Dancing Toward Divine Democracy: From Exclusion to Embrace

 Dancing Toward Divine Democracy: From Exclusion to Embrace

A D'var Torah for Simchat Torah 5786

Rabbi Ari Kahn

On Yom Kippur, we begin our journey with a radical declaration. Before Kol Nidrei, we proclaim: על דעת המקום ועל דעת הקהל, בישיבה של מעלה ובישיבה של מטה, אנו מתירין להתפלל עם העבריינים - "With the consent of the Omnipresent and the consent of the congregation, in the assembly on high and the assembly below, we permit prayer with the transgressors." Based on Babylonian Talmud Keritot 6b and instituted by Rabbeinu Tam, this formula shatters the boundaries of our religious community. We cannot approach God on the Day of Judgment without first embracing those who have sinned, recognizing that our collective fate is intertwined.

Unity in Diversity

This theme continues on Sukkot, where we take the four species - לולב, הדס, ערבה, ואתרוג. The Midrash Vayikra Rabbah (30:12) explains that these represent four types of Jews: the etrog has both taste and fragrance, symbolizing those who possess both Torah knowledge and good deeds; the lulav (date palm) has taste but no fragrance, representing those with Torah but without mitzvot; the hadas (myrtle) has fragrance but no taste, symbolizing those with mitzvot but without Torah; and the aravah (willow) has neither taste nor fragrance, representing those with neither Torah nor mitzvot. Yet God commands us to bind them all together in one bundle, declaring that they shall atone for one another.

But we do not merely carry these four species together - we all sit in the same rickety sukkah. The temporary dwelling, exposed to the elements, represents the danger and precariousness of human existence. Were it not for divine protection, we would all be vulnerable. The sukkah is the great equalizer: rich and poor, scholar and simple person, all dwell in the same fragile structure, recognizing our shared dependence on God. This fragility is not incidental but essential - the sukkah teaches that even our most stable structures rest on foundations beyond our control.

The Paradox of Simchat Beit HaShoeva

Yet on Sukkot, during the celebration of Simchat Beit HaShoeva, we encounter a different reality. The Gemara in Sukkah (51a-b) tells us: חסידים ואנשי מעשה היו מרקדין בפניהם באבוקות של אור שבידיהן, ואומרים לפניהם דברי שירות ותושבחות - "The pious and men of deeds would dance before them with torches of light in their hands, saying before them words of song and praise."

The Rambam (Hilchot Shofar v'Sukkah v'Lulav 8:14) makes clear who participated in this celebration: מצוה להרבות בשמחה זו, ולא היו עושין אותה עמי הארץ וכל מי שירצה, אלא גדולי חכמי ישראל וראשי הישיבות והסנהדרין והחסידים והזקנים ואנשי מעשה הם שהיו מרקדין ומספקין ומנגנין ומשמחין במקדש בימי חג הסוכות, אבל כל העם האנשים והנשים כולן באין לראות ולשמוע - "It is a mitzvah to increase this joy, but it was not performed by the common people or whoever wished, rather the great sages of Israel, the heads of the yeshivot, the Sanhedrin, the pious, the elders, and people of exemplary deeds - they were the ones who danced, clapped, played music, and rejoiced in the Temple during the days of Sukkot, while all the people, men and women, came to see and hear."

This was an aristocracy of righteousness, a hierarchy of spiritual achievement. Only the most distinguished were worthy to dance before God in the Temple. The common people stood outside, spectators to a holiness they could witness but not embody.

The Paradox of Righteousness in Our Time

But who decides who is righteous? In ancient times, the categories seemed clear - the great sages, the heads of yeshivot, the Sanhedrin, the pious ones. Today, in the complexity of modern Israeli society, the lines have blurred beyond recognition. The tragedy of our time is not that we lack righteousness, but that each group sees the others as the sinners. The religious view the secular as transgressors; the secular view the religious as hypocrites. The right sees the left as traitors; the left sees the right as extremists. Each camp believes it alone deserves to dance before God, while the others should stand outside and watch.

