Dear TBZ Community,
Every holiday when we sing Hallel (literally “praise,” it refers to the psalms of praise that lift our voices on festivals), I am struck by the sharp and almost jarring transition between two verses that appear side by side in Psalm 118:
זֶה הַיּוֹם עָשָׂה ה’, נָגִילָה וְנִשְׂמְחָה בוֹ
This is the day that God has made; let us exult and rejoice upon it.
And immediately after:
אָנָּא ה’ הוֹשִׁיעָה נָּא, אָנָּא ה’ הַצְלִיחָה נָּא
Please, God, save us now; please, God, bring us success now.
Two verses, one breath apart. Joy and pleading. Celebration and desperation.
We often sing the first verse in a lively, festive melody, full of gratitude and relief, and the next in a slower, more yearning tone. But in truth, they are not opposites; they are neighbors in the same psalm. Perhaps the wisdom here is that these two states of being are never far apart. Joy and fear, praise and prayer, thanksgiving and longing – they live side by side, often in the same heart.
This paradox feels especially true this week.
Sukkot, z’man simchateinu (the season of our joy) is meant to be a time of abundance and gratitude. It invites us to dwell in fragility, in huts (sukkot) open to the sky, and to find holiness not in permanence or safety but in presence and trust. We welcome the ushpizin, the spiritual guests of our tradition, each one bringing a quality we need: compassion, faith, courage, love.
And this year, as we imagine the ushpizin entering our sukkah (hut), we not only imagine but begin to prepare to welcome the hostages whose faces we have carried for two years, and the families who have waited and prayed without rest.
Zeh hayom asah Adonai, this is the day that God has made; let us rejoice in it.
This week, we dare to hope that this verse is becoming true in a new and profound way.
As news broke that Israel and Hamas have signed a ceasefire agreement – a deal that we pray will bring home the remaining 48 hostages and end the war in Gaza – our hearts open a little wider. We exhale for the first time in what feels like a very long time. The joy is cautious, tender, trembling… but it is joy nonetheless.
And still, as the psalm reminds us, joy is never the whole story.
Ana Adonai hoshia na, Please, God, save us now.
Save us from despair. Save us from the hardening of our hearts. Save us from the illusion that an end to fighting means peace has been achieved.
Because peace – real, lasting, transformative peace – will demand far more than a ceasefire. It will require courage, moral imagination, and the rebuilding of trust and dignity on both sides. And yes, the urgency to begin speaking about peace means we don’t wait, we do it now. We must build a future that ensures safety, freedom, and dignity for every human being; a vision of shared life instead of endless suffering.
And yet today, zeh hayom, this is the day. A day when we are allowed, perhaps even commanded, to feel joy. A day to honor the resilience that has carried us through these two unbearable years. A day to remember that joy itself is a form of faith, a declaration that hope is still alive.
As we sit in our sukkot, open to the wind, the stars, and the rain, we remember that our people’s strength has always come from our ability to hold both zeh hayom and hoshia na together. To sing even in uncertainty. To pray for salvation and, in the same breath, to rejoice that we are still here to pray.
This Sukkot, may we hold in our hearts all who grieve, all who remain in captivity, all who yearn for home. May we open our hearts to the suffering in Gaza, to the families mourning unbearable loss, and to the hope that healing and justice might yet take root.
For the past 734 days at TBZ, we have been lighting an additional candle with our Shabbat candles: for the hostages and their families, for all those who cannot light Shabbat candles with their dear ones. Each week we have hoped and prayed that the following Shabbat or holiday would be the one when they could light together again. That candle has also held light for all those suffering from this ravaging war.
My hope for this Shabbat is that tomorrow night will be the last time we need to light this additional candle.
May the Holy One shelter us all beneath a sukkat shalom, a canopy of peace, that covers every soul, Israeli and Palestinian, and all who dwell on earth.
And may we live this day, zeh hayom, with gratitude, courage, and the deep faith that joy and compassion can yet rebuild our broken world.
May this Shabbat bring moments of stillness, clarity, and connection.
May we reach for one another gently, lovingly.
May all who are in pain or danger find safety and comfort.
May this Shabbat truly be the day that the remaining hostages in Gaza come home.
May those working for peace be granted strength and courage.
Shabbat shalom and moadim l’simcha,
Rav Claudia