My world shattered at around 1:30 PM EST on October 7, 2023.
My baby boy had just drifted off for his afternoon nap. His second birthday was only three days away. He slumbered peacefully on that quiet afternoon in our North Carolina suburban home. It was a beautiful day.
Aryeh came home from shul. He told me the Gaza border had been breached. He said that it was worse than anything I could imagine. I stood there in shock and disbelief as he recounted what had been shared at shul that morning. I fell into his arms and cried.
I knew then that Aryeh was no longer mine. He belonged to the Nation of Israel. He’d be on the first possible flight out to Israel to rejoin his reserve unit. They were probably assembling at the Gaza border at that very moment. For what it was worth, I told him he had my support.
That night was Simchat Torah. The holiday of joy had been shattered into agonizing shards of pain. Aryeh left home early to ensure there was a security presence at shul. I walked over with Tzvi shortly after. He found some toys and began to play.
Some congregants were crying. Some just stood. Others hugged. They asked me if my family and friends in Israel were okay. I said I had no idea. They asked me if Aryeh would be going back to Israel. I said I didn’t know.
I knew.
Aryeh remained outside. Always the protector.
Hakafot began.
“Ana Ad-nai hosheah nah.” The congregation began circling the Bima.
“Ana Ad-nai hatzlicha nah.” The atmosphere was mournful.
“Ana Ad-nai aneinu biyom koreinu.” The congregation was begging.
And then I saw him. My little Tzvi.
It was late. Definitely past his bedtime. He clutched a colorful, stuffed Torah his Zeidy had bought him for the holiday. A small white kippah sat perched atop his blonde, curly hair. And he was shuffling around the bimah along with the quorum of men in shul that night. My heart screamed as I watched. He was supposed to be on his papa’s shoulders. His papa was supposed to be dancing with him. Instead, my baby was completing hakafot with his own determination, enthusiasm, and pride. Himself. My heart screamed again as my head went to dark places. I feared seeing this sight again next year. Our life had lost its certainty.
Because I knew.
Aryeh must have known too, because after the first hakafah I went outside and told him he had to dance at least one hakafah with his son. He did. And my heart screamed even louder. The second hakafah ended and Aryeh went back outside to his post.
Tzvi continued shuffling around that bimah, a radiant-eyed two-year-old in lockstep with the papas and grandpas of our congregation. He marched with purpose. His little feet lifted off the ground as the congregation broke out in what can only be described as pain-tainted dancing. Tzvi danced with delight. Incredibly, he never stopped. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
As the hakafot continued, as I watched my son, the pain in my heart quieted slightly and my heart began to swell. With joy. With pride. With hope. What a beautiful soul he was. What incredible confidence. What purity emanated from his little self. I saw in his dancing a prayer. I prayed with him, and asked G‑d to return his father well and complete so he could dance with him on Simchat Torah next year.
The women of the congregation stood behind me, and we watched with awe as an almost two-year-old became the only ray of light on that dark, dark, Simchat Torah night. Some men came over and said they would never forget my little Tzvi dancing alongside them. He doesn’t know it, but he was the little hero our shul needed that night.
As the hakafot ended, the rabbi placed his hands on Tzvi’s little head and blessed him. He had tears in his eyes. He must have known too.
****
G‑d heard my little Tzvi’s prayers.
Aryeh flew to Israel later that week, a day after Tzvi’s birthday. He returned a few months later. Safe. Well. Whole.
It’s been a year now. We’re preparing once more for the holiday of Simchat Torah. This year, Tzvi will ride on his papa’s shoulders. They’ll dance together.
One day, I’ll tell him of the night he danced alone.
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