This is the poison that destroys us from within. When we stood watching the elite dance at Simchat Beit HaShoeva, at least we agreed on who the righteous were. But when every group claims to be the חסידים ואנשי מעשה - the pious and people of deeds - and declares everyone else unworthy, we shatter the very possibility of communal worship. We violate the principle we proclaimed on Kol Nidrei: that we must pray with the transgressors, because none of us can stand before God alone.

The four species teach us the antidote. Each has its own value - taste or fragrance, Torah or mitzvot - but none is complete without the others. The אתרוג with both qualities is not more worthy of being held; it must be bound together with the ערבה that has neither. God does not command the righteous to wave their species separately, elevated above the common people. He commands us to bind them all into one bundle, because only together can we atone for one another.

Hillel's Prophetic Warning

It was at this very celebration that Hillel the Elder made his famous proclamation. The Gemara (Sukkah 53a) records: תניא, אמרו עליו על הלל הזקן כשהיה שמח בשמחת בית השואבה אמר כן: אם אני כאן הכל כאן, ואם איני כאן מי כאן - "It was taught: They said about Hillel the Elder that when he rejoiced at the Simchat Beit HaShoeva, he said thus: 'If I am here, everyone is here; if I am not here, who is here?'"

Rashi's interpretation transforms our understanding completely. He explains: דורש היה לרבים שלא יחטאו בשמו של הקדוש ברוך הוא, אם אני כאן הכל כאן - כל זמן שאני חפץ בבית הזה, ושכינתי שרויה בו - יהא כבודו קיים ויבאו הכל כאן, ואם תחטאו ואסלק שכינתי, מי יבא כאן - "He was expounding to the masses that they should not sin in the name of the Holy One, Blessed be He. 'If I am here, everyone is here' - as long as I desire this House, and My Divine Presence dwells in it - let its honor endure and all will come here. But if you sin and I remove My Presence, who will come here?"

Hillel was not speaking about himself at all. He was speaking in God's voice, warning the people that the Divine Presence itself depends on their behavior. And here we discover the deepest parallel: just as the sukkah's physical walls cannot protect without divine providence, so too the Temple's eternal stones cannot house God's presence without human righteousness. The temporary structure and the permanent edifice share the same vulnerability - both depend utterly on something beyond their material substance. The sukkah stands only through סוכת שלומך - God's sheltering peace; the Temple stands only through שכינה - God's willing presence. Architecture, whether temporary or eternal, is never enough.

When Hillel spoke in God's voice warning that divine presence depends on our collective behavior, he was teaching us that the categories of righteous and sinner are not for us to judge. God's presence does not ask which political camp we belong to, which stream of Judaism we practice, whether we live in Tel Aviv or in settlements. The שכינה asks only: Do we recognize that we need each other? Do we bind ourselves together like the four species? Or do we each claim to be the only worthy dancers while everyone else must stand outside?

The Democracy of Simchat Torah

But then comes Simchat Torah - and everything changes. The Torah scrolls are removed from the ark and carried into the congregation. What was enclosed, protected, accessible only to those called up for aliyot, now circulates among the people. The sacred descends from its elevated place and enters the democratic circle.

A different type of democracy is achieved. Everyone dances, not just the great scholars and pious ones. Everyone receives an aliyah to the Torah - even those who have not ascended all year. The circle dance itself embodies geometric equality: when everyone dances in a circle, we are all equidistant from the center. And of course, it is God - or rather, the Torah that embodies God's will - at the center.

The progression is now complete: at Simchat Beit HaShoeva, the righteous danced before God in the Temple while the people watched from outside. At Simchat Torah, the Torah itself comes out from its ark, leaving its protected sanctuary to join the people. The exclusivity of righteousness gives way to the inclusivity of covenant. What was once observed is now embraced; what was once elevated is now accessible; what was once restricted is now shared.

