Once upon a time, my husband learned in kollel and we lived happily ever after most of the time, at least on days when the washing machine didn’t break and all of the kids went off to school in the morning and went to bed on time at night.

Days when things didn’t go exactly according to schedule weren’t the happiest of days, even when those were supposed to be the days of “v’samachta b’Chagecha.” In fact, for a long time, the two hardest days of the year for me were Hoshana Rabbah and Simchas Torah.

By the time Hoshana Rabbah rolled around, the kids had been home from school more or less since Yom Kippur, and any semblance of routine had long but disappeared. And Hoshana Rabbah has the distinction of being the only day of the year that is both Erev Yom Tov and Yom Tov — the culmination of the Yamim Noraim, no less. So on top of preparing, serving, and clearing off a seudah, there’s also pre-Yom Tov cooking and cleaning. (Not to mention davening and doing teshuvah, but who has time for that, with a houseful of kids and guests?)

Then comes Simchas Torah. Did someone say something about simchah? I’ll be b’simchah when school starts again and bedtime reappears, I’d think to myself while trying to get the kids dressed in their Yom Tov finery and get them out to shul all by myself. Once in shul, I’d spend my time running around the women’s section chasing a toddler, while jiggling an infant on my hip and trying to keep the kids’ tangy-taffy hands off my dry-clean-only outfit, the one that I reserve for the two or three times a year that I actually make it to shul.

It’s hard to enjoy the hakafos in that state, especially since I’m not the type to push myself to the front, through the layers of women trying to get a glimpse of the dancing.

Things have changed over the years, and our happily-ever-after kollel days have given way to a much starker reality. Early in his thirties, my husband developed a progressive neurological condition that that made it first difficult, then agonizing, and finally impossible for him to learn Torah for any significant length of time. Thankfully, he was blessed with golden hands, and there’s a lot he can still do despite his impairment. Learning, unfortunately, is not one of them, although he does still struggle to maintain a daily seder.

On the outside, Simchas Torah is basically the same as it has been since I began my career of wiping sticky hands and faces. I’m still the harried mother running around shul trying to maintain a serene composure while supervising a bunch of overtired children who’ve consumed way too much sugar.

Inside me, however, something has awakened. Back in the days when I was a kollel wife, my life pulsated so naturally with Torah that I was almost oblivious to the privilege of being a shareholder in its priceless merchandise. I never stepped back to revel in the exhilaration of Simchas Torah, just as a person whose heart is beating rhythmically never stops to marvel at that particular miracle.

Now, Simchas Torah arouses within me a fierce longing and love for Torah, a feeling that transcends whatever technical irritations I happen to be facing and whatever medical issues my husband happens to be dealing with. Even though my particular share in Torah has dwindled painfully with the loss of my husband’s ability to learn, no one can ever take away my ability to rejoice with the Torah.

On Simchas Torah, it makes no difference how much of a share in Torah I have; what matters is how much of an appreciation I have for the gift of Torah that belongs to all of Klal Yisrael, myself included.

Simchas Torah has come to symbolize a deeper connection to Torah, one that cannot be severed, regardless of the circumstances. Even if my kids are wailing over their lost lollipops, even if my cherished daily routine seems like a distant memory, and even if my husband can barely open a sefer, none of that can mar the joy of being a “mechutan” with the Torah.

I doubt that I’ll see much of the dancing this Simchas Torah. But as I’m frantically bouncing two cranky kids on my knee, my heart will be dancing to the refrain of Baruch Hu Elokeinu sheBaranu liChvodo v’Hivdilanu min hatoim v’Nasan lanu Toras emes.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 262)