These are the intermediate days of Sukkot, the Festival of Booths. Torah tells us to dwell in booths for seven days just as our ancestors did when they made their way through the wilderness (Leviticus 23:39-44). Today, we spend time in our sukkah at home or Temple. At Beth Israel, we use our Beth Israel-Shlenker School campus sukkah that can comfortably seat more than 50 people (when it’s not raining).
This year, the presence of the sukkah couldn’t be more poignant for us. Its fragile design is meant to provide only temporary shelter. It’s set up with wood and branches to shield us from the elements and to remind us of God’s presence all around us. Looking through the walls and the ceiling to the sky and area surrounding the sukkah, we can’t help but feel safely within and nearly without. God, alone, fills the gap between safety and insecurity. While our ancestors literally dwelt in these sukkot in the wilderness, we spend some time in the sukkah to honor the holiday; then we retreat to cooler and more permanent dwellings.
Our sukkah is a vital reminder of how fragile life can be, and in recent weeks, truly is. Hurricane Ike made sticks and rubble out of homes on the Gulf Coast. It ravaged neighborhoods. Blue tarps can still be seen in many places where roofs are still waiting to be repaired. The financial meltdown deflated our accounts and raised anxiety about the future. Even experts are challenged to explain how it happened in terms everyone can understand. The veritable house of cards that was the foundation of recent financial markets came crashing down. We can’t control nature; we can only protect ourselves from it. And, we can’t control markets that are beyond our reach, but we can protect ourselves from them, too.
Like many things in our life, the sukkah will symbolize the fragility we must address while we look for reasonable sources of protection. Let’s be honest, we secure our homes at night; we hide our passwords and keys; and we put our seatbelts on when we drive. Let’s be hopeful, too. Our ancestors didn’t have as much to protect and save as we do, but they had faith in God. They probably leaned on God more than we do; but, as I spoke on Yom Kippur, there’s room for us to see God as a parent who constantly loves us. We are not insignificant to God, when our homes are battered in storms, and the markets crash. God is our parent who comforts and consoles us, and who shares our joys and our future.
If you haven’t shaken the lulav or visited the sukkah this year or since you were a child, stop by Beth Israel this Sunday morning. Participating in the rituals of one’s own religion can be a great source of inspiration and meaning. Most of the time, the sukkah is just a symbol to us. But, this year, the sukkah is more than a symbol. It reveals who we really are together and in God’s presence.
From my desk to yours, Shabbat Shalom.
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