A few weeks ago, my classmates and I were at our Shabbaton weekend retreat at Camp Cho-Yeh, a weekend intended to be a peaceful time of distance from reality. However, we were unable to escape a catastrophic reality with the dreadful news of the impending war breaking out in our homeland.

We woke up on October 7th, achy from the lackluster sleep on the wooden bed frames, just like all the days before – this would be the only emotion we felt that day comparable to anything we have ever felt. As a Madricha (a senior who mentors freshmen on school trips), I had access to my cell phone on the trip in need of emergency — something that, before this morning, deserved bragging rights. Yet, I soon realized that this “perk” of having my phone meant being open to the world of social media which housed the gruesome images of my family becoming victims of the Hamas terrorist organization. 

In our morning huddle, the eight other Madrichim in attendance walked towards our common area, each aware of the news we had privately consumed just minutes before, deciding it was only right to update the rest of the senior class who didn’t have their phones and were therefore roaming about their days as if there was nobody to pray for or think about. 

Both grades silently entered the outdoor chapel to relay the routine Saturday morning prayer. Rabbi Sheinkopf, director of Jewish life at Emery, unleashed the horrific news, reciting facts about Hamas’ invasion, rockets fired, and hostages taken. Unaware of the severity of the war, the students mourned as if it were just another battle occurring in Israel. However, this time, there were repeated updates. 

1 P.M. – “100 killed.” 

2 P.M. – “200 killed.” 

3 P.M. – “300 killed.”

I sat at the lunch table with people I knew, too, who had family in Israel. We sat together, tears catalyzing in our eyes as if we hadn’t been running around laughing the day before. Together, we felt the need to intellectualize even though most news was graphic. We sulked in irk by the timing of the attack – October 7th, that day, marked the 50th anniversary of the Yom-Kippur War on October 6, 1973. Juxtaposingly, this was arguably the most joyous Jewish holiday, Simcha Torah, which directly translates to “the joy of the Torah.” 

The clear plan to try to destroy all Jews on the days that celebrate culture proves the motive of the invasion: antisemitism. And that is exactly why, we as a Jewish school, made it our mission that Shabbaton to continue to celebrate as an act of resistance towards the terrorists who do not recognize the right to a Jewish state or the will of the Jewish people. 

Joshua Danziger, a Senior at the Emery/Weiner school was put in a hard spot after being asked to create a D’var Torah for the night’s activities. It would have been easy to succumb to the depressing emotions filling the campgrounds, but Danziger had too much strength to take that road. 

As a listener in the crowd of students: freshmen and seniors, who sat one by one forgetting the often cocky patronized relationship in a time of needed togetherness, I was touched by Danziger’s words: “How shall we be happy when so many innocent civilians have died? How shall we sing when Jewish mothers weep? How shall we dance while families grieve?” Danziger offers a trivial response, “We should be happy here tonight because it is an act of faith. Because joy itself will overcome hostility, and if a tear falls while we dance for those in pain in Israel, we shall wipe it away and continue to dance because we hold the Torah and know that no defeat is permanent and that peace will surely come.” 

The sheer echo of his words made their way to the souls of every person sitting down in the pavilion. We clapped together, shed tears together, and lived up to the hopes of the Jewish people by partaking in Rikud, traditional Israeli dancing. Three stars started forming in the sky, indicating the wholesome Havdalah ceremony. We linked arms as one, singing and smiling, in memory of, and knowing we were fulfilling the bliss intended on this holiday that, unfortunately, our friends and family in Israel were stripped of that morning.