Simchas Torah — true, actual, authentic celebration of the Torah — is not as easy as it sounds

Three decades into life and I’ve become a Grinch.

That happens sometimes.

The term “Grinch” was coined by the legendary Dr. Seuss in his book How the Grinch Stole Kratzmach (now, now, Spellcheck, settle down).

A Grinch is a sourpuss who can’t get into the spirit of the time. While everyone else celebrates, he grinches.

It’s no fun to be a Grinch.

And yet every year, on Simchas Torah, I feel the grinchiness seeping in.

I strongly suspect I’m not alone. My grounds for this suspicion — and I ask forgiveness if you find this offensive — is the prevalent practice to drink during hakafos. Like, lots.

To be clear, I’ve got no problem with drinking.

This is more about curiosity. When the empty bottles outnumber the meat boards, you can’t help but wonder. How? Why? In what way is this a reflection of the avodah of Simchas Torah?

My theory to answer these questions can be summed up in one word: grinchiness.

For some reason, people are struggling to put the “simchah” in Simchas Torah and are resorting to artificial means to help move the process along.

I’d point to another sociological trend to support a similar conclusion: hashkamah minyanim.

The popularity of Simchas Torah hashkamah minyanim only seems to be growing. In these minyanim, hakafos take a grand total of seven minutes — one per hakafah.

As a bona fide Grinch, I attend these minyanim, and I can’t help but notice that the room keeps getting stuffier each year. (Grinches tend to be claustrophobic.)

But why? Why not go to the regular minyan, where you can dance and sing and have a great time?

I guess because you’re afraid you won’t have a great time.

There’s grinchiness going around — I’ve heard this expressed explicitly. “I’m no longer disappointed when Simchas Torah doesn’t work out,” a friend once told me, “because I stopped having any expectation that it would.”

That’s grinchiness if I’ve ever heard it. But how come? What’s causing the spread of this unhealthy virus?

I think the answer is a deep one. And that is that Simchas Torah — true, actual, authentic celebration of the Torah — is not as easy as it sounds.

Torah is everything and more. It is the totality of ruchniyus. It is the spiritual reality of which the entire world is merely a reflection.

To relate to that, to celebrate it, one must unleash himself from the confines of the physical. His neshamah must leap forward and cling to the current blazing from the Torah’s burning force.

Many are able to access that spark — the non-Grinches certainly outnumber the Grinches by a long shot.

And the truth is, even the non-Grinches may find themselves resorting to alcohol, merely as a means to shake off the natural inhibitions to such extreme expressions of joy.

That’s perfectly legitimate.

But then there are those who find the spark elusive. They want so badly to be swept in by that rush of uplift, but, alas, it hovers beyond reach.

A Grinch doesn’t give up without a fight. Out comes the Glenmorangie, in comes a torrent of alcohol, and pretty soon, the lines between Grinch and non-Grinch are blurred. Everyone’s dancing. Everyone’s happy.

The drinking is nothing more than an effort to de-Grinch. So goes the theory. Now for the addendum.

MYdear Grinch, you’re making a terrible mistake. You’ve concluded that true joy of Torah is beyond your capabilities. You’re wrong.

It’s well within your reach — in fact, you reach it all the time.

Let’s try the following scientific experiment. One day, take a drive to the nearest university library. Take a seat somewhere in the tastefully arranged furnishings, lean back, and… listen. What do you hear?

Silence.

I did my time as a law student for three years. When I think back to the hours I spent in the library, all I recall is a suffocating silence. Every now and then there was a whir of the photocopy machine just to remind me that I was still alive. The polite tap-tap from the computer stations was a funeral march for those less fortunate.

The university library — that citadel of academic integrity — offers an atmosphere as bland as a raw potato.

But let’s not dwell on that.

Endure the silence for an hour or so, then beat it. Your head might be throbbing — mine always was.

Run to your car and drive to a beis medrash. Open the door. Walk inside.

Hear the roar. Absorb the energy. What do you feel now? Has your heart rate quickened? Has the headache begun to fade away? Do you discern a wonderful difference between the library experience and what you’re witnessing now?

You do? You know what that means?

Like Yaakov Avinu in his mother’s womb, your neshamah jumps when exposed to a firestorm of Torah learning; morashah kehillas Yaakov, you are heir to the inheritance of Yaakov.

My heilige Grinch, you’re a Simchas Torah Jew as much as any of the non-Grinches are — you just don’t believe in yourself.

Grinches lack confidence, that’s their problem.

We need to build themselves up; and so, Grinch to Grinch, let’s talk this out.

Over the course of a year, how many Simchas Torah moments have you had? If you really think about it, the tally will be high. How many times have you learned a Gemara once and you didn’t get it, twice and you didn’t get it, then on the third time… it clicked! Do you recall that jolt? The urge to leap up and pump your fist in the air?

They don’t feel that in universities, certainly not in law school. They say “hmm” when they don’t get it; “oh” when they do.

They don’t dance seven hakafos when they finish the textbook.

How many times have you heard a devar Torah and broken out into a smile in response? Many?

One of the most profound cases in US Supreme Court history is Marbury v. Madison. Wanna hear a quote that has been lauded as monumental? Here goes: “It is emphatically the province and duty of the Judicial Department to say what the law is.”

Did that make you smile? No? Whyever not?

Have you ever seen a shiur advertised and you decided to attend? Yes? Many times? What did they offer in return? Food? Coupons? Academic credits? Networking opportunities?

Nothing. Go tell that to my law school buddies. They’ll have you plead insanity.

You’re a Simchas Torah Jew! You recognize, just as your non-Grinch friends do, that Torah is the sustenance of your soul, and so many times a year, without even realizing it, you celebrate exactly that.

Dear Grinch — if I see you show up at that hashkamah minyan, I’ll… wait, what will I be doing there?

True, it takes time for Grinchiness to wear off, so daven hashkamah if you so desire.

But don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t know how to celebrate Torah. You do — and you know you do.

As for the drinking, this year, more than ever, Simchas Torah will demand authenticity. Somehow, we’ll have to find comfort from the horrors of just one year ago — we dare not let that comfort come from a bottle.

And there’s no need to.

Because that bottle is inside you — filled to bursting with a love for Torah you never realized you possessed.

Grinches of the world unite! This year’s Simchas Torah will be the most meaningful in your life.

Because you’re a Simchas Torah Jew.

And you’d better believe it.

 (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1033)