A Fragile Joy: Sukkot in the Shadow of October 7
Sukkot is called Z’man Simchateinu — “the time of our joy.” It is meant to be a season of gratitude, community, and faith, when families gather under temporary huts to remember both life’s fragility and its blessings. Yet this year, as Israel and Jewish communities worldwide mark the first anniversary of October 7, joy feels heavy with grief.
That tragic day remains etched in our national memory. Families were torn apart, entire communities along the Gaza border were destroyed, and the sense of safety many Israelis once felt vanished in an instant. For some, Sukkot — a holiday celebrating divine protection — now carries difficult questions about vulnerability, faith, and resilience.
The sukkah itself, with its open roof and fragile walls, feels like a reflection of our shared mood: exposed yet enduring, shaken yet standing. It reminds us that joy in Jewish life has never meant denying pain. Rather, it means finding hope amid brokenness — seeing faith not as certainty, but as courage.
This Sukkot, prayers feel different. When we recite Hashkiveinu — asking for God’s shelter of peace — we think of the families still displaced, the hostages who remain captive, and the soldiers guarding the nation. When we wave the lulav and etrog in all directions, we are reaching outward — for connection, for healing, for unity that feels so elusive.
Many Israelis struggle with the very idea of celebration. How can a nation rejoice when so many mourn? When families grieve loved ones lost in the attacks, when thousands are still displaced, when the trauma is still raw? Yet our tradition does not ask us to choose between sorrow and joy. Judaism teaches that both must coexist — that remembrance and celebration can share the same space.
Even at weddings, the height of personal joy, we break a glass to recall the destruction of Jerusalem. This Sukkot, perhaps the entire Jewish people are living that moment collectively — holding joy in one hand and heartbreak in the other.
The sukkah’s impermanence also carries a lesson. Every year, it must be rebuilt after the winds have passed. That act of renewal is deeply symbolic for Israel today. Across the south, destroyed towns are being restored. Families are returning home, schools are reopening, and a new generation of volunteers is helping rebuild both physically and emotionally. This determination reflects the very essence of Sukkot: to stand again after collapse, to build even when the walls may fall.
Beyond Israel, Jewish communities around the world are observing this dual moment of grief and resilience. Vigils for October 7 victims accompany Sukkot celebrations, as rabbis and leaders remind their congregants that joy can be an act of defiance — a declaration that despair will not win.
The prophets understood joy as a form of moral strength. It is not an escape from suffering but a refusal to surrender to it. To celebrate Sukkot this year is not to forget October 7; it is to affirm that life continues, that our faith and unity endure despite it all. Under the fragile roof of the sukkah, we are reminded that what sustains us is not the structure itself, but the spirit within it.
As the holiday concludes with Simchat Torah, the symbolism deepens. Last year, that day was marked by mourning and fear. This year, the dancing with the Torah scrolls will be slower, quieter — but no less powerful. Each song, each circle, is a testament that the story of the Jewish people continues.
Yes, this Sukkot is complicated. It is not an unbroken festival of happiness, but a fragile balance of pain and perseverance. Yet perhaps that is what makes it meaningful. True joy is not born of comfort but of endurance. The sukkah may be temporary, but the people who build it — again and again, year after year — remain unshakable.
