Faulty shelters, resilient beauty: Sukkot and safety during wartime - opinion

During Sukkot, we celebrate divine providence, which sustains us with life, health, and well-being. The most iconic symbol of God’s providence is the sukkah, mirroring the protection He provided during our perilous desert journey.

For two centuries, we had lived as slaves, without shelter, exposed and defenseless. Slaves often sleep beneath the open sky, vulnerable to the harshness of nature and the dangers of night. What euphoria it must have been for the newly freed to feel the embrace of shelter, a sensation long denied.

Fittingly, the first stop after the exodus from the Egyptian city of Ramses was called Sukkot. It is likely that this name, of Hebrew origin, was given to that location in recognition of the security and protection finally felt by our people.

There is nothing more fundamental to human identity than the need for protection. This past year reminded us never to take that feeling for granted. Israel, once envisioned as a sanctuary for Jews – a refuge from the pogroms and genocidal horrors of humanity’s dark past – was not able to fully shield us from unspeakable brutality. Barbarians unleashed their fury, slaughtering entire families in homes that should have been sanctuaries of safety.

Most harrowingly, families seeking refuge in bomb shelters – designed to be the ultimate defense – found themselves trapped in fiery chambers of death. We learned, painfully, never to take home and shelter for granted.

Sukkat shalom

We also attempted to forge a sukkah-like canopy safeguarding our skies from long-range missiles and rockets.

One Talmudic opinion suggests that Sukkot doesn’t commemorate the heavenly clouds which sheltered us in the desert but rather physical huts which God empowered us to build. Thousands of years after God enabled us to build wooden huts, He has endowed us with the intelligence to develop breathtaking technology which saved tens of thousands of lives.

While our enemies invest in death and destruction, we construct robust systems of defense. Their hands are soaked in blood; our hearts yearn for peace.

As we push forward toward even more advanced, hermetically-sealing laser technology, we pray that God continues to guide us and protect us from the demonic forces that darken our skies.

Protected, but exposed

Despite our remarkable efforts and the astounding success of the Iron Dome, we have not achieved complete invulnerability. No human creation can be flawless; ultimate protection belongs to God alone. Only God’s sukkah is complete; human sukkot are always exposed and vulnerable.

Though an ideal sukkah has four walls, there are numerous legal leniencies allowing for fewer and shorter ones. At its most minimal, a sukkah can consist of two small walls and a partial third wall. Human sukkot, as we learned this year, will never be perfectly sealed.

No matter how much we strive to build fortifications, human shelter will always remain incomplete, leaving us unprotected. This year, we acutely felt that vulnerability. Despite our best efforts to protect ourselves, we remained fragile.

As the prophet Zechariah predicts, God will one day construct a messianic sukkah to fully shield us from the fury of the apocalypse. Until that moment arrives, we do our best, with His help, to craft human instruments of protection to provide shelter in our homes, cities, and our newly rebuilt Jewish state, ever hopeful of the day that His ultimate shelter will drape over us.

So, this year we sit in our sukkot with mixed emotions, recalling the glory days of the desert but also the dark days of the past year. Sitting in these fragile structures, remember to sympathize with the anguish felt by so many Israelis whose homes – once places of safety – proved incapable of protecting them.

Remember as well the brave soldiers who have shielded us from horrific violence. For an entire year, they have been our sukkah, our shelter in the storm.

This Sukkot, there are countless sukkah-like images to contemplate, each one reminding us of the delicate nature of human shelter and vulnerability.

Take in the beauty

Don’t let this year’s painful associations with the sukkah overshadow the triumphant symbolism surrounding the lulav and the etrog.

The Torah describes the sukkah roof, or s'chach, as taken from remnants of the harvest. Edible crops are unsuitable for the roof – only the leftover chaff, straw, and husks are valid. This is the halachic basis for disqualifying as schach food items or anything which has undergone manufacturing or improvement. The sukkah must remain simple and untouched by human hands, preserving its natural, pristine fragility. It is bare bones, crafted from discarded remnants, symbolizing our attempts to create shelter even when we are under-resourced.

By contrast, the four minim (species) – lulav (palm branch), etrog (citron), hadassim (myrtles), aravot (willows) – are vibrant, select products, taken from lush foliage and bushes brimming with life, color, and moisture. The etrogim are carefully cultivated in gardens, reflecting the careful attention and effort needed to produce and preserve such beauty.

These species are chosen, in part, because they are indigenous to Israel, embodying the finest qualities of our landscapes, gardens, rivers, and forests. They evoke aesthetic beauty and grandeur.

It is all too easy to become enveloped in the collective sorrow of the past year, losing sight of the miracle that is Israel and our people. Don’t fixate solely upon the fragile sukkot of the past year and our struggles to fully protect our people. Savor the profound beauty and vitality of life in Israel. Appreciate how we have literally transformed a parched and forsaken land into a landscape of renewed life, flourishing and vibrant, capable of producing these lush species.

For generations, our ancestors tirelessly scoured the globe in search of the four minim, but now they thrive abundantly beneath our feet in our revitalized homeland.

We are a stunning miracle, grand and beautiful as the Four Species. Do not allow the sorrow we associate with our sukkot this year to eclipse the joy and radiance that the lulav and etrog inspire. These minim serve as a poignant reminder of the vibrancy of life in Israel and the enduring beauty we have nurtured together.

We are all lulavim, etrogim, hadassim, and aravot

We have proven to be strong and proud like the lulav. Though we absorbed a devastating surprise attack, we quickly regained our resilience and have proudly defended our people and our land. 

And we carry the radiance of the etrog. In a world overshadowed by moral confusion and hypocrisy, we radiate moral clarity and an unshakable sense of good and evil. The world, too broken and insecure to acknowledge our moral clarity, instead hurls endless accusations our way.

We have shown the flexibility of the arava branch, bending but never breaking. Teachers, hi-tech workers, professors, rabbis, and professionals all mobilized, becoming soldiers. Grandparents took on the role of parents, and parents rushed to defend our nation. We each found ourselves in roles we never imagined, embodying the spirit of the aravot – flexible and unwavering.

And, of course, we continue to aspire to be like hadassim, bringing fresh air to a morally rancid region. Those who have embraced our presence experience the refreshing aroma of our values and spirit. And those who refuse to accept us beat themselves into oblivion, relegating themselves to the ignominious dustbin of history.

Their names will forever live in infamy as enemies of God, warring against His people because they refuse to acknowledge His presence in our world. 

The writer is a rabbi at the hesder pre-military Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, with ordination from YU and a master’s in English literature from CUNY. His latest book is titled Reclaiming Redemption: Deciphering the Maze of Jewish History (Mosaica Press).