Sukkot: From Kippur to the Sukkah of Peace

Why the Jewish festivals are in the plural

[…] the hostages among us, those who, sadly, still remain. And this lecture is dedicated to them.

You have probably noticed, as I have, that the Jewish festivals are always in the plural, except for Pesach and Hanukkah. Shavuot is a plural. Sukkot is a plural. Kippurim is a plural. Pesach, no — it is a singular.

This tells us that when it comes to freedom, there is no collective freedom. Each person takes it upon himself to become free, to tear himself away from his conditioning, both outer and inner.

Hanukkah is about education, and that is the very foundation of Judaism itself. The mistake we always make is to reduce teaching to a group, a collective. Yet ideal teaching must come down to the level of the pupil, like a private tutor charged with the education of one child, because not all sensibilities are the same, and neither are all capacities.

Train a child according to his way, according to his capacity, according to his sensitivity: this is what the wisest of men, King Shlomo, recommends in Mishlei, in Proverbs. To adapt the teaching to the child is the best way to succeed in education.

So it goes from person to person, […]. There is a personal involvement in the shaping of one’s own life, in determining one’s own project, its beginning, its aims, and each one is judged individually, or judges himself individually.

The Torah, the cement of Israel’s unity

But on the other hand, when it comes to our commitment to the way of the Torah, it is […] the whole people that is committed, as a single man, with one heart and one will. The Torah is the foundational cement of the whole Jewish people. Take away the Torah, and nothing will remain that can truly create the unity of the Jewish people — a unity that corresponds, in a certain sense, to the very unity we proclaim.

“Atah Echad ve-Shimcha Echad”: You are One and Your Name is One — but Your people, too, is one. The unity of the Jewish people is fundamental. What has guaranteed it is the same laws, the same practices, the same convictions. And this is how we are still here. How many nations have died out? The Jewish people counts for nothing in numbers, yet it is still present.

Kippur is not forgiveness: it is covering

It is still present because of Yom HaKippurim, the day of Kippur, which is translated as “the day of atonements.” How dreadful! The day of forgiveness. Very well: I forgive, you forgive each other, all very nice — and each one stays in his corner. But Kippur does not mean forgiveness. The word for forgiveness is selichah. Of course one must ask forgiveness. You ask forgiveness of G-d, forgiveness of your fellow. But that is not enough.

Beyond forgiveness there is kapparah. What does kaper mean? To cover: to provide cover for the other, to stand in solidarity with the other, to regard the other’s commitment as binding upon me. And therefore the day of Kippur is the day on which the effective solidarity of all the members of the people of Israel is affirmed, each one providing cover for the other, each one taking responsibility for the other. That is why it is Kippurim, in the plural. The miracle came about because the people knew how to affirm its solidarity — for kapparah means covering.

Why? Because we consider that a person who has committed himself to the way of the Torah has taken upon himself to pass this teaching on, to spread it, to share it, to educate, to make it shine. And therefore he believes in the image of G-d borne by every human being. “Ki be-tzelem Elokim asah et ha-adam”: man was created in the image of G-d. So we can never separate our faith in G-d, our Jewish conviction, from the other.

Even more: the service of the other is truly the forge in which my faith in G-d is shaped. Whoever would separate the service of G-d from the service of man has not yet left the sphere of idolatry.

Two questions on the day of judgment

Our sages say that when a person comes to give his account, he will be asked whether he truly believed in the kingship of G-d, whether he worked for it. […] Did you regard the Creator of the world as your King?

Certainly, the prayers of the festivals revolve around this idea of the kingship of G-d, the recognition of G-d’s kingship. But what does that ultimately commit us to? To being servants of G-d. And as servants, we have already seen that we must, whether we like it or not, obey the directives, the will, of the Master. Otherwise there are blows, there are curses, there are pogroms, until we accept the sovereignty of our Master.

But where does that get us? This is why it is said that there is a second question bound up with the first. Did you affirm the sovereignty of G-d? And: did you affirm the sovereignty of your fellow? To affirm the sovereignty of G-d without affirming that of your fellow, or that of your fellow without the sovereignty of G-d, leads nowhere, because the Torah, at its very source, joined the obligations toward G-d with the obligations toward man. It set them in parallel, it interwove them, so that it is impossible to consider one law of the Ten Commandments without its counterpart.

The Ten Commandments as facing pairs

For example, on one side “I am Hashem your G-d,” and on the other “You shall not murder.” Because whoever kills has in effect diminished the image of G-d that is in man. The same holds for one who violates the intimacy of his fellow: it is as though he were practicing idolatry, as though, in the end, he were associating another belief with G-d.

Likewise “lo tignov,” do not steal, and “do not take the Name of G-d in vain.” If you lay hands on your fellow’s property, then you are contesting the distribution of this world’s wealth as G-d conceived it, for we are born under different stars, whether we like it or not. We do not have a common inheritance. At its root, communism wanted there to be effective solidarity among people and a mutual interdependence, and for this to be governed by love rather than by tyranny.

