💡 Think:
Bella Chagall, wife of painter Marc Chagall, and an accomplished Yiddish writer, was born as Bashe Rosenfeld to Shmuel Noach and Alta Rosenfeld, Chabad Chasidim in Vitebsk. In her memoir, Brenendik Licht - Burning Flames, she recalls her childhood in the Russian empire.
This excerpt has been taken from the chapter on Simchat Torah. It has been lightly edited from the English edition, correcting for lack of nuance in the translation from the original Yiddish.
Shot-glasses, goblets, are poured to the brim - spilling their contents over the tablecloth. Suddenly the man with the white beard bangs the table and cries out:
“Sha! Silence!" He closes his eyes and utters a sigh so deep that it sounds as though he were tearing out a piece of his heart and casting it far from him, His sigh runs over the table like a tremor. And suddenly-as if coming from afar, growing out of the sigh-there begins, in a low tone, the [Alter] Rebbe’s Song.
There is a humming. The old man's head is swaying. His brow is knitted. His lips and mustache are aquiver. Gradually he bewitches everyone. Pale faces begin to blaze. Eyes close. And in one breath all of them chant the song - voice after voice, higher and higher.
The melody spreads, swells, flares like a fire. The people swim in the song.
With closed eyes they sway, bang the table; they seem to be trying to make the table itself sing, to wrench themselves free of the earth.
Some cry with fear, others sink into lamentation, still others pray or weep. The melody is full of tears that do not fall. Some of the guests snap their fingers. Hands are outstretched. One man seizes his beard in his hand and supports it firmly-perhaps thus to hold his leaping heart.
Suddenly the lamentation stops. Joy breaks out.
"Ah, Yidden! Fellow Jews, there is a G-d in the world!" The white-bearded guest cranes his neck, as though the All-Highest Himself were shedding glory upon him from above.
"Why are you sitting, friends? Today is Simchas Torah,the Rebbe said that one must make merry, dance!"
A hand and a foot shoot out, as if tearing loose from the body, and themselves go.
The table is pushed to one side, the chairs are kicked away. The walls, themselves seem to be swaying. The tablecloth slips. Pieces of cake and some glasses fall to the floor. The men begin to leap, to stamp in one spot. They turn the flaps of their coats, and they form little dance circles. Their shoulders are bent, their hands are interlocked, almost as if tied together. Shoulder to shoulder, each hangs on the other. They do not let go, as though they feared that if they were left alone they would fall in pieces.
People cannot see one another, no one sees himself…
🏃 DO:
🍞 UPDATED: We’ve moved our #FirstFridaySociety Shabbat meal to NEXT WEEK, Friday, October 8th. It’s also my birthday! We’ll be discussing Finding Eden.
🎧 Listen:
The Alter Rebbe’s Niggun - as mentioned in the story above.
🕯️Remember:
Yezchezkel Elimelech ben Chanoch Henich, who passed away this week at 23.
📚 Read:
🎥 Why Hollywood's Jewish Women Are Rarely Played by Jewish Actors
😱 The Antisemitic Rabbi Who Became a Priest. Well, maybe
🤳 Digital Addictions Are Drowning Us in Dopamine. Are our brains getting hooked on pleasure?
🌭 I Tried 30 Mustards This Summer. These Were the Best.
Like what you saw? Want more? Please feel free to forward this email far and wide!
Support Tech Tribe’s mission to build community and curate epic experiences for young Jews in tech and digital media!