I dedicate my teaching tonight to the memory of Tze’ela Gez, a beautiful, caring woman. She was on her way to deliver her fourth child when she and her husband were brutally attacked by a terrorist. May her neshama have an Aliyah.
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Now. How many of you have a daily ritual? I don’t even mean prayer, I mean something you try to do every day just for you. So, you know, not things you have to do every day like making dinner or getting ready for bed. I mean things that you have to go out of your way to do, something you do just because it gives you a little joy.
Lately, my daughter, Elizabeth, and I have a new nightly ritual. We wander around Glen Ridge by foot or by car…and we play Pokémon Go. The game came out in 2016, and it uses the GPS in your phone to locate, capture, and train virtual Pokémon creatures which appear as if they are in the player’s real-world location. You can collect them—you may have heard “Pokémon, gotta catch ‘em all!”—or you can use them to battle other virtual Pokémon. You can even see a map of where you’ve been and where else you might want to go.
We’ve been playing off and on since it launched. Now, nine years later, I’m at level 41 out of 50. True story. But this ritual, this joy, it isn’t about the game. Our walks have become the highlight of my day. The best part? We laugh almost the entire time. Elizabeth and I love to laugh together. We share the same sense of humor. Summers at the pool, we float around and crack ourselves up for hours. I will miss her terribly when she leaves for college, but I try not to think about that yet.
Humor. Laughter. Joy. That’s what I’m thinking about. Where can we find it and how do we hold onto it when the world seems full of tragedy, trouble, and strife?
This week in Parashat Emor, we read about the establishment of the chagim, the yearly pilgrimage festivals: Pesach, Shavuot, Sukkot. Sukkot is also called “z’man simchateinu,” the time of our rejoicing. We are literally commanded to be happy. It’s not optional! In Leviticus 23:40 the text is very clear, “וּשְׂמַחְתֶּ֗ם לִפְנֵ֛י יְהֹוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶ֖ם שִׁבְעַ֥ת יָמִֽים” “You are to rejoice before the presence of the Lord your God seven days.” The word simcha, joy, is not mentioned at all in regards to Pesach. Strange considering we were liberated from slavery. It is mentioned once in connection with Shavuot. But for Sukkot, it is mentioned twice. It may seem odd that only four days after Yom Kippur, a day where we deny all our physical needs and re-enact a kind of death, we have such an outburst of life and happiness. And yet, there is a connection between these disparate occasions.
My friend, Shemaiah Gonzalez, has a beautiful new book, “Undaunted Joy.” Several of her essays talk about finding joy in small, mundane things like laundry, Costco, and daydreaming. In the introduction, she wrote, “Joy can follow suffering. We should not be frightened of it. Rather, walking through joy and suffering allows us to see the disparity between the two.” Similarly, the Kotzker Rebbe taught that, “joyfulness follows holiness.” Once we are purified and sanctified on the Sabbath of Sabbaths, the Day of Atonement, a natural upwelling of joyful feelings is bound to occur. Even a short day of personal suffering like Yom Kippur can lead us on a path to more joy.
This also makes sense temporally. Sukkot is the harvest, the culmination of hard work in the fields. The Israelites had a chance to look back on their labors and enjoy their fruit. If you’ve ever tried to grow even one small tomato in your yard—which, by the way, I’ve completely given up on—you can taste the happiness that comes from nurturing and harvesting no matter how simple or small.
This time of fullness is one key to understanding joy. You can’t spend the year pursuing joy. It won’t work. You can’t force it. You can’t chase it. You have to till your fields, do your work, complete your tasks, and get through it all day by day. And then one day, you look back and you see the path, the journey, each step of the way. Your fruit is ripe and ready to be collected. You’re filled with a sense of satisfaction and happiness. It’s why we shed happy tears at weddings, graduations, and b’nai mitzvah. Your heart may feel ready to burst.
The key is this: you can’t look for joy. It finds you. Maybe you know what gave you joy before—that harvest of tomatoes you grew…I wouldn’t know about that…or that walk you took with your daughter to play Pokemon last week. You may recognize situations where joy is likely, but actively hunting it down doesn’t guarantee you’ll find it. Just because a Pikachu was in this spot last week doesn’t mean you’ll find one this week. But maybe you find something different on a similar path, maybe your daughter makes a joke that makes you laugh today. Joy finds you when you are open to it.
