A Texas State trooper pulled a car over on I-35 about 2 miles south of Waco, Texas.
When the trooper asked the driver why he was speeding, the driver said he was a Magician and Juggler and was on his way to Austin, Texas to do a show for the Shrine Circus. He didn’t want to be late.
The trooper told the driver he was fascinated by juggling and said if the driver would do a little juggling for him then he wouldn’t give him a ticket. He told the trooper he had sent his equipment ahead and didn’t have anything to juggle. The trooper said he had some torches in the trunk and asked if he could juggle them. The juggler said he could, so the trooper got 5 torches, lit them and handed them to him.
While the man was standing on the side of the highway and juggling, a car pulled in behind the State Trooper's car. A drunken good old boy from central Texas got out, watched the performance, then went over to the Trooper’s car, opened the rear door and got in.
The trooper observed him and went over to the State car, opened the door asking the drunk what he thought he was doing.
The drunk replied, “You might as well take me straight to jail because there isn’t no the way I can pass that test.”
It was a glorious sight to behold: The greatest sages of Israel performing juggling acts, and it happened each year during the holiday of Sukkot.
Each night, they celebrated the festival of, " the water-drawing" celebrations. The singing, music, and dancing went on until daybreak when a procession would make its way to the valley below the Temple to “draw water with joy” from the Shiloach Spring. (When you visit Jerusalem today, you can go into this spring—and it is an incredible experience to dip into the spring where Jews dipped constantly right before entering the Temple, and from where they draw the water to pour on the Altar on each morning of Sukkot).
It was a scene to behold. For seven nights, Jews, men, and women were up all night—singing, dancing, celebrating, and rejoicing with each other and with G-d, in the courtyard of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.
The Talmud relates the story of one particular juggler during these Sukkot celebrations. This was no ordinary Jew. This was Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel (circa 10 BCE-70 CE), who held the title of the head of the High Court, known as the “Nassi” the prince of the Jewish people. A direct descendant of King David, and was the spiritual leader of the nation. During these all-night celebrating, Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel juggled. He kindled eight portable bonfires and juggled them, without dropping even one and without them touching each other.
It must have been some scene: The greatest scholar and leader at the time, juggling eight blazing torches!
This joyous experience continued uninterrupted for many generations. Unfortunately, it ended when the Roman conquerors destroyed Jerusalem, razed the Temple and slaughtered the population. Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel was cruelly imprisoned and beheaded. Most survivors of this devastation were eventually driven into exile. The Roman attempt to destroy the Jewish nation failed. And to this very day, even without the Temple, we celebrate each night of Sukkot with great festivity, dancing, singing, and of course juggling.
Yet it seems strange. Why was the juggling of blazed torches such a highlight of the celebration, as to warrant a special description in the Mishnah and the Talmud? We can appreciate the music, the singing, and the dancing, which are all-natural forms to express joy—but why did the juggling play such a central role? And to the extent that it was performed by the greatest spiritual giant of the time? Why were they chosen to be the jugglers?
The question becomes more perplexing when we consider, as the Talmud goes on to describe, that in subsequent generations, some of the greatest sages of Israel were somehow in love with juggling, as Rabbi Yehudah the president, Rabbi Shmuel, He managed to perfect an act wherein he juggled eight cups of wine without spilling a drop! Shmuel did this in front of the Persian monarch, King Shapur, with whom he had a close relationship. Abaye would juggle eight eggs before his great teacher, Rabah.
The tradition of juggling at joyous occasions has continued throughout Jewish history. Some of you remember the wedding scene in "Fiddler on the Roof,” where a group of four wedding guests performs a well-choreographed dance step while balancing bottles of wine on their heads without spilling a drop. These tricks are still practiced regularly at many a traditional Jewish wedding.
The Rebbe explains that juggling captures in a very physical, tangible way the meaning of life—and the path toward genuine joy. The celebration of Sukkot was essentially all about mastering the art of juggling.
Yet in truth, juggling is an art each of us must cultivate.