Shabbat, and bearing false witness against one’s fellow: it is the same thing. Whoever desecrates Shabbat is as though he bore false witness against his fellow. And his fellow is first of all the One who gave him life, his Creator. It is He who instituted Shabbat for him; it is He who breathed a spiritual soul into him. So there is indeed a close, inseparable bond between the obligations toward G-d and the obligations toward man.

Elokim, the laws of nature and the sphere of love

And what governs this is Elokim. Do you know how many times the word Elokim appears in the account of creation? Thirty-two times — the equivalent of lev, the heart, which ensures the perfect distribution of energy, of the flow of life, of balance.

Now this word Elokim is constraining, because it is bound to the laws of nature. These laws of nature are determined by cause and effect, and so, as soon as we come into life, we are making our way, little by little, toward death. Yet the purpose of bringing children into the world is not to see them, chas ve-shalom, disappear. No — we believe that each one has a role to fulfill and that each one bears a fragment of the image of G-d. And it is that fragment which truly governs our relationship both with G-d and with the world.

This is why we concluded the day of Kippur with the repetition of this phrase: “Hashem Hu HaElokim.” Why? To say that what belongs to the image of G-d in man, as conditioned by creation, must be carried over, poured into the sphere of love. And it is through love that we can indeed triumph over both strict justice and death.

But on Rosh Hashanah, of course, those who are tzaddikim gemurim, the completely righteous — they are condemned to life. Life belongs to them. We have already said that, for us, life is made of this world and of the world to come. And this world is also made of the past within the present. That is why life, chayim, is plural. There is no life in the singular. One cannot separate life here below from life in the hereafter, nor life in the hereafter from life here below. The two go together.

From theory to the sukkah

But for that, one must not remain in the realm of theory. There must be application in daily life. […] When one has wronged one’s fellow, it is not enough to ask his forgiveness: one must tell him exactly what the wrong was. One must lay out one’s own failings, to see whether, in truth, on leaving Kippur, we have taken the proper measure — that we have not regarded ourselves as entitled to life, but that we truly had to prove our commitment toward our fellow.

So what do we do? We build sukkot; we build huts. The huts are more real, because we leave our cocoon, we leave our home, we leave our conditioning, we leave our box, we leave our convictions — we lay them out in broad daylight and put them into practice. We open our door, we open our home, and at the same time we place ourselves in the shade, in the shelter of G-d.

Ananei ha-kavod: these are the clouds of glory, because we believe that, in the end, we are all placed beneath the same banner and we cannot fail in our duties. And it is above all the festival of Sukkot that the others want to celebrate with us. It is the universal festival.

The universal festival and the four species

In the future, the nations will come forward and say: we too carry within us the love of humanity; we have philosophies in the service of man; so we too have our sukkot. Yes — but unfortunately, when it comes to demonstrating this philosophy and putting it into action, we are witnessing how completely these philosophies have gone bankrupt, they that placed man, let us say, at the summit of everything. And when their immediate interests are at stake, all these theories are worth absolutely nothing.

And today, baruch Hashem, the Jewish people has preserved its values, as best it could, and restores them in a certain measure. Its covering is ensured […] by these four species that we take, in which those that bear fruit and those that give fragrance are all bound together for the praise of Hashem.

We take them in hand. They represent nothing. Yesterday they were worth absolutely nothing. Today, through their symbolism, they have the value of service of G-d and of man. After the festival they will once again represent nothing. What matters is that during the festival of Sukkot we declared it, we cried it out with these four species: we have loved, we have triumphed. These are our swords, these are our weapons.

It is the aravah, the willow, which has neither fragrance nor taste, and yet it is joined to this divine service. And the etrog, which has a tendency toward independence, toward living apart, as a tzaddik or a chasid might, so as not to be swept along, as it were, by the movement. No — it too is there to spread its fragrance and share it with others: its deeds, its thoughts. And it is the lulav: it bears fruit but has no fragrance at all. It too shares with others what it can give, its fruit.

Why the pitka tava comes only on Sukkot

[…] on Kippur, in the end, those who regarded themselves as […] — this reminds me that the day brings about this unity of all tendencies, in one synagogue, with one prayer book, with, let us say, a common service.

We achieved that, and we have our inscription for life. Yet we are still asking for a pitka tava, a good note. We have not yet obtained the ticket. It still drags on until then. What is happening? Why?

Why […] that the day of Kippur may have been merely a passing surge in the piety of that day, in that divine service, in that spiritual conditioning. We did indeed experience an elevation of the soul, but perhaps, for some, as soon as Kippur ended, it had passed and nothing of it remains. For as soon as Kippur ends, there we are saying: we have sinned. How, we have sinned? We have just gone through what was needed. […] inasmuch as everything we promised, we have not yet shown the Father that we will keep.

So why, in fact, do we let it drag on until Sukkot? Because in prayer there is what is called ge’ulah and shemirah: redemption and preservation. There is no point in attaining a state if we do not know how to preserve it. There is no point in benefiting from something, or reaching some height, without knowing how to remain there.

