By Rabbi Yisroel Shusterman
This
week’s Parsha Perspective is dedicated by Mr. Binyomin Philipson in memory of
his late mother
Mrs.
Ellen (Elka bas Zisel) Philipson OBM
Have you ever
experienced a spontaneous bond with a perfect stranger? One moment you were
strangers, the next moment you were one, caring as much about what happened to
him or her as to yourself. Under ordinary circumstances this common bond
doesn’t often surface, but extreme conditions can bring it out.
One such example was
in the aftermath of 9/11. Perfect strangers put themselves in harm’s way to
help others in need.
A story that
recently came to light involves the sea evacuation of nearly half a million
people. Many who escaped the towers made their way south to the seawalls, where
they realized something New Yorkers hardly take notice of: Manhattan is an
island.
When the towers were
attacked, the tunnels and bridges were shut down. Those who tried to leave
found themselves stranded ashore, and they mobbed whatever ferry or tugboat
they could find. The Coast Guard put out a call for additional vessels, and
within ten minutes the waterways were dotted with more crafts than the eye
could count. Keep in mind that no one knew the extent of the danger, and crews
had reason to fear an attack against their boats. Yet these ordinary Americans
stepped up and plied the waterways all day, executing the largest sea
evacuation in history.
Happily, it is not
only disaster that brings out our common spark, but also joy. Take, for
example, the feeling of elation that sweeps across a grandstand when the home
team wins. Under these circumstances, it is quite common for perfect strangers
to celebrate like family. But when the moment passes, they become strangers
once again.
Judaism requires
each person to perform his or her mitzvahs individually. In most
cases, my good deeds don’t count for you, and yours don’t count for me. If I
tried to sneak into your prayer shawl while you were wearing it, that would not
be much of a mitzvah. Neither would be trying to shake my lulav while
I am shaking it. Just as we can’t eat for each other, we can’t pray or study
for each other either.
The sukkah, a
hut covered by foliage, in which it is a mitzvah to sit during the festival
of Sukkot, is the exception. You and I can perform the very same mitzvah
in the very same sukkah at the very same time.
We don’t each
require our own sukkah. The sukkah does not have to expand to
accommodate me, and does not have to shrink when you depart. So long as there
is room in the sukkah for another, we can share this mitzvah.
After 9/11, New
Yorkers came together because they were collectively absorbed by the enormity
of the situation. In the sukkah, our souls coalesce because we are
collectively absorbed by its enormous holiness.
The sukkah is
the only mitzvah that encompasses the entire body. It is not performed by any
one limb or set of limbs, but by allowing our entire body to be absorbed by the
mitzvah. That is to say that the sukkah is suffused with a divine
sanctity so transcendent that it cannot be imbued into us.
Rather, we are absorbed into it.
The sukkah encompasses
us so completely that it draws us away from our personal interests and focuses
us exclusively on the mitzvah. Once we are in this mindset, we can make room
for another. The moment the sukkah is not about me, but about setting
my needs aside to be encompassed by holiness, there is no reason for the sukkah to
be only for me. In other words, if it is not about me exclusively, it need not
be exclusively for me. It is for us all.
This is why
the sukkah is a place of hosting, a happy place where family, friends
and guests gather to perform a mitzvah of unification. Sukkah is
not a mitzvah you do—it’s a mitzvah of being. All you have to do is be—in
the sukkah. And when it is just about being, room can be made for all
beings. For in the sukkah, there are no strangers.
(Excerpts
from Chabad.org – by Rabbi Lazer Gurkow)
May you have a meaningful and uplifting
Shabbos
And Joyous Sukkos Holiday!
No comments:
Post a Comment