Yom Tov - What If the Holiest Moments Aren’t the Ones That Feel Holy
There have been moments in my life when I desperately wanted to feel close to HaShem.
I wanted the peace.
I wanted the joy.
I wanted that unmistakable sense that Elohim was near and that everything in my life was somehow going to be okay.
But sometimes, if I am honest, my heart simply wasn't cooperating.
I could light candles, prepare food, gather with family, pray, sing, and say, “Yom Tov!”—and still carry an ache inside me.
Sometimes celebration and sorrow can sit at the same table.
Sometimes gratitude and grief share the same heart.
And sometimes the person smiling across the table is quietly wondering:
“Where is God in all of this?”
That is one reason the phrase Yom Tov—“good day” or “good festival day”—has become much more meaningful to me.
Because I have learned that a Yom Tov is not necessarily a day when everything in my life is good.
It is a day when I deliberately remember that HaShem is good, faithful, present, and worthy of my attention—even when my circumstances are not.
When “Good” Doesn't Mean “Everything Is Good”
The Torah gives us a beautiful picture of appointed times.
Leviticus 23 describes the mo'adim—the appointed times of HaShem. These weren't random holidays invented to give people something interesting to do on the calendar.
They were sacred rhythms.
God was teaching His people to stop.
To remember.
To gather.
To rejoice.
To rest.
To worship.
To tell the story again.
I love that.
Because I often need someone to remind me to stop.
My calendar can become louder than my soul.
My responsibilities can become more urgent than my relationship with Elohim.
My worries can consume the space where worship was supposed to live.
And then Yom Tov arrives.
Suddenly, I am invited to step out of ordinary time and remember:
My life is not merely what happened this week.
My identity is not determined by today's disappointment.
My future is not controlled by today's uncertainty.
And my relationship with HaShem is not measured by how emotionally “spiritual” I happen to feel.
A Yom Tov Can Find You in the Middle of a Mess
I used to imagine that celebration required me to have everything together.
I thought I needed to feel joyful before I could genuinely rejoice.
But Scripture challenged that idea.
Psalm 118:24 says:
“This is the day which Adonai has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”
Notice something.
It doesn't say:
“This is the day when everything went according to plan.”
It says:
“This is the day which Adonai has made.”
That changes everything.
I can acknowledge that something hurts while still acknowledging that HaShem is Lord.
I can grieve and still worship.
I can have unanswered questions and still trust.
I can be tired and still remember.
I can be disappointed and still say, “Baruch HaShem.”
That isn't pretending.
That's faith.
The First Lesson Yom Tov Taught Me: Stop Running
One of the greatest spiritual gifts of the biblical appointed times is the invitation to stop.
Our culture rarely rewards stopping.
Everything tells me to hurry.
Answer the message.
Check the notification.
Make the money.
Fix the problem.
Solve the relationship.
Plan the future.
Catch up.
Do more.
And somewhere along the way, I can become so busy managing my life that I forget to actually live it with Elohim.
Yom Tov interrupts that cycle.
It tells me:
Stop.
Remember who made you.
Remember who redeemed you.
Remember where you came from.
Remember whose covenant you belong to.
Remember that you are not your own provider, protector, savior, or source.
HaShem is.
That reminder can be profoundly healing.
Yom Tov and the Exodus: Remembering When God Made a Way
When I think about the biblical festivals, I cannot separate them from the story of redemption.
Pesach, for example, brings me back to Egypt.
Back to slavery.
Back to a people who couldn't rescue themselves.
Back to a God who heard their cries.
Exodus 6:6 declares:
“I am Adonai, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will deliver you from their bondage, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm.”
That sentence is powerful because Israel's circumstances did not suddenly become easy before HaShem promised deliverance.
They were still enslaved.
Still burdened.
Still waiting.
Yet God was already speaking about what He was going to do.
I find tremendous encouragement there.
Because sometimes I look at my circumstances and think:
“Nothing is changing.”
But Scripture teaches me to distinguish between what I can see and what HaShem is doing.
The wilderness is not proof that God abandoned Israel.
The waiting season is not proof that He forgot me.
And a difficult chapter is not necessarily the end of my story.
Then Yeshua Walked Into the Story
This is where Yom Tov becomes especially beautiful for me as a follower of Yeshua.
