Write To Life     by Elana Horwitz

A Daf And A Dance


Dear Friends,

This letter won't describe all the details of the Siyum Daf Hayomi in English Wednesday night at Binyanei Haumah. It won't, because I can't. Even on Wednesday night, as I sat there, in tears, in laughter, in trembling awe, in devoted love, in humility and in pride - the fleeting but somber thought hit me that I would not be able to put this all down in words. The words that were spoken that night, and the behaviors that set the tone of the event, define Klal Yisrael - and the most appropriate thing to say about that is simply "Mi kiamcha Yisrael".

As a result of my last-minute ticket purchase, the hall I was assigned to was comprised almost fully of seminary girls. When the gedolim walked in and the screen showed close-ups of them at the dais, I already felt - "dayeinu". it was already worth all the effort of getting to Yerushalayim just to see the kavod with which we welcomed these spiritual giants so worthy of our respect. "This is whom we admire," I thought, moved to tears. "What we appreciate is a person who has conquered his soul." The band struck up a lively rendition of "Yamim al yimei melech tosif..." I mean a very leibedik rendition. Half the audience in my hall - remember that they were seminary girls - spontaneously got up and began dancing around the hall. With kavod. The traditional simcha steps. With simchas haTorah.

"Well," I said to myself, "it's nice to observe our youth channelling their boisterous energies into rejoicing at a true Torah event. As for me, I'm just going to sit here and smile upon them kindly and set a dignified example as befits a mature, grown woman in Klal Yisrael." Which of you can guess how long that thought lasted? I don't even remember standing up. In an instant I was dancing with the girls. "What young faces," I thought, up close with dozens of them. "What baby-soft hands," as they casually welcomed me into their circle.

That's what struck me then - their casualness, and mine. I felt like it was so okay for me to be right there with these girls. Not my daughters, not my students, but somehow, at this occasion of kulo Torah, I belonged to them. They belonged to me. In one second my sisters, with one dance step my daughters.

As the event continued and the gedolei hador spoke, there were moments of inspiration when my tears flowed on and on. There were moments when my heart laughed in celebration. There were a few moments when I trembled in awe, and a few when I felt devoted love. Moments of deep humility and those of soaring pride. That's - you said it, Chaya - life. The Siyum Hashas defines Klal Yisrael, and Klal Yisrael's heart is multi-dimensional. When we "celebrate" a milestone in history like this, we're aware of all the pain in our past that we experienced on the way to our arrival at this occasion. "Baruch...shehechiyanu vikiymanu vihigiyanu lazman hazeh".  And we're aware of all of the pain of today as well. So we cry, and we laugh, and we tremble, and we love, and we're humble, and we're proud.

And we dance.

One of the rabbanim spoke about the incident in the Gemara where Rabbi Akiva was asked how he survived the sea's raging waters when he was caught in them. He replied, "nizdamna li daf" - which means "a branch appeared for me" - and I held on to it. The Daf Yomi is the branch we cling to in the storm that is our lives. The rav extended that thought to mean not only the Daf Yomi specifically, but generally, that the pages of the Torah we learn are our lives' anchor. For what do we have to hold on to but the "daf"?

So after the "hadran" was said, and there was a shout of "MAZEL TOV", and the music started up again, this time I didn't hesitate. I joined forces with the seminary girls and clasped their younger hands in mine. We danced together as Klal Yisrael, not as strangers. Because really, what do we have to hold on to but the "daf"...and one another?

Good Shabbos dear friends,

Elana