Sukkot, 5764, Simon Firestone
Sukkot Drash
Oct 11, 2003 - 5764
Simon Firestone
When I lived back in Manhattan, huge salad bars were trendy. You could have sushi, brisket, and mango for lunch. Sukkot is a similarly odd hodgepodge. We live in huts. We shake special plants. It's the also the beginning of the rainy season. I'm going to try to tie these things together.
During this holiday we are supposed to leave our homes and live in shacks. It's traditional to eat and sleep in the sukkah. How many people's sukkah are more sturdy or offer more protection than their homes? How many people's sukkah offer quality heating and plumbing? Raise your hands please. According to Jewish tradition you have to use roofing material which, let's say does not meet the building code. You're supposed to be able to see the stars through the roof, so most sukkot aren't water proof. We take the security and comfort of our homes for granted, but this holiday strips that away from us, leaving us vulnerable. Life is more fragile during these eight days
The holiday's connection to rain also highlights our vulnerability. As the Torah itself emphasizes, Eretz Israel has poor natural irrigation. As a consequence, farmers and by extension the entire economy totally depended on a good rainfall. A section of the Mishnah describes how the community should fast if rain did not begin falling in the proper season. Rain is intimately connected with life itself in our tradition.
One more proof of this connection between water and life. Look at page 354 in Sim Shalom, the beginning of the silent prayer or Shemoneh Esreh. The second blessing begins with 'Your might, O Lord is boundless, you give life to the dead.' It's in the middle of the page. This is about G-d's power to resurrect the dead. Look at the seasonal insert in the next paragraph. It says, "You cause the wind to blow and the rain to fall." In a week, we start praying for rain, right in the middle of a blessing about life and death. Why? I think it's no exaggeration to say that water and the fragility of life are synonyms in our tradition.
What is the significance of the fact that we are dependent on forces outside of ourselves? It could mean we should be nervous, but that would be a Rosh HaShanah drash. This is Sukkot, a happy holiday. So there's some reason to celebrate our vulnerability. I suggest that our survival, in face of all of the vulnerabilities that Sukkot emphasizes, shows that we are getting help from something greater than us. We celebrate our reliance on something else.
A rationalist might say that the fact we've made it to this day merely shows how important our technology and social networks are. If you start from a position of faith, there is a deeper message. We've gotten here thanks to divine help. So many of our blessings and prayers express gratitude to G-d. How often do we really feel it when we say these words? I rarely do. True thankfulness means having someone to be grateful to and something to be greateful for. Recognizing all the protection and help we've received, and the fact that someone powerful out there cares enough about us to give it, is one of the best reasons I can think of to celebrate.
Thinking about Sukkot's connection to vulnerability gave me some insight into another of this holiday's mysterious customs. A quick quiz: What are the four species? Good! The four species are three plants (myrtle, palm, and willow) and a citrus fruit (the etrog) that you hold together and shake on Sukkot, except for shabbat.
There are two traditions about the Lulav that I'd like to weave together. One says that each kind symbolizes a part of the Jewish people. The etrog is from a tree that smells good, and produces something edible, so it symbolizes those with education and good deeds. The palm is from a plant that doesn't have a nice odor, but does produce edible fruit, so it symbolizes people with learning but no good deeds. The myrtle smells nice but is inedible, so it's an unlearned person with good deeds. The poor willow, with no scent or fruit, is like someone with no learning or good deeds. Putting these four species together lulav symbolizes our unity as a people. No matter how our achievements differ, we are all closely connected.
Another tradition is a little more cryptic. It offers an interpretation of each kind: Willow - this is G-d. Myrtle - this is G-d. Palm- this is G-d. Etrog (you guessed it) this is G-d. The second tradition sounds like a broken record, and on their own each is a little corny, but I think they become coherent and meaningful together. I offer that the lulav can symbolize each kind of person's shared dependence on G-d. There are more than four kinds of people out there, and but all of them, whatever their strengths or abilities, is vulnerable and reached today through their connection to the divine. Looking at a person can mean seeing that G-d helped them get there.
I offer that this realization can be a source of unity. How often do you look at someone who you dislike and see the weaknesses you share with them? When we see others as vulnerable in the same way we are, it opens up sympathy and understanding, and can help to break down the barriers between us. Understanding our common limits can help us to be more merciful on each other.
I bless us that when we feel angry or alienated from someone, we can remember our common vulnerability and dependence on powers greater than ourselves.
Shabbat shalom.