Prolonging the Mitzva
of Sukka Virtually if not Physically
R. Yaakov Bieler
Shmini Atzeret, 5769
Life seems to be filled with comings
and goings. And we adopt different sensibilities concerning how we deal with
the onset of new events in contrast to dealing with situations that are
concluding. Shakespeare writes:
Time
is like a fashionable host
That
slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand,
And
with his arms outstretched, as he would fly,
Grasps
in the comer: welcome ever smiles,
And
farewell goes out sighing.[1]
It was
only a relatively short time ago when we entered the Sukka and uttered
prayers reflecting our hopes for inspiration, spiritual uplifting and even
actual Heavenly Protection via the experience of dwelling in this structure as
much as possible during the coming week:
May
it be Your Will, my God and God of my forefathers, that You Cause Your Presence
to reside among us, ופרוס
עלינו סכת
שלומך (and that You Spread over us Your Sukka of Peace), in
the merit of the Mitzva of Sukka that we are fulfilling…
And to Surround us with the aura of Your Honor, Holy and
Pure, spread over our heads from above like an eagle arousing its young…[2]
Although the Talmud records a dispute regarding
the nature of the symbolism represented by our spending so much time in the Sukka
at this season of the year—
Sukka 11b
As it is taught (in a Baraita): (VaYikra
23:43) “…Because in Sukkot I Caused the Jewish people to dwell…”—They
were Clouds of Glory: the words of R. Eliezer. R. Akiva says: They made for
themselves actual Sukkot,
whether God’s Protection was literally miraculous and
supernatural, in the form of thick clouds that surrounded the newly freed
people and paved their path through the desert,[3]
or was more of a Neis Nistar (hidden miracle) in the sense that the
seemingly flimsy shelter provided by the rickety huts were backed by powerful
Divine Protection, we not only strive to remember what our people once
experienced, but are desirous of having such protection extended to us once
again.
Now,
eight days later, on Shmini Atzeret, we are poised to utter our farewell
to the Sukka experience:
Master of the Universe! May it be Your Will that the holy
angels[4]
connected with the Mitzva of Sukka and the Mitzva of the
Four Species—Lulav, Etrog, Hadas and Arava—that are performed
during the festival of Sukkot, accompany us when we leave the Sukka,
and may they enter our homes with us in life and in peace.
May there always be upon us a Heavenly Protection from
Your Holy Abode, to save us from all sin and iniquity, from evil occurrences,
from malevolent periods that are stirring to come upon the world. Arouse upon
us a spirit from above; Rejuvenate our inner source of counsel that we may
serve You in truth, in love and in awe; that we may be diligent in the study of
Your Holy Tora, to study and to teach…[5]
The two sections of this entreaty are notable. On the one
hand, we express the desire that there be a residual effect from our
performance of the Commandments that are ostensibly unique to this festival and
time of year. Not only should dwelling in the Sukka and waving the Four
Species make a profound impression upon
us while they are actually taking place, but we are hoping that whatever spiritual
value they might have exerted be long-lasting—perhaps for an entire year—until the requirement to engage in these practices rolls
around once again.[6]
In effect, we express the wish that the physical performance of these Mitzvot
will generate an impression that will far outlast their final day’s observance.
Many years ago, the Mashgiach Ruchani (spiritual supervisor) of a
Yeshiva at which I was a student suggested to me a relaxation technique whereby
one first tenses his muscles, then allows them to return to their original
state, all the while concentrating on what that final sensation feels like. The
objective becomes to mentally reproduce that feeling, thereby willing oneself at
some point in the future to feel relaxed in spite of actual circumstances that
may mitigate against such feelings. It would appear that the request that we
are expressing in this first part of the “Farewell to the Sukka” aspires
to a parallel metaphysical sensibility, i.e., to retain the spiritual sensation
of inspiration well-beyond the specific performance of these particular
Commandments.
