By Rabbi
Yisroel Shusterman
This Sukkot
Perspective is dedicated by Mr. Binyomin Philipson in memory of his late mother Mrs.
Ellen (Elka bas Zisel) Philipson OBM
One Friday night
a neighborhood experienced a blackout. As people made their way home from the
synagogue, there was speculation on how much of the neighborhood was affected,
when the lights would come back on and how best to serve undercooked, lukewarm cholent. One
in the group commented on the serenity of the moment, and said with a wistful
sigh: "This is how it used to be, just the soft moonlight." Which
prompted a reply, "We didn't like it the way it used to be, that's why we
invented lights!"
Judaism is forward
thinking, eager to embrace innovation and fresh perspective. We are single
minded in our focus to improve the world, shepherd it to its destination. We
check the rear view mirror for guidance, but never dwell on "what used to
be." Even our remembrances are designed to provide us with perspective on
how to deal with the present and the future. So how does the concept of Sukkot -
abandoning our homes and living in thatched huts, as we did 3,300 years ago,
jive with this idea?
When the Torah commands
us to live in sukkot (temporary huts) to commemorate our experience
in the wilderness, it seems to suggest that we recreate that existence. Yet
dwelling in those huts was not a destination, but merely a temporary situation,
on our way to the Holy Land. So why reenact it?
But perhaps the
holiday of Sukkot is not about returning to "simpler, more primitive
times." Maybe Sukkot is in fact the ultimate progression, a leap forward
to somewhere one otherwise would never have reached. When we stay right where
we are, in the groove of a (healthy) routine, we face the danger of stagnation.
The Sukkah compels
us to move on, to get off the hammock and onto the journey of making this world
a more G‑dly place. Bereft of the security of our homes we are faced with our
responsibility to accomplish more. The temporal sukkah reminds us of
the temporal nature of material things. A sad lesson of hurricanes, wildfires
and 9/11 is that castles made of stone vanish. The comfort our homes provide
should never be confused with invincibility – and that is a good thing. For
invincibility has a cousin named laziness, which spends his whole day thinking
about what he won't be doing. The sukkah reminds us of our obligation
to move on, to get out there and enrich the world around us.
Sitting in the
vulnerability of the sukkah, we have the opportunity to experience the
security only G‑d can offer, something that brick and mortar can't
provide. This is progress, a leap we would never embark upon without
compulsion--and could never attain without the message of thesukkah.
(Excerpts
from Chabad.org – By Rabbi Baruch Epstein)
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