Two years ago, on Simchat Torah, the world changed. That holiday, meant to celebrate joy and spiritual renewal, became the darkest day in recent Jewish history.
Across Israel, people had gathered for the festival. Simchat Torah is the culmination of the Jewish holiday cycle, a day when we dance with Torah scrolls and begin the cycle of reading anew. It is a day that represents resilience, continuity, and joy. But on October 7, 2023, as the dancing began, our world as we knew it shattered. The sirens, the screams, the gunshots, those are the sounds many now associate with Simchat Torah.
Some 1,200 people were murdered that day. Communities were destroyed. Hostages were taken, many of whom are still in Gaza today. For too many Israelis, the joy of Simchat Torah is forever intertwined with loss and terror.
October 7 continues to define the present
The pain of that day did not stay in the past. It continues to define our present. Families remain displaced, mental health challenges are growing, and national morale is under pressure. The Iranian attack earlier this year reinforced what many already felt. There is no place in Israel that feels truly safe anymore.
So we find ourselves facing this anniversary once again. This year, it falls on the first day of Sukkot, the festival of temporary shelters. Jews across the world will sit in sukkahs: simple, fragile structures with open roofs. The sukkah is a symbol of impermanence, of vulnerability. This year, it reflects our reality.
Families from the South and North are still living in temporary housing. Soldiers continue to sleep in tents. Parents tuck children into unfamiliar beds. Even in central Israel, people are rethinking what security means after the Iranian missile and drone attacks. The sukkah, once a metaphor, now feels like a mirror.
The Jewish calendar is not random. Tishrei, the month that contains Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Simchat Torah, carries a spiritual narrative. It begins with the awe of Rosh Hashanah, where we are asked to reflect on our lives and face the truth of our mortality. On Yom Kippur, we fast, confess, and say we are dust. It is a day of vulnerability, of facing ourselves and each other.
Then comes Sukkot. Fragility becomes not just an idea but a practice. We physically leave the security of our homes and step into a space that is open and exposed. We do it deliberately. We call it sacred.
Finally, Simchat Torah arrives, offering joy and renewal after the journey through awe and fragility. We are supposed to dance, not because life is easy but because we believe in the cycle of continuity and rebirth.
Rupture instead of renewal
October 7 interrupted that arc. Simchat Torah was not a moment of renewal. It became a symbol of rupture. And two years later, we are still stuck in the space of fragility. We are still sitting in the sukkah. We are still waiting for healing. We are not yet dancing.
Jewish tradition, though, insists that holiness is possible in fragile spaces. The sukkah is not strong. It can collapse in the wind. Yet we make it beautiful. We decorate it. We invite guests into it. It becomes sacred not because of its structure but because of what happens inside it.
Emmanuel Levinas wrote that transcendence is found in the face of the Other. It is not in escaping vulnerability but in meeting others within it that we find purpose. That is what the sukkah offers: a space to gather, to share, and to be human together.
At ICAR Collective, we are trying to do just that. We are bringing together people and organizations who would otherwise be working in silos. We focus on trauma recovery, social resilience, and rebuilding the bonds of trust within society. This is not work that can be done alone. Just like the sukkah becomes meaningful through human presence, healing comes through connection.
Two years after October 7, we are still in the sukkah. It may not yet be time to dance. However, it is time to be honest about where we are. It is time to sit together in the space of vulnerability and to begin rebuilding from there.
The arc of Tishrei is not yet complete. We have not yet reached the joy of Simchat Torah. Yet we are holding the scroll. When the time comes, we will begin again.
The writer is a co-founder and executive director of ICAR Collective, Israel’s Collective Action for Resilience, which is dedicated to accelerating trauma healing and advancing mental health resilience through coordinated collaboration across Israel’s public health, NGO, academic, and research communities.