The schedule on the synagogue website said, “Simchat Torah services Monday, October 5, 2015 at 7:30 PM.” As a matter of fact, it stated it twice – on the calendar and on the list of holiday events. Imagine our surprise, then, when we were one of two cars in the parking lot at the Conservative synagogue in Columbia County, NY. The other car? The rabbi’s!
“Are you expecting a minyan?” Andy naively asked, as we looked around the deserted, pitch black parking lot and building.
“You’re it,” the rabbi sadly answered. “ Truthfully, I didn’t expect anyone. We have been cancelling the holiday for years because we no longer have any young families. I should have taken the listing off the website.”
“Then why are you here if there is no service?” Andy asked in confusion.
“In case anybody shows up, I am here to tell them to go home.”
As we schmoozed a bit and bemoaned the state of this elderly congregation, and as we were about to leave, a young man suddenly appeared.
“I just moved to the neighborhood nine days ago from Brooklyn. I’m here for Simchat Torah.”
Unfortunately, the rabbi repeated the sorry state of his congregation and the cancellation of the holiday. Again, he apologized for the misinformation on the website. As we were preparing to go our separate ways, the young man’s girlfriend arrived. She is not Jewish but is studying to convert. She was here to learn about the holiday.
The rabbi looked at the four of us: the potential convert, the bearded 20-something with a Yeshiva background, my husband who knows Simchat Torah is a difficult holiday for me because that is the night my mother died years ago, and me. (I had come to say Kaddish for my mother on this sad/happy holiday).
Although it may not have been entirely kosher, the rabbi suddenly declared with great animation, “We’re celebrating Simchat Torah!” He ushered us into the sanctuary – beautiful, well-maintained, huge and empty. He removed a small Torah from the Ark, donned a Tallit, and gave each of us a Siddur. We began the first of four Hakafot. Except for the young woman, we each held the Torah and shared a Tallit. The five of us chanted the Hakafot. Holding hands in a circle, we sang and danced with all our hearts. We sang and danced for all the empty chairs. “Aneinu v’yom kor’einu!” God, save us and answer us when we call. The rabbi distributed song sheets and the five of us sang Israeli folksongs and embraced the “Simcha” in Simchat Torah. Honestly, we didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think we did a little of both.
“Time for Kiddush!” the rabbi gleefully announced. In the beautiful, well-maintained, huge and empty social hall, the rabbi recited Kiddush over the wine. We shared grape juice and cookies. He taught us a lively melody for the “She-hecheyanu.” “Praised are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, for keeping us in life, for sustaining us, and for helping us to reach this day.” Indeed, our Simchat Torah celebration that evening was worthy of this prayer.
As we were leaving and thanking the rabbi for making this celebration so memorable, he remarked with a gleam in his eye, “On second thought, maybe I won’t cancel the holiday. Let’s leave it on the website for next year.”
Image by natematias 
used with permission via Creative Commons: Attribution-ShareAlike License
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Thank you for sharing this story, Merrill. It is a lovely story and sounds as if it were a beautiful experience and a wonderful way to commemorate your mother’s yahrtzeit. Kol ha kavod.