What if I were more of a mystic? Would my religious experience be something I physically feel as some sort of spiritual shift from the everyday world? I know I am too much in my head and too much in the details of life to be a mystic, but I do wonder what it might be like to have more of the mystical in my life.
Every year, on one particular holiday, I try hard to connect spiritually by letting go and aiming for unbridled joy. That holiday is Simchat Torah, the holiday commemorating the completing and starting again of the reading of the first five books of the Bible, known as the Torah. Simchat Torah translates to Joy of Torah and happens to be today. As I wrote here in 2020, I go a little wild, not only dancing but also throwing my children in the air as part of that dancing. I have also partaken of the alcoholic drinks served on the holiday. While both may have pushed worries or sorrows from my mind, I have to admit that both leave my body aching later.
This year, I will do it all again. Will I feel mystical? Not likely. This year, though, I am hopeful that I will look like a mystic. I hope that others wonder what propels my joyous display. I hope that others see in my behavior the contrast between the decorum of regular services and the party atmosphere of Simchat Torah. I hope to show that there can be a deeper spiritual connection.
Elie Weisel tells the story of Jews in a concentration camp unable to celebrate Simchat Torah because they did not have a Torah scroll. In his telling, one man picks up a child and says, “This will be our Torah!” and begins dancing. When I dance with and throw my children, I do think of them as Torah scrolls. I think of how children retain much of their essence even as they appear different every year. I think of children as both easy to read and unfathomable. And I love the idea that they are Scripture.
When I say that I would like to feel more of a mystic, I am also thinking about a Simchat Torah ritual related to children. Only on Simchat Torah do we call children up to the Torah for an honor; at all other times of the year, those being called up have to have attained Jewish adulthood (bar/bat/b. mitzvah). On Simchat Torah, after every adult has been given an honor, the children are asked to come together, often under a canopy, to be led by an adult in reciting the blessings for a Torah honor. After their honor, many recite Jacob’s blessing to Joseph’s sons as a blessing for the youth. It is a moment that breaks through the rest of the Torah reading to include those least likely to be following along. In that ritual breaking, I find a blessing for all of us, child and adult: Torah is not only shared by all of us, it is also shared through us.
Again, I don’t know if I will feel unbridled joy and either escape the mundane or free myself of its concerns. I do sense, though, that I–and anyone open to it–might feel that there is something more: something perhaps innocent like a child, or ecstatic like a dancer, or spiritual like a mystic. The key, it seems to me, is to feel, to feel the possibility, and to feel that possibility as a reality. This year, I’m feeling it.
About Rabbi Jeremy Winaker
Rabbi Jeremy Winaker is the executive director of the Greater Philadelphia Hillel Network, responsible for West Chester University, Haverford, Bryn Mawr, and other area colleges. He is the former head of school at the Albert Einstein Academy in Wilmington and was the senior Jewish educator at the Kristol Hillel Center at the University of Delaware for four years. Rabbi Winaker lives in Delaware with his wife and three children.
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