Sukkot and Our Miraculous Life

There are many Divrei Torah about the correlation of the Sukkah to the Ananei Hakavod, the Clouds of Glory that sheltered Bnei Yisrael as they travelled through the Wilderness. It is a commonly stated midrash that the Ananei Hakavod protected Bnei Yisrael from their enemies, absorbing arrows and obstructing the Israelites from view, and that it helped maintain a temperate climate. According to one Dvar Torah, the clouds also altered the landscape they were traversing to make it easier on them, smoothing the path before them. It was pointed out, how this also changed the point of view of the Children of Israel.

In the journey through the wilderness, one generation gave way to the next and by the end of their 40 years in the desert, there remained only a few extraordinary figures who could truly recall their exodus from Egypt and slavery, the ten plagues, or even standing at Mount Sinai. This generation grew up with water from Miriam's well and manna from heaven. They were literally raised on miracles. However, because they were completely surrounded by the Clouds of Glory, because they couldn't see the rocky terrain or the steep hills and valleys, or feel the burning, they could not see how miraculous their existence was.

The Dvar Torah went elsewhere from here, but the sense of the generation’s entitlement was rather intriguing. A statistic mentioned in the recent 175th anniversary edition of The Economist noted that over that period of time, "the share of people living below the threshold of extreme poverty has fallen from 80% to 8%..." This reminded me of how, when reading out loud to my children, I tried to stress passages such as that in Little House on the Prairie where Laura Ingalls was delighted that she received a spoon for Christmas. If I tried to give any of my children the gift of a spoon, their reaction certainly would not be deep-seated gratitude.

Bnei Yisrael in the wilderness had the stories of the personal experiences of their parents and the tremendous leadership of Moshe, in addition to the miracles with which they lived, and STILL they struggled not to rebel. For us, so very many generations after Mount Sinai, the struggle is even greater. In the wilderness, they were learning this new Torah and it was clear that they were on a journey to somewhere (the Promised Land). Plus they were involved in the constant avodah of the Mishkan (service in the Tabernacle).

Today, in the vast expanse of the diaspora and after years of exile, when there have been constant attacks on our people, both aggressive and passive (the pull of assimilation), it is, perhaps, surprising that we are even still here. Indeed, from a material perspective, we are thriving.

We live in a miraculous age, and yet we are all so easily oblivious to these miracles. This is the holiday of Sukkot. When we take ourselves out of our homes and live in temporary huts, reminding ourselves that God has been the One to provide. This Sukkot, as we adjust out heat lamps (or our air conditioners), set out our fancy china and lush silver, sit down to exquisite meals, or shake our personally owned set of arba minim (owned for more than just the moments of doing the mitzvah), let us all remember that the wealth of the era in which we live is also of Divine making.

Twenty Years Since Leaving Egypt

In our household, there is no holiday quite as beloved as Sukkot. One might find that funny since I hate being cold and I live in Montreal, Canada, where winter comes early and it has been known to snow on the holiday.

My husband, David, loves building his sukkah - and the personal possessive pronoun is the way he thinks of it. He even calculates how many invitations we get to other people’s sukkot over the holiday to make certain that we are home the majority of the time, preferably with guests.

When we first purchased our home, the attached courtyard/patio was a huge draw because of its ability to be transformed into a sukkah. There were, however, several issues to contend with before we could make a proper sukkah there. For instance, the existing walls are not quite tall enough. Luckily, my husband used to work in construction, and so, after consulting with our rabbi, he got to work making creative adjustments. Since then, once a year, he proudly gives friends a tour of the halachic (Jewish legal) concepts he used to “create a kosher” sukkah.

Our beautiful sukkah is not, however, the reason for my special feelings about the holiday of Sukkot. For me, there is a sentimental connection, particularly to Shabbat Chol Hamoed (Shabbat during the interim days of the holiday). Shabbat Chol Hamoed, you see, is the anniversary of my starting to observe Shabbat.

It all began just over twenty years ago when I spent my junior year of college at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. During that first month, when all the students moved about testing different friendships and cliques, I made arrangements with two friends to use the upcoming fall break, which began right after Yom Kippur, for a tour of Egypt. At the time, it didn’t occur to me that we would be traveling over the Sukkot holiday.

In the time between booking the trip and our departure I had become close with a group of students who were becoming observant - a path that I had also begun the year before. Even before I boarded the plane to Israel, I knew that I was going to become more traditional, but I did not expect to actually become Shabbat observant. With this new group of friends, I found the company of people striving toward the same goals and enjoyed beautiful Shabbat meals with local families. Additionally, the experience of celebrating the High Holidays in Jerusalem had a profound impact on my connection to traditional Judaism.