In the words of Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (z”l) joy is made of “memories of suffering endured.” Walking through the valleys and deserts, we can come to feel joy when we are on the other side. Rabbi Sacks believed that joy was a defense against entropy and depression on both a personal and a communal level. Being joyful today is a radical act. And it is the key to Jewish living.
Judaism teaches that no matter what happens, we must maintain joy. It is our secret weapon. Today was the holiday of Lag b’Omer. The 33rd day of the Omer, a counting of days between Passover and Shavuot, a moment of joy during a dark time. One theory is that we celebrate the cessation of a plague that killed 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva. Another is that it’s not the end of death we commemorate but the five new students with which Rabbi Akiva restarted a yeshiva. He began again from scratch after losing 24,000 students. And THAT is why we dance.
We never let ourselves be overwhelmed by the terrible tragedies that have befallen us. We are not a grim, stoic, or depressed people although goodness knows we have every right to be. If anything, we’re known for our humor! We had every right to despair after the Shoah or to collapse after October 7th. But what is the watchword of those brave Nova survivors? Not revenge. Not killing. No. “We will dance again.” Unquote. Yes, we will defend the Land. We will pursue the murderers, but above all, we will dance and sing once more. Joy turns us into a phoenix rising.
I’ll say it again. Joy is a radical act. Revolutionary even.
In a beautiful shiur on the teachings of the 18th century Chassidic master Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, Rav Moshe Weinberger shares the ikar, the essence of the Rebbe’s teachings. It boils down to three words — easy to remember— “Always be joyful.” “להיות בשמחה תמיד” It sounds so simple, but how can we? The rebbe gives us two practical methods I want to share with you. Pay attention, there may be a quiz at the oneg.
First is his instruction to “hold onto earlier days.” If you sit in a valley of darkness and sadness, try to remember the good days that came before. Look back—not in a nostalgic or sentimental way, mind you—but look simply to see the brighter light, the radiance of those times. Maybe it was an idyllic childhood, maybe the potential of your college career, even the “Glory Days” Springsteen sang of. Who were you then? You’re still in there somewhere.
Reb Nachman uses the analogy of a blind man using a guide to help us understand. If you’re blind, you may hold onto someone who can see, you may use a cane. In either case, the blind person must have faith. How much more should we trust ourselves? Let the light of the past be your guide. Hold onto your memories to be open to joy and happiness again.
The second technique is profound. Rebbe Nachman tells us to “לטחוף מה שאפשר” or “Grab what you can!” What does this mean? Grab what? A smile, a laugh, a good word, a gemara, a night with friends, a bit of Torah, a shiur or maybe just a tomato in your garden. (Well, maybe your garden.) This week, the Jewish community of Teaneck danced and sang with joy at the release of Edan Alexander. There are more hostages to be released, yes. There will be tears, not all of them happy. But here and now, they grabbed this moment of pure joy. Whatever is good — grab it with both hands and hold onto it! Time is short, grab that joy! Live it and remember it. That is another concrete way to bring joy.
I want to end with a maise, a story from the legendary Maggid of Jerusalem, Rabbi Sholom Schwadron.
Imagine the inhabitants of the local cemetery, the meisim, were given the opportunity by the Heavenly Court to return to this world for just one hour. Yes, only one hour.
Look! There is the elte bubbe and the rabbi who passed away last year! And there is Berel and Yankel and Yossel! How will they use this hour? Where will they go? What will they do?
There is Chana Sarah who left three children behind through no fault of her own, she’s running to apologize for not listening enough, not holding on to enough of those moments, those simple joys.
Time passes, and now half of that hour is gone.
Here is Chaim Yankel reaching out to the business partner he wronged.
Over there is Shmuel the tailor, he’s running out of time to finish a dress he never got to make. “So little time, so little time!” he says through the pins and needles held between his lips.
And now Itzik, young Itzik, running to the yeshiva to learn a mishnah he never had time for.
Fifteen minutes now. They are desperate to take care of unfinished business, projects left behind. Some want a few more words to this loved one and that, just a few more, how can it go so quickly? Some crave the touch of a lost love, a husband or wife, even a moment sitting in silence together.
One more harvest, one more walk in the park, one more round of their favorite game before they go away.
Five minutes.
Ten seconds.
3…2…
Nu?
What do you want to do with all the hours we have left to us?