For a Jew, there are few festivals as celebratory as Saturday night’s holiday of Simchat Torah. A tradition dating back to the Middle Ages, Simchat Torah (Hebrew for “Joy of Torah”) marks the conclusion of our annual cycle of scriptural reading and the beginning of another. As a people of the Book, the revelry of the evening signals our love and commitment to our most sacred text. New Yorkers have grown accustomed to street closures as Jews rejoice with festive dancing.
As a New York rabbi, my joy is not only communal, but personal. The story of my marriage can be traced to a Simchat Torah street sighting of my wife, and the birth of my third daughter a few years later was induced by way of the dancing of one evening of Simchat Torah merriment.
Given Simchat Torah’s significance, the decision of my synagogue, amongst others, to suspend our annual celebrations was a difficult one. For the past seventh months, COVID-19 has prompted all houses of worship, Jewish and otherwise, to reconsider the dos and don’ts of public assembly in light of health concerns. We have all been called on to muster the faith that our multi-millennial tradition will prove able to bridge this year’s disruption.
Over the past week, the actions of a small group of Ultra-Orthodox Hasidic Jews in Brooklyn has caused a stir in the Jewish and non-Jewish community. I am both pained and shamed at the sight of my Jewish brothers and sisters assembling in defiance of the law, burning masks on the streets and assaulting a journalist.
Whatever the miscues and miscommunications of the city and state government, there is no justification for violence. One does not need to be a Talmudic scholar to know that two wrongs do not make a right.
All of which brings us back to Saturday night’s festival.
To my Jewish brothers and sisters who are considering taking to the streets Saturday night to dance with the Torah, I urge you to consider that there is more than one way to demonstrate your love of Torah.
What better way to prove your loyalty to Torah than by living up to the opening verses of Genesis, which remind us that every human being is created in the image of God and thus to be accorded infinite dignity? If, as our tradition teaches, saving a single life is akin to saving a whole universe, should we not do everything in our power to stem the spread of COVID-19?
Surely most of my fellow religious Jews reading this are well familiar with the rabbinic principle of pikuach nefesh, the legal principle that the preservation of human life overrides virtually every other religious obligation. I know first-hand and full well the sorrow of not being unable to fulfill the commandment of dancing with the Torah. But isn’t tonight such a moment to choose life over all else?
Jews and non-Jews have contended that the guiding principle of the entire Torah is the biblical commandment to “love your neighbor.” If this pandemic has taught us anything, it is that our decisions impact not just us, but our community. What better way to show love and respect for your neighbors than by choosing to restrain your public celebrations?
And while we are talking about the effect of our actions on others, perhaps you are familiar with the principle of hillul hashem — the public desecration of God’s name. Your actions have implications for all Jews — we are bound together in good times and in bad. It is part of the reason why I marched with my Manhattan synagogue last year when anti-Semitism reared its ugly head in your Brooklyn community. Before taking to the streets Saturday night, perhaps you will pause to consider how your decision will ripple across an already fraught social landscape.
Finally, I know you know that as Jews, we live according to the religiously mandated obligation of dina d’malkhuta dina, “The law of the land is the law.” Simply stated, the civil law of the country is binding on a Jew, in all cases and especially when public health is at risk.
Will a prohibition on public assembly stifle our ability to observe Simchat Torah? Undoubtedly so. But if there ever was a time to make a virtue of not amplifying our own personal freedoms over the safety of others, now is such a time.
In 1848, the cholera epidemic so ravaged Lithuanian Jewry, that the famed Rabbi Israel Salanter came to understand that a Jew’s fasting on Yom Kippur would result in loss of life. So committed was he to the preservation of life that he granted permission for Jews to not fast, to abridge services and, according to some accounts, he himself ate publicly courageously responding to the urgency of the hour.
Commitment to Torah is signaled not just by dancing with it. Commitment to Torah is demonstrated by way of holding fast to its teachings so that its joy can be passed on from generation to generation. I pray that Saturday night’s Simchat Torah be ever remembered as an evening that New York Jewish community proved itself loyal to our most sacred text.
Cosgrove is the rabbi of Park Avenue Synagogue, Manhattan.
