It feels odd to talk about Sukkot so soon after Yom Kippur. But tradition teaches that immediately after breaking the fast on Yom Kippur, the day of Repentance, one should go and hammer the first nail into the Sukkah, to prepare for the festival.
Sukkot, or the Feast of Tabernacles, is my favorite holiday. Having grown up in the east coast, near the Pocono Mountains, this time of year is usually magnificent. The air is cool and crisp, the leaves are changing, sharing nature's glorious jewels with us. It is the perfect time of year to celebrate an outdoor holiday-building a sukkah, then sipping cider or hot chocolate during clear, cool evenings. I'm thrilled this year that Sukkot, which begins Monday night, is later in our secular calendar. It offers me the opportunity to enjoy a hint of the cooler weather I grew up enjoying while celebrating in the Sukkah.
Sukkot is a celebration of the fall harvest festival. But Sukkot is so much more: it commemorates the time that the Israelites spent wandering the desert, and the temporary huts, or dwellings, they erected to shelter them on their forty year journey. The fragility of their lives is reflected in the booths that we build: temporary walls, with a ceiling open to the beauty of the sky. With only three walls required, the structure's impermanence is highlighted.
A temporary wooden structure in the wilderness should give us pause: It is likely that the Israelites did not carry wood or lattice work walls with them on the journey. It is far more likely that they slept in some sort of tent, which would be easier to pick up and move. Over time, however, we've adopted the custom of creating small wooden huts, and decorating them with fruit ( fake, usually, thanks to honey bees), childs' drawings-anything to make the booth feel festive.
And, after the difficult journey through the Ten Days of Repentance, it is a relief to celebrate with happiness the successful harvest and the journey of our ancient brothers and sisters. But there is a solemnity, as well, under the surface, hidden under the children's drawings and the fruit. As it was designed to remind us of the nomadic lifestyle of the ancient Israelites, today it contains additional symbolism: the fragile nature of life. Our Sukkot-even the most ornate ones-are fragile. They cannot weather a storm. In fact, we are told by our rabbis that if is raining enough to spoil our dinners, we are to go inside! We can imagine how easily they could tumble even in a simple rainstorm.
We have learned much since August about the fragility of life. Some of our brothers and sisters in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast lived in not much more than a Sukkah-their homes, in places like the Lower Ninth Ward, were shacks, considered by most of us uninhabitable even before the storms. We watched in horror as thousands got left behind-to subsist in untenable conditions, each day growing angrier and more sure, that once again, they were forgotten. And the waters and winds were random-not only hitting poor neighborhoods, as well-one street in New Orleans may look as if it survived merely a bad rainstorm, while, less than a mile away, looks like a war zone, with almost nothing salvageable.
We watched again, panicked, as Rita moved towards Galveston and Houston and then veered to hit Port Arthur, Beaumont and smaller cities in those areas. Having learned lessons, many had, thankfully, evacuated. But their homes, framed in concrete with strong roofs, still could not withstand the winds, and many did not survive.
And now, even as I thought I had a final draft of this sermon, I must, sadly, add a paragraph about the earthquake that occurred this week, killing thousands, and leaving up to a million without homes, without food, water-any basic necessities. As they grieve the loss of family members and friends, they remain at significant risk themselves, without adequate shelter, enough food, or medical care.
God commanded that we commemorate the wandering in Israel by building Sukkot, to remember the flimsy nature of the Israelite's existence. Sadly, we do not need a Sukkah this fall to understand the fragility of life. But this year, let us take the challenge of the Sukkah, to remember our fragility, even more seriously than in the past.
The symbol of the sukkah for today connects us to a significant, timeless directive: Gods command to l'taken et haolam: to repair the world. In yesterday's haftarah portion, we read, “ Is not this the fast I look for? To undo the fetters of bondage, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every cruel chain? Is it not to share your bread with the weary, and bring the homeless poor into your house? . .” This is a clarion call to make the world a better place, to achieve righteousness and justice. The fact that we leave Yom Kippur, an inward time of self reflection and repentance, and immediately see to the task of building our Sukkah, makes clear connection between the work of Yom Kippur and Sukkot-and outlines our challenge for us.
We are mandated to make our fast worthy. What better way to make our fast worthy than to go out and help heal this fragile world? Truly, the San Antonio Jewish community has already shown that it understands this mandate. From mountains-literally-of clothing; to financial contributions, to the work of our congregation, spearheaded by Nancy Gerson, to provide specifically requested items of clothing, hair care products, and more, to evacuees of Katrina and Rita, we have helped l'taken et haolam, to heal this world.
But our job is not complete. We must look to the fragile nature of life, as symbolized by our Sukkot, for inspiration for renewed energy to help and serve. The evacuees are finding homes. They are returning to New Orleans. But the work will continue-for months and years. And those in East Texas and the Louisiana and Mississippi coast are still crying for help. Let us hear their call.
Our symbolic sukkah must extend to all. Let us not become weary, but instead, inspired by the message of the sukkah and the call to service. I heard on NPR this week a fear, by non profit helping organizations, called “donor weariness”. With all the catastrophes of the Fall, institutions are worried that pockets will be empty, and hands too weary. It is difficult to keep giving. It is difficult to keep volunteering. But if we do, as the haftarah message from yesterday continues, “If you remove the chains of oppression, the menacing hand. . . if you make sacrifices for the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then shall your light shine in the darkness. “
Our lights shine so brightly. I am proud to be a part of this congregation, such an integral part of San Antonio's response to the hurricane disasters. I am proud to be part of a congregation that brought bags and bags of food to the food bank yesterday. I am proud to be part of a congregation that donated so much, last year, that we are able to provide uniforms for Mark Twain students for any child that needs. I am proud to be part of a congregation that cooks for the hungry every other week, in our own kitchen. I am proud to be part of a congregation that delivers over 30 meals a day, five days a week, through our meals on wheels program. This Sukkot, let us not succumb to weariness, but rather, continue to be a beacon for the weary, the hungry, and the homeless. Let us continue to do the work to heal this world-to ltaken et haolam.
E-mail Rabbi Bergman Vann
Home