This past Shabbat, Day 8 of the “October 7” War, our synagogue rabbis presided over a ritual marking the transition of a girl to adulthood in the eyes of the community. On Sunday morning, Day 9, we were present for twin girls experiencing the same rite of passage. On Sunday afternoon, I officiated at the naming of a baby girl, linking her to the legacy of her paternal grandfather (a close personal friend who died at a young age) and her maternal great-grandfather.

Each of these moments was filled with love and infused with meaning. Each of these rites was held in the embrace of family, friends and community. Each of these children gave honor to their past and held out promise for our shared future. Each of these families prayed and planned for the day to arrive when their respective occasions could be shared.

And each of these events was touched and somewhat shaped by events happening on the other side of the ocean. Parents reached out to their rabbis to inquire on a personal level about the rabbis’ wellbeing and emotional preparedness. They asked whether a postponement might be warranted. They wanted to know that, if the simcha were to take place, it would be framed appropriately in light of tragedy hanging like a cloud over our heads.

The Talmud (Ketubot 17a) teaches that a funeral procession gives way to a wedding procession. In other words, we prioritize the celebration of life over death. The teaching may feel harsh or insensitive to some, especially considering the emphasis we place on caring for mourners. (As an aside, caring for mourners is in fact caring for the needs of the living, as distinguished from the funeral procession itself, which is about the caring for the dead.) But the lesson is one that we need right now.

Caught inside the looping 24-hour newsfeed, glued to images and reports of the dead and the missing, worrying about our family and friends, our well of resilience is being depleted further from hour to hour. We need to exercise the kind of self-care that will replenish that well, so that we can confront and navigate the challenges yet to come. The gift of joy, of celebrating life, is the best form of self-care we can give ourselves.

Like a bridal procession, the celebration of life’s moments of transition fills us with optimism, with a reason to look to the future with hope. The times to be treasured are moments that we are not promised or guaranteed; they are not to be postponed, lest intervening events preclude their being rescheduled. And there’s no guarantee we will be there to enjoy them the next time around.

Seize the moment to celebrate when it presents itself. Join us on November 29 (the date of our rescheduled fall gala, exactly 60 years since the day our building was dedicated!) to celebrate the synagogue and to help us replenish our own communal well of resilience.

Am Yisrael chai, so let’s be sure to celebrate life when we can.

Rabbi Craig Scheff