“Yeladim, line up, you’ll get pekeleh,” came over the loudspeaker. Not quite an orderly line, but family groups, children supervising smaller children, gathered, all eager for their treats. They emerged clasping their treasures and cylindrical light sticks that flashed a rainbow of colors to join the parade. Often they use live torches with the children herded between two ropes but this time they chose the safer solution.

Bochurim from several yeshivos begin to appear. Boys seem never to feel the cold. Most come in just suits, though I notice a few wearing scarves. Tall young men, on the cusp of manhood, they surround their rebbeim. Group after group appear, lining the path the sefer Torah will take on its way to the chuppah.

People pour from the building, the security guards, the crowd controllers, adults and children, and finally, in the arms of a beaming bearded man, the sefer Torah itself, breathtakingly beautiful, adorned with a huge silver crown and white mantle. The boys stand to attention. The chattering crowd quiets. It seems as though everyone takes a deep breath to inhale the kedushah. As it reaches the chuppah the boys break ranks and erupt into joyous singing and dancing.

The music blares, the children form a phalanx of excitement behind the chuppah, boys with bikes weave precariously in and out of the crowd. I crane my neck to get a glimpse of my grandson and spot him in the thick of things. And then we are off! The slow procession begins to move with the whirling boys leading the way.

I watch the dancing. My heart constricts and tears spring to my eyes. The last time we danced with a sefer Torah was Simchas Torah. The Before of the After. I look around. I’m sure I’m not the only person to have these thoughts. “Abba,” I daven. “Please bring our precious hostages home. Please keep our chayalim safe and let them be matzliach. Please let there be lasting peace and help those families who are displaced be able to return home.”

Even now, at this time of joy, we cannot forget the war. Aircraft overhead on their way to Gaza add to the cacophony of sound. Even now, at this time of eis ratzon, when we are honoring Hashem so publicly, we don’t want to forget.

This sefer Torah represents hope. The hope that our children and grandchildren and generations to come will be able to live in peace. The hope that we will have the courage to stand together against the world. The hope that soon will be the day that we dance in the streets to welcome Mashiach.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 884)