternal mission. We endure. Am Yisrael Chai! This is no small thing, and neither are we.
Tomorrow is never promised, but today — hayom — is here. In the opening verses of this week’s Torah portion, Nitzavim, Moses implores us to choose life, to recognize that every day we stand at the crossroads of blessing and curse. And the choice is always ours: Will we live fully? Will we commit ourselves to reflection, repair, and strengthening our bonds with each other, with our past, and with our future?
The High Holidays invite us to return — to God, to ourselves, to each other. And as we scream at the heavens on Yom Kippur, we are not making threats. We are declaring our presence, our resolve. We are still here. And then, as Sukkot arrives, we build our fragile huts, inviting our ancestors to join us once more. We dance with Torah in hand, not because the world has made it easy, but because Torah demands it of us. Torah teaches us to choose life, to grip onto its teachings, and never let go.
This is our sacred mandate: to live fully, to choose life, again and again. We are witnesses to life itself, and by our very presence, we declare that we will endure.
Am. Yisrael. Chai!