When life gives you lemons... bust a move.

Tonight while I was gathering things for tomorrow (the first day of winter semester), a scene popped into my head. It was one of those flying fishes that land in your mind without warning, invitation or seemingly any origin. Which does not mean they are bad. This particular flying fish was from My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. It was one of my favorite books in high school. Now I like The Chosen better. I read Chosen before Asher Lev—but I think I matured into it (C) more. Anyway, the scene is a small one. It takes up just one paragraph, but it has stayed with me. Now that I reflect, I guess it did have origin and reason for popping into my head after all. I was thinking about joy.

The scene from the book is one in which the narrator (Asher) describes how on Simchas Torah he danced with a Torah scroll in his hands. His teacher, an artist named Jacob Kahn, watches him. Jacob is a conflicted, non-observant Jew. But Jacob and Asher hold the Torah together and they dance. Jacob is awkward and his skullcap is falling off—but they are dancing with joy.

I’m not sure why this image is so infused with joy to me, but it seems like a perfect expression of it. I wish our culture danced a little more. Not like ballet (though I do love that) and not like clubbing (thank you, Paris Hilton). But dancing as celebration. I wish we danced every time a baby was born or somebody got married or someone with cancer went into remission or somebody was forgiven or there was a sale on strawberries.

We could all link hands and dance around in one huge, living circle—hair flying.