A Year of War
The Inner Powers of a Nation Seeking Life
By Haim Sabato1
Translated from the Hebrew by Michael Lowy
On Simchat Torah 5784, what we saw was not a nation that was happy in its world, in its Torah and in the moral code it instilled in the whole world. Our dancing turned into grief, our joy to sorrow. My harp became mourning; my pipe – the voice of weeping. We felt the Hidden Countenance, but we did not despair. Our hope was not lost; we knew, and we shall yet see the light of His Countenance to save us.
We were not attacked on October 7, we were attacked on Simchat Torah. Neither were we attacked in October half a century ago; we were attacked on Yom Kippur. These days are charged with meaning in the history of Israel. For thousands of years, generation after generation of Jews filled them with their souls, their tears and their supplications. We cannot escape from them, just as we cannot escape from our very selves. They are the flesh of our flesh, the core of our lives.
They were called Days of Awe, days that begin with decrees and justice for all who come into the world, and for the nations, about whom it will be said, Which will come to war and which to peace? And for all creatures, Who shall be regarded that day - who will live and who will die, who in due time and who before. But these days end in love within Israel, and between Israel and their Father in heaven.
On Rosh Hashanah, the shofar blower wakes up those who sleep, alerting loudly, calling for soul-searching. Each is to reflect on his actions, his sins, his failures, and mend his ways. An entire people will correct their flaws. While all other nations celebrate the opening of their year with joy, excitement and wonder, does any other nation celebrate their New Year in soul-searching?
And on Yom Kippur, with a spirit of reconciliation, purity and love in the world, until one person gratifies the other. Is there another nation that opens a year with reconciliation, gratification, atonement and compassion?
On Sukkot we sit under the shade of the Shekinah in fragrant tree branches and pray for the peace of seventy nations. Is there another nation that prays for the peace of all nations?
On Simchat Torah, an entire nation dances and rejoices around a book, the book that taught the whole world, while children happily wave flags. And what is that joy? That that nation has completed a study of the Torah, and is about to return to study it again next year. Does any other nation celebrate and dance around a book?
But in the Days of Awe 5784, oh what befell us! On Rosh Hashanah the shofar did not alarm those who were due to be alarmed, did not frighten those who deserved to be frightened, ears were blocked from hearing, and hearts were indifferent. On Yom Kippur we saw neither reconciliation nor compassion, but instead, a terrible burning cauldron at which brothers were throwing hatred and slander, only to intensify the flames. On Simchat Torah 5784, what we saw was not a nation happy in its world, in its Torah and in the moral code it instilled in the world. Our dancing turned into grief, our joy to sorrow. My harp became mourning; my pipe – the voice of weeping.
All the calamities of the Torah took place against us. Carnage, bereavement, children rendered orphans, captivity and exile, and a sorrow deeper than the sea. We found out yet again that in every generation there are those who stand up against us to destroy us. We thought that we had already come out of the terrible exile into our country, to live in peace, to build and to plant, to grow wisdom and knowledge, and to live in brotherhood with our neighbors. But we discovered that we are still compelled to fight courageously for our sovereignty in our own country.
Grief, terror and affront seared every soul, but then the inner powers of a nation that craves life were also revealed. A strong nation. Streams of pure water welled out of the depths. Springs of courage, devotion, brotherly love, communal support. We had felt the Hidden Countenance, but we did not despair. Our hope was not lost; we knew, and we shall yet see the light of His Countenance to save us. For children have come to be born, but there is no strength to birth them.
From where does a man in distress or a nation in crisis draw inner strength? From the pure spring of faith, the same spring whose pure waters have brought us thus far. The promises of redemption will be fulfilled for us and just as we saw our return to our land and to the independence of our homeland, so will we come back and see our nation flourishing, with boys and girls playing in its streets, and old men and women resting out of old age on their canes. Days will yet arrive when all our neighbors will recognize the blessing that we have brought upon them and upon the world, as was promised to Abraham: And all the families of the earth will be blessed in you and your seed.
1 Haim Sabato is a rabbi and novelist of Aleppo origin, living in Jerusalem. He is known for his novels and collections of stories, such as Adjusting Sights, Dawning of the Day, and Aleppo Tales. He is sometimes called ‘the Sephardic Shai Agnon’ due to his poetic prose. This is a rough translation from an article in Yediot Achronot 7/10/24. With thanks to the author for permission to publish this translation, to Rabbi Jeffrey Saks, and to the translator Michael Lowy.