Coming off the high of a particularly inspirational Yom Kippur, I was suddenly faced with a true conundrum - whether to go on the very expensive trip for which I had already paid, or to celebrate Sukkot in Jerusalem. I went on the trip, but made my own “compromise.” I brought grape juice and cups and little cakes so that I could make kiddush (on the bus) in honor of the holiday. I also brought a prayerbook and made certain to recite at least one service each day.

I cannot deny that the tour of Egypt was  both fun and fascinating. Throughout the entire trip, however, I had this small, nagging feeling of discomfort even as I tried to be aware of whatever I could do to adhere to Jewish law.

Upon our return, as the bus began its ascent to Jerusalem, I felt an entirely new sense of anticipation. It was Friday afternoon, Chol Hamoed Sukkot. I had called ahead and knew that my friends had already arranged Shabbat meals for me. I kept glancing at my watch, worried that we might not make it to the city before sundown. Finally, we were there. Standing on the streets of Jerusalem, I experienced another inspirational moment as the first light rain of the season began. It was all-the-more amazing because Sukkot is the holiday during which we pray for rain in the Land of Israel. My friends and I grabbed a taxi, and I was back at the Mount Scopus campus with just enough time for me to drop off my stuff and change into Shabbat clothing. The rain stopped in time for everyone to enjoy the Friday night meal in their sukkot.

Twenty years later I can still remember the feelings I had disembarking from that bus in Jerusalem, the experience of that first rain, and, perhaps most significantly, the conscious choice to fully observe that Shabbat. In our daily prayers and during our holidays (especially Passover), the Jewish people spend a great deal of time remembering and being grateful for God taking us out of Egypt (yetziat Mitzrayim). In my mind, the return trip from Egypt was my own personal yetziat Mitzrayim.

When God took the Israelites out of Egypt, it was the beginning of their journey to the Promised Land. In fact, it was the beginning of a history of journeys. That first Shabbat in Jerusalem was the beginning of my own personal journey that has taken me to many places, both emotionally and physically, and has now led me to Montreal.

This Sukkot, I will sit in our beautiful, unique sukkah with my handy husband (who will probably have helped build one or two other sukkot in the neighborhood) and our incredible children and thank God for the wonderful blessings He has rained down upon me. On Shabbat Chol Hamoed (provided there is no snow), I will retell this story to my family while we huddle together under the heat lamp that my husband so thoughtfully installs for me each year.

Judaism's Multiculturalism

When my oldest child was three years old and learning about Passover, he told me that "the goyim" were bad. I nearly washed his mouth out with soap. Not only did he and I then have a lengthy conversation about the negativity associated with that word, but I also spoke about it to his teachers.

The us and the them is a big theme in Judaism. We rejoice in the concept of God choosing us to receive the Torah. We view ourselves as a separate and distinct nation in the world. But one lesson I have had to make certain that my children understand is that being chosen does not mean one is inherently better, only that one has a different mission in the world.

Some people in my neighborhood have asked me why I care so much about children learning the word "goyim." Firstly, I explain to them that while it may be a generic term that simply means nation (and is actually used in application to the Jewish nation as well), the way people speak the word, their intonation, has made it a slur - one which many non-Jews are familiar with as a negative term. Secondly, and far more personally, is the fact that my husband is a convert and his entire family, who are wonderful, generous and accepting people, are not Jewish.

Judaism is a religion divided between looking in and looking out. We try to strengthen ourselves spiritually while also involving ourselves in making the world a better place. And while we may have historical reasons for fearing other nations and practical religious reasons for keeping an emotional distance from them, that doesn’t make us better.

There are few times in the Jewish calendar where it is more important to remember that every human being than at Sukkot. Among the unique rituals performed on the holiday of Sukkot were the additional offerings that were sacrificed in the ancient Temple. On the first day of the holiday, 13 young bulls were sacrificed, on the second day 12, on the third day 11, on the fourth day 10, on the fifth day 9, on the sixth day 8 and on the seventh day 7. In total, 70 bulls were offered. Sukkot is the only holiday on which the number of the sacrifices varies from day to day.

In the Talmud (Sukkah 55b) Rabbi Eliezer explains that these 70 offerings are brought "For the [merit of the] 70 nations of the world." Rashi, the famous 11th century commentator, explained that this was, "To bring a forgiveness [offering] for them [the 70 nations], so that rain shall fall all over the world."

This became one of my favorite facts about Sukkot, even long before I became part of a "multi-national" family. I continue to make certain that my children understand that long before it became the norm to respect people of all nations (which, let’s face it, only became a more universal standard in the 1960s), our ancestors were virtually including all of the people in the world in our sacred ceremonies. And it wasn’t only virtual, non-Jews were also allowed to bring sacrifices to the Temple.

Strange as it may sound, I look forward to the opportunities afforded me when my children say something narrow-minded. It’s natural for children to see their world in black and white, and it is my job to teach them that respect for all people is an inherent part of our tradition.