Self-Limitation and Divine Presence

Rashi's interpretation of Hillel's words reveals the deeper pattern. God's presence depends not on the greatness of individuals, but on the collective behavior of the community. When Hillel spoke in God's voice - אם אני כאן - "If I am here" - he was teaching that divine presence is conditional, fragile, dependent on human action. The lesson of the sukkah is thus doubly reinforced: both the temporary shelter we build and the eternal Temple God commands rest on the same foundation - divine grace meeting human worthiness.

By recognizing that everyone is equally capable of driving away or inviting the Divine Presence, by acknowledging that each person's behavior affects the entire community's relationship with God, a person must recognize his own limitations. The very existence of the Beit HaMikdash, as Rabbi Soloveitchik taught in his Reshimot Shiurim, is based on God's self-limitation - צמצום - the divine contraction that creates space for human habitation and worship. Only when humans are self-contained, when they possess true humility, can they be deserving of the Beit HaMikdash.

The Rambam (Hilchot Lulav 8:15) makes this explicit: השמחה שישמח אדם בעשיית המצוה ובאהבת האל שצוה בהן עבודה גדולה היא... וכל המגיס דעתו וחולק כבוד לעצמו ומתכבד בעיניו במקומות אלו חוטא ושוטה... וכל המשפיל עצמו ומקל גופו במקומות אלו הוא הגדול המכובד העובד מאהבה - "The joy with which a person should rejoice in performing a mitzvah and in the love of God who commanded them is a great service... Anyone who considers himself important and accords honor to himself and glorifies himself in these places is a sinner and a fool... But anyone who lowers himself and makes light of his body in these places - he is the truly great and honored one who serves out of love."

This is the profound lesson of Simchat Torah: just as God performed צמצום to make room for the world and for the Beit HaMikdash, so too must humans practice צמצום - self-limitation, humility, the recognition that others are equally beloved by God and equally capable of affecting His presence among us. When we dance in a circle around the Torah, we enact this truth physically: no one is closer to God than anyone else. Each person's distance from the center is identical. And crucially, each person's behavior matters equally - any one of us could drive away the Divine Presence through sin, just as any one of us can invite it through righteousness.

From Broken Circles to Restored Wholeness

The journey from Yom Kippur to Simchat Torah is thus a journey from proclamation to actualization. We begin by declaring our willingness to pray with sinners, recognizing that their fate affects ours. We continue by binding together four species representing all types of Jews. We dwell together in fragile sukkot that teach us our structures - whether temporary huts or eternal temples - rest on foundations beyond architecture. We witness the elite dancing at Beit HaShoeva, but hear Hillel warning - in God's own voice - that divine presence depends on collective worthiness, not individual greatness.

And finally, on Simchat Torah, the paradox resolves: the Torah leaves its protected place and enters the circle.

This year, these words carry unbearable weight.

Two years ago, on Simchat Torah itself, our dancing was shattered. At the Nova Festival, young people danced in circles celebrating peace and music - and became victims of unimaginable horror. On the very day when all of Israel should have been dancing together around the Torah, our brothers and sisters were murdered, wounded, and taken captive. The democracy of joy - where everyone dances as equals - became a democracy of suffering, where no family was untouched, no community left whole.

For 736 days, we have carried the weight of those taken from us. Every Shabbat, every holiday, every moment of potential joy was shadowed by their absence. We learned what Hillel meant when he spoke in God's voice: ואם איני כאן מי כאן - "if I am not here, who is here?" When even one member of our people is missing, torn from the circle, the entire community is incomplete. The hostages were not strangers; they were us. Their captivity was our captivity. Their families' anguish was our anguish.

Evening and Morning: The Gematria of Return

And now, as we enter Simchat Torah once again - we receive the most extraordinary gift: they have come home. After precisely 736 days of darkness, they return to light. After two years of separation, they rejoin the circle.

The number itself speaks with divine eloquence. The gematria of ויהי ערב ויהי בקר - "and there was evening and there was morning" - equals exactly 736. This phrase, repeated at the conclusion of each day of Creation, marks the rhythm of time itself, the transition from darkness to light that structures all of existence. Our hostages lived through captivity measured by the very words that define what a "day" means in the Torah's account of Creation.