The Gospels don't present Yeshua as disconnected from the biblical rhythm of Israel.
He lived within the world of Torah, Jerusalem, Shabbat, the Temple, the festivals, Jewish Scripture, and the covenant story of Israel.
In John 7, we see Yeshua present during Sukkot.
That matters.
Because the festivals weren't merely historical events.
They created a framework through which the people of Israel remembered God's faithfulness.
And Yeshua repeatedly called people back to the deeper reality behind religious activity.
He challenged hearts that knew how to perform outwardly but had forgotten how to love Elohim inwardly.
In Matthew 22:37, Yeshua says:
“You shall love Adonai your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.”
That is the heart of Yom Tov for me.
Not simply:
“Did I celebrate correctly?”
But:
“Did this celebration turn my heart toward HaShem?”
Yom Tov Is More Than a Holiday
I have discovered that a festival can become routine.
The table gets prepared.
The food gets made.
The candles get lit.
The prayers are spoken.
The traditional greetings are exchanged.
And yet my heart can be somewhere completely different.
That's when I have to ask myself a difficult question:
Am I celebrating the festival, or am I remembering the God who gave the festival?
There is a difference.
I can become so focused on doing the right things that I forget why I am doing them.
But the Torah repeatedly emphasizes remembrance.
Why?
Because human beings forget.
We forget blessings.
We forget deliverance.
We forget answered prayers.
We forget what HaShem brought us through.
We remember the pain more easily than the provision.
Yom Tov gives me a spiritual reset.
It pulls me backward into remembrance so I can move forward with hope.
When You Don't Feel Like Celebrating
Perhaps this is the part someone needs to hear today.
Maybe you're approaching a Yom Tov while carrying grief.
Maybe someone you love won't be at the table this year.
Maybe your family is divided.
Maybe your finances are strained.
Maybe you're waiting for healing.
Maybe you're waiting for reconciliation.
Maybe you're praying for a child.
Maybe you're grieving a dream.
Maybe you're facing loneliness.
Maybe everyone else seems joyful while you secretly feel exhausted.
Please hear this:
You do not have to manufacture an emotion for HaShem.
The Psalms are full of honest human emotion.
David cried.
David questioned.
David lamented.
David rejoiced.
David worshiped.
His relationship with Elohim was not built on pretending.
Psalm 34:18 says:
“Adonai is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves those who have a crushed spirit.”
That verse has comforted me because it doesn't say HaShem is near only when I am celebrating.
He is near when my heart breaks.
Yom Tov Teaches Me to Make Room for Joy
There is another side, though.
Sometimes pain becomes so familiar that I become afraid to experience joy.
I start believing that if I laugh, I'm forgetting the people I've lost.
If I celebrate, I'm minimizing what happened.
If I feel hopeful, I'm somehow betraying my grief.
But biblical joy isn't denial.
It is defiance.
It is the soul declaring:
“My circumstances do not get the final word about the goodness of Elohim.”
Deuteronomy 16:14–15 repeatedly connects the appointed festivals with rejoicing before HaShem.
That is striking.
God doesn't merely command remembrance.
He also commands joy.
Sometimes I need permission to rejoice again.
Not because everything is fixed.
But because HaShem is still worthy.
What If Yom Tov Is Actually a Spiritual Reset?
When I approach an appointed time, I now try to ask myself several questions.
What do I need to remember?
Maybe HaShem carried me through something I have forgotten.
What do I need to release?
Maybe I'm still carrying yesterday's fear into today's celebration.
Who needs forgiveness?
Maybe my heart has become hardened.
Who needs encouragement?
Maybe someone sitting at my table is hurting more than I realize.
What blessing have I overlooked?
Sometimes the greatest miracles are ordinary things I stopped noticing.
A meal.
A home.
A friend.
A breath.
A second chance.
A prayer answered differently than I expected.
A door that closed when I desperately wanted it open.
Sometimes the blessing is simply:
HaShem kept me.
Yom Tov and the Table
One of my favorite images of biblical celebration is the table.
A table brings people together.
At a table, stories are told.
Children ask questions.
Older generations remember.
Food is shared.
Laughter happens.
Sometimes tears happen too.
And that's okay.
