Eight Day Hug

What makes Sukkos so magical?

Over the years, I used to chalk it up to different reasons. It’s the long break from school. It’s the sukkah-hopping. It’s the crispy weather. It’s the wholesome feel outdoors. It’s the decorations. It’s the hot soup on the cold nights. It’s spotting sukkahs all around the neighborhood as you drive around. It’s the family time. It’s hearing neighbors singing from their sukkahs and joining in. It’s the Chol Hamoed trips. What is the ‘it’ though?

Now, let’s shift the question momentarily. What makes a Jew a Jew?

An Italian worker in a pizza store made a comment to me just the other day about the similarities between Jews and Italians. He said, “Same CEO, different president.” I opened my mouth to respond, but couldn’t formulate an answer. No, we are not two sects of the same thing. No, no, no, just, no. I appreciate you, and your (delicious) contributions to the world. You are part of the family of humanity that Hashem created in His image. You have a place and a role down here on earth, and you have inherent value and dignity. But no, Yidden do not exist as a parallel yet somewhat different, more monotheistic version of Italians. Domem, tzomeach, chai, medaber, and then, Yisrael. Different strata of reality.

This interaction in the pizza store led me back to my bookshelf to find the kuntres written by R’ Yaakov Klein, ‘Chagei Tishrei and the Essence of Jewish Identity.’ He points out that physically, we might seem the same as every other group of humans. What is so remarkable about us? What is the ‘it’ that makes a Jew a Jew? We have been chosen by G-d to be His ambassadors. And why are we specifically chosen by G-d? We may attribute it to different things, but at its deepest essence, our chosenness is beyond explanation. We are the ambassadors Hashem desired, and we are okay with not fully understanding what makes nishmas Yisrael so holy and precious to the One Above.

‘Ashrei ha’am shekacha lo — fortunate is the nation for whom this is so’. Our chosenness just is. ‘Kacha,’ this is the way it is, in a way that our minds can’t even fully understand.

Hashem chose us, ‘V’romamtanu mikol haleshonos — and He elevated us above all the nations.’ The way in which Hashem elevated us is ‘mikol haleshonos — beyond our capacity for articulation.’ I feel better about my inability to formulate an answer in the pizza store now. Thank you, Rabbi Klein.

Enter Sukkos, the third installment to a three-part set of holidays, where we, as a nation, come into the fullness of our chosenness. On Rosh Hashana, we accept the macro-plan for creation, and crown Hashem King over the entire Kingdom. On Yom Kippur, we acknowledge our personal shortcomings and missteps in our relationship with Hashem, and promise to do better. And then on Sukkos we celebrate the knowing, breathing, and being of being a Yid. We lean into Hashem’s welcoming embrace and we revel in it.

Or do we?

I’ll never forget our first Sukkos in Israel as a young couple. My husband built an enormous wooden sukkah, complete with fake grass and even a couch (see the article “Shabbos Money, NT 95”). I decorated each wall with a theme. We hosted family over the whole chag, and for each seudah, every spot at the table was full. I spent hours preparing for Sukkos, running around Geula for the white cloth to drape the walls, Yafo for the tablecloths, the big bargain store for all the paper goods, and about six different grocery stores to fully round out the menu. I spent ages cooking, setting up, and preparing. Hosting, serving, clearing, and repeat. On the last day of Sukkos, I realized I had barely spent time actually inside the sukkah! I hadn’t taken the time to just relax and actually enjoy the magnificent sukkah.

So on that last day, I left my baby upstairs with a family member, and went down to sit on the couch in the sukkah by myself. After a few minutes, I had an itch to get up. I tried my hardest to stay still, be present, and just soak it in. But I wasn’t so good at it.

This isn’t a paragraph of self-criticism, just a subtle noticing: If Sukkos is an embrace for being Hashem’s beloved people, a moment of pure relational intimacy with Hashem, was I able to tolerate the hug? How much was I able to sit in the Divine embrace? 

It’s interesting, a Sukkah is a hug, but how do we humans feel about prolonged hugs? Sometimes, a long hug can make us feel awkward, or squeamish. 

In a relationships workshop, Mrs. Shanny Gejerman, Kallah teacher and LaMFT, taught about a concept called ‘exits’. Exits are any behaviors that help you avoid investment in your relationship. A catastrophic exit can be addiction etc, but softer exits include being on your phone too much, being heavily involved in community activities, or going to take care of the kids. These are normal things, but they can also be used subtly to avoid vulnerable moments in a relationship.

Each part of the three-part series of yamim tovim, accomplishes something in the process of deepening our relationship with Hashem. We’ve committed ourselves over Rosh Hashana, we’ve done the personal work of Yom Kippur, and now we’re here. As the Arizal explains, the walls are likened to Hashem reaching out His right arm, v’yemino techabkeini — His right hand embraces me. We’ve arrived at the eight-day hug called Sukkos. 

Nevertheless, although Hashem’s hug lasts all of Sukkos, we still make the decision how much time we want to spend there. We can technically choose to dip in and out of the sukkah; eat our snacks elsewhere, go on Chol Hamoed trips, and so on. 

And over time, as we grow closer, we lean in to embrace that hug more and more. We remind ourselves when we walk into the sukkah that we are entering Hashem’s v’yemino techabkeini, a real hug from the Ein Sof! No wonder it’s so magical. This is the answer to the question we started with — this is the “it.”

This year, I’ve been thinking about Hashem’s side of the relationship a little more. I want to be as present as possible in the Sukkah. I want to enjoy the magic of Sukkos, and feel the warm embrace of the Sukkah, for as long as possible without any ‘exits.’ This year, I’m thinking of trying not to bring my phone into the sukkah with me, keeping it a more intimate, phone-free zone.

Hashem’s desire for connection with me doesn’t wax and wane. So I’ll try to stay present in the ‘eight-day hug’ for as long as possible.