Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Temporary Wilderness - A Sukkot Sermon

The News of Gilad Shalit's release after 5 years of captivity prompted me to change my Sukkot sermon last minute. I'd love to hear your thoughts about it.

בַּסֻּכֹּת תֵּשְׁבוּ, שִׁבְעַת יָמִים; כָּל-הָאֶזְרָח, בְּיִשְׂרָאֵל, יֵשְׁבוּ, בַּסֻּכֹּת.

You shall sit in sukkot for seven days, all the citizenry of Israel shall sit in sukkot.[1]

And so we do. We sit in these sukkot, the next verse tells us, so that the generations may know that God made the children of Israel dwell in booths, when God brought them out of the land of Egypt. Sukkot and the sukkah remind us of the wilderness, of the wandering. The sukkah itself symbolizes impermanence. The rules regulating its size and construction, the materials which can be used, even the hole-y roof, all these requirements signify this dwelling’s temporary nature. Even our visitors, the famous ushpizin only come in for a day. They join us for a part of the holiday, and then make their exit. The festival of Sukkot and its booths suggest the transient nature of life, the ebb and flow. To every thing, there is a season.[2]

Why live in these temporary dwellings? Yes, the verse says that we are to remember the exodus from Egypt, but isn’t every other holiday also a time to recall the exodus from Egypt? After all, Shabbat asks us to remember the exodus; it’s right there in the Kiddush! Whereas in other chapters of the Torah, different festivals and Shabbat are tied to the exodus, in our chapter of Leviticus, there is only one mention of the exodus, and that is connected to Sukkot. Only Sukkot, so that future generations will know that God made us dwell in booths when we left Egypt. Why the special significance here? Yes, we lived in booths, but it is also more than that. It all comes back to impermanence, but not of the dwellings, per se, rather of the experience.

For it is also the wilderness which is temporary. Isolation and separation from our land is temporary. The hard days and nights, the tough work of getting to know God and understanding God’s power: that won’t last forever. One day, we will cross the Jordan. One day, there will be one God whose name is one.[3] So, we remind ourselves of that, every year for a week. We come together to build sukkot and celebrate with the Lulav and Etrog. Each year, we string the autumnal colored decorations, repurposing Halloween and Thanksgiving knick-knacks for our temporary dwelling to remind us of the days when we were in the wilderness. We bring with us a recollection of our redemptive journey to freedom and hope for our ultimate redemption. All thanks to the little, temporary structure.

Sukkot asks that we bring the wilderness with us, but sometimes we may choose to highlight the wilderness on our own. How interesting, then, that this year, we are all paying attention to temporary dwellings in a new way. We are called to take note of the wilderness of those isolated and separated. Summoned to see those working hard and not getting ahead. This summer, thousands of Israelis moved to tents in every major city and many not-so-major ones. They were young people looking to establish themselves in their land, though all they found was wilderness. They found rising costs of food, no mannah to gather. They found inaccessible housing, they couldn’t even afford an apartment the size of a sukkah. And so, they built cities of temporary dwellings. All to call attention to their wilderness. They came together in their tents and huts to highlight the wilderness of their present, not to remember the wilderness of their past and hoping for a brighter future.

In this country as well, the Occupy Wall Street movement shines a light on those mired in a wilderness. The wilderness of low wages and high prices for food, fuel and health care. The wilderness of a tax code considered overly beneficial to corporations and the wealthiest. The wilderness of disenfranchisement from representative government, feeling like they don’t have a voice, because they can’t afford a lobbyist. These protestors, whether we agree with them or not, even in part, call to mind a perceived wilderness in this nation through their tents. They are attempting to focus our attention toward the majority who had until now not spoken up, who had not, until recently, reached its breaking point. They call to mind those who are the most vulnerable when left out in the elements. And they do it all from their tents in the financial district, promising not to go home until something changes.

And sometimes, things do change. A little over a year ago, one family set up their own temporary dwelling, outside the Prime Minister’s residence in Jerusalem, on Azza Street. This tent, modest in stature, recalled another wilderness. This time, the wilderness of one. One soldier, who as of today has been in captivity 1936 days. The Shalit family set up this tent saying that until their son was brought home, they would not go home. While their son was in the wilderness, they would brave it with him, and remind people that there was still someone out in the desert. This year, the festival of Sukkot will be remembered not only because of the Shalit family’s temporary dwelling, but because of the redemption that followed. It will be remembered as the time when Gilad Shalit was freed from his captivity and brought forth to freedom. When he crossed back into his homeland. He is due to be transferred to Egypt and then to Israel early next week.

And it is Gilad Shalit’s freedom that ultimately reminds us of the joy that we are meant to feel on Sukkot. For even though the dwellings are temporary, reminding us of the difficulties of the wilderness, the mere fact that we build them means that we have prevailed. We were rescued from Egypt. We have made it through the wilderness in the past, we will do it again.

Whether reminding us of the difficulties in our past, revealing the wildernesses of our present, or serving as a symbol of making it through the desert, our modest huts resonate in impressive ways. The schach on the roof will fade from the green of freshly cut bows to a pale brown. The paper garlands will fade in the sun and be ravaged by the wind and the rain. The gourds will wither. Yet each year we build again. Each year we decorate again. Each year we invite our guests in. We know that the wilderness is only temporary.

May we all recognize the wildernesses these sukkot represent, both past and present. May we rejoice that freedom has been achieved and another of the citizenry of Israel can look back on wilderness rather than forward to more days in the desert. And, with these sukkot all around us as we gather in this holy community, may we all pray for the Sukkat Shalom, the Sukkah of peace to prevail over us, over all of Israel and over all of humanity.

Ken Yehi Ratzon.



[1] Lev 23:42

[2] Eccl. 3:1

[3] Zecharia 14:9

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