I don't believe every Yom Tov table needs to look like a perfect holiday advertisement.
Sometimes the table is beautifully prepared and someone is still crying.
Sometimes there are empty chairs.
Sometimes relationships are complicated.
Sometimes the meal isn't perfect.
Sometimes somebody burns something.
And honestly?
That may be more human—and more beautiful—than perfection.
Because holiness doesn't require a picture-perfect life.
It requires a heart willing to remember HaShem.
What Yom Tov Can Teach Us About Family
The Torah repeatedly emphasizes passing the story from generation to generation.
This is especially evident in the Pesach story.
Children were expected to ask questions.
And parents were expected to tell the story.
I love that model because faith was never meant to become merely inherited information.
It was supposed to become remembered experience.
“Let me tell you what HaShem has done.”
That's powerful.
I want younger people to hear more than:
“Here are the rules.”
I want them to hear:
“Here is how Elohim carried our family.”
“Here is what Scripture taught us.”
“Here is the prayer HaShem answered.”
“Here is the season we thought we wouldn't survive.”
“Here is where He met us.”
Stories create spiritual memory.
And spiritual memory creates resilience.
Yom Tov When You're Far From Family
Not everyone has a large family gathering.
Some people live far from relatives.
Some have complicated family histories.
Some have lost loved ones.
Some are single.
Some are rebuilding their lives.
Some are surrounded by people and still feel completely alone.
If that's you, I want to encourage you not to believe the lie that your Yom Tov has to look like someone else's.
Create sacred space where you are.
Invite someone.
Prepare a meaningful meal.
Read Scripture.
Pray.
Sing.
Give thanks.
Call someone who may be lonely.
Share your table.
And remember that community can sometimes begin with one simple invitation:
“Would you like to celebrate with me?”
Practical Ways I Now Approach Yom Tov
I've learned that meaningful celebration doesn't happen accidentally.
I have to prepare my heart as intentionally as I prepare the table.
Here are a few practices that help me.
1. Begin with remembrance
Before the celebration gets busy, stop and remember something HaShem has done.
Write it down.
Say it aloud.
Tell someone.
2. Read the biblical story
Don't merely observe the festival.
Reconnect with its story in Scripture.
Ask:
Why did HaShem establish this appointed time?
What was Israel being taught to remember?
What does Yeshua reveal about the heart of that story?
3. Make room for honesty
If you're hurting, tell HaShem.
You don't need religious vocabulary to impress Him.
Tell Him the truth.
4. Invite someone into the joy
Joy multiplies when it is shared.
Think beyond your immediate circle.
Who might be lonely?
Who might be grieving?
Who might need a place at the table?
5. Put down the phone
This one can be surprisingly difficult.
A sacred day can quickly become another day of notifications.
Give your attention back to the people in front of you.
6. Practice gratitude
Name five things.
Then five more.
Eventually, you'll notice something:
Your circumstances may not have changed.
But your perspective has.
7. Let joy be holy
Laugh.
Eat.
Sing.
Tell stories.
Celebrate.
Enjoy the people HaShem has placed in your life.
Joy is not frivolous when it is received with gratitude.
What Yom Tov Has Changed in Me
The older I get, the less interested I am in appearances.
I don't want a faith that looks impressive but feels empty.
I don't want rituals without relationship.
I don't want religious language without love.
I want remembrance that changes me.
I want worship that reaches beyond my lips.
I want Torah to shape the way I treat people.
I want the words of Yeshua to challenge my heart.
I want the Ruach HaKodesh to continually draw me toward truth, humility, compassion, repentance, and love.
And perhaps most importantly, I want my celebration to make me more grateful.
Because that is one of the great gifts of Yom Tov:
It teaches me to pause long enough to notice what I might otherwise miss.
The Deeper Meaning of “Yom Tov”
When I say “Yom Tov,” I don't want it to become a religious greeting I say automatically.
I want it to remind me:
This day belongs to HaShem.
This moment is an opportunity to remember.
This table can become sacred.
This family story matters.
This blessing matters.
This grief can be brought before Elohim.
This joy can be received without guilt.
This life is temporary.
This covenant story is bigger than me.
And Yeshua's teachings continually call me back to a heart that loves Elohim and loves people.
That is where celebration becomes transformation.
