A Sukkeleh A Kleine: A little sukkah made from simple boards and covered with a little schach
The Sukkah: Our Hishtadlut and Our Bitachon
There is something striking about the way we celebrate Sukkot. For seven days, we leave the security and comfort of our homes and move into a temporary dwelling. We eat there, spend time there and, according to halachah, make it our primary place of living during the festival.
At first glance, this seems almost the opposite of what we normally seek. We spend much of our lives trying to make our homes secure and comfortable. We build strong walls, lock our doors, install security systems and take other measures to protect our families. Yet on Sukkot, the Torah asks us to leave that permanent structure and enter a sukkah.
Why?
The Torah tells us:
“למען ידעו דורותיכם כי בסוכות הושבתי את בני ישראל בהוציאי אותם מארץ מצרים”
“So that your generations will know that I caused the Children of Israel to dwell in sukkot when I brought them out of the land of Egypt.”
(Vayikra 23:43)
Chazal discuss what these sukkot actually were. The Gemara in Sukkah (11b) records a well-known disagreement:
“דאיתניא: כי בסוכות הושבתי את בני ישראל — ענני כבוד היו, דברי רבי אליעזר. רבי עקיבא אומר: סוכות ממש עשו להם.”
“It was taught: ‘For I caused the Children of Israel to dwell in sukkot’ — these were the Clouds of Glory, the words of Rabbi Eliezer. Rabbi Akiva says: They made actual sukkot for themselves.”
According to Rabbi Eliezer, the sukkah recalls the protection of the Clouds of Glory that accompanied Bnei Yisrael in the desert. According to Rabbi Akiva, the Torah is referring to the actual temporary dwellings in which the Jewish people lived.
Rabbi Akiva’s view leaves us with a question. If Bnei Yisrael actually lived in temporary dwellings, why are we commanded, thousands of years later, to leave our permanent homes and do something similar?
Perhaps the answer is found in the temporary nature of the sukkah itself.
We naturally look for security. We want our homes to be protected, our families to be safe and our future to be as secure as possible. There is nothing wrong with that. A person is expected to take sensible precautions and protect his family.
But there is a point beyond which human effort cannot go.
A person can build a strong house, but he cannot make himself completely secure. He can lock the doors, but he cannot control everything that takes place outside them. He can make careful plans, but he does not know what tomorrow will bring.
This is the meaning of the words of Tehillim:
“אם ה’ לא ישמר עיר, שוא שקד שומר”
“If Hashem does not guard the city, the watchman keeps watch in vain.”
(Tehillim 127:1)
The watchman still has to watch. His responsibility does not disappear. But his vigilance by itself cannot guarantee the safety of the city.
This balance is especially important in our generation. In Israel, we have experienced war, terrorism and continuing security threats. Jews in America and elsewhere have also become increasingly conscious of the need to protect Jewish schools, synagogues and community institutions from antisemitism and other dangers.
We must take the necessary precautions and make responsible efforts to protect ourselves and our communities. But we also recognize that our efforts alone cannot guarantee the future.
Ultimately, our trust is in Hashem.
This is the lesson of the sukkah. We are not asked to abandon our responsibilities. We are asked to recognize their limits.
The Zohar describes the sukkah in a remarkable way:
“דא הוא רזא דמהימנותא… ובעו עמא קדישא למיתב תחות צלהא ברזא דמהימנותא”
“This is the secret of emunah… and the Jewish people should sit beneath its shade in the secret of emunah.”
(Zohar, Tetzaveh II, 186b)
The sukkah is called “צלא דמהימנותא” — “the shadow of emunah.”
When we leave the solid walls of our homes and sit beneath the simple covering of the sukkah, we are reminded that the things around us are not what ultimately determine our future. We make our hishtadlut, but our bitachon is in Hashem.
There is another lesson in the sukkah that is especially important.
The Torah says:
“כל האזרח בישראל ישבו בסוכות”
“All the citizens of Israel shall dwell in sukkot.”
Chazal explain in Sukkah (27b):
“מלמד שכל ישראל ראוים לישב בסוכה אחת”
“This teaches that all Israel are fit to sit in one sukkah.”
The Gemara is not suggesting that all Jews have to sit in one physical sukkah. It is reminding us that, despite our differences, we are one people.
We have different communities, different backgrounds and different opinions. Even among Jews who are fully committed to Torah and mitzvot, there can be serious disagreements. They will not all disappear, nor should they necessarily. But a disagreement must remain a disagreement. It should never turn into hatred.
The sukkah gives us a simple picture: different Jews can sit beneath the same roof.
The Torah describes Eretz Yisrael in words that are unlike those used for an ordinary piece of land:
“ארץ אשר ה’ אלקיך דרש אותה, תמיד עיני ה’ אלקיך בה, מראשית השנה ועד אחרית שנה”
“A land that Hashem your G-d cares for; the eyes of Hashem your G-d are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year.”
(Devarim 11:12)
Those words should never become ordinary to us.
Eretz Yisrael has a unique place in the life of Am Yisrael. For generations, Jews prayed for the opportunity to return. Yerushalayim was mentioned in our prayers, we turned toward it when we prayed, and generation after generation held on to the hope of returning to the land.
Today, millions of Jews live in Eretz Yisrael. We can raise our children here, establish Torah communities, observe mitzvot connected with the land and take part in building the country.
Previous generations could only dream of such a reality.
We await Mashiach, but we do not wait to live as Jews.
For a Jew who has the opportunity to live in Eretz Yisrael, that opportunity carries both privilege and responsibility. Living here means building Torah communities, educating our children, caring for fellow Jews, protecting Jewish life and contributing to the building of the land.
For Jews living in America and throughout the Diaspora, the circumstances are different, but the connection to Eretz Yisrael remains. Jewish communities everywhere have the responsibility to preserve Torah, educate their children, care for fellow Jews and remain connected to Eretz Yisrael and to the wider Jewish people.
The sukkah reminds us that the things we build around ourselves are temporary. Our responsibilities are not.
We are part of a chain that stretches back through generations. We received the Torah from those who came before us, and we have to preserve it and pass it on. We inherited our connection to Eretz Yisrael from generations who longed for it, prayed for it and never gave up hope of returning.
As we sit in the sukkah, beneath its simple covering, we can think about how much we try to control in our lives and how much remains beyond our control.
The watchman watches. The builder builds. The parent raises and educates a child. Each person does his part.
And then we remember:
“תמיד עיני ה’ אלקיך בה”
“The eyes of Hashem your G-d are always upon it.”
There is an old Yiddish song, A Sukkeleh A Kleine, made popular by The Rabbis’ Sons. It describes a little sukkah made from simple boards and covered with a little schach.
אַ ווינט אַ קאַלטן
בלאָזט דורך די שפּאַלטן,
און די לעכטעלעך זיי לעשן זיך פֿיל.
ס’איז מיר אַ חידוש,
ווי איך מאַך מיר קידוש,
און די לעכטעלעך זיי ברענען גאַנץ שטיל.
A cold wind blows through the cracks,
and the little candles keep going out.
It is a wonder to me
as I make Kiddush,
that the little candles continue to burn quietly.
The wind is blowing through the sukkah, the little lights are going out, and yet the Jew sits down and makes Kiddush. He does not leave the sukkah because the wind is blowing. He continues with his mitzvah.
That is the lesson of Sukkot. Life is uncertain, but we continue to live with responsibility and emunah. We do what is expected of us, while remembering that the future is ultimately in Hashem’s hands.
הרחמן הוא יקים לנו את סוכת דוד הנופלת
May the Merciful One raise up for us the fallen sukkah of David.
חג שמח