Whereas
the first request in this prayer appears to assume that we can be positively
influenced from without, i.e., the spiritual dimensions of the physical
things that we do penetrate our interiors to impact upon our minds and souls,[7]
the second part of the supplication reflects the view that we also acknowledge
that we could use Divine Assistance independent of the influences of Mitzva
performance when it comes to our inner personal choices that we constantly
make both within and without Mitzva contexts. As much as we might value
our freedom of choice and moral autonomy, there are moments, mostly after the
fact, when what we thought were positive actions, prove to be anything but,
that we wish that something or Someone could have interceded and Saved us from
ourselves.[8]
Yet when we
consider our liturgy, it would appear that our being ensconced in Sukkot
over the course of the year, if not daily, then at least at very regular
intervals, is clearly assumed. Consider the blessing beginning “Hashkiveinu”
that immediately precedes the Ma’ariv Silent Devotion every Shabbat
and Yom Tov:
Lay us down to sleep HaShem,
Our God in peace, raise us to erect, Our King to life, ופרוס
עלינו סוכת
שלומך (and Spread over us Your Sukka of Peace). Set us
aright with good counsel from before Your Presence, and Save us for Your Name’s
sake. Shield us, Remove from us foe, plague, sword, famine and woe; and Remove
every spiritual impediment from before us and behind us, and in the shadow of
Your Wings, Shelter us—for God Who Protects and Rescues us are You; for God,
the gracious and compassionate King are You. Safeguard our going and coming,
for life and for peace from now unto eternity. ופרוס
עלינו סוכת
שלומך (And Spread over us the Sukka of Your Peace.) Blessed
are you HaShem,ועל כל
ישראל ועל
ירושלים הפורס
סוכת שלום
עלינו(Who Spreads the Sukka of Peace upon us, upon all
His People Israel and upon
Apparently, even once we leave the physical huts of the
Sukkot festival, there is a sense that when we step back from our everyday
lives, when we surround ourselves with the atmosphere of Shabbat and Yom
Tov, the feeling of being enveloped by God’s Protection can be almost as
tangible as when we sit within the cocoon of the literal Sukka’s Sechach
and walls. However, it is important to note that the degree to which our Shabbatot
and Yomim Tovim offer us this type of refuge and connection to God is
not something that comes automatically, but rather very much depends upon the
manner in which we approach these special days. A literary support for this
idea is found in the Penetential Psalm, Tehilla 27, that has been
recited since Elul until today. VaYikra Rabba 21:4 notes that in
the Psalm’s very first line, אורי (My Light) is a reference to Rosh HaShana, while וישעי (My Salvation) is associated with Yom HaKippurim,
i.e., on the day of judgment God Looks upon me, which in turn forces me to “shine
light upon myself,” to become introspective, reflective and ultimately identify
the manner in which I have to improve, while on the Day of Atonement, I
hopefully can make the representation that I have been trying to rectify my
shortcomings and on that basis hopefully obtain forgiveness so that I will have
another year to continue to work on myself, “be Saved by God.” While the
Midrash does not draw attention to verse 5 in the same Tehilla, it
clearly can also be connected to this time of year:
For
He Conceals me בַּסֻכֹּה (in His Sukka) in the day
of calamity; He Keeps me from being found in the covert of His Tent. He Lifts
me on high upon a rock.
“BaSukko”
is an example of a combination of Ktiv (the manner in which a word is
written/spelled) and Kri (the way it is pronounced.)[10]
It is written as if it represents “BaSukka”, the “Heh” in place
of the “Vav” that would ordinarily connote the possessive pronoun
referring to God. Without the “Vav”, the word means “a Sukka.”
However, it is read as if a “Vav” does appear at the end of the word, “His
Sukka.” The tension between this
particular Ktiv and Kri could very well indicate that whether
Jewish ritual in general and Shabbat and Yom Tov in particular
offer simply a break from the routine of the everyday world, or a true means of
entrée into a personal and meaningful relationship with God very much depends
upon the degree to which we decide to either allow these rituals to constitute
a mere Sukka, a retreat, a change of pace, or Sukko, an
opportunity to make connections with HaShem that ordinarily are not
available to us. Be’er Heitev on Shulchan Aruch, Orech Chayim
267 #2 quotes the commentary TaZ to similar effect:
…And
it is our custom to say (in the blessing “Hashkiveinu”) ושמור
צאתנו ובואנו (safeguard our going and coming) (This phrase seems not to
be in keeping with Shabbat observance since it is when we are not engaged in
our everyday goings and comings that Shabbat offers the protection of a Sukka!)
because we know that we do not have the status of being careful Shabbat observers
as would be appropriate. It is for this reason that we have to pray for this
additional guarding…
Apparently
the degree to which we not only divest ourselves of our weekday concerns and
responsibilities, but also engage in purely spiritual matters[11]
will establish what sort of Sukka Shabbat and Yomim Tovim
offer us.
I think that we are not always aware
of what we do and how we do it. Sometimes, having a true outsider scrutinize
our activities and share his/her impressions with us can be very revealing.
Consider the following passage from a recent book by a Catholic theology
professor at the
My friends always told me that they love Shabbos,
but quite frankly I never believed them. Until recently I assumed that Shabbos
observance was a big nuisance—some sort of penitential thing that Jews had to
make the best of and pretended to like for the benefit of outsiders. When
someone summoned me as a Shabbos goy, I would do the job, chat for a couple of
minutes, and then leave, assuming that they would find it an irritation to have
me hanging around watching them navigate all the annoying rules.