Perhaps the Miracle Is That We Remember
There is something profound about remembering.
The world constantly tries to make me forget.
Forget where I came from.
Forget what matters.
Forget who I am.
Forget what HaShem has done.
Forget the people who shaped me.
Forget the promises of Scripture.
Forget gratitude.
Forget eternity.
Yom Tov says:
Remember.
Remember the Exodus.
Remember the wilderness.
Remember the provision.
Remember the covenant.
Remember the faithfulness.
Remember the stories.
Remember the God who was there before you knew how to recognize His presence.
And then, after remembering, rejoice.
Not because life is perfect.
But because HaShem is faithful.
Key Takeaways
- Yom Tov is an invitation to remember HaShem, not merely an occasion to follow traditions.
- A “good day” does not require perfect circumstances.
- We can carry grief and gratitude at the same time.
- The biblical festivals create rhythms of remembrance, worship, rest, and joy.
- Yom Tov gives families an opportunity to pass biblical stories from one generation to another.
- Celebration can become deeply spiritual when it turns our attention toward Elohim.
- Yeshua calls us beyond outward religious activity into wholehearted love for HaShem.
- We don't need to pretend we're happy when we're hurting.
- At the same time, we don't have to remain imprisoned by sorrow.
- Sometimes choosing joy is an act of faith.
- A meaningful Yom Tov can begin with something as simple as remembering what HaShem has already done.
Reflection Questions
Before your next Yom Tov, I invite you to sit quietly with these questions:
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What has HaShem brought me through that I have forgotten to thank Him for?
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Where have I allowed disappointment to become louder than gratitude?
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Am I celebrating the festival—or am I remembering the God behind it?
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What story of God's faithfulness should I tell the next generation?
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Who might need an invitation to my table?
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What grief am I afraid to bring honestly before HaShem?
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Have I allowed myself to experience joy without feeling guilty about it?
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What does Yeshua's teaching about loving HaShem with all my heart reveal about my own priorities?
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Where do I need to slow down and become present?
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If I truly believed that HaShem was with me, what would I do differently this Yom Tov?
An Encouragement for Your Next Yom Tov
If your heart is overflowing with joy, celebrate deeply.
If your heart is broken, bring the brokenness with you.
If you're surrounded by family, cherish them.
If you're alone, remember that your loneliness does not mean HaShem has forgotten you.
If you are celebrating an answered prayer, give thanks.
If you're still waiting for the answer, keep bringing your request before Him.
If you are exhausted, rest.
If you are grieving, breathe.
If you are joyful, laugh.
And wherever you find yourself, remember.
Because perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts of Yom Tov.
It gives me permission to step out of the noise long enough to hear the ancient story again:
HaShem has been faithful.
He was faithful before I arrived.
He was faithful when I wandered.
He was faithful when I doubted.
He was faithful when I celebrated.
He was faithful when I cried.
And He remains faithful now.
So when I say “Yom Tov,” I want those words to mean more than have a nice holiday.
I want them to carry a deeper declaration:
May this appointed time turn my heart toward HaShem.
May remembrance become gratitude.
May gratitude become worship.
May worship become obedience.
May obedience become love.
And may my life become one long testimony that Elohim is faithful.
Closing Prayer
Avinu Malkeinu,
As I enter this Yom Tov, help me slow down enough to remember You.
Remind me of Your faithfulness when I am distracted.
Remind me of Your goodness when circumstances are difficult.
Remind me of Your presence when I feel alone.
Teach me to celebrate without pretending, to grieve without losing hope, and to rejoice without forgetting those who are hurting.
Help me make room at my table—not only for food, but for love, forgiveness, conversation, remembrance, and compassion.
Teach me to treasure Your Torah, to listen carefully to the words of Yeshua, and to walk with a heart responsive to the Ruach HaKodesh.
May my Yom Tov not simply be something I observe.
May it be something that changes me.
May I remember where You have brought me from.
May I recognize where You are meeting me now.
And may I trust You with where You are taking me next.
Todah, HaShem, for every season.
Todah for every rescue.
Todah for every unanswered question that taught me to trust.
Todah for every table, every story, every tear, every laugh, and every opportunity to remember.
May this Yom Tov draw my heart closer to You.
Amen.
