The Only Shelter

(Written a month before Manchester.  I’m not a prophet.  But for Heaven’s sake, Diaspora friends and relatives, you’ve been served notice AGAIN: Two boats and a helicopter [IYKYK].  READ THE ROOM!)

My friend, Timna, and I were sharing a cup of coffee early this morning when she said, “If it weren’t for my work, I wouldn’t leave Israel.”  I concurred.  This month I’m scheduled to fly to Maryland for a short visit with my elderly mother. ‘If it weren’t for my Mom, I wouldn’t leave the country.  Not ever.’  Timna is proudly secular; I am Torah observant.  But despite religious differences, we share the same desire to remain in Israel, tethered to one-another by our mutual Zionist beliefs.

These sentiments may sound strange to Jews and non-Jews living in the Diaspora who are still getting their Middle East news from sources that are not in our corner, including The  Washington Post, Al Jazeera, The New York Times, BBC and CNN.  When friends ask me how I and my family are holding up during wartime, I have to tread lightly and not mention my recent manicure, cleaning lady issues, the newest brasseries and what is playing in both the cinema and Shakespeare Company.  Life doesn’t just ‘go on’ here.  It is vibrant, elegant, passionate and rife with meaning.  Not exactly the image that splashes across the Western screen.

And yet we are truly fighting for our very existence.  It is no wonder Israelis have such short fuses. Employment uncertainty, PTSD in every sector, an endless cycle of sirens can make an entire nation jumpy and frightened. But there is a general consensus that we know what to be frightened of, we know who our enemies are, we know that we have no other country and we know that, as Jews, we are safest here where we know we belong.

Any moral person who does not believe that he is vulnerable to the rage of those who believe differently than him is either deeply enmeshed in Wish-Think (wishing things were different and hoping that “wishing the bad away” will magically work out in the end) or delusional, lazy and a coward.  Israelis have been cured of the aforementioned syndromes by virtue of being universally distrusted and even loathed.  There is a strange comfort in not having to prove that you’re really a ‘good guy.’

On October 7, 2023, fortified safe rooms, bomb shelters, kibbutz fences and dance-party security gates proved themselves to be nothing more than Houses of Cards.  We are still working out the lessons from that morning.  Subsequent observations, rationales, blaming and shaming have already engulfed our national psyche and, because we are Jewish, we will never, ever let it go.  Good.  Humility, reflection and a desire to be even better tomorrow – and the day after that – are hallmarks of our glorious people.

But back to vulnerability: A sukkah is neither ‘cute’ nor an obscure, ancient custom that no one takes seriously any more.  Au contraire, mon frere. Sukkot is so much more than my favorite holiday.

A critical lesson emerges when erecting a fragile hut in one’s garden, parking lot, or large/small balcony.  Especially for those of us who live in a climate that grows colder with the advent of winter, we step outside and physicalize our faith.  Not merely ‘talk’ about it.  Not merely ‘learn’ about it.  We perform the mitzvah of dwelling in a sukkah with our entire body and, consequently, demonstrate that we know Who is in charge. Not the architects and designers of exquisite high-rise buildings or mansions by the sea. Those who believe that nuclear weapons, coiled barbed wire and barking dogs provide better protection than a sukkah are forever destined to beseech other men – flesh, blood, fragmented and flawed – for  deliverance.  In cultivating an awareness that Heaven ensures ultimate salvation, we believers sleep better at night than those who leave their respective fates in the hands of the Hague, White House or UNWRA.

But don’t take my word for it. Ask the survivors of Kibbutz Be’eri whether or not they have a deeper appreciation for Sukkot.  Listen to their answers.  They have something to teach us all.

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(Reprinted with permission of San Diego Jewish Journal, October, 2025)