The Magic Sukkah

Edited by Rabbi Neil Fleischman

Recently, the Jewish people celebrated Sukkot, A holiday grown men use sleeping bags to sleep in oversized huts for seven days. Our rabbis call this holiday, zman simchatanu, the time of Joy. Non-Jewish people know this as the holiday of tabernacles. Over this sukkot, two memorable breakfasts prompted me to learn one of life’s most important lessons.

This year, my family and I visited Israel for Sukkot. For the first two days of Chol Hamoed we stayed in Herzliya. On the first morning there, my brother Ezra, father, and I carried food outside to eat in the hotel sukkah. Most Kosher hotels provide a large communal sukkah to accommodate guests and their families, to fit 50, maybe a few hundred guests. Families in these hotels often eat at their own respective tables.

Upon arriving at the sukkah, two things stood out. First, it held two small wood tables pushed together. Four chairs tucked in on each side. Second, an Israeli man sat there eating his breakfast. A scruffy beard wrapped around the Sephardic man’s 30 year old face. A pair of blue jeans wrapped around his legs. A short sleeve tee shirt wrapped around his chest. Before any of us sat down, the native got up to provide a greeting. “Hi, I am Yonatan.” We all shook his hand and sat down.

Yonatan and my father began to speak in Hebrew amongst each other. Observing that Ezra and I could not follow the conversation, Yonatan opted to speak English instead. Fifteen minutes later, another Israeli man walked into the sukkah with his breakfast. A polo shirt and blue pants covered his body. A srugi yarmulke covered his sixty-year-old head. Following this man’s Leshev Basukkah bracha, my father asked him, “Where are you from?” He took a second bite of breakfast and replied. “I am from one of the communities up north and lived here for the past year because of the rockets.”

From the war’s beginning, thousands of Israelis have been displaced from their homes and communities. Many of the displaced are from the northern communities near Lebabonon and from the southern comminutes near Gaza. In response, the Israeli government has paid for hotels to house these displaced citizens. Most people would grow resentful of the small living quarters or become repulsed by the same food each week. Yet, this man did not complain, nor did he offer any resentment about his living situation.

Over the next half hour, we shared Divre Torah, laughs, did a bit of singing, and enjoyed a nice Zimun together. The next day, a family from Lawerence joined Yontatan and us in the sukkah. My siblings and I schmoozed with their children about vacation and New York. Our parents schmoozed and played Jewish geography with their parents. My mom thought of a dating suggestion for their daughter, they thought of someone for me. This tiny sukkah played a catalyst for us to transform from strangers to friends.

In the prayer for Rosh Chodesh, we recite,” Chaverim kol Yisrael: All Israel are friends.” It does not matter what shul, school, camp someone attends. Nor does it matter what candidate someone supports on their lawn or votes for. We are all family.