Written by Mendy Forma, a soldier in the IDF
Six years ago, on Simchat Torah 2017, I was still in training, stationed at a base near Be’er Sheva. That morning, I woke up late. By the time I reached the base synagogue, the other soldiers had already finished the prayers and hakafot. I found myself alone in the empty room and asked, “What now? Am I supposed to dance by myself?”
That’s when I remembered something Maimonides, the Rambam, taught: the purest form of joy is when a person, alone in a room, can rise and dance by himself. So, I took the Torah in my arms and, for the next hour, I danced. I jumped, sang every hakafah, and singed the Chabad nigunim I knew. It was just me, the Torah, and a joy so deep I could hardly contain it. When it was over, I felt empowered, as if I’d touched something much greater than myself.
Fast forward six years to Simchat Torah, October 7th, 2023. I woke up in my new studio apartment in Tel Aviv, in a city where I hardly knew anyone. I had just started keeping Shabbat again after years away from it, but that morning, I felt overwhelmed by loneliness and depression. I told myself I wasn’t going to keep this Shabbat so I reached for my phone to distract myself with social media.
That’s when I saw it—the horror unfolding in the south. My phone was flooded with messages. In my reservist WhatsApp group, my commander had called us to action. We were being drafted as reservist to defend the kibbutzim.
It had been five years since I’d been in the army, but I didn’t hesitate a second. My team and I rushed to our base. We suited up, grabbing whatever equipment we could. Our rifles weren’t even zeroed, and we had no proper sights—it was a “God, aim for me” kind of day. The chaos was tangible, but we were ready for whatever came next. There was no question about it.
While waiting for our Humvees to arrive from the north flown down in helicopters, I found myself standing in the very same base where, six years ago, I had danced alone with the Torah. The memory hit me, and I didn’t think twice. With a heart broken into a million pieces, I ran to the base synagogue, took out a Torah, and began to dance. I sang, I jumped, I closed my eyes, and I made a vow to myself: They will not take my joy. They will not take my light. I will never stop dancing.
With that spirit, my team and I went to Nahal Oz, evacuating hundreds of civilians still hiding in bunkers. In the months that followed, I entered Gaza daily on multiple missions, but every time, I sang those same nigunim. Hashem was with me every second. Not once did I feel fear, because fear is what the enemies of light thrive on. They want us to lose our joy, to dim our light so that darkness can take over. But we’ve seen this before in our history. This isn’t our first rodeo. We went out to war with pride, with strength, and with joy.
We will dance again and again until the third Temple is rebuilt. We will dance with God, with our brothers and sisters, with the souls we have lost throughout our history—revived and reunited once again.
So, this Simchat Torah, I urge you—don’t give in to the pain, to the ego, to the darkness that tries to pull you down. Stand up. Go to your nearest synagogue. Grab a fellow Jew and dance like your joy is your greatest weapon—because it is. We are the children of God and we will always win. Chag Sameach. Keep dancing. Keep shining. Stay proud of your Jewish identity.