Often, we hear people lament: "I've got too many balls in the air!" Life in our time-strapped, stressful, busy and often chaotic world has become a juggling act, both at work and at home. We're all jugglers now.
Yet in Judaism, we take this one step deeper. We are not just juggling. We are juggling torches of fire.
"The soul of man is a flame of G-d,” says Proverbs. We each carry a blazing torch within ourselves; our soul is full of fire: intense passion, warmth, light and incredible possibility to cast light and warmth. Each of us has a large fire burning within our hearts, with the ability to light up ourselves and our world around us.
And in life you have to be able to juggle: to toss up your “torch,” as high as you can. You need to allow your flaming soul, to lift itself up once-in-a-while and detach itself from all the pressures, stresses, burdens and anxiety of your earthly existence. At least a few minutes of each day, you need a few moments of intimacy with yourself, with your G-d, with your truth.
In modern slang, they call it “downtime.” Everyone needs downtime when you can just “let go” of all your duties and pressures, and chill out. Moments when you allow yourself just “to be,” to breathe, to be present at the moment, to be burden-free. In Judaism, we call it “uptime”—it is the time you toss up your soul and let it soar, freed from its chains and shackles. Like a child running into his or her father’s arms just to be lifted up, embraced and hugged, without any motives or considerations, the soul to needs its moments when it can be elevated in an embrace by its father in heaven, liberated from any concern or incentive, but the opportunity to dwell in the bosom of its transcendent source.
We Jews achieve this through authentic prayer, meditation, and the study of the Torah. A Jew opens up a page of the Talmud, a chapter of Mishnah, or any other book of Torah—and gets lost there, like a child in the arms of his loving father.
And yet, our torch must not stay up there forever. Down it must come, to re-enter our moment-to-moment concerns, duties, and responsibilities. Descend it must, back to reality, back to the daily grind. We cannot live in heaven; we must live on earth.
The juggler is the person who has that unique ability to continuously operate on two levels, in two states of reality.
You see, there are people who live in “AM” radio, and there are those who operate in the “FM” radio. There are those lives revolve around “headline news,” “talk show” pessimism, traffic reports, and political scandals and crisis. They live in the universe of Rush, Savage and Mark Levine. Between the Pope, Trump, Iran, and Global Warming, the world is about to come to an end. “You give us 22 minutes and we will give you the news.” Oy, and in those 22 minutes you hear enough to make you nervous, anxious, worried, stressed and overwhelmed.
And then there are souls who hang it in “FM radio”—in 106.7 or 89.7. They march to the beat of soft music, unencumbered and undisturbed by the realities and pressures of “the news.” They could not care less if the GW Bridge or the Holland Tunnel is backed up 45 minutes. They are not eager to learn of “breaking news,” and of the endless reports of traffic jams. They just hang out in the sweet, delightful, forever relaxing world of FM music channels.
What is the Jewish approach? To live in AM or in FM?
The answer is: to juggle. To always have “part” of your soul way up there; and part of your soul way down here! One torch goes up, while the other comes down.
To be a Jew means that you have the ability to operate simultaneously on AM and FM. To be deeply aware, on one hand, that this entire universe is just “one drop of the sea” of the infinite, and one should not take all that seriously; and yet on the other hand to appreciate the truth that we were sent down to this world to transform earth into heaven, darkness into light, to take the endless details of our day and infuse them with Divine meaning and holiness. What is a Jew? Someone asked the holy master Reb Yitzchak Vorker.
“To be a Jew,” he said, “is to dance while you are sitting in one place; to scream while you are silent, and to be alone even when you are among a thousand people.”
After Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, as we recreate our lives, our priorities, and rebuild our inner world—we celebrate Sukkot through juggling, for this is the art of living life to the fullest and living a life of joy.
A comedian once said:
I went into a store and bought 8 oranges. The clerk asked me if I wanted a bag,
and I said "No, I juggle! But I only juggle 8. If you ever see me in here buying 9 oranges, bag'em up!"
Shabbat Shalom and Happy Sukkot,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky
Tom Peacock wrote...