A week ago today, we were awake through the night, our hearts racing with joy and disbelief. The hostages were released. We celebrated, we wept, we sang—we stayed up as though afraid to blink and miss a moment of the miracle unfolding before our eyes. It was surreal—truly a glimpse of redemption in real time. I remember sitting in that joy, feeling its weight and lightness all at once.
Later that morning, one of my best friends texted me: “I’m so curious what will happen next in the conflict, in the peace process.” For a moment, I wanted to engage, to analyze, to move from wonder to worry. But then I caught myself—and simply stayed in the moment of joy. It was Hoshana Rabbah, the seventh day of Sukkot, the time our tradition calls z’man simchateinu—the season of our joy—and I realized how rare and necessary it is to let happiness have its full moment. As the Talmud teaches, “One should not mix one joy with another” (Mo’ed Katan 8b)—in other words, let each joy stand on its own, fully experienced and unclouded.
Our tradition also reminds us that it is natural to feel a full range of emotions—joy and sorrow, fear and relief, all coexisting in the same heart. Kohelet, the voice of Ecclesiastes (which we read on Sukkot), teaches, “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). When those emotions swirl together, we can turn to what grounds us—our breath, our songs, our connection to God, to family, to community—and let those anchors help us hold one feeling at a time. By returning to that still point, we honor our own humanity and dignity by allowing ourselves to feel each emotion as it comes, especially after these two difficult years.
With Sukkot now in our rear view, we all know that the road ahead will be long, that healing and peace do not unfold overnight. But if we cannot hold joy when it comes—if we cannot pause to marvel at the miracle itself—then what are we building toward? This week, may we let joy linger a little longer, may we allow gratitude to take root before we rush into the next worry or question. May we learn, as our ancestors did, to stand still, breathe deeply, and recognize the holiness of this very moment—a simcha shel mitzvah, a joy that is itself a sacred act.
—Cantor Emma Lutz