Simchat Torah

Yeah, yeah, I hate that "ch" instead of a nice throaty sound, but that's the way to spell it without it looking weird.

Anyway.

This evening through tomorrow is Simchat Torah. That means that we've finished reading the Torah and are starting over again from Bereshit, which is Genesis in English. What's special about it for me is that it's sometimes the only time in the whole year when I actually go to temple (yeah, sometimes I'm ashamed of that fact). But at least it's one time, and at least it never changes. There's always a few hakafot (rounds) inside and then we bring it out to the street, which is always closed off for the purpose.

My dad, my brother, and I arrived for the beginning of the outdoor hakafot. I found my preschool friends and hugged them. I haven't seen some of them since last Simchat Torah, which was a year ago. It's funny that after all that happened, all the insanity of the past year - it's still the same, the same people still know me, it's still been a year since I saw them, the bronze leaf-shaped plaque with my name that my grandmother paid for is still on the big tree of bronze leaves, I still get hyper, the same insanity ensues. My preschool friends and I set out on a mission to change the direction in which the circles travelled. More often than not, it simply resulted in the circle breaking and half the people continuing the way they had been before, but we succeeded a few times. I saw the director of Frosh play there, which was a bit disconcerting but really awesome. By the fifth hakafa or so, there was candy downstairs. Perhaps a bit stupidly, I ingested a cup of apple cider and about five candy bars. It showed really, really quickly.

My preschool friend: Okay, I'm done with this apple.
(he tossed the core in the trash)
Me: KILL that apple core!
Him: What. What happened to you.
Me: Everything.
Him: Yeah, it does seem like that...

Then we passed by a lot of people, many of whom I didn't know. My friend would basically high-five them or something and then:

Me: HI!
Random person: Hi.
My friend: She's really hyper on candy. Really, really hyper.
Me: Yep!

Then we continued revolutionizing the directions of the circles and got a hold of a Torah scroll, forming our own small circle. By now the sugar was totally in my head and I was laughing and laughing and laughing. And people were singing and screaming and running and dancing and everyone was sort of high on the emotion everywhere. It makes you feel like the world will always be okay, the same few people still know and remember you, the same stars will shine above you, the same prayers will be said in the same language and you'll still be the only one in your vicinity with the proper accent. It doesn't matter where you go. Home will still be home.

As it neared 9 pm it was evident that we had to go, since there's school tomorrow and it will be my birthday. In some ways, this seemed like one of the best birthday presents I could get, the day of the year that inspires me the most, because it's always somehow the same, no matter where I've been. More than Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, Simchat Torah makes me feel like I can start a new year cleanly, because I've gone back to one of my first homes.

I searched for my friend to say goodbye, but he was at the heart of the concentric circles with a Torah in his arms. Finally, we turned to go back down the rest of the one-way street and onto the familiar brick sidewalks to the car. The bright lights and party and the endless amount of people seemed faraway again, just a crowd in front of a building. The sugar rush began to die down.

And as we walked the familiarly foreign streets, it occurred to me that maybe I didn't have to say goodbye. All my life I've been saying goodbyes. But they never are. And hopefully, they never will be.