Imagine being invited to a wedding and leaving before the music starts—you’d miss the best part! That’s what Simchat Torah is all about.
The Mitzvah
Flowers are a bit of a sensitive subject in Judaism. At non-Jewish funerals, flowers are laid on the casket. Jews in America generally know this isn’t our custom. But many Jews who came here from the former Soviet Union don’t realize that, and when they bring flowers to a Jewish funeral, I always hear plenty of comments: “How could they do that?” The local Jews get upset, seeing them follow non-Jewish practices.
Now, on Sukkos there are two main mitzvot: sitting in the sukkah and taking the Four Species—the lulav, etrog, hadassim, and aravot. And here we find something unique. With every other mitzvah in the Torah, you can fulfill the obligation with someone else’s property. I can put on tefillin that belong to another person, and I’ve done the mitzvah. I can wear a tallis that belongs to someone else, and I’ve fulfilled the mitzvah. I can light a Chanukah candle that isn’t mine, and it still counts. Even the mitzvah of sitting in the sukkah—you can sit in your friend’s sukkah and fulfill your obligation.
But there’s one exception: the mitzvah of the Four Species. The Talmud (Sukkah 41b) says: “You shall take for yourselves—from your own.” From this the sages learn: on the first day of Sukkos, you cannot fulfill the mitzvah with a borrowed lulav. It has to be yours. If it’s not yours—you haven’t fulfilled the mitzvah!
But don’t panic just yet about whether you did it right. The Talmud tells us a fascinating story:
“Once, Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Yehoshua, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, and Rabbi Akiva were traveling together by boat. There was only one lulav, and it belonged to Rabban Gamliel, who had purchased it for the hefty sum of one thousand zuz. Rabban Gamliel took it, fulfilled the mitzvah, and then gave it as a gift to Rabbi Yehoshua. Rabbi Yehoshua took it, fulfilled the mitzvah, and gave it as a gift to Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah. He in turn gave it to Rabbi Akiva, who did the same, and then returned it back as a gift to Rabban Gamliel.”
These weren’t just four rabbis. They were the leaders of the entire Jewish people at the time. Rabban Gamliel was the Nasi, the president. Rabbi Yehoshua was the head of the court. Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah was also appointed as Nasi, alongside Rabban Gamliel. And Rabbi Akiva was the great “uncrowned” leader. Together they were traveling—probably on a mission on behalf of the Jewish people to Rome.
Only Rabban Gamliel, who was wealthy, owned a lulav worth a thousand zuz. And because the law requires the lulav to be your own, they found a brilliant solution: each one gave it as a gift to the next, making it theirs for the moment they performed the mitzvah. That’s how Jews in small towns through the generations did it too—one lulav for the entire town, passed around, gifted temporarily from one person to the next.
So the question is: why? Why, of all mitzvot, is it only with the Four Species that the Torah insists: “lachem”—it must be yours? Why such an emphasis here, more than anywhere else?
Why Are They Crying?
The Jewish months of Elul and Tishrei are often compared to a wedding. We all know the famous initials of Elul: “Ani l’dodi v’dodi li”—“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” Elul is like the engagement period, when the couple are circling around each other, full of anticipation and love.
Then comes Tishrei—the wedding itself. The first part of the month, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, is like the wedding canopy. If you’ve ever been to a traditional Jewish wedding, you know how serious that moment under the chuppah feels. Sometimes the bride and groom are even crying, and people ask: “What’s going on? Is someone forcing him to get married? Is this against her will?”
The truth is, the wedding canopy is considered a kind of personal Yom Kippur for the bride and groom. They fast, they recite the Al Chet confessions, just as all of us do on Yom Kippur. That’s why they wear white—just like we do on the Day of Atonement. In fact, the Rebbe pointed out that this is why a groom does not wear a white kittel during his first Yom Kippur after marriage—because he already wore it on his own “private Yom Kippur” under the wedding canopy (Igros Kodesh vol. 6, p. 172).
And for the same reason, many people ask the bride and groom to pray for them on their wedding day. Just like on Yom Kippur, the gates of Heaven are wide open, and their prayers carry special power not only for themselves, but for everyone present.
Right after the chuppah, the bride and groom go into the yichud room, where they are alone together for a few minutes. Only then is the marriage complete. So too, at the end of Yom Kippur we pray the Ne’ilah prayer. Most people think Ne’ilah means “the gates are closing.” But the Rebbe explained (Likkutei Sichos vol. 4, p. 1154) that it means something else: at that moment, all the gates are locked, and no one else is allowed in. Inside the “room” remain only G-d and the Jewish people together. Ne’ilah is the intimate “yichud room” between us and G-d.
And what happens after the chuppah? The music, the feast, the dancing—the celebration begins! And what’s the most essential decoration at any wedding? Flowers. Without flowers, it hardly feels like a wedding.
Those flowers, in our wedding with G-d, are the lulav and etrog—the Four Species. They are the bouquet we bring to our wedding with the Divine.
And perhaps we can explain the halachah this way: imagine a groom who comes to his bride with borrowed flowers. Something so small, so inexpensive, and he couldn’t even bother to get his own bouquet? Any bride would be insulted—she’d throw him out! That’s why the Torah insists the lulav and etrog must be yours. This “bouquet of love” cannot be borrowed—it must truly belong to you.
Come Celebrate!
Think of Sukkot as the wedding meal. Everyone’s at the table, enjoying good food, great wine, and plenty of celebration. And what happens after the meal? The music starts, the toasts are raised, and the dancing kicks in. Because the heart of every wedding is the dancing—when everyone gets on their feet to make the bride and groom truly happy.
That’s exactly what Simchat Torah is all about. After Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur—the “wedding ceremony” under the chuppah—after Sukkot—the big festive meal—finally comes the highlight: the dancing. Simchat Torah is the grand finale, when we celebrate with the Torah like it’s our bride and groom rolled into one.
And let’s be honest: if you’ve ever left a wedding before the dancing, you know you really missed the best part. You were there for the food, but not the joy. Same thing here—if you skip the dancing on Simchat Torah, you’re missing the essence of the holiday.
So here’s your invite: don’t just come for the meal, come for the dance floor. Join us as we celebrate the marriage of the Jewish people and G-d with singing, dancing, and joy that overflows into the year ahead.
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