The experience of the Jewish calendar is ever-changing because, while the week’s parshah is the same every year, the people experiencing it have changed. This seems especially true for the year just passed.
Pesach held stark resonance this spring, as Jews worldwide held in our hearts the captives in Gaza and pain around the ongoing war. Every happy moment in the calendar was darkened by the shadow of Oct. 7. Every solemn moment seemed laden with deeper significance.
It is a rare Jew whose life has not changed dramatically since that day. Israelis and Jews had ripped from us a sense of historical, collective and personal security that the Jewish state was supposed to provide. While 75 years of conflict and insurrection have reminded us that Jews have never been entirely free from the hatred of others, the collective defence embodied in the state of Israel massively reduced the vulnerability experienced by previous generations. We also understand that this security has come at a cost and that the last 75 years have also been a source of suffering for our Palestinian neighbours and cousins. This is a juxtaposition we struggle with daily.
And then Oct. 7 ripped away our sense of communal security in a profound way. For Jews worldwide, it provoked what can be considered significant intergenerational trauma, recalling times when soldiers and their civilian collaborators could enter Jewish homes, perpetrate atrocities, annihilate families, separate us from our loved ones, loot our possessions, force conversions, exile and expel us, and take us captive.
Worldwide today, Jews have experienced a different, related trauma. In too many cases, Jews in Canada and elsewhere have been betrayed by our neighbours, let down by our ostensible friends and had our awareness wrenched open to the potential for abrupt changes in political climates.
This will be the first Rosh Hashanah since Oct. 7. It will be followed by the anniversary of the terror attacks, a commemoration that will be added to the black dates of Jewish history over millennia.
Day after day we hope for the return of the captives, and it will be a joyous moment when surviving hostages come back home. Between this writing and your reading, may that dream have become real. If not by then, let us hope for their redemption by the new year or certainly before the calendar turns on a full annual cycle since their capture. Every moment is a moment too long for their captivity. And every moment is a moment too long for continued war, and the destruction experienced by innocent Palestinians who are caught in it.
We can all well remember the holy days of just a few years ago when a global pandemic kept us from celebrating in person with our loved ones. For most of us, that forced separation has passed. That togetherness is reason enough to celebrate. Even so, it is precisely the idea of togetherness – when we know that so many families have been torn apart either temporarily or permanently – that adds sad resonance to our own sense of unity.
While we mourn those who will never again celebrate with their loved ones and we hope and pray for the return of the hostages so that they can rejoice in freedom with those they love, we should also take special appreciation for the gifts of those with whom we gather.
In Jewish fashion, the changed reality in which we find ourselves is already being woven into a sort of makeshift liturgy, as more than one article in this special issue of the paper describes. Thoughtful people have developed ways to memorialize and hold spiritual space for the hostages and all affected by this historical moment.
As we complete another cycle of the calendar, the immutable foundations of our tradition provide strength and familiarity. At the same time, as individuals and as a people, we are profoundly changed.