They experienced 736 cycles of ערב to בקר, evening to morning, darkness to light. And they emerge on Simchat Torah - the day when we complete the reading of the Torah and immediately begin again with בראשית, with Genesis, with Creation itself. Their return is not merely a rescue; it is a re-creation, a new beginning written in the language of divine mathematics.

The timing carries profound symbolism. The tragedy began on Simchat Torah - the day of universal dancing, when all of Israel stands equal before the Torah. For two years, we observed Simchat Torah with broken hearts, unable to dance fully while our family members remained in chains. We learned viscerally what the Gemara (Yoma 9b) teaches about the destruction of the Second Temple: that שנאת חינם - baseless hatred - drove away the divine presence, but its opposite - אהבת חינם, unconditional love and mutual responsibility - can restore it.

This Simchat Torah is different. We have spent 736 days - every evening and morning - learning what Hillel taught at Simchat Beit HaShoeva: that God's presence among us depends on our recognition that we are all responsible for one another. The hostages who were taken included every kind of Jew - from those who danced at Nova to soldiers defending the nation, from kibbutzniks to city dwellers, from the traditionally observant to the completely secular. Their captivity did not discriminate based on righteousness. And their families' prayers rose together - from synagogues and from secular memorial sites, from right-wing communities and left-wing movements, all crying out as one.

We have learned what the four species symbolize: that Jews of every type - religious and secular, left and right, Ashkenazi and Sephardi, veteran and new immigrant, survivors of Nova and families who prayed ceaselessly for their return - must be bound together, because we can only atone for one another when we stand together. The 736 days taught us that when we divide into competing camps of the "righteous," each viewing the others as sinners, we drive away the divine presence that Hillel warned about. But when tragedy forces us to recognize our shared fate, we discover we were always one people.

The Circle Restored

The hostages' return on the eve of Simchat Torah teaches us that the circle can be restored. Those who were torn away can come back. The dance that was interrupted can resume. And when it does, it will embody the deepest truth of Simchat Torah: we are all equidistant from the center, because at the center is the Torah, and the Torah belongs to every Jew.

The young people who danced at Nova were in a celebration where everyone participates, where joy is democratic, where distinctions of status and righteousness dissolve in shared ecstasy. That this celebration was attacked on Simchat Torah itself was not coincidental; it was an assault on the very idea that Jews can stand together as equals in joy.

But we have not been defeated. The return of the hostages after exactly ויהי ערב ויהי בקר - 736 transitions from darkness to light - declares that the circle holds. The temporary sukkah may be fragile, but סוכת שלומך - God's shelter of peace - is stronger than those who would destroy it. The Temple may have been vulnerable to our sins, but when we recognize our mutual responsibility - when we truly live כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה, all Israel is responsible for one another - we create the conditions for divine presence to return.

As we dance this Simchat Torah, we will dance differently than we did three years ago. We will dance as a people who has learned the cost of broken circles, who has counted every evening and morning of absence, who has refused to celebrate fully while our family members remained in captivity. We will dance with tears mixed with joy, with gratitude mixed with grief for those who will never dance again.

But we will dance. And when we form our circles around the Torah, holding it together in the center, we will know with absolute certainty what Simchat Torah teaches: that we become worthy of divine presence not through individual greatness, but through collective צמצום - through the humility to recognize that every single Jew, from the most righteous to the most distant, from the hostage just returned after 736 days to the family that never stopped counting each ערב and בקר - all of us together form one circle, all equidistant from the center, all equally beloved, all equally essential.

When we all dance together, when we all embrace the Torah with equal fervor, we create through our collective humility the space for divine presence. הפעם נרקוד ביחד - This time, we dance together. Not as spectators and performers, not as righteous and ordinary, but as one people who has emerged from 736 evenings and mornings into the light of a new Creation. The Torah belongs to all of Israel, and all of Israel, together, dancing as one, sustains the presence of God.