There is something strange about the Jewish holiday of Sukkot, which occurs a few days after Yom Kippur. One is required to leave one’s usual home and move to temporary, flimsy huts exposed to the vagaries of the weather. The holiday embodies the memory of protecting former slaves who dwelled in huts on their journey from Egypt. It is the only holiday referred to as “the holiday of our joy.” This takes place in the fall, when it can become cold and rainy, especially in northern latitudes. The huts may be elaborately decorated, but they remain vulnerable. It is particularly meritorious to begin building one’s sukkah right after Yom Kippur, even before breaking the 25-hour fast, when one continues to feel the pangs of hunger.
One leitmotif of the holiday is the unity of humankind. This is the time when sacrifices were made in the Jerusalem Temple for every nation of the world. Sharing joy is central to Sukkot. According to Maimonides, “Children should be given roasted seeds, nuts, and sweets. For women, one should buy attractive clothes and jewelry according to one’s financial capacity. … When a person eats and drinks, he is obligated to feed strangers, orphans, widows, and others who are destitute and poor. In contrast, a person who locks the gates of his courtyard and eats and drinks with his children and his wife, without feeding the poor and the needy, is not rejoicing in a divine commandment but rather indulging his own desires.”
It is noteworthy that the one who holds power, typically the man in biblical times, is required to care for others rather than indulge solely his own desires. This is a crucial aspect of Judaic morality: the powerful have an obligation to the powerless, the strong to the weak, and the wealthy to the destitute. Rather than invoking the human rights of those who cannot enforce them, the Torah delineates the duties of those with the means to ensure justice and, therefore, peace.
This stands in stark contrast to the idea of partying in the cafes of Jaffa while ignoring the suffering of those who were displaced to make room for the revelers and who continue to live in tents and huts in Gaza and elsewhere. Sukkot reminds us that we remain vulnerable, especially when we believe in brutal force: “My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me”. However, hubris and arrogance often lead to disaster. Many Israelis were shaken to realize this truth on the last day of Sukkot a year ago.
Living in a sukkah should be a full-body experience. It should not only enhance the feeling of vulnerability but also awaken compassion and empathy, particularly when our own good fortune is derived from the misfortune of others. Criminalizing empathy— as has happened in Israel in recent months— is akin to forbidding hospitality, as was customary in the town of Sodom. If one wishes to avoid its fate, it is better to keep our sukkot – and our hearts – open and to remember those whose homes have been turned into huts and then bombed into rubble.
