One Friday night my neighborhood experienced a blackout. As we made our way home from Shul we speculated when the lights would come back on and how best to serve undercooked cholent. One of our group commented on the serenity of the moment; and said with a wistful sigh: “This is how it used to be; just the soft moonlight,” which prompted my reply: “we didn’t like it the way it used to be, that’s why we invented lights!”
There is nothing more forward-thinking, more eager to embrace innovation and fresh perspective than Judaism. We are single-minded in our focus to improve the world, shepherd it to its destination, we check the rearview mirror for guidance but never dwell on “what used to be.” Even our remembrances are designed to provide us with perspective on how to deal with now and tomorrow. So how does the concept of abandoning our homes and living in thatched huts as we did 3,400 years ago jive with this theme?
When the Torah commands us to live in sukkahs commemorative of our experience in the wilderness, it seems to suggest that we recreate that existence, yet that was merely on the way to the Holy Land, it was not the destination, so why retreat there?
Perhaps Sukkos is not about returning to “simpler, more primitive times.” Maybe Sukkos is, in fact, the ultimate progression; a leap forward to somewhere one otherwise would never have reached. When we stay right where we are, in the groove of a (healthy) routine, we face the danger of stagnation.
The Sukkah compels us to move on, to get off the hammock and onto the journey of making this world a more G-dly place. Bereft of the security of our homes we are faced with our responsibility to accomplish more than we already have. Sitting in the vulnerability of the Sukkah, grants us the opportunity to experience a security only Hashem can offer, brick and mortar can’t compete with that. Our homes are our castles and if we aren’t careful they become our prisons. Doors locked and shades drawn we can be lured into complacency. Progress comes when we are compelled to leap into arenas well beyond our comfort zone. We aspire to security and when we achieve it the Sukkah forces us into vulnerability and growth is achieved.
Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk is quoted: “There is nothing so whole as a broken heart.” Perhaps we can add that there is nothing as permanent as the temporary Sukkah.
A sad lesson of Hurricanes, California Wildfires and 9/11 are that castles made of stone vanish. The comfort our homes provide should never be confused with invincibility – and that is a good thing. Invincibility has a cousin named laziness, who spends his whole day thinking about what he won’t be doing. The Sukkah reminds us of our obligation to move on, get out there and enrich the world around us.
So when you’re sitting in the Sukkah think of yourself as modern, hip and with it not returning to the way things were rather planning for the way things will be when Hashem reestablishes the fallen Sukkah (the Holy Temple) of Dovid Hamelech!
