I want to see my husband dancing

T

hey say Simchas Torah is a man’s holiday. The way I see it, Simchas Torah is when wives come out from behind their computers or laundry piles, discard the superwoman capes, don beautiful clothing, and reap their rewards.

Oh, the Yuntiff is for everyone, I know. But in my mind, it’s for me.

My family has an interesting schedule on Simchas Torah. We begin hakafos at our neighborhood shul, take a break after hakafah beis to host a long and beautiful seudah filled with guests and divrei Torah, and then at around ten forty-five p.m., we all — babies included — head to my husband’s kollel to catch hakafos five through seven.

It’s then that I come face-to-face with the seminary girls.

They’ve been there for hours, blow-dried hair gleaming, feet tapping, freshly made-up faces pressed against the balcony window. My window. The window from which I want to see my husband and son dancing the dance of those who have persevered, reveling in the revelry that comes from true joy.