Together Let Us Learn to Sing Again

Rabbi Dov Wagner's Address at the USC October 7th Memorial

In the evening of October 7, more than 300 USC faculty, students, and staff members came together to commemorate October 7th, support the Jewish community, and gather strength for the year ahead. The event was organized by Chabad, Hillel, the Shoah Foundation, the Louchheim School for Judaic Studies, and the Casden Institue, along with the student clubs Trojans for Israel and Tikvah.

The event featured jarring testimonials recorded by the Shoah foundation:

• Nofar Sarudi, whose brother Yaniv lost his life on 10/7 while saving the lives of eight people, including his girlfriend.

• Yones Al Karnawi, a Bedouin farmer who sheltered Israelis fleeing the Nova Festival as well as Thai farm workers.

• Yarin Levin, a 24-year-old from Be'er Sheva who served in the IDF and escaped from the Nova Festival.

and powerful words by USC students, Chabad and Hillel leaders, and the director of the Shoah foundation. The event was covered by the Daily Trojan (“Jewish Organizations, Students, Allies Remember Hamas Attacks at Vigil,” Zachary Whalen, October 8, 2024). Here is a link to some pictures from the event.

We are pleased to publish (with permission) the moving remarks of Rabbi Dov Wagner (you can also watch the recording here).

Together Let Us Learn to Sing Again

October 7 has not yet ended.

As long as there are still hostages, as long as there are still threats, as long as the hate continues to fester, it is still October 7.

Yet, we gather to commemorate the day. We attempt to cry—but turn those tears to hope. To mourn—but translate the grief to life and living. We attempt to dance again.

The Jewish date of the attacks, when we will commemorate the yahrtzeit, was the holiday of Simchas Torah, the day we dance in celebration of our age-old heritage as Jews. As we look for some hope amidst the darkness, I’d like to share with you two stories connected to Simchas Torah, that help to frame the light we seek.

This past summer, our family was blessed to celebrate our son’s bar Mitzvah in Israel. While there, a delegation of Chabad on Campus Rabbis were invited to a meeting with Israel’s Prime Minister, Bibi Netanyahu, and I was invited to join.

He shared with us his memories of the first time he met the Lubavitcher Rebbe. It was on Simchas Torah. (Sharing this with us, he repeated those words, as if suddenly realizing the significance: On Simchas Torah!) He had just been appointed Israel’s Ambassador to the UN. As thousands of people waited for the celebrations to begin, the Rebbe spent 40 minutes talking to Bibi and the Israeli delegation. ‘He told me there are 3 things I have to do,’ Bibi recalled. ‘Add in ahavat yisrael—love of a fellow Jew. Defend the Land and People of Israel. And stand up to the lies and slander of those who hate us.’ The Rebbe continued: You are going to a place of much darkness. But in the dark, if you light even one small candle, its light will be seen from afar. That is your mission - to light a candle for truth and the Jewish people.

The perpetrators of the October 7 attacks unleashed a great darkness on our world. Sadly, that darkness spread in unexpected ways, including in increased antisemitism and hatred on campus—right here, and throughout the world. Our mission is to remember that in darkness, even a little bit of light has a tremendous impact. Our mission is to be that light.

One more Simchas Torah story. Elie Wiesel survived Auschwitz and Buchenwald as a teen. He became one of the most famous survivors, a best-selling author, a Nobel Laureate. But as so many survivors, his faith was shattered and spirit crushed by the atrocities he had experienced. He, too, came to see the Rebbe often. They discussed faith after Auschwitz, living after pain. Two moments stand out to me.

Elie describes in one of his books visiting the Rebbe one year on his birthday, Simchas Torah. He tried to remain unobtrusively in the background. But, with thousands of people looking on at the Farbrengen, the Rebbe called on Elie to approach him. At the Rebbe’s urging, they shared a couple of L’chaims. Elie writes:

You deserve a blessing, he said, his face beaming with happiness. I wasn’t sure what to say. Let me bless you so you can begin again. Yes Rebbe, I said. Give me your blessing.’

To go on. To rebuild. To live life.

That theme is highlighted again in Elie’s description of a private audience he had with the Rebbe. It was a long, gut-wrenching meeting that took up most of a night. At the end of it, Elie said to the Rebbe:

You asked me once what I expect of you, and I said I expect nothing. I was mistaken. I do want something from you. Make me able to cry.

Like so many who suffered so terribly, witnessing his father’s death in Buchenwald had made his tears dry up.

The Rebbe’s response was unexpected. 

The Rebbe shook his head. “Crying is not enough. I shall teach you to sing.”

That is what we are here to do do today. To cry, absolutely. To reaffirm our commitment to each other, to our people throughout the world. But crying is not enough. We are here also, together, to learn again how to sing.

Find your voice. Sing the song of your life. Do it with pride in who you are, as the proud voice of your people. Choose Mitzvahs that you can do, and make them a part of your life. Together, let us learn to sing again.

A few years later, Elie Wiesel published a cantata titled Ani Maamin: A song lost and found again. Here are his closing words:

I believe in you,

Even against your will.

Even if you punish me

For believing in you.

Blessed are the fools

Who shout their faith.

Blessed are the fools

Who go on laughing.

Who mock the man who mocks the Jew,

Who help their brothers

Singing, over and over and over:

I believe.

I believe in the coming of the Messiah,

And though he tarries,

I wait daily for his coming.

I believe.

— Rabbi Dov Wagner, Chabad, USC