LINGERING WITH PURPOSE

“Memory is the scribe of the soul,” wrote Aristotle, capturing a truth that resonates deeply within Judaism.

For Jews, memory is never a passive act. Memory is not just the act of holding onto the past—it is the process of transforming the past into meaning, ensuring that every memory informs how we move forward.

This idea is at the heart of Yizkor, the prayer of remembrance recited on festivals, including Shemini Atzeret. Yizkor is meant to be much more than a personal reflection. Although we each remember those we have loved and are no longer with us, we do it as a community. It is truly a communal experience, a moment when we all join together to connect with those who came before us—those who built, fought, and persevered so that we could live as Jews today. When we say Yizkor, we bind ourselves to their memory, reaffirming the unbroken continuity of the Jewish story.

Shemini Atzeret adds a unique dimension to this act of memory. Unlike the holidays that precede it, with their specific rituals and symbolic acts, Shemini Atzeret is free of commandments and obligations, except for one: to remain in God’s presence just a little longer.

After the intensity of Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and the celebrations of Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret asks us to pause. It’s as if God is saying, “Don’t rush away—stay with Me.” And this lingering is not ceremonial but deeply personal, inviting us to reflect on what we carry with us—our memories, our values, and our connections to those we have lost.

This act of lingering with God mirrors how the presence of those we’ve lost stays with us, not through grand gestures, but in subtle, everyday moments—a fleeting thought, a familiar scent, a favorite food, or a sudden memory triggered by an ordinary experience.

Like Shemini Atzeret, those moments invite us to linger—to closely hold the memory of those we’ve lost, without rushing forward too quickly. It reminds us that life’s meaning is often found not in the significant events but in the quiet persistence of presence, even after someone is gone.

This year, however, the weight of Yizkor feels especially heavy. One year ago, on Shemini Atzeret, the unthinkable unfolded as Hamas unleashed barbaric terror on 1,200 of our brothers and sisters. It is a day that is now forever seared into our collective memory.

Families were ripped apart, children witnessed horrors no one should ever see, and communities that were once filled with life and joy were turned into places of destruction. The brutal attack was not only an assault on individual lives but on the very soul of the Jewish people as a whole.

Yet, as we have done throughout our history, the Jewish people responded to this darkness with light and resilience. Communities came together to mourn, to comfort, to rebuild. Strangers opened their homes to those displaced. Volunteers rushed to support survivors and soldiers alike.

These acts of kindness are not just ways to cope—they are profound affirmations of our shared commitment to life and continuity, even in the face of unimaginable grief.

At our synagogue, this Simchat Torah, we will dedicate one Torah scroll to remember Sergeant Major Yonatan Hatzor. Yonatan was just 22 years old when he was felled in the war that unfolded after October 7th. He served in the elite Shaldag unit and was known for his rare combination of strength, humility, and artistry.

Family and friends remember Yonatan as “salt of the earth”—a young man who quietly excelled at everything he touched, never seeking attention or praise. Whether it was painting, sculpting, training in karate, or running through the fields of his kibbutz, Yonatan lived with quiet purpose. He embodied what it means to serve—not for recognition, but because it was the right thing to do.

In battle, Yonatan was not just a soldier but a healer, serving as a combat medic. His brother Eyalsaid of him, “Wherever you went, you left a mark, quietly. I was—and still am—proud to be your older brother.”

His fellow soldiers echoed this sentiment and, at his funeral, spoke directly to him. “This is not a farewell,” they said. “You will stay with us – you will forever be one of 12.”

His father, Avner, captured Yonatan’s essence beautifully, calling him a “diamond—hard, clear, and transparent,” someone who demonstrated his love of Israel and his people not with words, but with actions.

Like Yonatan, the Torah scroll in his memory will quietly serve its purpose, carrying words of faith and continuity for the Jewish people. Rather than being a symbol or a dormant object—it will be a living, active memorial. Every time it is taken from the ark, read, and danced with, it will carry not only the words of the Torah but Yonatan’s spirit and values.

And it will remind us that even in the darkest times, the Jewish people choose life, and a commitment to our Jewish heritage. Just as Yonatan lived with quiet greatness, inspiring his family and friends, our Torah will continue to guide future generations toward lives of meaning, service, and faith.

Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret teach us that life is fragile, but faith endures. The sukkah we used for a week reminded us of life’s transience and how quickly the world we know can shift. But Shemini Atzeret draws us back to stability, whispering that our connection to God and one another is unshakable even when life feels precarious. This connection is what allows us to rise again—no matter how deep the loss, no matter how severe the trial.

The aftermath of October 7th has been devastating, but it has also revealed the incredible resilience of the Jewish people. We mourn, but we rebuild. We remember, but we move forward. The stories of those we lost—like Yonatan Hatzor—do not end with their passing. Instead, their lives become part of the story we continue to write, a story of renewal, hope, and faith.

This is the essence of Yizkor: to remember, yes, but also to build. Each act of memory carries within it a promise—that we will honor those we have lost not just with words, but with the lives we lead.

As we say Yizkor, we remind ourselves that the Jewish journey is one of perseverance. The road may be difficult, and the losses heavy, but our story does not end with tragedy. It continues in the values we live by, the communities we build, and the future we create together.