My attitude changed suddenly and completely when I
stopped by Ahuva’s for some reason one Shabbos afternoon. An appetizing smell
was coming from the kitchen. Yaakov and Simcha were doing puzzles on the floor;
Yosef was bent over a Hebrew book at the table; Dovid was trying to stand on
his head. Something about the scene struck me as peculiar, but it took me a
minute to figure out what it was. Ahuva has eight children, runs a catering
business from home, heads fund raising for the Day School, works in the Mikveh
every evening from her children’s bedtime until her own, and sews most of the clothes
for her own family and lots of other people besides. She is perpetually on the
move, manhandling toddlers and shopping bags in and out of the car with her
sleeves rolled up, flour on her nose, needles stuck through her shirt, and the
cell phone clipped to her belt ringing every two minutes. In years I don’t
think I had ever seen her sit down for three minutes at a time, even during
meals. But here she was lying on the sofa with the little ones lolling against
her, listening to Dina read a sci-fi novel. She couldn’t cook, she couldn’t
sew; she couldn’t shop; she didn’t have to answer the phone. She just had to
be.
It was one of those sudden shifts in perspective,
like when you think you have been looking at two black faces on a white
background and suddenly all you can see is a white vase on a black background.
I had always thought of Shabbos as a twenty-five hour prison of petty
regulation, enlivened by a bit of religion. Suddenly I saw why my friends spoke
of it with such love, why they thought of the day not as a prison but as a
queen, why Ahuva insists that her children spend the day in homes where Shabbos
is observed. “There’s an atmosphere in a Shabbos house that’s not like anything
else,” she says. It’s not just that Ahuva was getting a break from her hectic
life, but that she was at the epicenter of a place where restfulness was
absolutely palpable: not just an absence of activity but a real presence. Had
there been royalty in the house, the atmosphere could not have been more
different from the other days of the week.
Can we attest to our own homes being not just “Sukka”
but actually “Sukko” on Shabbat and Yom Tov? What would
someone like this author say if she were to drop in on us? Could this not be
the sense of the Aggada in Shabbat 119b, upon which the poem “Shalom
Aleichem” is based, where two angels accompany everyone home from shul and
evaluate whether the house is “Shabbosdic” or not? We hope that we
continue to live in God’s Sukka even after Shmini Atzeret. What
sort of Sukka that will be is up to us.
[1] Troilus and Cressida, (1602), act 3, scene 3, l. 165.
[2] The Complete ArtScroll Machzor—Succos, Nusach Ashkenaz, trans. Rabbi Avie Gold, Mesorah Publications, Brooklyn, NY, 1998, p. 77.
[3] See e.g., Tosefta Sukka 4:2.
[4] The assumption that each positive fulfillment of a Commandment results in the creation of an angel, parallels the following Rabbinic source:
Avot 4:11
R. Eliezer ben Yaakov
says: One who performs one Mitzva, acquires one פרקליט (defender/recommender/an
entity that speaks positively on his behalf.) And one who commits one
transgression acquires one קטיגור (an
accuser who demands him to be punished.)
[5] The Complete ArtScroll Machzor—Succos, p. 1021.
[6] An alternative and more modest approach would maintain that each set of unique Commandments associated with the festivals, i.e., Sukka and Four Species, followed by Pesach, Matza, Maror, and possibly even including the practices of Rabbinic commemorations such as lighting of the Menora, reading the Megilla together with Mishloach Manot, Matanot LeEvyonim and Seudat Purim, etc., tide one over until the next spiritual event on the Jewish calendar, thereby making the expectations of residual spiritual influence more realistic.
[7] This process is cited by Sefer HaChinuch a number of times, e.g., Mitzva #16, 95, 144, 147, 264.
[8] A haunting Midrashic take on this sensibility is the story of Moshe, while a small child, being diverted by the angel Gavriel from choosing a golden crown and instead opting for the glowing coal in the presence of Pharoah. Although according to this Midrash, Moshe injured himself when he drew that hot coal to his lips, had he chosen the crown, Pharoah’s suspicions of his adopted son would have been confirmed and Moshe’s personal history, if not Jewish history as a whole may have taken a radically different course. See Shemot Rabba 1:26.
[9] The Complete ArtScroll Siddur—Weekday, Sabbath, Festival, Nusach Ashkenaz, trans. R. Nosson Scherman, Messorah Publications Ltd., Brooklyn, NY, 1996, pp. 335-7.
[10] See Sanhedrin 4a-b for a number of examples of this phenomenon and rules for interpreting such instances.
[11] See e.g., Yeshayahu 58:13 for a summary of what constitutes the “spirit” as opposed to the “letter” of Shabbat.
[12] Maria,
Poggi Johnson, Strangers and Neighbors—A Memoir, W Publishing Group,