There’s a paradox in Jewish life that I have always found deeply unsettling, but never knew how to fully express: as a community, we gather in droves for moments of solemn remembrance, yet our numbers dwindle when it’s time to celebrate the joyful, living aspects of our tradition. We pour resources—time, finances, and emotional energy—into commemorating the tragedies of our past. We show up for Yizkor, Yom HaShoah, and countless memorial services, honoring our ancestors and ensuring their stories are not forgotten. And yet, when Simchat Torah arrives with its joyful dancing and celebration of Torah, or Purim with its carnival-like exuberance, attendance thins. Why do we seem to gravitate toward the sadness of our history more than the joy of our present?
This paradox brought me back to Dara Horn’s compelling book “People Love Dead Jews”, which shines a light on society’s tendency to respect Jewish death and tragedy while too often overlooking Jewish life. Horn’s insights challenge us: as much as it is essential to remember, have we let our focus on trauma overshadow the beauty of a living, breathing Judaism? Despite our dedication to Holocaust museums, memorials, and educational programs, antisemitism remains disturbingly persistent. Remembrance alone, it seems, does not eliminate hatred.
Honoring our past is sacred. Our history is marked by extraordinary resilience and unimaginable hardship, and we carry the weight of that story with us. But if we want not just to survive but to thrive, we must also teach the joy, love, and vibrancy of Judaism. We can no longer define ourselves solely by the tragedies we have endured; we need to share the full story of Jewish life—a story of joy, wisdom, family, and celebration that goes far beyond survival.
Imagine the impact if we invested the same resources—financial and otherwise—into programs that celebrate Jewish life today as we do into those that memorialize our past. Imagine Jewish schools, camps, and programs that teach our youth not only about the Holocaust but also about the beauty of Shabbat, the power of community, and the joy of Sukkot, Purim, and Simchat Torah. Teaching Jewish history is crucial, but if our focus remains primarily on suffering, what kind of message are we sending? Are we showing our children a Judaism they’ll want to embrace with joy, or one that requires endurance?
I imagine that survivors as well as those who perished would want us to do more than relive the horrors of their past. They would want us to use those memories as a springboard for creating a future filled with the beauty they once dreamed of. Survivors fought to reclaim Jewish life, to rebuild families and communities where Jewish identity could thrive. Their legacy is not only about survival but about the fullness of living. They would want us to ensure that Judaism is not just a memory but a vibrant reality for future generations.
We have a faith, a people, and a culture that is meant to be lived with vitality, not just commemorated in sorrow. If we want our children, our grandchildren, and even ourselves to fully embrace Judaism, we must remember that our faith is about more than surviving tragedy. It’s about dancing on Simchat Torah, building a sukkah, sharing Shabbat, and discovering a place within an ancient, resilient, and deeply joyful heritage.
The story we share with the world, with each other, and with our children must be about more than persecution. It must be about who we are, who we’ve been, and the hope of who we can become.
In the end, if we are to create a lasting legacy, it will be by teaching our children not only how to mourn but how to live Jewishly—with pride, love, and joy.