The blessings of the Shema and the prayer of Hashkiveinu

So at what point does this will for preservation take hold of us? You know that around the Shema there are always three blessings. The first blessing is universal; it pays homage to the G-d of creation. The second blessing pays homage to the One who chose the people of Israel from within humanity. And the third blessing, “Ga’al Yisrael,” is for the One who brings about the redemption of Israel.

Now in Arvit there is also the Shema, but with two blessings before and two blessings after. The blessing before is, once again, a universal thanksgiving to the Creator of the world. The second, “Ohev amo Yisrael,” pays homage to the One who loves His people Israel. And the third, “Ga’al Yisrael,” the One who redeemed the people of Israel. But there is a fourth: “Hashkiveinu.” And here we ask G-d to spare us every misery, every trial, and to grant us protection. And we conclude with “Shomer amo Yisrael la-ad,” the One who ensures the protection of Israel, the preservation of Israel.

But in this blessing there is “U-fros aleinu sukkat shelomecha”: spread over us Your shelter of peace, Your sukkah of peace. It is only a hut. That is why — take note, says the Maharal of Prague — why do we say “sukkat David” and not “beit David”?

He says: when we speak of the house of David, and the house falls into ruin, then the house must be built anew. And building a house anew is never the same thing; it is different. When we build, we change the plans, we change the foundations. But a hut, when it falls, we put it back up. It is simply a puzzle that came apart; we put it together again, and it is always the same hut, always the same sukkah. That is why we speak of “sukkat David.” The hut of David is a shelter of protection that is always the same.

So, the question: why is this hut found only in the evening, in Arvit? Our sages raised the question, because in principle there must be no interruption between ge’ulah and tefillah, between the blessing of redemption and the prayer proper. It is a moment in which each of us withdraws alone with Him, in silence.

Yet this was not observed in Arvit, since the Men of the Great Assembly added the prayer of Hashkiveinu. Hashkiveinu is a fourth blessing, and they asked why the rule does not apply here. They answered in the affirmative: yes, the rule does apply — it is regarded as a “ge’ulah arichta,” a long redemption, as though there were only a single blessing that has been prolonged.

Preservation, inherent in redemption

That is to say, preservation, protection, is joined to — indeed inherent in — the redemption of the Jewish people. And we need it only at night. By day we are aware of the permanent miracle of the existence of the Jewish people. How can so small a nation stand up to seventy nations? We are assailed by enemies from every side, of every kind, at every level — and in spite of everything, we are here.

But at night, when we confront the demons of the night and the worst persecutions, we refer to our point of faith. “Emet ve-emunah” in the evening, and in the morning “Emet ve-yatziv”: an intangible truth, which is there in the evening too. It is the truth of the existence of the Jewish people, but one that is due above all to its faith in the One.

That is why, on Shabbat and the festivals, we do not enumerate all the miseries we endure; rather, we conclude these last blessings with “Ha-pores sukkat shalom aleinu”: who spreads His sukkah of peace over us, over us and over Jerusalem. His sukkah of peace — what does a sukkah of peace mean?

Esav, the peace of the nations and Yaakov’s refusal

There is an allusion made by the Kabbalah concerning the word “Esav.” It has the numerical value of 376, does it not? And the word meaning peace, “shalom,” has the same numerical value.

That is to say, when Esav presented himself before Yaakov, he proposed peace: we will walk together. That is what the nations propose to us: we will walk together; don’t worry, we will cover you, we will truly guarantee your protection. And that is the greatest danger, because it is a mission of peace.

Yaakov did not want it. He said: no, I prefer to walk at the pace of the family. We cannot go together. Peace as you conceive it is not mine. It is not mine, because mine is unitary, whereas theirs is truly separatist, fractional.

Aharon and the hut that always rises again

No — what we proclaim on Sukkot is the occasion of “sukkat shalom,” the One who spreads the sukkah. And the man who bore this banner of peace was Aharon. Aharon was the man who sought to make peace within the people of Israel, even at the cost of […].

It was he who afterward secured the ananei ha-kavod. With the clouds of majesty He surrounded us, bi-zchut Aharon, in the merit of Aharon. And Aharon’s attribute is hod; his attribute is majesty. So, independently of what Aharon represents among the ushpizin, we must […] a sukkah, a hut that endures forever.

Even when it comes apart, one simply puts it back up. “Sukkat David ha-nofelet,” the fallen hut of David: the puzzle must be put back together and reassembled. It may be fragile on the outside, but on the inside it remains very solid.

The purity of the sukkah and the pitka tava

Because on leaving Kippur we must prove, we must give proof, that we remain wholly and exclusively committed to this Jewish solidarity, and there is no need to clutter it with outside conceptions, those of the other nations. It must be in purity.

Just as we claim the purity of Jerusalem, the holiness of Jerusalem, and what Jerusalem represents for us in space as the reference point of our place, of our approach, so too the sukkah remains for us: not the one the other nations want, not the one they claim, but ours, pure in its inwardness.

And once we have given the proof, when we close the festival of Sukkot, we are entitled to the pitka tava, the receipt, the ticket, attesting that our resolve on the day of Kippur was truly sincere and has proven itself.