My friend recently gave birth to a baby boy. This child was not my friend's first, but came after several other wonderful, talented and healthy children. I attended the Brit circumcision along with other well-wishers to celebrate the birth and joy of a new life.

But this celebration was bittersweet; the baby was born with Down Syndrome. We solemnly followed the ceremony ushering the baby into the covenant of Abraham. At the conclusion of the blessings we wished the parents and relatives Mazal Tov. Soon, a joyous song broke out, drawing people into a joyous dancing circle.

The celebration also had an undercurrent of raw emotion. Entranced, I watched the circle of dancers and the smiling onlookers who clapped along.

I noticed one man who is battling a severe life-threatening illness dancing round and round.

Another dancer had a severely physically challenged child. His wife, standing near me, wore a gentle smile on her lips, even as her deep-set eyes revealed her trials.

A close friend, who tried futilely to have her own child, smiled along with the dancers.

As more and more joined the dancing circle, I noticed a man who recently lost his job and was in dire financial straits.

I have profiled only a few of the people, but I am sure that more of the celebrants also carried in their hearts their own little package of sorrow, their own little bundle of pain.

The happy dancing rhythm overtook me, expressing the dance and rhythm of life itself in which we all express thanks to our Creator.

Studying the scene, I was amazed that we are endowed with such a great range of emotion. I marveled at the depth and intensity of love one can feel for a child, for a spouse, for a parent. How can such a diversity of feelings be contained within the little hearts of finite beings?

Yet our emotions assert themselves constantly, with almost a life of their own, full of texture and depth, cravings, wants and desires.

They are real, they feel real. From the happiness of a gentle, graceful moment to the despair of a dark hour overshadowed by grief.

If I could capture and preserve only the moments of pure and undiluted joy, hope or happiness! If I could only throw a switch that would stop the floods of sadness, frustration and sorrow!

But watching the circle, I saw how we cannot stop the torrents of feeling. We all ride up and down the roller coaster of life. We love those moments when we are on top, but we are fully aware that we may soon plunge downward into challenging moments of struggle, as the ride of life races forward.

I thought of the very foundation of Judaism that follows our declaration: "Hear O Israel, the L-rd our G-d, the L-rd is One. And you shall love G-d with all your heart, with all your might, and all of your being."

Thinking quietly to G-d, I felt how our love is revealed at all times, despite what You put us through.

Despite the difficulty and struggle.

Despite the anger, frustration and despair.

Despite the heaviness and the pain.

Despite so many of our moments of joy being tinged with loss and despair.

Despite the apparent unfairness of life.

Despite knowing all this, and feeling it even deeper.

Despite it all, we take this mixed bag, the whole gamut of emotions -- the positives and the negatives, the happiness and the hurt, the goodness and the grief -- still dancing round and round the circle of life, singing and celebrating our love and commitment to G-d.

For better or worse, is there any greater unconditional love?