Not Just Simchas
Life is a mix of ups and downs figuring out how to coexist.
Today is Day 166.
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Last week, as I was leaving a sheva berachos celebration for an adorable new young couple, an acquaintance said, “Nice to see you. It’s been so long. Oif simchas!” Meaning, Only happy occasions, a common parting phrase we Jews offer one another at lifecycle highs, like a wedding or a bris, and lows, like a shiva or a funeral.
Instead of keeping my mouth shut or just responding, Amen, I shared what I was thinking, something I’ve written about before. “It’s wonderful when we have them. But it’s unrealistic to expect only simchas.”
I hope it isn’t heresy to say that I find the expression troubling.
The optimist in me wishes our calendars were filled with only happy occasions. But the realist in me, the one who is getting older, who watches the news, knows better.
Only simchas is just not the way of the world.
We humans don’t get to live forever, so we hope that G-d will bless us with our share of joyous occasions while we are here. And yet, loss, failure, disappointment, rejection, and pain are inevitable, too.
When I pray, I ask G-d if maybe we could get the basic models of said inevitabilities, rather than the super hard, super complicated, too-frequent kind. But He does His thing, and none of us gets a say.
Anyway, however well-intended the phrase Only simchas!, why set ourselves up for the impossible? Why wish anyone something none of us will ever have?
The acquaintance at the sheva berachos politely told me, “True. But we say it anyway because we’re hopeful.”
Amen, I replied — Who am I to disagree with hope? — before launching into a good long think on the matter.
She was right, of course. We are hopeful. For more happy occasions. For chances when good pops out suddenly from the dark. Our souls thirst for these moments. We need them desperately.
That’s why there are so many WhatsApp chats devoted to miracles in Israel right now, to the remarkable acts of kindness and love unfolding behind the scenes, and to events through which humans step out of their own searing pain to help others heal and rejoice.
Ultimately, the beauty comes when we are there for one another — in the happy and the sad and the gap in between. We share life’s intensities with family and friends – the big challenges, the blessed milestones, and the everyday happenings that make us human. We dance arm in arm in celebration, send lasagnas back and forth in crisis, and mourn together in loss. We do the hard stuff for one another because we want to.
It is way more than a tenet of the social or religious contract. It is the gift of balance in an imbalanced world.
Wounds make their mark too frequently, not only on the news, but in our own communities and lives. They come in all shades of black and blue, from the irrevocable to the sorts that will, over time, heal themselves. So we build community around mitzvos and chesed, too, acts of kindness that pound on the gates of Heaven. We sit in circles night after night to recite Tehillim, praying with one voice.
All of this, I believe, is a kind of peaceful resistance, a way of shouting up to G-d, “Enough! It’s time for good. It’s time for light.”
I’d even include the online circle of women with whom I knit and crochet blankets for babies born in Israeli hospitals, their fathers lost in battle or still fighting, and larger afghans for soldiers recovering from their wounds. Some days I wonder if a blanket is enough, but there’s something about the stitching that gives me hope for the simchas that will come.
Now let’s get back to that conversation I had with the friend at the sheva berachos.
So there we were, celebrating a happy occasion of the best kind. Smiling at one another, at the new couple, blushingly hopeful as they begin their life together. Meanwhile, behind our smiles we carried the weight of our communal and individual challenges. The war in Israel. The hostages’ ongoing captivity. Plus, we are all human. Each of us has something personal giving us pause.
I thought: This is where it all hinges.
That we were together anyway. That we were celebrating the good anyway. That we were finding a way to carry both the joy and sorrow in our hearts.
Still, I would prefer to dispense with the phrase Only simchas.
At the best of times and the worst of times, how about we instead say, “I am here for you, whatever life brings.”
Let’s pray the simchas outweigh the sorrows. Let’s try our best to fix what’s broken, to cry out to G-d for His help. And when any period of calm comes, we should grab on tight. It’s a good time, within those lulls, to be grateful for the comfort we get from the people we love, and in the simple knowledge that we’re not here alone, come what may.
Before I go
I’m finishing up Rachel Barenbaum’s, A Bend in the Stars, the story of a Jewish family in Kovno on the eve of World War One. The son is trying to outpace Einstein. The daughter hopes to become a surgeon. The antisemitism, discrimination, and scapegoating they face will resonate with what we’re experiencing today.
For culinary inspiration, take a look at Tastes Like Home, a website featuring recipes for some of the hostages’ favorite desserts so you can include them in your shalach manos. Such a beautiful initiative.
And remember, keep it simple this Purim. The vibe of the chag is miracles and recognizing G-d’s hand in the world at times when it’s hardest to see. If there was ever a year not to go over the top with the packing and wrapping, this is it.
Wishing you all a Happy Purim.
May the world be turned right-side up as we celebrate.
Love,
Merri
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I love your writing. I feel like we're sitting together having a conversation.
I love having that option. Thanks for sharing.